"I happened to know the family in which Eugenia Ballantine was placed, and became acquainted with her immediately. I was then but a boy, though some four years her senior, yet old enough to feel for her, from the beginning, something more than a mere fraternal regard. And this sentiment was reciprocal. No place was so pleasant to me as that which was cheered by her presence--no smile warmed my heart like her smile; and I could always see her countenance brighten the moment I came where she was. "Gradually, as year after year passed, and she still remained among us, our early preference for each other, or rather our early affection, assumed a more serious character. We loved each other; she was just seventeen, and I twenty-one, when I ventured to tell her how deeply, fervently, and purely I loved her. The formal announcement did not seem to create surprise, or agitate her in the least. "'I never doubted it,' was her innocent reply, looking me tenderly in the face. "'And do you love me as truly as I love you, Eugenia?' I asked. "'Have you ever doubted it?' was her quiet response to this, also. "From that moment I was bewilderingly happy. My family was one of wealth and standing; and I immediately wrote to Mr. Ballantine, who, after sufficient time to make inquiry in regard to the character and position of his daughter's lover, returned a cordial assent to my proposal for her hand. Thus far every thing had gone on as smoothly as a summer sea. We smiled sometimes together at the carping adage, 'The course of true love never did run smooth,' and referred to our own case as a signal instance of its falsity. "During the summer succeeding our engagement, Mr. Ballantine did not come on to the North. In the ensuing spring, Eugenia's term of instruction closed at the seminary, after having been in Troy nearly live years. She was a tall, beautiful woman, with a mind highly cultivated, and externally accomplished in every respect. I was proud of her beauty and acquirements, at the same time that I loved her with fervent devotion. Spring passed away and summer came; with the advancing season her father arrived from the South. He had not seen his child for two years, during which time she had grown up into a mature and lovely woman. I could forgive the jealous pride with which he would look into her face, and the constant tenderness of his allusions to her when she was away from his side. "'I do not think, Mr. Perkins,' he would say to me, sometimes, 'that I can let you have my Eugenia, unless you will go South. I am sure I cannot part with her again.' "'Why not come North, Mr. Ballantine?' I would suggest. "But he would shake his head as he made some disparaging remark in regard to the North, and playfully insist that I must go with him to the sunny South. It was about the first of September that I asked that our marriage might take place at an early day. But the father shook his head.