aching!

Sincerely,

JAMES H.

April 17,----

Dear Margaretta:

How long are you to be gone? Write me daily when away, that the
period of your absence from town may be as brief as you can make it,
to lessen the anguish of the one who "at the trysting place, with
tears regrets thee."

I shall be with you early this evening,

Yours as always,

JIM.

April 23,----

Dear Margaretta:

The time drags heavily, and were it not for the cheerful letter that
arrives every morning, so full of your enthusiasm for the unfolding
beauties of the spring and your tender assurances _occasionally_
given in return to the pleadings that pour from my overflowing heart,
it would seem that I could not bear the struggle against life's
disappointments. Time? What has time to do with love?

Love cannot be the aloe tree,
Whose bloom but once is seen;
Go search the grove--the tree of love
Is sure the evergreen;
For that's the same, in leaf or frame,
'Neath cold or sunny skies;
You take the ground its roots have bound
Or it, transplanted, dies!

My dear sweetheart, my love for you is the evergreen, and write me,
darling, not of the budding trees and the wild flowers so tender in
the morning dew, for there is an aggravating indirection to such
devotion. Write me, my dearest, so that I may feel

Those tender eyes still rest upon me, love!
I feel their magic spell,
With that same look you won me, love.

Oh! these spring days and thoughts of you combine to swell my song to
bursting. When, Margaretta, do you return? for I would behold again

Thy form of matchless symmetry,
In sweet perfection cast--

* * * * *

I miss thee everywhere, beloved,
I miss thee everywhere;
Both night and day wear dull away,
And leave me in despair.
The banquet hall, the play, the ball,
And childhood's sportive glee,
Have lost their spell for me, beloved,
My soul is full of thee.

Your story of