Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 November 1883 — AN UGLY GIRL’S ROMANCE. [ARTICLE]

AN UGLY GIRL’S ROMANCE.

' December 3.—To-day Cousin Adele said a strange thing to me. We were sitting before the fire, she with her last baby on her lap, Cousin Matie and I with our fancy work, Matie, as usual, crocheting a shawl. I wonder how many shawls Matie has crocheted. we were speaking of the nearest approach of the holidays, and Cousin Adele, looking at the calendar that hangs above the judge’s desk, suddenly exclaimed: * — 1 “To-morrow will be the 4th, Mr. Scudder’s day. I wonder whether he will he as punctual as usual ?” “I saw Mrs. Hictehly at Canbv’s this aaornmg,” stud Matie. “She seemed.to he laying in quite a stock of groceries, if that can he considered any sign.” "He will fall in love with Grace this year,” said Adele laughing, and looking at me. “If he does you shall marry him, Grace.” The idea of anvbody falling in love with me was so absurd, and yet so delightful, I must confess it—delightful, { that it should he also absurd — that I felt my heart heat fast and my cheeks burn. I was bitterly ashamed of being thrown into such confusion by a careless jest, hut nobody can control the action of that automatic muscle, whose motions are easily disturbed. It was some time before I could summon courage to look up, hut when T did I discovered that I need not have felt mo shy. Cousin Adele was inspecting the bald head of the infant judge, and Matie was busily counting her stitches. Neither of them had noticed my foolish blushes. Matie finished counting Jier hundred and fifty stitches before saying, with her quiet smile: “Last year it was Miss Martin, was it mot?” “No, Miss Hart: Miss Martin was the jear before. The year before that it was the little widow from Georgia.” “I wonder how many women he proposes to in the course of a year,” said Matie. I suppose he keeps up his pursuit wherever he happens to be; there Is always some eligible women around, «ven if he is on the plains.” “One every three months would make lour a year,” computed Adele. “His wife has been dead five year; at that rate, allowing him six months for mourning, he must have invited eighteen. women to take her place. Poor Sian.” “Poor man, indeed!” cried Matie. “Why his heart is a perfect harem.” “But you don’t know that he has proposed to so many,” I ventured to suggest moved to defend this unfortunate gentleman. “No,” Matie confessed, “I don’t actually know it; hut the probabilities are that he has. It seem to be the principal pursuit of his life.” ». * “Did he propose to you?” I asked. “Of course not; he has only seen toe twice, and besides under the circumstances, even he would hardly make himself so bold. Matie has been engaged so long she thinks everybody knows of it. , “But what is the matter with the man that maids and widow all refuse him?” “Oh, he’s horrid!” replied Matie, disdainfully. “He is not!” exclaimed Adele, with warmth. “He is really very nice, and a perfect gentleman. Girls are so foolish.”

“Married women always side with rejected men,” retorted Matie. “I wonder why?” “Not always; but when they do, it’s because they are better judges of men than girls are. They know the points of a good husband.” "Dear me!” exclaimed Matie; “Iwonder whether, after ten years’ marriage, I shall find myself recommending a stout, griggled, slightly bald old gentlemen as having the points of a good husband. I seems to be entirely a postmatrimonial taste. Girls never care for the good husbandish sort of a man.” "Of course not,” retorted Adele, "because, as I have just Baid, they are so foolish.” Here the six predecessors of the present incumbent burst into the room, each trying to be the first to impart •ome item of interest; and there was an end to peace and quiet for the morning. ' I like to record conversations. They give a dramatic flavor to the pages of my poor journal, and this one made a strong impression upoiTme, because of the manner of its introduction. I confess I am curious to see this Mr. Scudder. A man so unfortunate appeals strongly to the spmpathies of one equally unappreciated. I never feel the disposition most girls manifest—to laugh at the woes of a rejected suitor. Human love seems to me too precious fl thing to be recklessly thrown away,

notwithstanding the pretty idea about its waters returning, making rich the heart whence they sprang. Btat then I am not one of those beautiful women, sent forth like the angels of the Apocalypse with a commission to destroy. December 4.—1 have seen him. »He walked into the sitting-room this evening with the privileged familiarity of an old friend, without waiting for the servant to announce him. A rather short, stout gentlemen, with a fresh complexion, hair turning gray, and a disposition to be jolly. That is why Mattie dislikes him. She hates jolly men. Thank heayen, her “Joel is never jolly.” For myself, I rather like them -so. They make things bright and comfortable. This one in a moment, now, had shaken hands with everybody, tossed the baby, patted the dog, and sat down with the little 2-year-old on his knee. He has pleasant gray eyes that twinkle when he laughs, and white, even teeth undefiled by tobacco. Not handsome, certainly, hut the kindest face! So kind that I should think a hungry dog might select him among a thousand as the one to who* to make appeal for a breakfast. I think I see what has been the bar to his success. It is not only that there is nothing in him to appeal to a girl’s fancy, but that he himself has no fancy. He is as plain and practical as a crow-bar ; talks about the crops and the new railroads; his new dog, and his preparations and expectations for the season’s hunting. It is for the hunting he is here.

