Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1888-01-21
CHARLES LETTER.
BY JrFFIE FoRBUsH HANAFoRD.

1t was a letter that caused all the trouble;
little Notwithstanding epistle, and
yet it nearly drove the man who found it
mad with misery and pain.
1t read as follows:
My DEAR CHARLIE-Gou can not mag
inc how much would like to see you. l
can not bear to think how far apart we are.
You said when | was married | would for
get you. But this letter will prove how
mistaken you are, for | love you as much
rs ever. Distance makes the heart grow
fonder, you know. will write you long
letter soon. 1 have much to tell you, but
my time is limited to- day. Do write soon,
and tell me how much you miss me.
Yours, with love,
IRENE HUNTER DESMONT.
Ii was summer time. The golden sun
shine poured in through open window, the
breeZes stirred the grass, and the sweet
perfume from the flowers was waited into
the room.
The man with the letter in his hand
stood as if turned to stone, trying to real
ize what he had lust read.
There was his wifes name in full, Irene
Hunter Desmont. What could it mean?
Who was Charlie? What a fool he was TO
think there was such thing as perfect
happiness in this world.
He remembers having read in paper
that very day-yes, scarce two hours ago
"A few lines that at the time caused quite
a little discussion. The lines come back
to him now with new meaning:
"Do not iiatter yourselves with hopes of
perfect happiness, there is no such thing
in t. is life"
He remembered reading it aloud, and
some enc spoke up, and said, Exactly
my sentiments" and how indignant he had
felt as he made reply. lie remembered
glancing at his wife and meeting her fond
look of love.
He was convinced there was perfect hap
piness" in this life, and confident that he
could speak from experience, and now
Hank! What was that? His wife's voice,
calling him. Laying the letter down on the
desk as he had found it, lie took from the
back of a chair little black silk and lace
affair, called wrap, and stepped quickly
through the low French window leading on
to a veranda. In a very few minutes he
had descended the steps, and joined party
of ladies and gentlemen on the lawn.
Hello, Phil! Your vito has ju,t gone
into the house to look for you. She thought
perhaps YOU could not find her wrap; here
she comes now"
Philip Desmond glanced at his wife as
she approached.
How pretty she looked in that soft dress
of crimson cashmere; she had the sweetest
face imaginable. lit up by pair of soft
blue eyes that went straight to your heart
every time they rested upon you, and beau
tliul ripping hair, shining III the sunlight
like gold.
1t is very easy for a man to love her."
thought Philip, as he folded the wrap
around her slender form.
hould he IL her what he had read?
No, not yet. He would wait and watch her
closely; If she mailed the letter there would
be an answer, and he must see that,
md out the mans name, and then-he was
not sure what he would do then, but for the
present he would wait.
Six weeks ago Philip Desmont and Irene
Hunter were married in the little parlor at
lrenes home. Under beautiful floral
bell composed entirely of rosebuds they
were pronounced man and wife, and re-
ceived the hearty congratulations of their
many friends.
Irene loved her husband as only such
atfectionate natures can love. She was
only nineteen and Philip thirty two.
Immediately after they were married,
Philip had taken his bride to their future
home. some three hundred miles distmt,
and there proudly introduced her to his
friends.
Irene had always appeared perfectly
happy; she was young, naturally joyous in
disposition, and a general favorite with all
who knew her.
There were several young married peo-
pie living near them, and they all con-