“It’s quite a long story,” he resumed, lighting his meerschaum, “and you may tire of it before I close. Our individual experiences seldom interest listeners, but the subject of your conversation at this time affords a good place to slip in this single feature of a life not entirely void of adventure; and I hope it will not detract from the entertainment of the evening. Truth obliges me to be the hero of my own tale.” Drawing his chair into the centre of our circle, he began: “I went to Oregon a mere boy, and grew to manhood there. My early education was neglected for want of opportunity, there being no schools in the country. I mention this to account for a fact which will become apparent hereafter. Our neighbors, in the dialect of the country, thought me a little ‘luny,’ and predicted for me an unhappy future. I certainly was eccentric, and when I recall many acts of my early life, I do not blame them for harshness of judgment. “As I approached manhood, no text of the sacred volume exercised me more than that which declares it is not good for man to be alone. I set to work to make preparations for domestic life. I entered a quarter section of land, built a house, ploughed fields, planted an orchard, cultivated a garden, which I laid out with walks, adorning them with the choicest shrubs and flowers. My grounds and dwelling were as neat and comfortable as the resources of a new country would permit. I stocked my farm with horses, cattle, sheep, and chickens—in brief, I lacked none of the essentials to a happy farm life. “I had selected the fair one who was to share with me life’s joys and sorrows, and obtained her promise to marry the following autumn. The world before me was roseate with beauty and happiness. My feelings were buoyant, unmingled with a single thought of disappointment or failure in the plans I had made. But alas! in a few brief months all this dream was wretchedly dispelled. I learned the lesson taught in those simple words, ‘Man proposes, but God disposes.’ When the products of my fields were teeming with their highest life, and the flowers and shrubs in my garden were blooming in their greatest beauty, and the sun shone brightest, and the birds sang sweetest, an angry cloud appeared, filled with myriads of those winged pests that have so often swept from the soil all the hopes and treasures of the husbandman. The destruction of the fields of Egypt under the curse of locusts was not more complete than that of the field and garden which, a few hours before, had been my greatest pride. They were thoroughly denuded—field, garden, yard, even the stately trees around my dwelling—all were naked, shaven, brown, and barren. A more perfect blight could not be conceived. My heart for the moment sank within me.