Year: 1868

l was very happy when Herbert Clare
TO be his wife-.yery happy as L dreamed
of the future before us for | loved him,
and thought that nothing but death could
change either Of US. He was SO hand
some, so gra ayeful, so talented, SO witty,
and 50 unaffected in his manners and
WAS so plain, so retiring, SO unattractive,
that | often wondered how he came to
love me. He was the first beau | had
ever had, the first man who had ever
kissed me since my father had been laid
away to rest i'll the graveyard; and / in
vested him with almost heavenly attri-
bules, and worshipped him as the heath
ems in their blindness worship their idols.


was living with my aunt; for ! was
an orphan and Il dependent My life had
been a very quiet and uneventful one !;
for Marslon was an inland village, some
distance from either railroad or stage
route.


Herbert Clare had come up from the
city to visit his uncle, who lived in the
large white house just opposite the brick
church. He had not been well for
months and his physician had recommend
ed country air and country living; and
thus it was he had come to honor our
quiet little village with his presence.


The first time | met him was at the
singing school. He came with his cousin,
Nettic Clare. She and | had always been
intimate friends; and before the evening
was over Herbert and l were chatting as
pleasantly as old acquaintances.


From this evening we were much to-
gether. He brought me books and flow
ers, and taught me TO play on the guitar,
'My mother had left )" and l was
very happy-oh so happy Scarcely
two months had gone by before he told
me how much he loved me, and asked me
to be his wife. We were sitting on the
porch at the time-the fragrance of the
honcysuckle floating around US, the pale
sweet moon looking down upon us and
my heart beat very fast as I laid my hand
in his and promised to be his wife. He
folded me to his bosom, and kissed me
over and over again; and that night
could not sleep for the thoughts that kept
tripping through my excited brain.


When September came, he left me.
Oh! / can never forget that night we
parted. l thought my heart would break.
[ was young then-only sixtecn-and it
seemed to me as if could not let him go.
But he promised to write very often; and
after kissing me half dozen times, he
gently put me from him, and sprang into
the wagon that was waiting for him, and
was driven off. threw myself upon the
sofa, and wept violently. Ny aunt was a
kind, considerate woman, and left me to
myself, knowing full well that such violent
/ grief as [ manifested must soon expend
. itself. And so it did. For half an hour,
perhaps, II lay there sobbing violently.
Then | arose and bathcd my swollen eyes
in cold water, and went to my accustomed
duties. did not miss Herbert as much
as supposed should. To be sure,
had the books and music he left me, with
which to while away my leisure time: and
Ncttie Clare was with me much But
somcway we did not speak of Herbert oft
en-. She did not know that we were en-
gagged; no one knew it-not even my
aunt. l knew not what they suspected,
but they knew nothing to a certainty; and
[ kept my secret as closely guarded in my
own bosom as ever a jailor guards his
prisoner.


Weeks went by. looked for letter
almost daily; and as day after day passed
and none came, ] grew very sad, but said
nothing. At last a letter came-a long
loving, afectionato letter, pleading busi.
ness as an excuse for not writing before
| answered that letter the very day il
reached me- What | wrote | know not
I only know poured my whole guilelcs,
heart out upon the paper. l told him al
my hopes and fcars-all my love for him
! Would that J. had never written it.