Year: 1859

the boldness to raise you and bear you In
my arms to the house. I suppose if other
help had been near, I should have been more
backward in assisting you. Your fortitude
and patience excited my admiration; your
intense suffering my deepest commisseration
and sympathy. Ilopged to see you the fol-
lowing day but dared not, and could only
send cold message of inquiry. I think,
much as I longed for an interview, I should
have left without again seeing you, had you
not sent for me 'to thank me, as you express
ed it 'for my kind assistance and consider
ate attention All! Clara, if those little
offerings of flowers that have from time TO
time sent you could have spoken, how much
'sickly sentimentalism,' would they have re-
vealed. Nay, love, you must not interrupt
me, I am letting you read my heart now
the spell is on me, a word might break, the
charm and seal it forever. How I entered
your presence do not know, and still less
how I acquitted myself. I only know I left
you to love. Your innocent fraukness, your
freedom from affectation, and certain quiet
dignity in your manners won my heart, while
they commanded my respect And then, Cla-
ra, as day after day, 1 basked in the sunshine
of your presence, each succeeding one found
me more entirely your slave and more un-
willing to part from you. Never for an in
slant did suppose you thought of me as
more than a passing acquaintance. Sur
rounded as youwere by youth, witand wealth,
how could with my grey hairs, and manners
shy to repulsion, hope to succeed? Doyou re.
collect the night wooed and won you, love ?
What a lovely night it was But any
scene would have been lovely, any place
paradise with you near me. For weeks be-
fore I was miserable; to remain, near you
was suicidal, to fly was death. determin-
ed at length to take the selfish qualification of
telling you how much you were beloved, and
to say farewell. I told you loved you;
it came out hard, dry and cold, like the outer
man, while quick upon it followed, CLARA
Seaborne, will you be my wife?' The tre-
NOR in.your voice was scarcely preceptible
as you replied Il will Had an avalanche
fallen at my feet, I could not have been more
overwhelmed. The half smothered God
bless youp was all I could utter. My brain
seemed on fire, and my heart bursting with
the unwonted excitement. My mind was a
perfect chaos of tumultuous feeling-I forgot
where I was or whittier I was going, until
recalled by your simple and quiet Good
night; Hr:-htnurzrs,' which reminded me Of
our return. A pressure of the hand, another
murmured sGod bless you p was my only
reply. That night neverslept-my thoughts
were as stormy sea, and it was long, long
before I could subdue or control them. At
length the thought like an ice bolt entered
my heart, docs she love me-could she have
answered so calmly, so devoid of emotion, if
she had been consumed by the wild fires
racking my breast?' Do not look SO re-
proachfully, love it was but for moment,
when the thought of your truthfulness, your
innate modesty, hushed the wild inquiry to
rest, at least for time. And with what
gentle dignity you met ME on the following
day, when in the wild tumult of my passions
I could have strained you to my breast and
held you there until the throbbing pulses Of
my heart would have told how deeply you
wereloved! Butthose calm eyes rested upon
me, quiet smile on the lip, the cold good
morning passed, and I was docile child
before you. Again the question forced it,
self upon me, docs she love me, or is she
deceiving herself?' but the spell of yourpres-
ence hushed it again to rest. Your look is
reproaching me again, dearest, but it was not
that I doubted your sincerity-it was the
dread of your not understanding your capa,
bility of loving, and the fear of your mis-
taking friendship for warmer sentiment.
But our troth was plighted, and Oh Clara,
the joy of calling you my wife, the rapture
of pressing you to my bosom and feeling that
you we're all my own, that I could not give
up. For three months you have made my
hitherto joyless home sunny paradise; how
sweet it is to live and love, never hitherto
knew. OH that I could trust to live be-
loved. Nay, love, I do not reproach you [
have told you discovered this before our
marriage, but could not counsel term of
probation then, for I knew that if my beau.
tiful Clara did not give me as devoted love
as that she had won, yet she had never en-
tertained a warmer sentiment for another,
and was in fact a stranger to the feeling
And now I must answer that look of wonder
which seems to ask, 'to what does all this
tend p do not willingly grieve you, love,
but you are soon to leave me and with your
mothers friends hope your sojourn will be
pleasant. You will be thrown in the gay
vortex of society-your wealth will give you
position; your accomplishments will crowd
throng of admirers around you, and your
beauty and fascinating manner will, O my
Clara, 1 fear, bring lovers to your feet"


"Now, Edward, you must hear me speak.
You cannot, you do not believe that would
so far forget myself and dishonor you, as to
listen to the voice of love from other lips.
Oh Edward, you wrong, you insult me, by
such a thought"


"Forgive me, love, forgive me. and be-
live me, I do not doubt your rectitude, and
I pray that my darling may be kept unspot-
ted from the world. But my spirits are de-
pressed, and my very soul sinks within me
when I contemplate the possibility of other