San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1895-05-19
MY COUSIN MARY.


died before / was born, and who was
also beautiful, was told. / was not
brilliant, though both sides of the
house showed men and women IF ex-
cellent ability, and, worst of all, 1 was
not good, though this puzzled me not
little as a child, for my intentions were
of a magnificent order, and the result
ant behavior not nearly so reprehensi-
bic as that of many boys | knew, less
punished.
But, in some way, the things meant
to do failed of accomplishment, or were
found, when accomplished, to have
most unhappy consequences; and the
things / did under pressure of disci-
pline were seldom satisfactory.
Years of reproof and often overheard
complaint as to my trying disposition
finally convinced me of my unworthi-
ness, and in time grew to look at my
life as a failure, merely an opportunity
for as much self-indulgence as could be
procured without too great expense.
Being of a lazy and luxurious dispo-
sition, early fell into the habit of de-
irving an -inexhaustible fund of pleas
ure from mere imagination of what
things might be; to console myself for
Intellectual struggle to make them such.
AS little boy was sent to bed with
military precision by my infiexible
mother, usually with a sense of failure
and ill-doing in the day behind me,
and | used to lie mute and still in my
little chamber and make up to myself
in royal bursts of imagination for the
disappointments of the real life. How
often, so lain, and thought to be sound
asleep. I have, in spirit, not only es-
tablished my preeminent virtues by
series of noble acts-So easy to imagine,
so difficult to perform in the gray irlS-
someness of everyday life-but besides
this have glutted my infant soul with
the sweet vengeance of magnanimity;
arranging unparalleled donations and
privileges to be conferred by me, me
the lamentablc and unworthy son, upon
my grateful family and friends. One
sweetest joy of these fair dreams was
that, when should be man, my Cousin
Mary, who disliked me for the disagree
able boy was, should love and marry
me.
those days to decide whether l should
indeed receive the open gratitude of
my benefciaries, revealing gloriously
therein; or whether, proudest height of
power concealed, | should bestow all
benefits in secret, and yet remain con-
demned and criticised by the unwit-
ting recipients OF my bounty. But my
Cousin Mary in these dreams always
loved me for myself alone, and then
afterward-ah! the jewels showered
upon her.
This habit of internally satisfying
myself. of paying back in triumphant
magnanimity for all 1.-The stings and
arrows of outrageous fortune" contin-
ued with me as grew, and remained
nv best consolation after / had become
an unaspiring reporter on great news
paper. And still in my solitary cham
Der downtown, when 1 was not so tired
as to sleep perforce in what hours re-
NAMED to me, would console myself
for all the modification of the day and
of all the other days in my unhappy
memory, by proud, unhampered visions
of what would do under given condi-
tons of wealth and power.
Splendid conditions these, so easily
imagined, fitting so smoothly to my
shoulders as I planned and adapted
them, but ahl so laughably impossible
of attainment.
And then, all at once, by a chance no
stranger, to be sure, than many one 1
was in the daily habit of recording,
there fell into my hands, not talent
and beauty and power, indeed, as had
demanded in my boyish dreams, but
wealth practically unbounded, such
wealth as could never of myself have
earned, or won, or found, or in any
least or faintest way deserved.
To be sure, had been laying myself
put on the old fellow, as I should never
nave dared to do had known him for
millionaire, but that was not for be-
bevolence, but purely selfish appre-
iation of his boundless fund of travel
nd experience. His society was worth
honey to me besides the pleasure of it,
nd therefore did court him assidu-
usly, with many an entertainment
nd excursion, which again were no
fedit to my generosity, for had 1 not
he interminable tickets and passes and
be duty of going to all these weary
Fings?-a duty much lightened by the
ciety of the lounging, invalid old
Fntleman, whom 1 supposed no richer
AN myself.
told him my story, such as it was;
d am fain to think that some sub
sympathy, some consciousness of a
nilar experience in his own boyhood,
lde him take more of an interest than
hen suspected in this poor series of
lures called my life.
Then he died very suddenly and
enely, leaving me some unbelievable
lions, and as no one but his solicitor
Pw that he had any money, so no
knew that had any; and behold
forthwith in exactly the position
ny childish hearts desire.
That joy! What wild, free rap
b Of plans, with occasional bursts
fancy which even 1 dismissed