The Press., 1888-03-01

and delight was heard in every direction ;1 but late in the evening strange restless- ness betook the assembled multitude. It swept on like wild fire, 1t was everywhere talked of: an accident had occurred, a great railroad disaster. Lenchen only gathered abstract words, but she felt a great dread; his betrothed had said that she would meet him at the depot, suppose he had been on the l-fated train She sought to convince herself that it was only q childish fear, that great many trains passed, and that great many people trav elled in train. It did no good. The idea continued to haunt her. She slept but lit tie that night and was awakened the next morning by the newsboy's call: "Extra edition The great railway disaster v She bought the paper as she went to work, but it contained nothing of definite nature. In the evening the dead bodies had been identified, and Lenchen read in the paper in the list of dead the name she had read on the visiting card, and which since had been painted in her heart:
 KURT voN RABENAN.
 Lenchen stood in the open store door. It was 6 pleasant, sunny day and mass of people crowded the street, just as was the case that March morning when they were anxious to see the students proces- sion. Now, too, there was students pro- cession moving up the street, but it was one of sorrow and mourning. At the head rode student in his pretty, picturesque costume, with the wide, rose-red, white and yellow sash covered with crape then followed the hearse, pulled by four horses, led by servants in black livery the rich casket was completely covered with wreaths of roses, his favorite flowers, the dark. red roses. Next came the equipage carrying the students, whose crape-covered enbroid- cred silk flag glistened in the sunlight, and lastly, followed by an immense procession of vehicles, came Q coach wherein sat two pale, sorrow stricken ladies, one old and one young. The procession disappeared around the corner, and the curious multi tude dispersed.
 As Lenchen was going home that after noon, she laid her way around the church yard. She had brought bouquet of his favorite flowers. She easily found the grave, the many roses designated the spot She placed her bouquet among the other wreaths then his last words sounded in her ear ''She always gives me her pret- tiest hower." And he was right. She had given him her prettiest flower her youths first and pure love. Silently she wended her course from the quiet "friedhof" with its dark alleys, willows and headstones, back to the great city s tumult, back to exhibition park, that lay noisy and joyous in rays of electric hght, while the music played, the glasses jingled, and cigar smoke perfumed the atmosphere. Tonight she carried no rose on her bosom, and no red bow in her raven hair. Glad in black she wandered about and asked with 8 melancholy smile: "May select g little flower for you?" At last the long evening wore away and she was permitted to go homo and rest her aching head or the pillow and cry-yes, cry in the deep est sense of the word.
 A Ayoung girl never marries her first love her mother had said. No, she had to-day followed hers to the grave, and it haC found pretty grave.
 Later in years when she in life's every day battles allowed her thoughts to gC back to her youthful dream of love, they would not be bitter recollections. Th' dream had thrown poetic glimmer ovel her unhappy youth, and Lenchen had not like so many others, seen her first lovt soiled and trampled in the dust. She haG buried it out in the quiet friedhof' under fragrant covering of dark red roses.
 THE END.