The Louisiana Democrat. [volume] (Alexandria, La.) 1845-1918, 1889-11-27
JACOBS FAULTS.
He Unexpectedly Proflted by Hav-
ing Them Recounted.

It was early June, in one of those
charming places on the Hudson river
that lie between New York and Albany
The satisfying greenness OF the land
scape left one no chance to regret the
past glory of the blossoms. 1t seemed
as if, should one speak at all, it ought
TO be in blank verse about the hills
clapping their hands, about green past
ures, about all the secret things that
have ceased to mean so much them
selves as to express in the abstract be-
lief in love and life and beauty and
peace.
Jacob Raus was an inattractive OBJ
server of this charming phase of nature.
He was preoccupied with his own
troubled soul, and here was but wintry
prospect. The world points out to a
man the necessity of doing something;
there was no corresponding need in his
soul. He had lately come into an ex-
celent property, and had invested
good proportion of it in a ranch in the
West. The West was no place OF his
choice, but what else was he to do? He
was thirtytwo, and was without even
commercial training. He had been
bred to no profession, and he was not
rich enough to live with rich men as a
pleaSlre-seeker, even had such life
attracted him. He had perfect health,
was good shot, good reader, good
walker, good companion. He wore
blonde beard upon his sunburnt face,
with its handsome, clean-cut profile and
hazel eyes.
This bold statement Of his case pre-
scented itself over and over to his mind,
quite as if he were weighing an abstract
question that bored him excessively.
Then he grew irritated that his father
should have given him such an old
fashioned, half-humorous name, and ex-
erted always an unspoken and only half
recognized negative tyranny on his
whole life; that his father should have
had that responsibility in the paternal
relation that is scarcely to be found out
side the Anglo-Saxon race-as if the
Anglo-Saxon was born armed at all
points, and with an intuitive knowledge
of fighting his way through the world.
The more Jacob accused himself of
impiety in accusing the dead, the more
obstinately the conviction forced itself
upon him that his thought was, never
theless, just; and the implied weakness
on his own part was in nowise consoling.
Now he was free at thirty-two-a
freedom that meant bondage to his own
limitations; and while he regretted that
he had no profession, he bitterly recog-
nized the fact that the desire for larger
life in no sense proved a talent. His
desire was, as we have said, not one for
action. 1t was vague desire for a
lar. ,er happiness, such as women have
oftener than men. They should wake
like children of Christmas morning,
and find it in their stockings.
All these reasons for gloom were ever
present to Jacob; buthe had lately walked
to moro definite purpose and more
definite grief. His decision to go on a
ranch had made him recognize that he
could not leave Millicent Fuller, whom
he had known from her childhood, and
who had been for some years past, half
unconsciously to himself, his chief occu-
patton. He offered himself to her. She
refused him. She was the youngest and
the only unmarried one of five sisters.
She was twenty-five, handsome, travelled
and accomplished.
Jacob, as he walked through shady
road, cut fine bouquet of sweetbrier
roses, and trimmed their thorny, strag-
Cling stems with an ill-humored energy
He had not pride enough to go away
without asking to see her once more,
just to say goodbye, and she had accorded
him an interview that evening at half
past seven.
He walked all around tho Fullers' large
house, past the broad piazzas, and found
her alone in little side-porch that was
overgrown with honeysuckle vines; and
amid their pinkish-yellow blossoms Mil.
licent, in pink muslin, looked like rosy
June personified. Her father and mother
had just gone to drive, she explained
precisely, as she took Jacobs silently.
proffered flowers with fine blush fol
thanks.
II am afraid" she said, nervously, as
she carefully picked few thorns from
the stem of her bouquet before she
grasped it, ''that didn't succeed the
other night in--that isl mean that
am afraid that / didn't say what
meant"
81 should be glad" said Jacob, ste
hear that you didn't mean what you
said"
''Oh! OH I didn't mean that"
ssWell, it doesn't matter great dea
what you meant If you didn't NEAR
that"
II do wish that You would be reasona
BILE, Jacob"
81 wish you wouldn't call me jacob
when you have told me that you didn't
like the name"
'.Oh! did l say that? I do think that
like it, since you have no other. In
deed, Jacob, if it were not for some
faults that you have, / think l should
like you better than any one"
The young man sat down on steI
lower than the one the girl occupied