The record-union., 1896-07-05


Gus to my own. He took great fancy
to me when l was a boy, and often
told me his story. One day, when he
was in a peculiarly communicative
mood, / persuaded him to write it out,
which he did, on condition that it was
not to be published during his life
time. AS he has been dead now forty
years, and all the members of his i'm
mediate family have passed away,
there can be no impropriety in Offering
it to the public. 1t is scarcely necessary
for me to say that, after the lapse of
fifty years, it was necessary to make
a copy of it, as the original ink had
faded very much.
LOST
/, John Williams had just completed
my college career, which had been
neither better nor worse than that or
thousands of others. A slow plodding
mind was all that nature had given me
within, and red hair, a freckled face
and rather ungainly figure were what
she had bestowed upon me from with
cut. John will never set the river
afire,'' was what my father had once
said of me. Dear, kind old man! he did
not know that I was within hearing
distance, or he never would have said
it. But although the remark was gall
and wormwood to me at the time, 1t
spurred me on to exertion, and l made
much better use of my time at college
than 1 would otherwise have done.
Mary Mercer a daughter of a near
neghbor and intimate friend of my
father, had been my lifelong compan-
ion and friend. We were opposites in
every particular. She was beautiful,
and I was-as has been described She
was graceful, and l was not, but owing
to our secluded lives we had been
thrown much together, and her char1-
table disposition had been accustomed
to overlook many of my imperfections
An admiration amounting almost to
worship had risen in my mind when
saw her after my four years absence
at college. ! had left her a sweet. at
tractive child, and I found her on my
return a woman such as my fancy had
never pictured.
OF course there could be but one re-
suit. If had never been in love before,
II certainly was now, and | was not
long in making known to Mary my feel
ings. Mary's conduct on the occasion
afforded me the first instance in which
had known her to swerve in the least
from what was the obvious truth. She
was confused, blushed slightly, and de-
clared that I had taken her SO much by
surprise that she did not know what to
say; she had never thought of me in
that light, and l must really give her
little time to think the matter over. /
knew at the time that Mary was fib
bing. No woman was ever born with
one-half of her sense without finding
out such things long before they were
ever spoken to her. But there was no
help for it, She had the game in her
own hands, and evidently intended to
play it to suit herself She asked for a
week to consider the matter. 1 in
sisted that two days were enough, but
she was resolute, and, with a wry face,
had to submit.
One stipulation was that 7 should not
attempt to see her during that time. l
thought this was rather hard, and said
50; but she was even more positive than
before, and / yielded with the best grace
could
In order to give her no excuses for
further delay I set off the next day to
visit a college friend, and stayed at his
house five days. 1t took a day to reach
his house and a day to return. Thus the
week passed away, slowly enough for
me, and I am afraid my friend found
me a dull companion. Promptly at the
end of the specified time l presented
myself at Mary's house. To my dismay
found it full of company. 1 had
been there only a few minutes when /
learned that the friends had been there
ever since the day after I left.
scanned Mary's face, actions, manner
and reception, but could make out
nothing. She was kind and agreeable;
but that had been her ordinary man
ner, and no conclusions could be drawn
therefrom.
/ found no opportunity to say a word
TO her in private until my visit was
over AS / went to the front door on
my way out to my horse she came out
on the porch with me, as had been her
habit on previous occasions. AS ] bade
her good-by I asked, as calmly as
could, though Heaven knows my heart
was beating so loud that 1 knew she
must hear it.
"Welll Mary, what is my fate to
be?"
Really, John" she said, you must
give me one day more, and / promise
you to give you my final answer then
The house has been full of company
ard my time has been so fully occupied
that I have scarcely had time to sleep
Every night since you were here / have
gone to bed so weary that I went to
sleep as soon as my head touched the
pillow Ny mother has been sick, too,
most of the time, and my hands have
been full, ] assure you"
| / suppose she must have seen my
blank look of Disappointment, for she
added in her softest tones-and no voice
could be softer than hers: Come, John,
be a good boy now. and / will send you
my answer tomorrow by letter.
/ And thus we parted. / went home
with hope deferred. The next day came
! and went and | heard nothing. The sun
sank in the west, and my heart sank
with it. My heart was in my boots for
many a day but pride finally came to
the rescue, and I determined to try to
| forget Mary and the whole female sax
Feeling that it would be impossible
| to have any peace of mind with Mary
so near, planned a long trip to Europe.
II had always been my fathers wish
that J. his only son, should take this
trip; but | had always opposed it, think
| ing that he could not afford 1t: for he
had two daughters, beth younger than
myself, and / longed to see them take
| that position in society which good
education only can give. And, while
this European trip would not have Sc
riously interfered with my wishes for
my sisters advancement, 1 knew that