LETTER THE FIRST. Harry Payne to S.H. W. New York, August —, 18—.

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 57, 5 July 1884, Page 5

LETTER THE FIRST. Harry Payne to S . H. W. New York, August — , 18—.

My Dear Sam,— When you receive this voluminous epistle you will, with the practised eye of a man of business, glance over it to catch its gist, and when you do— I thank my stars that half the length of the Erie Railroad separates us, and I confess that the thought of your written answer even makes my blood curdle with terror. However, I have nothing to be ashamed of, and I am not going to begin by apologising for it. Why I shouldn't do what you and other friends of mine have done I can't see, and the fact that I have waited until the first flush of youth has passed (you remember I am thirty-two) is all the more creditable to me. Well, to come to the point (confound it ! why don't they have a printed form like that used in the next step in the proceeding ?), I write to announce my engagement to— the name will not interest you now— a young lady of this city. I see your scornful look, and bear your ironical laughter, but, my dear fellow, I am dreadfully in earnest this time. It will, I know, seem incredible, but the honest truth is that I am in love for the first time in my life. Here your laughter becomes'uncontrollable, and when you recover your speech you ask lioav about Fanny Glenwood and Laura Baker and— several others ; and, upon my word, you will insinuate that this is the second or third time I have announced my engagement to you. Ah, Sam, that is the thing that overwhelms me with confusion. For the first time in my life I have known what remorse is. I don't know how you felt when you asked an innocent young girl to accept your hand, but I confess I don't feel myself worthy of the one I have chosen. Men think they are excusable for the follies that seem to be inherent in youth, and I don't suppose you and I have been worse than the majority of fellows ; but what would I not give now to be able to offer to Lizzie (that is her name) what I know I shall receive from her— a heart absolutely free from all past recollections ? For so little has she yet seen of society that all she knows about our sex has either been evolved out of her inner consciousness or gleaned from the pages of romance. Am I not a wretch to impose on the simplicity of such an innocent heart ? I declare f sometimes think I will tell her I am not good enough for her, and give up the whole thing. You will want to know how it all happened. Well, here it is in a nutshell. Last spring, while I was having a desperate flirtation w ith Laura Baker, which resulted, as you know, in the breaking ofrny engagement to Fanny Glenwood, I promised to meet Laura one morning at a picture gallery on Madison Square. I had some quite important explanations to make to her, and I wanted her to see Ruskin's drawings, which ■were on exhibition there. (You know that, after Browning, I adore Ruskin). For some reason Laura did not come ; but I found in he room a young girl of IS or 20, 1 guessed, tall, slight, and very fair. What struck me at once was the child-like simplicity and Innocence of her face, her big blue eyes /eering out from her fluffy golden hair. (Laura, you know, is a very striking brunette). She seemed rather embarrassed by my presence. I suppose I did stare rather too hard. I finally tore myself away, but hung around the neighbourhood for seme time^ and was rewarded by seeing '.ier come from the direction of the gallery with a young man— some relative, 1 presume and get into a carriage that drove off up town. I did not see her again until summer. Fred Parker, you know, took a cottage at Sea Girt, and invited me down to spend a day, and the first person I &aw on hurrying to the station was my fair unknown sitting demurely in a waggonette, and waiting probably for her father. I did not dare to keep Fred waiting, nor did I deem it prudent to ask about the lady, thinking we should undoubtedly see her on the beach that evening. We did not, and Monday I could control my curiosity no longer, and after Fred had gone up to town (I making some excuse to remain over until afternoon), I was on the point of unburdening my heart to his good-natured wife, when I saw her driving up to the house, and before I could recovet my sangfroid I had been introduced to Miss Lizzie Chapman. She seemed fully as much embarrassed as did I. Why, I wondered, did she remember the meeting at the art gallery two months before ? It appeared not, and that she supposed it was our fir.-t meeting. I did not return to New York that afternoon, but poured out my heart to Mrs Parker, who listened with a sort of incrcduious surprise. "No wonder!" you ill-naturedly ejaculate. She did _ not encourage me at all, and was very leticent about the whole matter. However, the next day we rode together, and Wednesday night w ere engaged. Was 1 not a villain to take such advantage of her ignoi mice of the woild ? I suppose I was the first man who had ever breathed a word of love into her ear, or pressed her little hand, or -Hang it ! I did feel like a guilty dog. But I reflected, what shall I do ? Thi" innocent child evidently love.s me with the first ardent affection of her fresh heart. Shall I break it by saying, "No, no ; .such love is not for me ; you are too good, too innocent ; I can offer you only the remnant of a once generous heart? Few men live to my age " (could I bear to tell that child my age, even?) "without committing follies. Pardon me, and you will never regict it." No, I did nothing of the sort, but .stoutly .swore that I never loved but her, and that until the moment she first daw ned on my sight life had been one long, dreary waste," and had she not appeared to revive my drooping spirits I must have succumbed beneath the weight of this world's ills. A -word about the most perfect of her sex. (Leave this out when you read this .scrawl to your wife. ) I have ah eady described her appearance, how can 1 describe her mind ? She is intellectual far beyond her years, is passionately fond of art and mu&ic, and utterly oblivious of the sordid side of life. She adores Browning and Ruskin. Am I not the happiest of men ? We are to be married in the holidays. Lizzie, I know, will want the quietest possible wedding, and my circumstances* will allow no other. I have once or twice tried to break to her gently what she is sacrificing in marrying a poor man, but, dear child, she i-= ,so ignorant of business that it would be foolish"^© alarm and annoy her. You aie the first one I have told of my engagement, and I fear thi.s will be the plca.-ant.'^t letter I shall have to write about it. What will Laura say to all this ? you ask. I confess I don't relish telling her, but it must soon be done. (live my kindest regards to your wife, whose sympathy I know I have in this matter, and 1 trust our old-time friendship will blunt for once the sharpness of your pen.— Ever yours, Harry Payne.