you constantly; but during all this time it never occurred to me that you might learn to love me, as sweethearts love—as wives love husbands. When this fact finally became plain to me, I made three or four attempts to tell you all, but I dreaded to see you suffer. Now that we shall never meet again, I will tell you why I could not marry you:
I am a woman!
I left Italy a little over two years ago, to avoid an unbearable marriage which my uncle and aunt intended forcing upon me. They were comparatively wealthy, and the only guardians I have known for many years. The man intended for my husband had a title, but was a rake of the worst kind, and I would have died rather than marry him. I was finally imprisoned in my bedroom, from where I escaped with what clothing I could carry. After a hard strugle, I reached a seaport town, nearly ten miles from my home, and was fortunate enough to find a captain of a merchant ship with a kind wife who always went to sea with him, and after hearing my story, they consented to take me to New York with them. They were country people of mine.
Oh, if I could tell you of the struggle I have had since my arrival here! Although blessed with a very good education, particularly in music, I could not get employment without references. Living among Italians in poor circumstances, doing what little I could for them to earn my bread, more than a year was spent. As I learned more of the ways of your country, I discovered that men or boys seldom have trouble procuring work, while may girls suffered as I did. Then it was that I conceived the idea of masquerading as a boy. At this time I was living with an Italian family near a railroad yard, and watched the men every day with much inter-