Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 April 1885 — Love Down a Well. [ARTICLE]

Love Down a Well.

Do you see the lady on the other side of the fireplace, with soft brown hair and mild blue eyes, whose fair complexion and unwrinkled brow doff ten years from her age, and whose quiet voice and gentle manners tell truly of a shy, retired nature? That’s my wife. Ab ! ain’t I proud of her, and don’t I love her ? Haven’t I an insane desire to run to the roof and shout out for the benefit of the world at large that Mary Sherman [nee Lee] is my wife? You would never suspect her of being a heroine, but 111 tell you the story and then judge. Thirty years ago when my hair was brown and my limbs young and active. I was sent by the firm to whose service I had been devoted by my father to collect bills in some of the New England villages. I was new to the country, but I had full directions given me, and started off on a two months’ trip to make the Yankees pay for the calicos, silks and notions they had purchased of “Law, Stone A Cc.” I had fared pretty well on my errand, and was putting up at the Bellflower inn, when one of our customers invited me to come to a gathering of young folks at his house, and I accepted. There I met Mary Lee, and lost my heart instantly. I was returning home when I met with the accident that colored my whole future life, gave me its greatest joy, its heaviest sorrow. Crossing a meadow in the darkness I set my foot upon a plank which tilted, and I fell down, down, losing consciousness long before I reached the end of my subterranean descent. How long I lay insensible I cannot tell, but I woke in bitter agony, feeling that I was fearfully injured. I called and groaned, but the darknest above me v.,as unbroken by any friendly gleam of light, and the heavy silence cheered by no succoring voice. Day dawned, finding me still sensible, suffering, and alone. As the streaks of light broke above me I saw that I had fallen down a long-dried well, half filled with rubbish and covered with loose boards at the top. One of these had given away under the pressure of my feet. The well, I learned later, was on Farmer Lee’s farm, and was being gradually filled up with any dirt that would have been otherwise carried away. The customary stone-work around the mouth had been long ago removed for the conveniences of backing up the carts. How, in the dark, I had strayed from the ro id on the large, open field, can only be explained by my ignorance of the localities and my castle-building, inspired by the sweet face of Mary Lee. Aorning dawned, and I was lying almost frantic in my agony, when I heard a young, fresh voice singing above me. I called loudly, “Help! help!” “Where?” The singing ceased, and the question came in a startled tone. “Here! I have fallen down a well.” The boards above me were pushed aside and the daylight, further advanced than I had perceived in my darkened position, poured in. “Down here! Oh, you must be fearfully hurt! George! John! Come quick!” Hurrying feet came above me. one go down!” said the first voice again. “Have you a rope?” “Ay 1 the old rope is here; but it ain't over and above strong! It won’t bear a man.” “I’ll trust it! He has fainted!” For I was too much excited to answer any of the questions they shouted at me. The reaction of promised relief was too great after such a night as I had passed. Before I realized the purport of the last sentence, I knew by the darkening of the open mouth that some one was descending. I felt the dresp of the brave woman, then a slender girl, touch my cheek; I heard her pitying tones; I knew she raised my head as she stood in the twilight me, but I could not speak. Others had hurried to the farm, and one for a surgeon. Wine was lowered, and she knelt beside me to revive me by it. , Three long hours, they told me later, passed before the arrangements were completed to haul me up, and she never left my side. She bathed my face with the water they lowered; she gave me wine; she spoke words of cheer and comfort; she aided me when the basket was at last lowered in rising from my painful posture and almost lifted me into the vehicle after reaching the upper air. And when the long fainting fit which followed my arrival above was succeeded by days of delirium, she was my faithful nurse. How I loved her can not be told. When the truth became known that my left side, arm and leg were crippled and useless forever, then I tried to smother my love and learned hers. Mary Lee, the pet of the village, the idol at home, the center of many loving hearts, left all to follow her crippled husband to his city home; If by my exercise of talents God gave me I have made my brain work for mv hands—if my right hand has earned a home of more luxury than competence —if by the love of a life-time I have endeavored to make her happy, did she not earn all this, and more, aye, more than I can ever give her? Dr. N. C. Washington, of North St. Louis, a lineal descendant of a brother of George Washington, has in his possession an oil portrait of Gen. Washington, taken when the latter was about forty years of age. It is said there were only three paintings in oil taken of the Father of his Country. One of these was in possession of Mme. Lafayette, another was burned up in a London museum, and the third is the one referred to, which is now owned by Dr. Washington. A young man of New Haven, Conn., has a collection of 7,000 birds’ eggs, embracing nearly 2,000 varieties.