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MY LIFE'S SORROW.

OCTOBER, 1886.

NO. 10.

I that some day the brown-eyed lass would be my bride, that thoughts of ES, it is seldom, very sel- other girls never entered my mind. And dom, that I converse with any so it was with her-each taking it for one; but to you who seem so in- granted that we were destined to become terested in me, I will talk of my-man and wife. Thus we grew up. self, of the sorrows that blasted my life and caused me to live all these years a lonely and forsaken man.

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Mother adopted Tessie Leighton when she was a little mite of a thing, only a year old. Her parents were of the poorer class of people, but then they were very respectable. When the cholera raged so violently through our village they both died, and it fell to mother's lot to take the wee little baby and care for it until other provisions could be made.

Mother was a tender-hearted woman, and after she had kept the child a few weeks she became so attached to it that she concluded to keep it for all time. Father kept silent on the subject; but it was plain to see by the light that came to his eyes when mother decided to keep Tessie that he was glad. I was the only child of my parents, a boy, then ten years of age. But, oh, how well do I remember all the little details of Tessie's coming amongst us.

We were not wealthy people, by any means, but amply able, without inconvenience, to care for the orphaned child; and as the years went by and the little Tessie grew into a beautiful, sprightly child, she was a great help and comfort to us all, and we felt fully repaid for the little trouble that had been spent in rearing her. Mother, and father, too, for that matter-earnestly desired that Tessie and I should marry when we came of a suitable age. So fully convinced was

When Tessie was eighteen and I twenty-eight, my parents decided that we should marry. Time did not fly by half fast enough then; but I can truthfully say that those days of anticipation were the happiest of my life, and, now that I am an old and feeble man, my mind reverts to them with a pleasure that few can know.

A more beautiful girl I have never seen than Tessie in her eighteenth year. A face angelic in its sweetness of expression; eyes so soft and lustrous, so shy and tender; lips red and ripe and full, parted over two 10ws of even teeth, white as newly skimmed milk. But her hair-her sheeny golden hair, that fell in sunny, silken curls almost to the ground --was her crowning beauty. I have a little curl of it now, tied with a scrap of blue ribbon, and given to me by Tessie, as a token of love, just six months before the time we were to marry.

Little golden curl! how I prize it! what tender, mournful memories it brings to me! Only a shred of hair clipped from the head of a blushing girl in the longgone past, but far more precious to me than all the wealth and fame the world can ever give!

It seems strange now, to look back upon it, that I could ever think that Tessie loved me. I was awkward, not at all handsome, and entirely devoid of those little charms of manner in a man so much admired by women. But I loved the girl

so fervently that it made me blind; and when my eyes were opened, and I was made to see, my heart was crushed for

ever.

He was a handsome man-tall and dark, with a kind, gracious manner, and that polish which only constant mingling with good society can bring. He dressed in the highest taste, and seemed to be a thorough gentleman. Father and I soon became deeply attached to him, as also did mother and Tessie. What a poor, unsophisticated fool I was!

Those summer days were very happy; but I knew not what a dark cloud was even then gathering in my life's horizon, and what a terrible storm was soon to break over my defenceless head.

Along in August just after the harvest had been gathered in, father fell suddenly ill and died. This was the beginning. The blow was so heavy that mother was prostrated for many days, and when she did again get up she was not as she was in the old days.

In all this trouble Norman Clifton was a great comfort, speaking words of consolation to mother and Tessie that I or no one else could ever think of. I, indeed, felt truly grateful to him, and in my awkward manner I took him by the hand and thanked him while the tears coursed silently down my cheeks. He spoke to me as he had spoken to the women, and after that I felt a great deal

better.

As I have said, mother was never herself again; her cheeks were wan and hollow, and her eyes had a strange, unnatural brightness. The doctor said we must be very careful with her, that a sudden shock of any kind would be likely to destroy her life. Oh, it was touching to see our devotion to the poor weak woman. Tessie scarcely ever left her side, and Norman Clifton was almost equally as attentive.

The summer in this way passed by, and October with its whispering winds and purple beauty came on.

It was mother's desire that Tessie and I should be married in this month, as had previously been arranged. At my earnest solicitations Clifton had consented to remain with us until after that event. The day before our marriage I was talking to Tessie in the little yard back of the house. Clifton had gone into the village and mother was asleep. For the first time, I then noticed a strangeness in Tessie's manner. She did not seem to

want to talk about our approaching marriage at all; and when we went to partshe to go into mother, and I to the village-I saw two great tears standing in her eyes; and, when I had started away from her, she came running after me, and, throwing her snowy arms around my neck, said:

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Amos, you do not think harshly of me, do you?"

Think har hly of you, you, darling? Why, what makes you think that? You never wronged me in your life!"

Here the little mouth quivered, and the brown eyes filled with tears. Looking up into my face, she said:

Amos, if I were to wrong you-really wrong you could you ever forgive me, your poor little Tessie?"

