Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1892-06-01
One Summer.

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gers, gazing at the mountains
around her, as though she would
that they were transparent, that she
might gaze at the busy world be-
yond. She longed to know of that
world, she longed for share of its
pleasures and thought not of its
pains. She hated her existence here,
as her father hated that life which
she so desired, and from which he
had escaped to this peaceful noun
tain home.
The girl lifted the book and read
again. 1t was story of life in the
world, a story of love, of misery and
of death. A sigh came to her lips
and she murmured, I'll wonder, what
is love-" As she spoke she glanc-
ed around, boat approached. In
to her deep brown eyes crept look
of wonder. A merry laughing
voice came from the young man in
the boat. "This is indeed a plea
sure and a surprise,-to find that
these regions are not altogether
deserted" He drew his boat to
hers.
The morning passed quickly
away; they spoke of the beauties
around them; she told him Of her
uneEentful life spent among these
mountains, with her father and old
nurse as an only companion; he
told her of his life in the world.
They rowed to her home; her faith
er greeted the young man kindly
but as he looked at his daughter,
who stood beside him with glowing
cheeks and bright eyes, he sighed.
The young man, though, only
looked at her with admiration.
"Ah," he thought, 'who would
have supposed that such home of
refinement was to be found in this
wilderness, and such a noble pair as
this father and daughter"
When he left. Dora hastened to
her room and gazed long and earn
estly at her image in the mirror.
Yes, she was beautiful. A glad
song rose to her lips. She was
happy.
How swiftly passed those lovely
summer days. They were often to-
gether.
One morning they were rowing
on the lake when he said carelessly
81 shall come to see you tomorrow,
but ! am sorry, for it will be but
to say goodbye ! start for home
in the afternoon" The maiden
started, her deep brown eyes grew
deeper, sadder. "You 90 to-mor-
row" there was surprise and pain
in her voice, But" she continued
"you will return" NO." he said
II really don't think I shall. You
see, | shall not be able to roam
about next summer at will, as ex-
pect to be married in the winter.
Married" she cried. Then she
smiled, but what a ghastly despair
ing smile!
Back to her home she went and
threw herself upon her bed. The
day passed.; she would not leave hel
room. She was ill, she said. AL
night long she lay like one dead
When the sun arose she heard hel
father call. "He is come" she said
and crept down stairs as one in {
dream.
"Why, you are ill, he said, as h,
greeted her. Her father answered
for her. She knew not how Tho
time passed, but she heard him say
"Good-bye" and knew that he was
gone.
She rowed out on the lake. A
book lay in the boat; it was the
same which she had been reading
on that day when she first seen him
As she looked into the book, tears
rose to her eyes, 81 wondered what
love was! she cried. "Well,
know what love is now," and then
she added, "and misery, too" She
had thought her life hard to bear
before this young man came, but
how much worse it was now. Then
it was but filled with discomfort
but now with misery. What won.
der is it that, left to her own
thoughts SO much, without any
ones help to overcome that love-
what wonder is it that her misery
deepened into despair?
One day she again looked into
the book which had first filled her
with a desire for love. Wildly she
gazed at the words therein-"I
know of love, of misery, and now"
she rose-"I'll know of DEATH"
Gently the waters closed over her.
She rose. but the waters seemed low