Birmingham age-herald., 1895-07-07
Birmingham, Ala, July 4. 1895,
MY LAST STORY.
ritten for line Are-Uerald

v I am a failure. I have been a failure | from the first moment of my birth, in fact, might even say before my birth. 1 was the first born and, therefore, 1 was to be a wonder. l was to be boy and the most remarkable boy the world had ever seen up to thdt-to my parents -eyentful day. had already been named, several monNhs before l made my appearance on this mundane sphere, George Goraoh Brune-for my paternal grandfather When, therefore, the nurse brought 10 my father the small atom of humanity and told him it was sweet little giri his disappointment was bitter indeed, and he told the nurse to take her away. He said he had no name for her. ana indeed didn't know what to do with girl. when his whole desire had been for a boy, who would have been named TOT his father's) father.
 My maternal grandmother said the child might be named Georgia. No' Georgia was not George. ,
 Well name her George, then It will be at least an unusual name for a girl . she told him. So George l was, and George I will remain to the day or my death.
 In few minutes more I was again source of disappointment to my crest fallen parent. The small scales were brought and the'lace and ribbon trim
 
 yided in the fond hope sons reclining therein.
 Now. everybody knows that a baby and especially a first baby-should pull the scales down to the magic number, Tn all such cases, of ten pounds whoever heard or dreamed of baby welghlng less Look at the announcements Tn the papers It Is almost invaribly the case that "So and so is the happiest man in town ten-pound boy, etc. IT paples ever weigh any less nobody ever hears of them. They are altogether too lnsig- nificant to mention. Now, l not only fell below that number, but did not even have the grace to come to nine pounds and when the contemplate figure was not reached and the point rested between 2 and s, my father turned away in disgust.
 My mother, except that she was sorry for my fathers disappointment, was rather glad than otherwise that God had given her a little girl. Her devotion to the little creature gradually brought my father to look upon me with less and less indifference, until at length he came to cherish the fond hope that although was girl, perhaps 1 would be re- markable girl, and so make up for disap- pointing him in his desire for d boy,
 Now, again, behold the miserable fail ure of this little innocent creature to reach the standard fixed by the author of her being.
 Ii was a small child; very well formed and good enough to look at, but nothing like so large as I should have been. 1 was late in teething, late in walking. and instead of showing off to advantage when visitors came, 1 was shy, timid, say-nothing little thing, and filled my father with chagrin when he saw other men bring forward their noisy, bright. ruddy little boys, whose tongues never rested eX- eept when they were asleep.
 Of course, I was put to school carly I must at least have a bright mind, as I had disappointed him in every other across the street-when I had barely passed my 9th birthday. Here he found l gratifed him by making rapid progress and soon passing those same boys with whom he had compared me unfav0rably at an earlier period But again he was disappointed, in that no one but my schoolmates, teachers and parents knew what I could do-none of his friends in- deed-and I was still as shy and silent as when I was younger.
 But he loved me dearly, however, and often took me on his knee and talked to me earnestly about how good l must be, and how hard I must study if I wished to please him. I can ina zine the tiny little creature with wide open brown eyes so exactly like his own--looking into his face, while he talked to her in language
 better fitted for the adult mind to grasp than the mind~of the baby on his knee. The years rolled over my little head, bringing me nearer each year to woman hood, when it was decided l was to be- come writer-an authoress. 1 was not to marry-oh, no, not any way until l had made the old name fa- nous, and only then to some magnifi- cent, learned prince of men. whose 1,a erIo nf lao old name and estates and complete the work I had begun
 Every year he grew fonder of me-my poor, dreaming father--and prouder as l brought home prize after prize, and his happiness and pride knew no bounds. when dn my 18th year, the gold medal foa scholarship was awarded to me above all pupils of whatever age or condition, and happy was 1 to compensate, in part at least, for my failure to be what ought to be.
 But again was I doomed to disappoint my father. I could study, yes, but write, I felt I could not, and though tried hard enough. 1 found 1 must disappoint him again.
 I dared not tell him. Not for fear of Him, but because I could not bear to see his grief. So I tried and tried always with sinking heart and always with pros- pective failure.
 Once I had written a short story and sent it to magazine. and when several weeks afterwards there came to me a big. thick envelop bearing the New York post mark, I hurried to the woods near the house. where l sat down and taking out the old manuscript sent away in trembling hope, l burst into tears and cried until I thought my heart would break. In the midst of my grief a kind hand was laid on my shoulder and ten- der voice said:
 My, little girl. what Is the matter?" Looking up saw a man almost as old as my father, with kind eyes and pleasant face. I was so lonely and miserable that told him everything. stranger thoug h he wds. All through the poor little tale of1triaa and failures, he kept my hand in his and murmured gently. Poor little child Poor little childr'
 He took the despised manuscript frcn ma and read it over slowly, not even al- lowing an amused expression to creep | into liis face. although now I know it must have seemed ridiculous to him, whose splendid mind I have learned tu know and admire.
 Gently he spoke to me and asked me | to give 1t to him and he would see if with few alterations, it would not be | aecepted.