The age-herald., 1901-02-04
Birmingham Love Letters.

with all its beauty beaming and all it's chivalry testing the suppleness Of it's knee, society is hurryng through refined rout of drawing room and many love-pays to the the time of ashes and penance, for it is writ of all the world of enlightenment and refinement that cap and bell and ball and feast and all manner of such things, shall be cast aside at the peaceful and humble gate of Lent" said q lounger of many clubs and lover of many women.
 "Ah, don't talk to me about it-I got tired of 1t long ago, but still of it-can' t give 1t up altogether-most alluring, quite lovely-and, once in blue moon, some dear woman looks at me in way as to say she would trust me-But nevertheless, am out of the real swn-laek courage, cheek, self-assurance something However, I guess I'll see some body to love tomorrow night-and that re- minds me of my tenderest emotions'-and thus rattled away, disconnectedy connect edly, a club man who is a fierce lover whiles, as they say in Fifeshire, who has abundant stores of the worlds riches, and who is good-natured and fifteen years too young to be too old.
 Its just lo-o-o-ovely," he said, as he heaved a sigh the size of his sweetheart.
 "What?" somebody asked.
 Sentiment-emotonl I have experienced more of it this morning than all the other men in our set. You know I have loved nu- merously, variously, even vicariously, these ten or a dozen years and in that rather long span for man of my years I have received a great number of letters and notes from all of ,rir1 hat fai Not Of these did I ever destroy; not one, of course, suffered I any other person to read. Of late the accumulation of all these missives has weighed rather heavily upon me, for the conviction is growing upon me that there is no one to love me, however many fair ones there be for me to love; and so last night, half-awake and half-a-dreaming, made up my mind to execute the whole lot
 The fair ones?' the doctor asked.
 No, Master Wiseman-the letters and notes. 1 decided to spend this Sunday morning carrying out the advice of a eel ebrated statesman and burn these letters and bits of writing from fair hands, most of which hands now fonde babies in moth erland and give other men ginger possibly as they used to give it to me. So this morning. after I had breakfasted, and without the aid of spirituous stimulant to brace me up, I fell to work my letters and notes, hundreds and hundreds of them -thousands-written by the lovliest women in the world during the past dozen years. It was a sort of holocaust-it was almost like burning the writers themselves.
 "Of course, I had to examine every screed, every enveope-and I am glad I f1r T al,a, far la, velope, which I must have placed there by mistake long ago, but which still is worth the money. Every one of my long-treas- ured envelopes was carefully, almost rev erently and always sadly taken up and opened, and the enclosed writing was read some of it perhaps many times re-read in old days when that particular love was very young The tenor of the writings was con- flicting. Some of them were short and sharp almost cruel, but others were sweet and gentle, even grateful for some little kindness I had attempted to do. Still, one by one, they were thrown into the fire, and occasionally I watched one burn with feel ings of keen resentment against unkind- ness to me that was undeserved.
 And so I read and burnt, read and burnt until well toward noon, when I picked up one thin little envelope ad- dressed in a once very familiar handwrit- ing Sight of this caused me to tremble a little, and I opened it slowly, painfully. Drawing out a single sheet of paper read the few written lines, and the words for a moment opened the door to a paradise long closed. Alas, thou too, pale Penelope of my past! I couldn't burn that one; I placed it in my note case and put the case in the inside left pocket of my coat
 "Whom did she marry?' asked the doc tor.
 There was no answer. They turned to where he had been sitting He had silently withdrawn.