THE BOUQUET ON THE RIVER.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 2, 2 June 1874, Page 4

THE BOUQUET ON THE RIVER.

A young lady, the daughter of a merchant whom the writer well knew when he was a boy—he reside d a few miles from a town in Northamptonshire—fell in love with an artist who was making a tour through those parts, He painted her portrait, and that of her father also ; and very like they were. But it was not only to his abilities as an artist that he owed the young lady’s affections ; for he was a very interesting person in many respects, and wrote verses that were really charming, from their unaffected beauty, and the love of duty they displayed in every line. Well, his profession led him frequently into society of many fascinating women, among whom he was a great favorite, which had, perhaps, spoiled him a little, so that he was by no means a fit subject for falling over head and ears in love. The young lady’s affection wrought imperceptibly upon his feelings, and he eventually became as much devoted to her as she was to him. He accordingly proposed to her father to marry her, and wished the union to take place immediately. Her father strongly objected ; not-—to his honor let it be said —on account of the young man’s circumstances, for he declared that his daughter’s happiness was his chief object, and he had enough wealth for both of them—but on account of her youth, He feared that her affection was

only the ebullition of first feeling, and that it would not last. . It was in vain the young lady insisted that her love never would know change or diminution ; in vain the enamored artist argued that first feelings were the strongest. The father only replied, they were not often the most permanent —(he was wrong in this case) and peremptorily refused his consent. At the intercession of her mother, however, matters were so accommodated that, if at the end of two years they were both of the same mind, the father would then give his consent. Meantime, the youth was to withdraw himself, and they were not to correspond. To this arrangement the lovers made a strong resistance ; but the old gentleman remained inflexible, and they were obliged to submit. The young artist departed, it very nearly cost the poor girl her life. She recovered her health, however, in a few months, and lived upon hope. Her father took her about to parties and balls, and introduced a great many agreeable youths to her at his own house. But it would not do. She kept them all at such a distance that only two of them had the face to make her an offer.

To make short of the story, the two long years at length were worn away, and back came the artist on the very day the term expired. Now was the season of flushed cheeks and palpitating hearts, and all was enjoyment and happiness in the house. The father gave his consent, and the day was fixed for the marriage. In the meantime, the youth lived with them as one of the family, walked out with his fair “ intended ’’ alone, read poetry, make sketches—very bad ones, no doubt, his hand shook so—sang duets, picked fruit —in short, it was a lovematch in the genuine sense of the word. One morning, however, when it only wanted three days to the wedding, being too restless in mind to follow any of their previous amusements, the young man, by way of novelty, and, no doubt, to be more alone with his “ intended,” proposed to her to go with him in a little boat, for the purpose of fishing. Now, she had always had the utmost antipathy to the water, and found it impossible to overcome her dread. But he, in the unreflecting way of men, treated it as a mere feminine weakness, which she ought to overcome; and the more she objected the more he persisted, as if it had been so ordained by fate; and dually announced that, if she were so much afraid of herself, he would go alone. This threat—in making which he showed himself to be selfish, by the very fact of accusing her of the same—had the desired effect, and she declared she would rather risk being drowned with him, than that he should go without her.

Well, they went; and he rowed the boat out into a deep part of the stream, flung over the little grappling-iron, to keep the boat steady, and began to watch his bobbingfloat. This, you know, is what is called “fishing.” He caught nothing ; but in the long intervals between the “ bites,” they gained in golden moments of pure love far more than the amount of fish lost, so that the time did not hang at all heavy upon their hands.

Whether it was during one of those moments so rife with interest to all true lovers, and so little interesting to everybody else—except as matter of envy—it unfortunately happened that a little bouquet of flowers fell out of the young lady’s band into thejwater. Her lover made a catch at it, and missed it. “ I’ll have it yet,” said he, and made a second attempt, but it had floated too far. “ I will have it,” he exclaimed, and ran to the other end of the boat; but, overreaching himself, he fell into the water. He could not swim, and rose struggling and grasping. The young lady screamed, and, seeing him sink a second time and the water close over him, threw herself in after him. ,It happened that a large Newfoundland dog passing that way, saw the accident. and jumped off the bank directly, and swam towards them. The dog, of course, made for his young mistress, and, just as he arrived at the spot, her long auburn hair was streaming, like seaweed at sunset, along the water. He seized a large mouthful, and dragged her safely to the bank. He then left her, and ran off to the house, bolted into the parlor, shaking the wet about in all directions, and barking and jumping upon everybody. Her mother was the first to understand him, and, uttering a faint cry, rushed out of the house, but fell fainting before she had crossed the lawn. The servants, however, followed the dog, and soon reached tta bank, where they found the young ladyfcying quite insensible. She was carried hoif e, and brought to herself; but her lover, when got out at last by some dragnets, was quite dead. The unfortunate artist was buried in the vault of the family, and the young lady lay upon her bed, raving with a brain fever. The writer omits to mention several wonderful things that occurred during this state, because they may, perhaps, be naturally accounted for by the disordered excitement of her faculties. She recovered after a long course of illness, but walked about more like one who had come back from the grave than a real human being. One thing was particularly remarked by everybody who had seen her lover, and this was the painful and pathetic circumstances of her expression of countenance being stamped with a most striking resemblance to that of her dead lover.

She continued in this melancholy state, in spite of all the efforts of her friends, till the anniversary of the day on which her lover had returned. On this eventful morning a loud scream, that seemed rather of joy than horror, was heard above stairs ; when the family, all rushing up, found the poo; girl extended senseless in the passage leading to her room. On coming to herself she declared that she had met her lover, and repeated the assertion, in answer to all their subsequent questions, with a steady consistency and minuteness of detail that perfectly astonished and perplexed all who heard her. She never left her bed again ; and on the very day twelvemonth from that on which he was drowned she died, calling upon his name, as though he were close at hand, and struggling in the water. After her death the expression of her face for several hours was more than ever like that of her ill-starred lover ; and, moreover, the surgeon that attended the family declared it resembled that of a person who had been drowned.