December 10.—A long time since I opened my journal last, though I have had more than usual to record. I have been a great deal in company, and have seen a great deal of Mr. Scudder. Only at a distance, however, for he does not seem yet to have discovered me. Last evening I saw him brought face to face with Miss Martin, Miss Hart and the little widow from Georgia, this- last a widow no longer. This three-fold reminiscence of a romance did not disconcert him in the least. He danced with the widow, congratulated her hew lord, and took the young ladies out to supper, looking with liis fresh face floating as it were, between them, his legs being hidden by their draperies, like a stout little cherub in evening dress, somewhat fallen into years. As Mattie says, a man who has to undergo “that sort of thing” every three months needs to have a buoyant spirit. December 13.—He comes very often, but talks modestly te Cousin Adel. He has four children. He is a Catholic. If he marries his wife must be of his — December 20.—He has fallen in love with Matie! —- December 22. —I have left Cousin Adele’s. It was ridiculous to run away, but I could not remain. Ungrateful man! to pass over one who had taken pains to study and appreciate him, and bestow his regard upon one who laughs at him. After all, she may change her mind. He is a better match than Joel, and she has waited for him already nearly three years. I can see that Adele is eager for it. Of course my good sense tells me that I have no reason in the world to feel myself aggrieved, but in every woman there are two women, one practicable and amenable to reason, the other totally irrational, governed by feeling and fancy only. I try to exihit only the reasonable woman, hut I cannot * entirely suppress the other. Truly, a girl w ho has lived in perpetual eclipse from two handsome sisters ought to be accustomed to her obscurity by this time. But Matie was not beautiful, only sweet and pleasant-looking. It is some satisfaction to think she will refuse him!

Fortunately* Cousin Hermine had invited me for Christmas, and the moment I discovered the state of affairs, I yvrote to say I would oome, and followed my letter by the next train. Love is like bread; some have it to throw away while others starve for a crust. It is not fair. Why should ugly girls have hearts—tender hearts that feel the sting of another’s woe? Many times I have wept for the despairs of my beautiful sister’s rejected lovers; yet they would have laughed, even in their misery, at the suggestion that I too had a heart worth winning. Alas! how little valued are human souls that are not wrapped in fair flesh. Dec. 27."—Matie is here. Hhe came down this morning; Mr. Scudder did not t come with her, nor has she mentioned his name except in the most casual manner. ■» She brought me a message from Adele to the effect that I am to return immediately. She will send to the depot for me on Saturday. I shall not go- : Dec. 30.—1 did come. Cousin Hermine is the soul of hospitality, but both she and Matie assumed so confidently that I should leave on Saturday morning, that I had no choice but to fulfil their evident expectation. I felt myself literally turned out of the house, though in the gentlest and most courteous manner.

At thedepot I found—Mr. Scudder—no less—driving his own horse in Cousin Adele’s barouche. Her horse was lame, so she had borrowed his, and the owner had thrown himself in as a driver. For the first time, I think, the man really looked at me, and took something like an intelligent cognizance of my existence. I see through it all! It is a plot! I am to be the successor of J Matie and the other eighteen. Matie has said: “I cannot marry you; lam engaged. Besides, Ido not care for yon. But there is my poor, plain cousin Grace, who is really a good girl; she has never had an offer in her life} ask her; she is sure to accept, and’ yon wifi get a good wife, besides performing a meritorious action.” Very well! I too can say no. I shall complete the score of negations. „ January 2.—lt is indeed true! lam really the object of a gentleman’s attentions ! Alas! but for Matie and the other eighteen, how- delightful it would be! He was the first to call yesterday, bringing me as a New Year’s gift a case lof cut-glass toilet bottles, filled with perfumes. He stayed all day in the

sitting-room, amusing himself with the children, when Adele and I were called away to the parlor. To a girl more sought after !}a would have been odious before night. He showed me the photographs of his children and talked fondly of them. I can imagine how the' scornful lip of the cold Miss Martin must have curled when lie showed them to her, I have often observed majority of men are very poor judges of women. January 5.—1 have been to drive with him. He told me of his home in Milwaukee, let now to strangers, since he has no one to make it home to him,. How movingly seductive that would he, if one did not know it to be the twientieth repetition. Heavens! it is terrible. If I could not be the first, which was clearly impossible, why might I not have come in a little earlier? Why need he have overlooked me for Matie? It is humiliating. I shall refusehjm; that is certain. January 10.—And yet, why? Would it not be as if Tantalus should, with his own hand beat hack the rising water from liis thirsty lips? The idea of a starving beggar throwing away offered bread, because another or twenty others who are well-fed have already declined it! Then there are the children. They would love me. Children always do. They are not so critical as to beauty. They love4hose who love them.

