By Edward P. Guild.
In the summer of 1879 I went to a quiet town in north-western
Massachusetts, with the object of getting a few weeks of much needed
rest and recreation. It had been four years since the first appearance
of my name as "Attorney and Counsellor at Law," on the door of a small
Washington-street office, just below the _Herald_ Building in the
city of Boston; and, as I had worked all that time with hardly a thought
of rest, I decided to take a good, respectable vacation.
Hopkins, who had an office on the same floor, advised me to go to H----,
in Franklin county, where I could find the purest of air, splendid
scenery, good trout fishing, and entire freedom from fashionable
boarders. As this was just the bill of fare that I wanted, and as
Hopkins was born and brought up there, and ought to know, I thankfully
accepted his advice.
A week after my arrival I met Christopher Gault, who was boarding not
far from Deacon Thompson's, where I had my quarters. A friendship at
once began to grow between us, and our time was largely spent in each
other's company. I found my new acquaintance a very agreeable companion,
and, moreover, an unusually interesting young man. He was then about
twenty-six years old, of medium stature, dark brown hair, and
closely-cut side whiskers and moustache. His talents were brilliant and
varied. Mathematics were his delight, and he had well chosen the
profession of a civil engineer, in which, as I afterwards learned, he
was already gaining distinction in my own city of Boston. He was an
ardent admirer of nature, and was always ready for a ramble with me over
the hills or through the woods; always closely observing the formation
of the rocks, and capturing any interesting specimen of mineral, plant,
or bug that came under the notice of his sharp eyes.
In conversation, which we often enjoyed on the broad piazza, Gault was
exceedingly entertaining, and usually took an absorbing interest in the
subject under discussion; but at times he would sit silent as though
engrossed in other thoughts, and often with a very apparent look of
melancholy in his face. One day when I had been noticing this, I said:--
"Gault, you are growing too serious for your age; you ought to get a
wife."
He smiled a little quickly, and resumed his former expression, without
replying; but after a moment drew from his pocket book a photograph, and
placed it in my hand.
It was of a most attractive looking young lady of, perhaps, twenty-two
years.
"Ah! I see that my suggestion is not needed," I said, holding the
picture at arm's length to get a better general impression. "Is she
yours?"