A TRAMPS ROMANCE.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XIV, Issue 9, 11 January 1881, Page 4

A TRAMPS ROMANCE.

Bcbert Preston and wife, a couple ■fcho happily onited a few days ago, arrived in this city ets route for Texas, The story of their marriage is rather a romantic one; not that it abounds in hair-breadth escapes or blood in large or small quantities, but that— well, that it is romantic. About four years ago, Miss Emma Ro'and, of Gnlveston, visited an cunt in Warren county, Kentucky. It was summer, the season w»s, and one evening the girl sat in the yard, half reading and half regard. ing thft enormous bumble beoa busszing oround. A Warreu country bumble bee will altraot attention anywhere. He can rxnke you think that he is tangling himself in your hair, end looking round you will see him tec fear away clioping to a thistle-bloom, That's enough, about the bee. A footstep didn't arouse the young lady. It waa a voice eairf, '' Can I get a drink of watar ?" Two arms anJ the chin of a tramp leaned oa (ha fence. He woB dressed in the tramp'e garb, a wardrobe at once so describtble end id desr-rihable. " I say, con I get eomp watf>r ?" " Yea," said tho girl. " Must I go round to the ea«e or clicob ever the fence?" "Both, if you choree." t; Thai's the way I like to hear people talk," said the trump, climbing over and onproachinrr. ''Now, wherc'a (he water ?" "I'll brine it," " You'd better bring the well, for I'm dryer than a bßrrel of bromopbyle." The girl went to the house and returned with a bucket of water. When thfman had finished drinkiug ehe did not thick that ha had exaggerated hie thirst. In fact she did not think that his comparison had been adequate. "What book are you reading? 1 ' " Mill on the Fioes." Overrated, I never liked it. All depth or no depih, ] don't know which. Strained cbaracteri?, or no characters, I don't know which. The author has tried to write a story without a well-defined plot, and has failed. Goldsoaith's buccosb as a plotless and charming wii er was a bad example." "You shouldn't fear my favorite book to pieces. I like George Eliot, and all her woike." " You doot like 'Mill on the Floes.' You h&v* been nodding over it for the past half hour, You only pretend to read i» because you imagine tint in doing co you develop literary taste." "I (hink sir, that you ere impudent." "But truthful. Hare's a book that you should read," and the tremp took from his ragged eont a tittered copy of Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy. "Dr Jobnaon siml that thie book wob the only work that could induce him (o get. out of bed in the morning sooner than his r?guUr time oi rising " "And that's why you like if," remorked the girl, takirg the book. 'If Dr Johnion hadn't made that remark you would not find the work 10 charming," "That's all right. Give me Borne more water." The conversation was pur sued until the tramp accepted nn invitation to supper. His idea of Burton and Johnson was soon covered up with batter ctkes. The tramp, Mr Preston, remained all night. Next morning when he onnounced his intention of leaving, the girl accompanied biro to tho spot where she sat whrn he hailed her. " Why do you tramp around ? Have you do home P " " Yes, ca to the home. Don't know as to th? tramping." "Wtmky?" «• Whisky." Why don't yon quit?" "I will." "When?"' "Now, on one condition. That you will consent to be my wife. Meet mo under this tree four year* from to-day." "I will." "Good-bye," and be climbed the fence, and wae gone. The OQBnly, handsome face of the tramp hung before the girl like a portrait Deep, earnest eye?, a merry laugh, accompanied the. trump. Several weeki ago the young lady visited her aunt One evening last week she sat un<?or the tree in the yard where four yeere ago Ehe oodd«d over a book, Bees buzzed around ; the seme bees, seemingly. On her Jap lay "Mill on the Floes j' Dear her n tattered copy of " Cnttonte " Anatomy of Melancholy/ A bugpy drove up, a man alighted and climbed the: fpnee, "Mr Preston." " Mias RolUnd." There wb§ no indication of a trfltnp in the handsomely dressed gentleman. The clear, earnest eyes ebowed no lurid light, kindlfd by Satan's breath. Clashed hands, kieaee, renewal of vowe. That evening the boggy wett to Bowling Green, Next morning a happy couple left on a southern-bound train. They are now in this city stopping at the Grand Central. To-morrow they will leave for Texas.