Year: 1871

BY S. Nj


In that dreamy, rainbow tinted
time, that comes in the lives of most
young girls, Ihad magnificent Wis
ions of my own womanhood. The
plain, shy girl should be changed
into a world worshiped woman; but
that world should worship from
afar.


The guest chamber of heart
should never be opened. l would
hold the key in my own hand, and
in time the rusty hinges would for
get to swing, even though the lock
was turned. Life was for two great
ends, l said; and my life should not
be burned out on one hearth stone,
giving its light and warmth to but
one household, and leaving but a
few gray ashes at last, that must
need lettered shaft to tell that
Ruth Cestle, like other women, loved
and married, labored and died. Hav-
ing decided what Iwould be. Be-
ing the fifth daughter of a poor
farmer, l often had my towering
air castles dashed to the ground by a
call to attend the churn. or to do
some other domestic duty equally
distasteful to dawning genius.
Some time in my fifteenth year, /
became convinced that my destiny
was to be wrought out by my pen.
Sweet, stolen hours had beneath
the old garret roof. Never a niser
cherished in his gold as l those
struggling rhymes and crude senti-
ments boarded in a barrel of corn
husks, long saved by mother to be
made into a mattress when enough
should be obtained. The supply
was found to be sufficient, one day,
when l was away from home, and
disposed of accordingly. Imagine
my dismay when, on my return, l
found my treasure in the hands of
an older sister, and myself the sub
| j ect of her keen wit. In q storm of
passion / tore them from her, and
in moment they were destroyed.
The fire that burned them was no
fiercer than the fire or anger within
me, which burned and charred the
fair sisterly love / had ever held for
! her.


From that time I forsook my gar
ret retreat. 1 could not think of it
without an angry sense of injury;
but many an hour / spent in idle
dreaming, trusting no more to pen
and paper.


Spite of all this, as the march of
the years went on, my dreams were
broken, and my key stolen. l looked
in that guarded chamber one day,
and the guest was there-true
hearted Mark Gibson. Well, 1 know
he was not my ideal, my fancy
painted hero, whom 1 had seen in
my less ambitious dreams; but, for
tunately, many of those visions had
faded and revealed sterner life
views.


At twenty my father told me he
considered me sensible young wo-
man, and gave me his consent to
marry. So became Ruth Gibson,
wife of lumber dealer. Alas! for
the hopes and aspirations of fifteen.
Six years of happy activity, in
which were blended a wife's and
mothers love and care, gave me
work enough for heart, head, and
hands; then the old longing to write
came back. 1 thought, with added
years, 1 had gained in wisdom,
though had not in courage; for l
dared not confide in my husband my
desire of doing some noble work,
of winning a place among women
famous and honored, fearing more
his ridicule than his disapproval.


Again | made the garret my home
retreat; but my time and thoughts
were not as undisturbed as in my
earlier literary attempts, for Master
Harry, our three-years-old idol,
would often trespass on my pre-
cincts with unanswerable questions
and innamerablc wants-diving his
busy little hands into every box and
barrel, and pulling down everything
within reach, at the risk of both his
head and mine. After many weary,
patient hours, at last completed
sketch, which l determined to send
to the publishers of a magazine to
which l subscribed. This was not
to be an easy part of my project, for,
to prevent exposure, it must be
mailed in another town. Mean
while sought safe place in which
to hide my treasure; and found it by
raising a board in the garret floor,
and placing my manuscript on the
lathes and plaster beneath. A few
days after, my husband asked me to
ride with him to CRANKY. Ireadily
assented, for there would be the op-
portunity of mailing my story. l
ran eagerly up to its hiding place;
but to my astonishment it was
gone; where, it was impossible to
conjecture. felt that no human
hand could have removed it; and
the mystery OF its disappearance al
most terrified me. ] went down
with so crest-fallen an air that my
husband remarked it. l pointed to.
q rent in my dress, which had
made in my fight up stairs, to ac-
count for my woeful face.


Weeks passed away, and my Sc
cret brain work was not restored.
l did not like to think of it; i be-
gan to have superstitious dread of
its appearing, to accuse me of some
neglected duty. Spring days came,
and with them the work of all good
housewives-house cleaning. Turn
ing over some boxes in the garret, l
found something 1 had never seen
| hncnrn n,I I, L,I So