A TRAMP'S ROMANCE.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 2993, 28 January 1881, Page 3

A TRAMP'S ROMANCE.

Robert Preston and wife, a couple who, happily united, a few clays ago arrived in this city en 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 Roland, of Galveston, visited an aunt in Warren couuty, Kentucky. It was summer, the season was, and one evening tho girl sat in the yard, half reading and half regarding .the enormous bumble bees buzzing around. A Warren county bumble bee will attract attention anywhere. He can make you think that he is tangling himself in you hair, and looking round you will see him ten feet away clinging to a thistle-bloom. That's enough about the bee. A footstep didn't rouse the young lady. It was a voice that said, " Can I get a drink of water ?" Two arms and the chin of a tramp leaned over the fence. Ho was dressed in a tramp's garb, a wardrobe at once so describable and indescribable. "I say, can I get some water?" "Yes," said the girl, " Must I go around to the gate or climb ever the fence !" " Both, if you choose." " That's the >ray I like to hear people talk," said the tramp, climbing over and approaching. " Now, where's the water?" " I'll bring it." " You'd better bring the well, for I'm dryer than a barrel of bromophyle." The girl went to the house and returned with a bucket of water. When the man had finished drinking she did not think he had exaggerated his thirst. In fact she did not think hiß comparison had been adequate. ' What book are you reading?" "Mill on the EI0B8." "Overrated, I never liked it. All d#pth qv pp Jtytb, I don* know wbjoh,

The author has tried to write a story without a well defined plot, and has failed. Goldsmith's success as a plotless and charming writer was a bad example. " You shouldn't tear my favorite book to pieces. I like George Elliot and all his works." " You don't like ' Mill on the Floss. You have been nodding over it for the past half hour. Yon only pretend to read it because yon imagine that in doing so you develop literary taste." " I think, sir, that you are impudent." "But truthful. Here's a book that you should read," and the tramp took from' his ragged coat a tattered copy of Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy." "Dr Johnson said that this book was the only work that couhl induce him to get out bed in the moring sooner than his regular time of risin"-." "And that's why you like it," remarked the girl, taking the book. "If Dr Johnson hadn't made that remark you would not find the work so charming." " That's all right. Give me some more water. The conversation wa3 pursued until the tramp accepted an invitation to supper. His idea of Burton and Johnson was soon covered up with batter cakes. The tramp, Mr Preston, "'remained all night. Next morning, when he announced his intention of leaving, the girl accompanied him to the spot where she sat when he hailed her. " Why do you tramp around ? Have you no home?" "Yes, as to tho home.' Don't know, as to the tramping." "Whisky?" "Yes, whisky." "Why don't you quit ?" "I will." "When?" " Now, on one condition. That you will consent to be my wife. Meet mo under this tree four years from to-day. " I will." " Good bye," and he climbed the fence and was gone. No correspondence was carried on between them. The manly, handsome face of the tramp hung before the girl like a portrait. Deep, earnest eyes, and a merry laugh accompanied the tramp. Several weeks ago the young lady visited .her aunt. One evening last week she sat under the tree in tho yard where, four years ago, she nodded over a book. Bees buzzed around — the same bees seemingly. On her lap lay "Mill on the Floss ;" near her a tattered copy of Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy." A buggy drove up. A man alighted and climbed the fence. "Mr Preston." " Miss Roland." There was no indication of a tramp in the handsomely-dressed gentleman. The clear, earnest eyes showed no lurid light, kindled by Satan's breath. Clasped hands, kisses, renewal of vows. That evening the buggy went 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.