Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1886-04-08

hopeless sorrow, eyanishes in a moment,
and he sees her again, radiant vision of
girlish loveliness, as he tells his story OF
love and listens to her tender replies.
Again he raises her blushing face and kisses
her perfect lips; and again he crosses to the
bedside and kisses the cold lips which wear
in death the drawn expression of mute,
hopeless misery.
This letter conjures up strange memories
to the lonely man sitting there in that dim
light beside the shrouded figure. tits the
magic wand which brings the past years
with their dead before his view.
He beholds himself again, a young grad
uate of celebrated law college, eager to
enter upon his career-which, with the con-
idence of youth and inexperience, he means
shall be one continued success; a steady,
unbroken progress onward and upward.
And il was even SO for years. Success,
wealth, and honors came rapidly, but only
to fan the flame of his unbounded ambition.
Then he met Alice. All, how we'll he
remembers that long-gone aftemoonl II
was balmy spring, and the drowsy little
village seemed half asleep. He was return
ing from the postoffice and met her on the
street. Their eyes met but for an instant
and he passed on, only to turn and gaze
after her thoughtfully. That chance meet
ing changed all his after life. The dusty
village street, the narrow crossing, the tall
sycamore on one side, and the spreading
mulberry on the other, beneath whose
shades they met-he sees them oil. And
again he sees Alices dark eyes and sweet
face which seemed that day to possess a
subtle spell of power, that ever to his life
eyes Of the shrouded figure before him.
Again he meets her and feels the wild,
strange throbbing of his heart rs her dark
eyes rest upon him. Again he sees the
blooming fruit trees on the left in the law
yer's orchard, and hears on his right the
stillicidic hum of bees in the doctors
flower garden: sees again the long, narrow
street bordered with shade trees which be-
fore him stretch on past the hotel and red
| brick court house; behind him, down to the
railway station on the river bank. Then
memory reviews everything until his happy
wedding morn. He, with his old habit, in
voluntarily shudders as he recalls ii to mind,
but looking again at the letter he says,
"No, no; / was in the wrong all the time.
God bless her, and pity mel"
After their first meeting he returned to
his Office apparently a different man. A
new power had entered his life. To am
bition-to the simple desire for power for
its own sake-was now joined love. He
would, he thought with lovers extrava-
gance, be great and honorable that he might
be the more worthy of Alice. He would
win honors TO share them with her. 1t was
the grand passion dream of q mans first
love.
He came to know her, to worship her.
Calm, grave, self-possessed and successful
| in all contests with men, he was humble,
awkward bungler in his love affairs. Ger
tainly, with Alice he always appeared at his
worst. It was the remembrance of this
that caused him to SO readily accept the
false meaning Of the first few lines of that
foolish and really harmless note. 1t was
this self -distrust that blighted her life and
| his own.
large group picture, in which both he
and she appear, hangs against the wall. 1t
represents the Sunday school class which
o~LL~aL With tho -natrral Hrnid;tp af
lovers, they are far apartin the picture, but he
has had the artist to copy and enlarge their
two faces in a single picture, which also
hangs before him. All these years the
happy love-light in these trusting, hopeful
faces has been a reproach to him; now it is
q consolation.
He walks rapidly to and fro across the
narrow room, restless beneath his load of
seemingly unendurable sorrow and regret.
At each turn he pauses opposite the door to
gaze with a curious expression upon hap
py throng in the room beyond, who, in his
presence, wear sad faces, and speak in sub
dued tones. but are now apparently having
an extremely pleasant time with wine,
cards, gossip, and love making. He stands
again before the pictures for long, long
while, then returns to the bedside, and
stands with bowed head and clasped hands
gazing upon the dead. Seating himself al
the lamp, he again reads the letter slowly
and carefully. 1t was short, and ran thus:
@MY DEAR SISTER: am very sorry you are
opposed to my marriage with Mr.. Calvert
know, as you say that he is several years older
than l am, and that our acquaintance has been
very short-but you do not understand me.
do not lore M. Cdlceff-"
At this point the letter had been folded
and he, on that long ago morn, had read
only so far. Now he unfolded the sheet
and read on:
Il do not lovo Mr.. Calvert simply for his
wealth and posit on but for himself alone and
because know he loves me and will make me
happy / love him dearly, and will be happy
to become his wife" etc, etc.
1t was a most affectionate letter, and the
strong mans heart broke as he thought how
he had wronged and slain her with his
coldness and cruelty. When the "mourners'
in the next room, after nights dissipation
came into the chamber of death the mex
morning, calm and still beside the death.
bed, his head resting on his wifes pillow
he face close to hers and her hand claspeG
in his, sat Louis Calvert-dead.-Ch Chicago
Ledger.