Why, certainly, Tessie; for you could never wrong me. Kiss me, little one, and run into mother;" and again we separated

I did not attach any importance to the conversation at that time; I thought the child was overwrought and excited; but afterward the full force of her words came back to me.

I did not return home until late that evening. A full moon was shining in the sky, and all was bright as day. As I came up the walk at the house I saw Tessie and Norman Clifton standing together on the porch as if in close conversation. At my approach Tessie went into the house and Clifton came down into the yard to meet me.

In his usual pleasant way he conversed with me as we walked slowly to the house. After this he bade me goodnight, and went up to his room, and I went in to see mother. She was awake, and told me that Tessie, weary and woin out, had just retired. Mother, always kind, seemed more so than usual that night. She talked to me so sympathetically, with her wasted hand upon my head, that when I left her my heart was full of tears.

How bright the world looked to me when I arose the following morning. The sun swung up from behind the eastern hills with a new glory; the birds sung in a different tone of gladness, and the insects out in the dewy meadow chirped out shriller and merrier than I had ever known before, and the wind seemed laughing as it passed and kissed my brow. This was my wedding-day, and all nature seemed to rejoice with me. But, alas, how soon was my joy to be

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The door was ajar. Advancing, deep ly excited, I threw it wide open, and my worst fears were realized. The room had not been occupied!

Now, indeed, were my nerves strung to the highest tension.

Smothering' a cry, I rushed madly down the stairs in the direction of Tessie's apartment. Half way there, I met mother tottering toward me, holding to the walls for support. Her face was as white as the dead, and her eyes burning like two living coals of fire.

"Oh, my son-my poor son," she gasped, "Tessie has fled with Norman Clifton! Read that;" and she tossed to me a crumpled piece of paper; then, with a low moan, she fell fainting into my arms.

Gently we placed her in her bed, and summoned a doctor to her side, who, after completing his examinations, gravely told me that my mother was dying. Under the influence of an opiate she had fallen asleep, and when the old physician left me I read Tessie's note. Thus it

ran:

"DEAR AMOS.-Sinful as it must appear, I find that at the eleventh hour I must leave you, for I can not love you as you wish. My heart is Norman Clifton's. When you read this he and I will be married and far away. I know that I am wicked to treat you thus, but it would be far more wicked to marry you when I do not love you. It wrings my heart sorely to leave you and your poor mother Ask her to forgive me, Amos. Do not blame Normanblame only me. Good-bye, Amos; try and forgive your sinful

TESSIE."

Ten years passed by, and as a member of a firm owning a wholesale coffee and sugar house in a large city, I had grown to be quite a wealthy man. The lapse of years had somewhat deadened my sorrows; but the wounds in my heart were still fresh enough to bleed and gape if I allowed my mind to dwell upon the past for any length of time.

tion some miles from the town where I stopped. The riot had but freshly occurred, and the report was that the owner of the plantation and several others had been killed.

I went with the party of officers to the place, and the sight that presented itself was horrible to contemplate. Dead bodies were strewn over the yard, the out-houses were demolished, and the shrubbery and grass were crushed and stained with blood.

While the officers were investigating the premises, I alone went to the dwelling. Almost the first sight that met my eyes was the corpse of a man, stretched face downwards, almost across the threshold. There was something strangely familiar to me about the body, and I had stooped to examine it more closely, when a low moan of deepest anguish came to my ears. Raising myself quickly, I saw, lying in a far corner of the room I am about to enter, the form of a woman. I spring to her side, and, kneeling beside her, lift the fair head from the floor. The eyes opened and met mine, and, my God! I recognize my truant Tessie! The recognition is mutual, for the pale lips part in smiles and softly murmur my name.

I feel as one in a dream; then I recover myself and bend more closely over the prostrate form. I do not speak! my heart is far too full. I draw the quivering figure of the woman nearer to my heart, and I see the purple life-tide oozing from her breast. Again the faded lips murmur:

You have forgiven me, Amos. I am so glad! Forgiven poor, wicked Tessie! Bend nearer, Amos; let me see and touch your face once more.

I do as I am bidden, and the fragile hands are raised to reach my face. But they fail in the effort, and sink nervelessly to the floor; the sunny head droops gently back; the snowy eyelids flutter and close over the lustrous orbs, and I know that the dark angel of death has taken to his cold embrace my only love --my little Tessie Leighton.

I brought her dead body back with me, and laid it to rest by mother's side, in the old family burying ground. A few more Our interests about this time demand-years of toil and sorrow for me, perhaps, ed that one of the firm should be in Cuba, and I was deputed to go. I found, on my arrival there, that an uprising had taken place among the slaves on a planta

and my staff of life will be broken, and this weary soul, I trust, will join my loved ones on the eternal shore, to dwell with them forever.

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