The Valley Virginian. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1865-1895, 1892-07-07

WOflu, anu tHen---- wei, Wen; L fecO
lect it all in accurate detail, except tn
color of her eyes. And she was yer
good, kind little girl, and SO sorry t
grieye ME by saying no, but she love
another. And the other was the curate
and after two or three years waitin
they got married, and they have ten o
eleven children now, l fancy. l wa
heart broken at the time, know, blu
perhaps it was as well as it was.
That was not my first proposal though
for my heart received severe fractur
at very early age-when I was abou
fourteen, think. Apasty- faced, yellow
those early days. She was my school
masters daughter. All / was in Low.
then. | wrote her verses. Such verses
teeming with fevered passion and per
feet marvels of rhythm and photography
| even produced set of Latin verses
singing her praises, and these cost me
infinite toll, though remember she did
not much care for them. But my suit
! prospered. | bought her toffee and
I enthusiastically embIems of loye-and
penned her long epistles burning with
romantic devotion, and she ate my toffee
and wrote me sweet nothings in return
| Betsy, the cook. carried our letters, and
the postage was a heavy claim on my
| pocket money. But then there was no
tick with Betsy, SO denied myself other
| pleasures as a lover should do. Indeed,
| l dedicated myself to my mistress's SER
vice in the true spirit of ancient chivalry
I ran races and won them for her sake.
| swan the Fylde River in flood for her
sake, and imagined was Leander cross
ing the Hellespont. If my memory
serves me, you couldn't swim in the
Fylde at all unless it was in flood. l
even punched my dearest chum, Freddy
Patterson's head for her sake, for Freddy
had said she was a "pasty-faced little
sneak" Thinking it over, my dear old
Freddy, you were quite right; she was
pasty-faced and she was sneak. Some
thing was discovered, and she promptly
gave up all my letters and verses to her
father and peached on Betsy. Her
father was dry, unapproachable man,
as tough and unsympathetic as San
skirt root. He sent for me to his study
| had pictured to myself difficulties in
my interview with him, but then it was
not to come off for about ten years, aud
by that time | expected to be in COM
mand of regiment at least, having
made my name famous in the mouths of
men, for was going into the army in
those days. On entering his study l
rapidly prepared an appropriate and dig
nitied address. can remember rehears-
ing it in the passage However, there
was no opportunity for me to deliver it.
My father-in law that was to have been
gave we a short harangue, in which l
remembered my verses were designated
"impertinent trash,' and the remainder
of the interview was of an entirely prac-
teal nature in which | played wholly
subsidiary part, and, in consequence of
her fathers conduct on that memorable
day, I considered my engagement with
his daughter at an end.
These old memories and dreams were
scattered into thin air by a rap st my
outer door. [ knew the knock, it was
Harold Etheridge's. l saw good deal
of Harold at that time.
II noticed your light, old fellow, and
just dropped in.'
You don't intrude," l said, for I was
always pleased to see him in those days,
1--WE only been dreaming over the fire.
Sit down and have last pipe; must
turn in in half an hour"
Harold sat down opposite to me on the
other side of the fire place. He was ten.
or maybe fifteen, years younger than l
was, and a good-looking, dashing,
straight forward man, both in face and
manner. There never was such an open
hearted, honest looking fellow as Harold
to all appearance. | had nick-named
him ''the Saxon,n and the name stuck
to him for it was appropriate. He lived
a gay. reckless kind of life, and was al
ways talking of marrying, money, or
going out to the cape, as the only alter
natives to the Bankruptcy Court; but
believe he was comfortably off. liked
him. l thought him one of my few
friends. I like to remember him. as
thought he was; even now, for l believe
he was my friend in those days, as far
as such a man could be anybody's friend.
| do not know what there is about the
small hours of the morning, or whether
sympathy is an absolute necessity to a
talking of Kate Winterton.
"a fine woman? / should think she
u.s." cried Harold enthusiastically" land
fine fortune too"
bright, witty, good-tempered and
pleasing, if not pretty" l added contin-
uing my description.
'Why you might be in love with her,
Penrose, to hear you talk"
1t was very foolish Of me, know; but
lovers are foolish, and it was early in
the morning, and of course did not
know then that Harold was my rival.
Had | suspected it, think that should
have entered q 12olle groSequi and
dropped my suit, leaving him clear
field. After all, it was perhaps only
a natural effect of my ailment, that l
should long to tell some one my secret.
The glory of q secret lies in imparting it.
Keeping secret is very poor fun, and
have no secrets at two o'clock in the
morning-it is a sympathetic hour.
rose and stood by the fire.
Harold, old boy, I've something to
tell you. | am in love with Kate Wins
terton!''
The Saxon nearly dropped his pipe
He gave a long whistle and said nothing
| expected congratulations, pleasant
laughter, good wishes-sometlling.
After a moments silence he said with
hesitation, You haven't actually pro.
posed, ELI? Have you?"
mo, no! of course not No one knows
but you, and why the devil l told you l
don't know" I added testify His cool
ness irritated me.
"BY George old fellow. I'm sure