magic circlet, which is the pledge of plighted affection,—the
indissoluble knot, which typifies the union of hearts,
which organs were also largely represented; this exceptional
delicacy would at any other time have claimed his special
notice. But his mother remarked that he paid little
attention to these, and his, “No, I thank you,”
when it came to the preserved “damsels,”
as some call them, carried a pang with it to the maternal
bosom. The most touching evidence of his unhappiness—whether
intentional or the result of accident was not evident
was a broken heart, which he left upon his plate,
the meaning of which was as plain as anything in the
language of flowers. His thoughts were gloomy
during that day, running a good deal on the more picturesque
and impressive methods of bidding a voluntary farewell
to a world which had allured him with visions of beauty
only to snatch them from his impassioned gaze.
His mother saw something of this, and got from him
a few disjointed words, which led her to lock up the
clothes-line and hide her late husband’s razors,—an
affectionate, yet perhaps unnecessary precaution,
for self-elimination contemplated from this point
of view by those who have the natural outlet of verse
to relieve them is rarely followed by a casualty.
It may rather be considered as implying a more than
average chance for longevity; as those who meditate
an—imposing finish naturally save themselves
for it, and are therefore careful of their health
until the time comes, and this is apt to be indefinitely
postponed so long as there is a poem to write or a
proof to be corrected.
The second meeting.
Miss Eveleth requests the pleasure of Mr. Lindsay’s
company to meet a few friends on the evening of the
Feast of St. Ambrose, December 7th, Wednesday.
The parsonage, December 6th.
It was the luckiest thing in the world. They
always made a little festival of that evening at the
Rev. Ambrose Eveleth’s, in honor of his canonized
namesake, and because they liked to have a good time.
It came this year just at the right moment, for here
was a distinguished stranger visiting in the place.
Oxbow Village seemed to be running over with its
one extra young man,—as may be seen sometimes
in larger villages, and even in cities of moderate
Mr. William Murray Bradshaw had called on Clement
the day after his arrival. He had already met
the Deacon in the street, and asked some questions
about his transient boarder.
A very interesting young man, the Deacon said, much
given to the reading of pious books. Up late
at night after he came, reading Scott’s Commentary.
Appeared to be as fond of serious works as other young
folks were of their novels and romances and other
immoral publications. He, the Deacon, thought
of having a few religious friends to meet the young
gentleman, if he felt so disposed; and should like
to have him, Mr. Bradshaw, come in and take a part
in the exercises.—Mr. Bradshaw was unfortunately
engaged. He thought the young gentleman could
hardly find time for such a meeting during his brief