Year: 1859

buoyant and happy and laughed and chatted with
all who came In my way. We had dance before din
ner, and George asked me if intended to join in the
amusement. I told him certainly. Then he took my
hand and said he would bear me company; but broke
from him in laugh telling him at the same time that
was engaged to dance with another. He was dsap-
pointed could it at glance-but he took it In
good nature. Before the second dance he again.
but told him was engaged He betrayed no i'll feel
ing at ALL only could disappointment. In a little
while was among company of laughing, joking,
merry making friends Of both sexes who had been
panions for years. and of the gentlemen said that
must go with him to dinner. knew that George had
made arrangements for me to take dinner with him
but what of that? Should be tied to his skirts Pr"
No, meant to be free,-and told the man who made
the proposition that would go with him. must have
been blind know was foolish and wicked but
did not stop to think. When the dinner hour arrived
George came, with happy, smiling hopeful face, and
offered me his arm


For what 2" said /. g. For dinner, my DEAR" he
replied. Then told him was engaged with another
and before his very face took the profered arm of
the man to whom had given my promise, remarking
to my lover las tripped away) that he would have to
find somebod1 else Isaw the look be gave me-a look
of pain, OF modification, and of reproach-and called
it to my mind after had reached the table, felt little
uneasy but said to myself" He will come around
all right" and thus tried to pass it off. Towards the
latter part of the afternoon, George came to
again. He asked me what meant by my treatment of
him. He was earnest and anxious. told him he must
not question me in that manner


But" he urged, only tell me if you meant any
thing by it."


Yes" said l, Il did"


And he asked me what it was | told him meant
to teach him lesson.


| "A lesson OF what ?' he asked.


"Of good Manners" said l. " l want to teach you
not to be so attentive to me-" And, added, very
thoughtlessy, "you annoy me"


He did not answer me- I saw his lips quiver, and
his manly bosom heave, and, he turned away the
sunbeams that through the branches of the trees
rested upon the big tears rolling down his cheeks The
impulse OF my heart then was to spring forward and
detain him. and ask his forgiveness and make him
happy, but foolish, whimsical pride restrained me.
let him CO. and tried't comfort myself with the rehec
ton that it would come ont right.


"When the party was breaking up he came and asked
me if he should see me home. He was very cool and
seemed only that he felt bound to make the Offer seeing
that he had brought me there. I not going to ac-
cept any such offer as that and told him should not
require his attention.


Polly, he said "you do not mean this. DO not
make me think that | have mistaken you! He trem-
bed he spoke and could that be was fearfuy ag
tated.


"But had gone too far to give up then and with
a light laugh | turned from him. went home one way
be went another. All the next day looked for him,
but he did not come. And third-and fourth On
the fifth day received letter from him. 1t from
distant town whittier he had gone to his widowed
mother. He wrote to me that he feared he had been
disappointed. If l could trife with his heart then
might do it again. He said he was going out wes and
that he might be gone some time. Ii still loved him
when he returned | mig be of finding him un-
married. for he had no heart to give to another. Still
he would like to hear from me wished it, He wrote
one who had been deeply wronged, and there were
one two sentences in the massive that touched
pleasantly. week passed. and did not answer it
but at the end of that time made up my mind to cal
George to me- and confess my fault for l we'll knew
%loAT had 7 op1Yra 1, -
reached its destination just twelve hours after he had
started on Ills Journey.


a never saw George Ashman again. In less than
year he died in mad-house. He did wrong-he did
wrong-very, very wrong-to leave as he did. He ought
to have made efort-for his own sake and for mine
I But-oh that could not make my crime the less.
had done wicked thing-a cruel thoughtless deed it
was-and the penalty fell heavily upon me!
Louisa, your mother asked me to tell you my story


have done If it profit you, shall not regret
the pain have felt in the recital. That | have not
ceased to suffer let these hot bitter tears bear witness
Oh of all things within the sphere of your influence be-
ware how you tritle with a trusting, loving hearth
Silent and thoughtful did Louisa Burnet return to the
paror and but little did she say her way home On
the following morning she wrote brief note to Henry
+ Southron. She simply asked him to and see her.


He and when they alone she fell upon his bo-
son. and asked him to forgive her. She gazed up through
her streaming eyes, and begged for his love and conf
dence OF he could not refuse Per-
haps he never happier than at that moment, for
surely it must have been mighty love and true devo-
tion that could have prompted the the maiden
+ had thus pursued


Louisa forgot the lesson she had received She
became Harry Southrons wife, and when in after times
she husbands negecting their wives she had
sion to thank GoD that she was blessed with the true
and undivided faith and devotion of her bosom compan-
ion.


Surely there is nothing On earth of real worth
than a faithful virtuous and devoted epartner; and
be or she who can rae with the heart of such an
only sows the seed which shall yield harvest of pain
and remorse.