(We will skip, for want of space, the exquisite passages descriptive of
the mutual love of Rose and W. Alexander, and pass on to the finale.)
There was a paus, a sencation, and Rose came fourth to meander in
mid-air. Admeration was at its hight, as she swayed too and frow as it
were a winged egle from some etherial climb.
Low! a paus--the rope snaps--and Rose falls to erth a helpless mass of
youth and beauty. The venerable man of medicin closed her star-lit eyes
now forever dimed to this world. And all knew she had walked the last
rope that bound her to this erth.
What, who, was her murderer?
The rope seemed to be cut with some jaged instrument so that when her
tiny feat pressed its coils it became her destroyer.
Suspician pointed at the Italian.
W. Alexander's old Father of sympathy now the strongest, entreted our
Hero to sale for distent shores, there asisted by that balm time and
change, there assuage his grefe.
Well, came the last evening, and with the sadest of hearts and a bunch
of sweet violets W.
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