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Show A Love Story If it were not for romance and sentiment how woefully commonplace and prosaic this life would be. A pretty love affair has just come to such a happy ending-a love story so sincere and natural, so brave and patient with its years of waiting, that I tell it to comfort others who are biding silently, and sometimes almost hopelessly, for the touch of a hand that is dear to them and the clasp of arms and the glance of eyes they long for. Flynn carried a rifle for the Union, and when the war ended he still carried it, and to such purpose that his body was seamed with scars. His blood had wet the soil of six States, and splintered bones had been left on as many more. He had come to this country when there was nothing for a poor man to do but fight, and Flynn had the pluck of the "ould sod" in his soul and when that is to be done the sons of Erin never do it by halves. Broken in health, without money, for he had sent his pay home, without friends and unable to work, Flynn went to the "Home" at Hampton, where he stayed for a while, until he was patched up. But that life did not suit him and he obtained a leave of absence to come to Washington. He had his pension, $8.00 a month; he was young and ambitious, besides there was a little girl over the sea waiting for him-waiting as true and loyal for him as if he were an emperor. He made himself useful in some service at a hotel and attracted the attention of a man of intelligence who obtained for him a messenger's place in one of the departments. He took some of the money and went to night schools. Obliging and attentive he made friends, and after a time was designated for a clerkship, and, thanks to his application and perseverance in studying, he passed the examination and received the appointment to a first-class clerkship, with a salary of $1,200 per annum. Last summer I missed Flynn for his accustomed haunts, and had come to the conclusion that just as good fortune had found him and he had gone the way of all earth, when on bright afternoon last week I met him on the avenue with a beautiful woman on his arm, he was as happy and proud as a field marshal. He had been to Ireland, and in dear old Roscommon, in the same church where they had both been christened when babies. The same priest made them man and wife. What content shone in the violet eyes of the pretty bride as she leaned on the arm of her hero. "They made so much of Jimmy" she said, "for he's coming back for me." The whole parish came to the wedding and danced till sunrise." The spring time of their love-life has reached its summer, and tried in the furnace of delays, their future is bright with the promise of happiness when the autumn and winter come. With such a woman to complement him, there is something more for Flynn than a clerkship.-Kathleen Washington Cor. Of Detroit Free Press. |