The Republican journal., 1892-03-03
An Imaginary Murder.
WHY IT WAS NECESs- AIRY TO COMMIT IT TO
AVOID SERIOUS Compile ATOMS.
A Boston Post Prize Story by NJ. NJ. (Mrs.
p. Ply Nichols


have murdered my friend Williamson.
Colby and deliberately disposed of him
| believe that is the term. in vogue. Here
early autumn evening, not hurriedly OF
confusedly, but slowly and with fore
thought and deliberation and the keer
sense of enjoyment.
Now that it is over feel no remorse. II
l can discover any unusual sensation it is
JOY at the accomplishment of something
for as a rule | am prone to Incidence.
Insane?
No. Never was more rational in all OF
my commonplace life.
Did | have cause to hate him?
No again. Early in my life, however,
when we We're all more or less verdant-
and it strikes me that | was considerably
more-I committed an indiscretion.
was at that time at college, not hun
dred miles from Boston. and l was also.
as behoves every freshman, very much il
love.
She resided on Commonwealth avenue,
WAS beautiful and that she was my senior
by 9oodly ten years goes without say
ing 1t appears to be the fate of fresh
men thus To love. | recognize in that
early attachment of mine the true cause
OF this evening occurrence.
NV fair friend discouraged but permit
ted my attentions. She referred to me as
1.-THE cherub'' and called me "a dear. de-
lightful little fellow to my face. She
laughed at my love making. and appar-
emily regarded it as child play.
What man of spirit could stand that?
was very. very much in love. l endeavor-
ed in every way to give her the idea that !
was a man OF the world-blase, cynical
and rather tired of life. | even refIained
from reading her any of my poetry This,
however, was due to a fear of her laugh
ter rather than good generalship.
My suit was not progressing very well
when at the merry Christmas season |
made a farewell call preparatory to spend
ing a few weeks in New York.
"Now don t be a naughty. naughty
boy she said as she babe me good-by
After a rather bored visit with my ma
ternal grandparents, l returned and on
my first visit, gave, or endeavored to give
the impression that l had rather done
New York. Such giddy whirl of time
such pretty girls in the ballet at the
Metropolitan. Such stunning women at
the Patriarch balls, etc., etc.
She shook her head sadly, with laugh
in her eye. And who took my nice
little boy behind the scenes at the Metro
politan?" In truth had not been there.
'Oh, Williamson" l said.
''Bad Williamson. Who is he?''
'Oh, he's friend of mine there. and a
very jolly one too.
You must tell him that I fancy he is a
very bad little boy
/ defended Williamson and portrayed
his many gifts and then we dropped him
for other topics. Sometimes she asked
after him and always received the most
glowing accounts of his doings, and
found him very safe and luckily an i'll
teresting subject. Williamson wrote
poetry mot half bad really Having
thrust the greatness of fathering my brain
children upon poor Williamson. ! no
longer feared to read them to her. Occa-
sionally she praised them and requested
copies of them. Happy bits of attempted
verse. | remember one, supposed to have
been written in fifteen minutes on wager
AT the club. Must be original. Subject,
the ocean.
SONNET.
4 fearful woman stood beside the shore,
And gazed without cessation on the sea:
Dear God. Size cries, sis it that never more,
My best DtloNtt Sildtl come back To me -
Oh. thUn tnlnu ttlUilS deep, upon whose
breast
Tie great ships toss as chat and meath
whose WAYS
So many weary ones have found their rest
Among them him | love-al. yes. the
graves
OF countless thousands wept by womankind
Are hut composed OH Ocean. Of thy bed {:
And We poor mortals who are left behind
Pray we could rest With them therein. The
dead
How douhly ble>t are they Oh, pitNing God.
For Christ : dear sake, take me to Thy
abode.
sight OF Williamson $ character. and she
was going to New y ork, she said: You
may tell your friend Williamson to call on
me-
by Jove! too bad, you know, for poor
Williamson. He has just sailed. Believe
he intends living in London ''How you
will miss him. for do you know" she
said. Il think he is very bright
She returned engaged and later married
a New Yorker, a br ,ker, Of 40, with
money An admirable match her friends
said.
| moulned her for very short time; at
ter paid for the extensive wedding gift
felt she must know came from a broken
hearted man.
Then l devoted myself to football
Football and sentiment do not 90 togeth-
Ell at ALL The train, train, train. the in
tense go of it all, knocks sickly sentiment
to the winds. One becomes keen, hard
sensible-what there is left of him.
After a Springfield match one day,
met on the return train my early love-
now matron. chaperoning a party of
young ladies, among them her little sister
OF three years before.
This is Mr.. Van Rossion, Gracie.1 she
said. ''who wrote such delightful poetry
You must remember him.
''Oh, no, that was MI Williamson, =
and, "No that was my friend William
son." exclaimed Miss Grace and in one
breath.
What in the deuce did she know about
the poetry and Williamson | wondered
She blushed as she caught my questioning
look and we talked Of the match. She
wore the Harvard colors. A pretty mild
eyed girl, she had none of the dash and 90
that had characterized the elder Miss
Jordan.
That was my last year in college, and as
| lived in Boston after my graduation
frequently met Miss Jordan in society,
She was very sweet little girl and event
ually l fell in love with her. | enquired
in casual manner one day as to what
she knew of Williamson. 1t transpired
that she had heard me- talk of him ia Mo