I should he a person of some importance in society, too, for I can see he is a man of influence. Some people are important in themselves, like the larger pieces on a chess board; but the poor Spawns must look to position if they would be of value. The life he leads is alluring, too, traveling a month or so of every year, not to fashionable resorts, but to quiet, lovely places among the mountains or the lakes. He has even been to Europe. Am I tempting myself? No, I must not yield. January 27.—1 tis done. Pride demanded it and I complied. I have refused my first offer! I look at myself in the glass, and laugh and cry at the same moment. Alas! lam 28. I shall never have another. How surprised he looked. He had not counted upon that. I did it very well, I flatter myself, though my head swam and there was a buzzing in my ears. I said—let me record it—l said: “I am greatly obliged to you for your good opinion. I feel much flattered by it. I cannot accept your offer, however. lam resolved never to marry.” Here the sad absurdity of the thing overcame me, and I buried my face in my handkerchief hysterically divided between laughter and tears. I suppose he thought I was weeping over the memory of some former attachment. He looked at me a few minutes and then went softly away without speaking. Perhaps when he thinks it over he will be glad of it. Alas! alas! I might have revenged myself better by accepting him. January 30.—He comes every day just as if nothing had happened. He" looks curiously at mo, hut makes no allusion to our last interview. lam convinced he feels an increased respect for me, and I—at least I have vindicated the honorable pride of plain women. February 3.—Heavens! What a tumult lam in! Let me write it quickly; the words obstruct my pen-point. I am engaged! Actually? As evidence, on my finger gleams the prettiest little dewdrop of a diamond. When he put it on he said : “What a pretty little rosy finger,” and he kissed my hand. Nobody ever did anything so nice to me before. This morning he came quite early in his buggy, with liis gun and dog, and asked me to go hunting with him. It was a lovely morning. There was no reason why I should refuse, and I did not want to refuse, so I frankly did as I wished, and went. As we drove along he said:

“You declined my offer the other day, but why did you cry?” I did not answer. “Were you sorry—for me?” he asked, with a little pucker of his lips, and a certain emphasis tfoat seemed to mean “or for yourself?” “For neither you nor myself,” I said, so stung that I forgot he had not uttered the words. “A woman is not obliged to tell why she cries, besides, I was laughing.” “Yes, and crying-afeifee .sametime; a ; little hysterical. Shall I tell you why?” I was very angry, but there was no escape. We were miles out on the prairie by that time. ‘‘You don’t want to refuse me,” he went on, “but you thought you must, because your Cousin Matie did, eh ?” I began an indignant deal, but he , stopped me. , 7 ___L “Never mind,” he said, “I am not angry, and now let us wipe that all out and start again. Once more, Miss Morton, permit me to offer you my hand and heart.” “Excuse me,” I said stiffly, “I have not changed my mind.” “Tell me truly what is in your mind,” he urged. “Why do yon refuse me? Tell me; I shall not be angry.” “You do not love me,” I exclaimed, impulsively. “You do not even pretend to, and of course I could not believe you even if you did. It would be out of the question after all the others to whom you have made the same offer." He laughed in the jolliest manner. I was awfully offended. “My dear child,” he said, “what do you expect ? Even as a young man I of a romantic turn of mind, and years have not lessened my practicality. I proposed to my wife after a week’s acquaintance, simply telling her that if she liked me well enough to marry me, Xwould do my best to be a good husband. We were very happy, and grew fonder of each other the longer we lived together. Since her death I have been lost and broken up. I have been for some time looking about for a new partner. I have make overtures to several, but the investment did not meet their viewsi. They had other projects. Your cousin spoke of you as one absolutely free. You have to thank yourself that I had not thought of you. You are so shy, and hide yourself away srf that a man had to exert himself to find you out. As soon as I had studied you a little I saw that you suited me better

than any woman 1 had met. Now how does the case stand ? I am much in need of somebody to pet; you are not altogether happy. Why can’t we make a joint stock of our separate discontents, and draw from thorn a dividend of united happiness?” Just here a flock of birds started up from the brush by the roadside. The trained horse stopped, and, dropping the reins, he seized his gun and tired so quickly that it seemed impossible lie should have hit anything, hut two birds fell among the bushes, and the dog plunged eagerly in after them. He sprang out and walked to the roadside to receive them. Returning presently with his game, he said, smilingly: “I seem to be a better marksman with flie shot-gun than with Cupid’s how.” “Perhaps your aim with the last is a little wild,” I replied, returning his smile. s “Perhaps so,” he said, and relapsed into silence. “Well,” he said after a time, “what are von thinking of?” “I was thinking,” I confessed, “that perhaps the other nineteen had made a mistake.”, “Nineteen!” he said, laughing. “Kock off fourteen, won’t you? Only five, on my honor; the five foolish virgins, hut the sixth is wise. —New Orleans Times. 1—