The weekly register. [volume] (Point Pleasant, Va. [W. Va.]) 1862-1909, 1893-01-31

remem bered II all
He Remembered taat studio in the
afternoon, the pictures there, and all
the while the sweet secret of that
letter kept sacredly; looking at the
pictures, talking of careless
words from careless friends, How
bright you are todayi" All, it was a
small wonder, after that letteri
Thore was portrait of the artists
wife among the pictures; it was the
most beautiful of them all. The art
lists wife stood beside it, vapid,
commonplace, empty headed wom-
an, not beautiful at all The little
brown girl looked from her 10 the
portrait, like, but glorified, and
smiled. THAT is how we seem to
the men who love us, and she
pressed her hand on her bodice
where the letter rested on her heart
He remembered the sharp pleasure
as the rough edge of the envelops
pressed against the soft flesh.
After that there had been moro
letters, all wonderful; all sweet and
loving and hopeful a year of de-
light, of love, of beauty, for the
lover creates beauty by praising it.
Oh, that year, that pleasant year,
how well he remembered It'll And
the day OF triumph, the day when
the lover, the creator was to return
the neat little room, the open Win
dow, the scent of fresh turned earth
from the plowed field across the
road, the laughter of the birds in the
caves, the laughter of the leaves as
they rustled togetherl He remem-
bered it all-the trembling lips, the
breathless eagerness, the burning
face, the steps on the gravel, the
ring at the bell, the opening door,
the sutfocating joy.
My God! 1t was your sister 1
meant"
Oh, it was terrible, terrible, not to
be borne. and yet it must be borne;
that was the sting of it. The tears
raired down his face. Remember2
Could such a thing ever be forgotten2
The new created earth fell in atoms,
the new heavens vanished far out of
reach; nothing was left but a little
ugly woman, smiling with white
lips lest the world should make a
mock of her, that such as she had
dared to dream of lovel
And the days that followed-they
We're so burned into his memory that
he doubted if he could forget even
in the ages of eternity the hourly
pain and the shame of it all. The
agony of watching the happy love of
sister and lover, the fuss of prepara-
ton for the wedding, to sit and sew
at wedding clothes that shrouded her
own love, to see her lover pouring
out his love upon that careless bright
girl who had many lovers, who had
not thought of him till now, to hear
his friendly praise of herself as s'such
sensible girl" take his careless
greeting and go from the room that
the happy lovers might be left to-
gether.
And the thoughtless wounding of
curious friends. We'll, my dear, 1
must say I think you behaved very
well about it, And so you gave him
up. All a mistake, you say; dear,
dear, what pityi And you don't
mind? Now, that's so brave of you. "
So brave? Yes, but to the weak
courage is anguish.
Oh, the longing to end it ALTO
cry out, Give me one kiss and then
let me die!'
But pride forbade death, for to die
was to confess her unsought love to
the world, and the world always says
that woman's disappointment is her
shame.
There was no choice but to endure,
endure, endure-always endure.
And the dreariness of it after the
sharp agony of parting, the long
pain of loneliness, the days without
comfort, the years without hope, the
daily death of youth-youth that
should die in childbed, bringing
forth to time accomplished hopes,
but her youth died sterile.
And the long, dull days of life at
homo, the drudgery of duty un
crowned by love, the thankless serv-
ice to parents, who cared much less
for her unselfish devotion than for
the beauty and success of their more
fortunate child, even when they
died, more moved by the brief, shall
low sorrow of the happy wife than
by the long, patient watchfulness of
the ugly daughter.
And the bitterness of dependence
in the house of that fortunate sister,
the careless, tolerated pity of the
man she had loved-to feel her love
die in contempt, and be more desc
late for the loss of ito look on tie
great sorrow of her life as thing of
shame, of scorn, food for mirth
rather than tears, cruel mirth-the
tears We're less bitter.
The shame of living where she was
not wanted, a superfuity in a full
life, discredit, with her plain face
and dowdy figure, in a pleasant
homel
And the futile efforts to earn her
own living, the bitterness of seeing
the way made so easy for the young
and bright and hopeful, but so hard
for her, of seeing the stronger rush
past her, the fairer chosen before
herl The tragic pain of the past was
almost sweet, compared with the
squalid misery of the present.
There is something in great agony
that in itself strengthens us to en-
durance, but who can endure con-