Alma record. (Alma, Mich.) 1878-1928, 1899-11-03

on the walk which | recognized at
once 40 my uncles. / crouched close
under the branches of the trees until
II had passed; then, creeping under the
shadow Of the hawthorns. / reached
the house unperceived and stole to my
chamber. There I cried myself to
sleep, with the miniature of my alb
sent darling clasped closely to my
bosom.
But why DO linger-why do I
struggle to keep the dead past unbur-
ied2 oh. Willie. my beloved! you can
understand why I am marrying my
Cousin George!
When the sad news Of your death
nrst reached me. / thought my heart
was broken: but prayed-ah. darling.
how fervently / prayed that / might
Ole. too. and join you In that world
where neither sin nor sorrow ever en-
tiers. But 1t was not the will OF heav-
en- to take me then. / had duty to
perform. My dead fathers commands
were ever before my eyes Love was
buried In my breaking heart forever:
but duty-ah! the duty against which
my sinful heart had rebelled, now
cried aloud for my submission to the
Will of Him who gave me being, and I
have yielded. Oh. Willie! my beauti-
full. my own angel love! look down and
strengthen me to bear my cross with
| patience!
Yes; out in the dear old garden for
the last time. When I am Mrs.
George Hammond" I must never revis-
1t this spot, where Willie and I parted
only eleven little months ago. never to
meet on earth I wonder do our angels
still retain their bright. earthly smiles.
And will the tunes which we loved on
earth sound as sweet in our ears when
we meet again as they did when we
listened on earth to their low, tender
cadences? But why should I shrink
from asking that which is ever In my
heart-"I wonder will my Willie greet
me with the same loving smile and
press me to his heart with the same
fmpassioned fervor as he used to in
those dear, past days, before he crossed
the dark river to the beautiful sum-
mer land?" But I must not pause to
think; duty calls me to the side Of him
who will be my husband ere this time
tomorrow. But surely there Is no
sin In lingering here, near the flowers
my darling was so fond Of, for to-
morrow, blue bells, you and I must
part forever. One kiss, lovely flowers,
and then adieu, adieu-bonny jonquils.
that my Willie loved so well. | will
wear your blossoms in my bosom this
evening for the last time. But what
is this that glistens in the rays Of the
crescent moon, where l have uprooted
the beautiful flowers and hastily
plucked great handfuls OF the sweet
blossoms! All! see, az l lift It from
the brown mold, how it glitters. Yes!
1t is still the little tin box which held,
and perhaps still holds, my fathers
last will
All, heaven! had this been found
only eleven months ago!-yes, here is
the will, stained and damp where the
winters SHOWS have lain above It; but
yet every word Of the we'll known
writing is visible, even in the faint
glimmer of the you May moon.
"Oh, my lost low oh, my poor,
broken heart!" cry, while weep
pitiful tears over my young, wasted
life.
But It is growing late, and hear
step coming up the long, graveled
walk, under the lindens that grow on
either side Of the road leading from
the turnpike up to our old mansion.
Some late visitor" I tell myself,
who is coming to witness my mar
riage on the morrow. But shall 1t be?
No, thank heaven! No duty compels
me now-no fathers voice, reaching
back from the clay, demands my i'm
notation.
But, bark, the sound Of angry voices
Is borne toward me on the evening
air. I hear Uncle Nathaniel ordering
someone to leave "his grounds"-his
grounds no longer, but my own now.
But what voice is that which re-
plies: Il will not go until have seen
her and heard her own lips repeat
what yours have spoken"
Oh, joy! joy! Can I believe nv
lenses or am only dreaming? Is that
/ voice from the dead, or Ia Il my
larling Willie's voice hear? I grasp
he little tin box with a frmer clutch
md fly as fast as my trembling limbs
will bear.
Yes, there stands my Willie alive.
nd oh! so grand and beautiful-face
o face with my uncle, look Of firm
determination shining In his large.
ark eyes. But now he sees my white
obes and the stern look fades on his
ace, as he rushes forward and gathers
ny fainting form close to his dear,
ear bosom.
"Oh, my lost love-" Is all can ut
er, but Willie, all unmindful Of the
trangers who are focking out upon
he lawn, Is pressing long, happy
Uses upon my upturned face.
Blue bells and jonquils are In my
osom and peep out shyly from the
isty folds Of my bridal veil, and Will
e, too, wears them In his buttonhole.
hear one young lady whispering to
evy Of her friends:
Good gracious! what singular taste