St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1889-12-26
MY STORY;
Or, the Trials of an Amateur
Writer.

performed over fathers grave. and our
good, kind, indulgent guardian, for so
many years father, mother, in fact, our
all, had left Marie and me alone to fight
our way through life's battles as best
we might. A heavy mortgage and few
hundreds in money was the only legacy
left US, and eve n now we must think of
leaving this home, with its broad acres,
lovely gardens and majestic trees, our
birthplace aud that of our father before
us.
Not long before his illness father had
been a successful business man, his
speculatiOns in cotton bringing him
fortunes at time. Then the Meadows
was the gayest of gay places, with its
Southern party each winter. while
naught but sounds of music, laughter
and lOyemaking filled It's old halls, no
expense being spared to set before our
guests the best the land afforded. What
wonder invitations were eagerly sought
and gladly accepted.
Then came financial losses. a failure
in things generally followed closely OIL,
all being kept from the two petted
daughters until concralment was no
longer pOss IDLE. Weary in body and
mind. father was brought home one day
Frustrated from heart trouble. to leave
no more until carried to the old GENE
terry. and placed by mothers side for the
las long sleep that knows no waking.
As fortunes favorites, we girls were
decided bells in the country round. but
of all our SuiIOrs. Harold and Albert
Mayburn were the two most favored.
The families had been friends and
neighb0rs for years, so what more nat
ural than that we four young people
should pass many hours of pleasure to-
gether.
As the years rolled on both boys left
for the North TO pass two years or more
in completing their studies, during
which time Mr.. and Mrs. Mayburn were
suddenly taken away by fever, that
dread disease of malariOus type. so
often uncomfortable. After their grad
uatIOn and loss of parents. the Staid
quiet of our Southern life retained
few charms, and their last visit
was but few weeks dura-
ton. The old home sold, hoth de-
parted, Harold to enter the Office OF a
leading paper as its assistant editor,
Albert deVOting himself Ia the calling
of physician. Often in the days gone
by as we four had rambled along through
the delights of June morning or under
Luha's softening light. Harold had said,
Marjorie. when | make my mark in
life am coming back to ask certain
little blonde TO be my sweet wife"
Then would follow wonderfully fasci-
Mating descriptions of the fairy land to
which he would lead her. with a promise
that her lite should be one long, sweet
dream. 1 would always laugh and turn
the conversation elsewhere.
How l wished, with all the powers of
my soul, that some such friend were
near to advise and console US now in
this our hour of sorest need. But the
parting between Harold and me was
little strained; he, sad at my thought
leSsnesS and unwillingneSs to say one
word Of love to him, and now l knew
not where he was.
These things whirled through nv
brain as lay. both arms thrown above
my head. gazing at all the pretty trifies
that 90 to make a room SO much of ones
self, and which Marie and l loved so
dearly; our books in dainty oak case,
made expressly for my birth
day present, the little plush
rocker, Marie's Christmas SOU
venir from Albert. the beautiful Jewel
case, HarOld'S last gift to me, and my
faYOrite picture of Les Huguenots, j"
odds end ends of bric-a-brae belonging
once to mother, priceless treasures TO us
now, all seemed half-human in their
close association to our dear ones: and
Marie in all her loneliness, still in the
land of Slumber not even dreaming OF
all my plans and wishes for our future,
or my longing to see clear way for US
both.
do you really think it best. Mar
JOrie? 1t will bring you into such pub
lie notice, and many rough word will
greet you; why not give attention to
music? 1t seems so much nicer"
1T would, sister dear, giving me
some pleasure, too. but. after all, the
drudgery must be something beyond
reason; all day long with big wooden
knitting needle, counting one, two.
three, while a small. freckled-faced
child struggles through an abbreviated
Carnival of Venice remembering you
in later life as the evil genius of her
youth stunning you accordingly"
mol" with a decided little stamp of
her foot, IL am going TO try writing for
the papers, as many have told me tnat
with little experience | could do well,
and how much more money it will bring
u.s.
Some weeks had passed since my
story opened; we had moved to pretty,
quiet Washington city suburb, and
with the dainty things yet remaining to
Us. we were very coy in the three
rooms that constituted our abode, and
as happy as two fOrlorn orphans. aceus-
toned to all the luxuries of big house
and servants, but with still some logic
i'm viewing life left, could be. Marie.
although two years my senior, was the
quiet little home girl, and l. naturally
took the responsibilities of life upon
my younger and more sturdy shoulders.
well, shall try, any way, Marie, y
looking at the manuscripts held IN her
hand, and which comprised short stories,
eff one paper won't have them another
must, and with the always persevere, ,
sounding down the ages to young as
pirants in literary fame, I'll start out
tomorrow. and If unsuccessful here.
perhaps | may 20 to New York. Now,
dear, don't look so hOrrOr-stricken /:
these things must be done, or where
will we dine, not only where, but the
mighty 'when?' with gay Iaughl.-
marjorie, how can you be sO.frivolous ;
the idea of you, with all your beauty,
going unchaperoned to that dreadfuliy
wicked place. OH dear, what would
papa say if he were living, and If we
only had an old aunt or some one living
with us who could be with yOu.o /
kissed the sweet face, and added that
the old aunt, had she unfortunately eX-
listed, would certainly have died of star
walton, for we had all we could do to
look out for ourselves; and returned a
fervent prayer that we escaped the
affection. Never mind, Marie, L am
going to be as careful as a
young woman wild with curiosity
10 see the world can be, and a veil
shall guard the loneliness OF my
features, [ was not consulted IN pos
sessing. Now, sister, am going; it is
nearly O'Clock; by g I'll be back"
was as sOmber a figure as one could
desire: my plain black dress, hat and
veil, and certainly my pride was not
encouraged. that not one passer-by in
that city of beauty and culture deigned
me look.