Year: 1861

itated myself that my good humored host had
not sold me.


No; l mean as a convict


AS a convict echoed again, dropping
my pipe in amazement. Impossible.'


True, nevertheless


Mrs. Elmore raised her ewes from her
knitting, and looked at her husband, and
then at me, with sort of sad smile, that
seemed to saw:


True-eyery word of it,


Mr.. Elmore was a planter, living near
Natchez, in Mississippi, and fancying my
self an artist, was at the time staying at the
house, ostensibly engaged in painting por-
trait of his daughter Annette, fair young
beauty of seventeen.


True, my stay had already been longer
than strictly necessary for the purpose
of painting, but for reasons which will ap-
pear more fully hereafter, still fingered on
the plantation, an honored guest. And often,
in the calm autumn evenings, we would sit
together on the veranda, and talk for hours
in a home-like, old-fashioned way, under the
shadow of the clinging vine.


In the States Prison as a convictI | re-
peated, after pause, inwardly wondering
how it could be possible that the mild, be-
nevolent old gentleman could ever have been
so abused.


Perhaps you would like to hear how it
happened?' p he said, inquiringly.


Most certainly, if you are willing to
rate it,


been here but if you will listen tonight to
an old mans babbling, l will tell you the
story.


We replenished our pipes, settled ourselves
in our seats, and just when the sun went out
of sight, the old man began his story


Forty years ago. to-day, was twenty-five
years old; and, improbable as it may now
seem, was practicing law in the city of Bos-
ton ;-or, rather, l was sitting in my Office
waiting to practice. My father, who had
died when | was but a boy, had been lawyer
before me, and it was my ambition always to
be like him, as dimly remembered him, and
as my mother described him.


At that time my mother and myself were
living together in little house in Roxbury.
and l had just begun to see some prospect of
success in my business.
There was an acquaintance of mine, Louis
Milton by name, at that time cashier in one
of the city banks.
Circumstances had thrown us much togeth-
er, and we had grown to be very good friends,
so much so that he had often spoke to me of
n certain Mary Marshall, whom he was ac-
customed to regard as his future wife; the
contract, for such only it can be called, hav-
ing been entered into years before by their
parents.


Weston Marshall was wealthy importer,
and the elder Milton chief owner of the bank
in which Louis was cashier. Both were |
wealthy, and both aristocratic, and hence the
contract. l had never seen her, and never
thought of her but when he spoke of her, lit
tie dreaming that she would one day effect
thorough change in my whole life. But
must not anticipate.
| shall never forget one snowy night, the
first time | ever saw her. Some theatrical
celebrity was starring" at one of the Boston
theatres, and Louis and myself, happening
together, strolled to the play. In one of the
intervals between the acts, Louis turned to me
and asked


Have you ever seen Mary?


l answered that | never had had that
pleasure.


Do you see that young lady, said he,
directing my attention to a remote part of
the house, dressed in purple, with dark
plumes in her hat?


l replied that did


WE'LL that's Mary


Placed as we then were, in the glaring
light, l could see little beyond the particulars
of dress he had remarked, but the changes of
the crowd. as we left the theatre, brought me
quite near her, and | thought then, as think
now, that ! never looked into pair of deep
er or more beautiful eyes. But we passed
on, chatting pleasantly together of Indifferent
things and that night | slept as sound and
dreamless sleep as if there were never a
woman in Christendom.


Mayhap you have noticed-if you have
what people call an ear fer music YOU GER
tainly have-that you may listen to piece
of music which will strike YOU as being pc
culiarly beautiful, and go away, and one
hour afterward you could not recall, so as to
articulate single note of it, though your life
depended on doing. And yet. days after
ward. when you least expect it, you will
catch yourself humming strain after strain,
as easily as if you had known them from
childhood; and in truth it will seem more
like an echo of something with which YOU
had long ago been familiar than the acaui-
sition of something entirely new


just so it was to me with Mary MARSHALL S
eyes. l do not think thought of them for
weeks, after that night at the theatre. until
one morning was walking into my Office.
thinking of declarations, not in love, but in
law, when her image started out in my men,
ory with more than the distinctpsss Of most
familiar faces.


l cannot explain why 1t is that at occasion
al periods In every mans life, there are
flashes across his mind with a sort of curd.
ling shudder, shadowy consciousness of
having seen and heard all that is then passing
at some remote point of the illimitable past.
know only that both are true. The causes
of, and the deduction from, leave to pro.
found spectators.


Once having presented itself. it seemed de-
termined not to be exercised, and maintained
ats position during the entire morning, peril,
naciously returning to the attack whenever
displaced for a moment by assiduous appli-
cation to the perusal of Coke upon Little
ton.'


In the afternoon of the same day was
passing slowly down fremont street. There
had been a warm sun for some davs. and the
snow was disappearing Now and then.
when 1t was drifted on the roofs, the damn
ening of the states occasioned it to slip from
its position and descend in miniature ava.
lanches into the streets below, sometimes car
Fying with it fragments of ice. which from
the last nights freezing, were clinging to the
caves.


Suddenly one of these slides deluced me
with snow, and a lady, who had been walk.
ing just before me for some distance. was
knocked down by fragment of ice


of course nay first impulse was to raiss and
carry her into the nearest shop the next. to