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Updated: May 1, 2025
"Yesterday, sir," Wilmer replied, somewhat bitterly, "I came here from dinner, after having been unavoidably detained with a sick child, resolved to conquer my reluctance, and ask for the loan of fifty dollars, to be deducted from my salary, at the rate of five dollars a month. But your reproof for remissness deterred me. And when I returned home, the work had been done.
Martin Eckles, it developed, was a fluent and persuasive talker, a man of the broadest worldly experiences and wit. He was younger than Calvin, but older than Wilmer Deakon, and a little fat. He had a small mustache cut above his lip, and closely shaved ruddy cheeks with a tinge of purple about his ears. Drawing out his monologue entertainingly he gazed repeatedly at Lucy.
Says Poe: "He has been at all times a true friend to me he was the first true friend I ever had I am indebted to him for life itself." Poe now contributed regularly to the Saturday Visiter, its young editor, Lambert A. Wilmer, becoming his friend and constant companion.
Wilmer's quick eye at once detected a change in the expression of her husband's countenance, but she said nothing. After tea, the children were all put to bed in the next room, and they were then alone. Wilmer sat in deep thought by the table, shading his face with his sand when his wife came in from the chamber where she had been with the children.
Wilmer dwelt in her own mind with painful solicitude upon the probable means of support for them all, when his strength should so entirely give way, as to render him altogether unfitted for business. The only child of over-fond parents, rich in this world's goods, she had received a thorough, fashionable education, which fitted her for doing no one thing by which she could earn any money.
It was made to Mr. Jackson, on whom it fell with the unexpected suddenness of a flash from a clear sky in June. "And pray, sir, who are you?" was his hasty and excited answer. "Theodore Wilmer, clerk in the house of Rensselaer, Wykoff & Co." "Are you really in earnest, young man?" said Mr. Jackson, in a calmer voice, though his lips trembled with suppressed anger. "Never more so in my life, sir."
"I must talk to Lucy," he said in a different weary tone. Bareheaded he walked over into the pasture, now his. The cattle moved vaguely in the gloom, with softly blowing nostrils, and the streams were like smooth dark ribbons. When he returned to his house the lights were out, Wilmer Deakon was gone and Lucy was in bed.
"During the long separation," says Mr. Wilmer, "of these exemplary lovers, many important changes had taken place. Time and sorrow had somewhat dimmed the lustre of Isabella's beauty. But she was still the fairest among ten thousand, and De Soto was too deeply enamored and too justly appreciative to value her the less, because the rose had partially faded from her cheek."
Many sad and desponding thoughts forced themselves upon her, as she lay, hour after hour, in a state of half-waking consciousness. It was nearly day-dawn, when, from all this, she found relief in a deep slumber. The next day was one of heart-aching reflections to Theodore Wilmer.
Forty odd years old, a wife, five children, all his life given honestly to his calling and threepence half-penny to his fortune. "But, good God!" said he, after a pause, "your kiddies? If you have nothing what will happen to them?" "Lord knows," groaned Wilmer, staring in front of him, his elbows on the back of the chair and his head between his fists. "And Mrs.
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