Year: 1876

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grief was eating away that noble heart
and determined that il there was
anything that friendship could do to
alleviate his suffering l would try and
help him. He seemed to have very
few friends in the city, and as he
pressed me earnestly to visit him daily
l stopped to see him accordingly. He
used to sit and paint while read to
him from the poets, and when he was
tired of his pastime he would 60 to the
piano and play those exquisite operate
airs of which he was so fend.


All this while had been watching
him closely, but had never alluded to
his apparently failing health. Yet,
when l was convinced that he was
wasting away rapidly, | could no lon
ger keep silence, and l determined at
any risk to get at the eknowledge of the
hidden mis chief, whose effects appear
ed every day to me to becoming more
| dangerous.


One day when we were sitting to.
gether, | laid aside the book l had
been reading to him, and said:


my dear friend, it is evident that
you have some secret which is destroy
ing your peace Of mind and health at
the same time. Pardon me, when I
| say this, for you must believe that
am influenced by regard for you well
fare, and l would be no friend il
saw you miserable and made no effort
to render you happy"


| He gazed full into my eyes fer few
moments ere he replied; then he an
swered in low, hollow tone-"Hap-
ryr


There was so much anguish in his
reply that involuntarily started.


There was . time," continued,
when you did not appear to have .
care; when your heart was buoyant,
and never saw shade of sorrow on
your face. All is changed now. You
seem weighed down by some terrible
sorrow. 1t is not curiosity which
makes me speak thus, but l consider
you are very wrong in keeping your
Affections to yourself, when there is
one beside you ready to share them,
and offer you what consolation it is in
his power to bestow. The encourage.
ment of any secret grief is wrong; it
generates misanthropic feelings, and
Is always attended by disastrous conse-
quences."


His hand stole into mine, and some
ting OF the old look in his eyes for q
moment lighted up his face.


~ have been trying to hide it," he
said, for l wanted the secret to go to
the grave with me. But it's no use
Perhaps it is better that l should tell
al; then, perhaps, the load may feel
lighter"


He seemed preparing himself for an
effort, and then he cOntin ued:


Before left homo to 20 abroad, l
was engaged to be married to a Young
lady named Emily Waring. We had
known each other from childhood, and
as our plantations were within two
miles of each other, you may suppose
our families were intimate. Ny father
was worth double the money that Mr..
Wariug possessed, aud l am an only
child. Mr. Waring had five children,
and Emily was the eldest.


| At an early age / had given eyi.
dence of a talent for music and paint.
ing, SO my father gave me the best
advantages to pursue my studies, and
allowed me to go abroad with a view
OF Sill further improving myself.
THE mother of Emily was q woman
of very ambitious views. She was ap
parently happy when she heard that
her daughter was to be my wife. The
future seemed happy enough to me,
until received letter calling me
home Immediately. My father was
dead. His generosity in endorsing for
his friends brought us all to misfor-
tune. When he discovered what he
had done he shot himself through the
heart. This occurred about two weeks
before my arrival home. You can
imagine my feelings when came in.
to my mothers presence. 1t was the
first great sorrow had known, and it
fell heavily on me. But in all nv
grief | thought of Emily. l went to
see her and was met by her mother,
who treated me with marked GOODNESS,
and stated that her daughter was suf-
fering from a trifling indisposition,
and begged me to excuse her not ap-
pearing,


"If an adder had stung me to the
heart, it would have been preferable
to the cold, studied words of Mrs
Waring. A week later and Emily and
myself met. She protested that she
still loved me, but said that she could
not marry me. as her mother was bent
upon preventing our union. do be.
lieve at this time that Emily really
loved me. We met several times sub
sequently, and it was agreed that she
would wait until l had established
myself in some business and then she
would marry me, for her father had
Joined with his wife and declared that
If his daughter married me she should
not have a penny of his wealth.


81 his is the story. l have been here
now for six months, and all this time
l have been diligent to obtain some
employment where I may count upon
some advancement, but l have not
succeeded. Nothing remains for me
except to write to Emily and release
her from the promise she made. lam
marked for misfortune"


I saw Edward Walpole for the next |
fortnight constantly, and had the hap
piness of procuring him situation in |
the employ of friend, and the pros