Image provided by: University of Nebraska-Lincoln Libraries, Lincoln, NE
About The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936 | View Entire Issue (April 13, 1894)
HURRYING HOME. Hurrying home eh the daylight dies. Goes the weary, toiling throng— Some where a joyous welcome lies. Children's prattle and jocund song; Others who know but a lonely room, Cheerless In-arth and a tasteless fare, 1 Hurrying home in the deep'ning gloom, * Some with their Joy and some their care. Hurrying home as the yearB roll by. Onward moves the world's great throng. Some to discover their resting nigh. Others the way both hard and long; Some by the beacon of faith are led Trustingly over the path they roam; Some in the gloom of a mystic dread. All of them, all of them hurrying home. T^Charles S. O'Neill in Donahue's Magazine. “MOVING.” Ho chanced to sit opposite mo in a restaurant. I noted at once that he had a load on his mind and a vast quantity of miscellaneous objects in his pockets. Evidently nothing remained but to bur den his stomach, and thiH he proceeded to do in a sullen and desperate manner. Having thus brought himself to an even keel, he paused and looked at me. My features wore their usual winning smile, which is uti invitation to confidence that would be worth a good deal in the con fidence trick line. ”1 don't see what I could hsvo done with it,” muttered the stranger, and then he began to rnmmage around his pockets. E caught hurried glimpses of many queer tbiDgs. Among them were two gloves, one male and the qtber fe- j mules rolled together; a small hand mir ror, a screw driver, an iron cast r that ; might have come off the leg of a bed, a soiled collar, several mantel shelf orna ments and a bottle of brown shoe dress- I ing. Lastly he produced three gilded balls and laid them on the table. "Yon can’t commence business here without a license,” said E. iuese things came on roe end or cur tain poles—ponrchairs, you know, as the French call them,” said he. “We wanted to move the first of the month,” he croaked, “hut one thing anil another delayed ns. The principal trouble was that we couldn’t get a man with a van to move ns. Three days ago, however, 1 induced an old fellow out there to make a beginning with ns. We had onr place in town engaged, and the rent had begun to run, so 1 thought we’d better rnn after it betore it got too far ahead of ns. "The i Id fellow’s Dame was Wenner. He came round with his wagon Tuesday morning just as I was ready to leave for town. My wife was pumping air into my ears so that I could run for my train without getting out of breath. That is the way I playfully refer to her parting admonitions. I explained to her that Mr. Wenner conld take only one or two loads that day, so she’d better send ornamental than useful things. ‘And for heaven’s sake,’ I adaed, ‘don’t pack away my pipe and tobacco the first thing, as you did the last time we moved.’ “When I got home that evening, 1 found my wife weeping in the midst of onr dismantled home. ‘That dreadful old villain, Wenner,’ said she, ‘hasn’t kept his word. He’s moved only half our things.' “ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘that’s all right. He’ll come again tomorrow and get the rest. Let’s have some dinner and try to forget our sorrows.’ “She looked at me rather strangely, but made no objection. She put the din ner on the table, for we had sent our servant away, and we sat down to eat. While we were thus more or less pleas antly engaged my wife’s sister an nounced herself. She had come to take os by surprise. They’re a surprising family that I’ve married into, but they've ceased to surprise me. I’m be yond it. Whatever crazy trick they do I’m expecting it. This refers to tbe rest of them, not to my wife. She still has latent possibilities which could amaze anybody. One of them developed after dinner that night. “She called me aside and said: ‘John ny, it's perfectly awful! Do you know there isn’t abed in the house?’ ‘What’s become of them?’ 1 asked. ‘Sent ’em all away by Wenner,’ said she. ‘Lis ten, Johnny, and don’t be angry—it won’t do any good. That man promised that he wonld move all our things to day. I thought we could get into our flat this evening. And 1 said to myself, What shall we need most? Why, the beds, of course. So I sent them all off on the first load.’ Ihen we il have to go to London and sleep in that flat,’ said 1. “ ‘Bnt listen, Johnny,’ she said. ‘There wasn’t room for the mattresses on the first load, so 1 sent them on the second. ’ “ ‘Well, what of it?’ “ ‘They didn’t get as far as London.’ she wailed. ‘Wenner’s got that second load in his warehouse. I sent ;i little boy over to see about it. ’ “This etaggered me. ‘So our beds are in London,’I gasped, ‘and our mat tresses are in Wenner's warehouse on the other side of the forest? Suppose we go and Bleep in his warehouse?’ “She said that I was very bitter and cruel to suggest such a thing. Perhaps we could get along very well for one night if I wouldn’t make such a fuss. There was one old mattress in the attic. She and Lizzie would sleep on that, and 1 could have a little canvas cot. It was a very nice, comfortable bed. and she knew it. She was logically convinced •f it because she’d had to go over the arguments with our servant almost ev ent day since the girl began to try to alfeep on a cot. Say. did you ever try to Bleep on a canvas cot? It looks easy, but it isn’t. I retired at midnight in the north room. One of my wife’s relations %ad it last winter, and he called it the *t>lne room,’ because that was the color tt hie nose every morning when he got ap and scraped the frost off his looking glass. Bnt it was a warm night, and ] never tbongbt about being chilly. “Well, Bir, it came on cold an hour «r two after 1 retired. I felt it first 4D my feet. They hung out over the lower end of the cot, and there was a track In ibe floor right under them. Of course tks carpet had been taken up, so when the wind came round to the north it came straight up at my feet. I hadn't a very good assortment of bedding. Most of our stuff bad. been sent over to Wenner’s warehouse, i had a sheet folded lengthwise, in the form of one of those sleeping bugs which explorers use. Then 1 bad an old blanket and for a cov erlet one of a pair of fine pourchairs. At 8 o’clock I got tip and secured the other ponrebair. They were still at tained tp the poles, but that was rather an advantage than an inconvenience. I put the poles across under my head and thus slightly increased the effuctiva length of the cot. “A little after 3 I rc»o again and se cured a fur rug. It was a tiger's skin, with the head of the beast on one corner of it. There seemed to be some warmth in that tiger’s skin, fori secured a little sleep almost immediately alter spread ing it over me. I had left the lamp burning, tor I thought it might warm the room a little. Well, sir, as I say, I slept a few minutes—just long enough to dream that I was one of the early Christian martyrs in the arena—-and then I awoke to find this tiger’s head, with its gleaming,glassy eyes staring me in the face. Say, what do you think I did? 1 yelled so loud that the concussion put the light out. My wife and her sister thought there were burglars in the house. What did th^y do about it? 1 don't know, but my opinion is that they crawled into a pile of carpets and rugs in the middle of their room and hid there till morning. "As for me, the shock of my fright made me shiver. And when I got over beiug frightened I couldn't stop shiver ing. How I could be cold with all those things over me I couldn't understand, but it was true. I arose and secured the stair carpet. It went up and down me five times, I remember, but it didn’t raise my temperature one degree. “Thin I made the important discov ery that it didn’t make any difference how much I had over me so long as I had only one layer of canvas under me. And the wind still whistled up through the bare boards. I decided to put the tiger’s skin over the cot and lie down on it. Then a new inspiration came to me. Why not go down and sleep in the kitchen? Good idea! I picked up the cot, the pourchairs, the fur rug and the stair carpet and started for-the kitchen. At the head of the back stairs I stepped on the fringe of one of the pourchairs. I endeavored to step off it, but there were five apertures in the fringe, and each one of them had secured one of my toes. Therefore 1 just calmly fell over forward and slid down stairs, with the cot as a toboggan. “I reached the kitchen in this easy 8nd unconventional manner and discov ered almost immediately that the fire had gone out. This is not what I had fallen down stairs for. The kitchen was perhaps a shade warmer than my room, but it was cooling rapidly, and a kitch en in the morning with no fire in it is the coldeet room in the house, as every married man knows. “There wasn’t any fuel at hand, bnt between you and me I just had to have some. There were two or three conven ient pieces of light woodwork which belonged to my late landlord and not to me. With these I kindled a fire, and then I broke up two of our kitchen chairs and piled them in a handy spot. My cot I placed close by the stove, so tbat I could feed the fire without get ting out of bed. There I lay and kept her a-going with selections from my furniture, till by and by I got really warm and snug, and then I went to sleep. The last things I remember put ting in were the pourchair poles. “These brass balls are the ornamental knobs from the ends of those poles. They wouldn’t bnrn, of course, and I didn't dare to pat them in the stove for fear my wife would find them and sus pect me. So I simply unscrewed them as I lay there with the intention of throwing them away at my leisure. There ought to be one more.” Again he went through his pockets. “I’m aftaid she’s found it. If she hasn’t, I can make her believe that Wen ner stole the poles and the kitchen chairs and a few other things which I burned that night. -She’ll believe anything of him now. But, say, wasn’t it all her fault?” I was forced to stifle my chivalrous instincts and admit that it was. “She sent the beds away, didn’t she? Of course, and all that happened was in consequence of that one piece of blank ety blank foolishness. Well, what do you think? Have you followed my story? Have you got an idea of how much walking around I did in my’robe der nooit, ’ as the French say, on that interesting occasion? It was enough to kill a man. But she says—stay! Are you a married man?” “I am.” “Then maybe you’ll believe my story. She says I get this cold playing bil liards.”—Winter’s Magazine. Bacon For Soug Birds. We have received the following plea for the birds: “Sir, it may be interest ing tc your readers to know that for years I have fed the birds of the Re gent's park with lumps of fat bacon tied upon the balcony ledge. One day I counted 40 visitors—a blackbird, a thrush, a robin, two tits, several star lings and a host of sparrows. In sum me: I am rewarded, as the blackbirds and thrushes take up their abode near. 1 grieve to say they squabble a good deal and rush from one piece of bacon to the other, thinking their neighbor’s better than their own, but in this way they are singularly like their bet teis(?).”—London News. A Query* Johnny—Pa. is generals brave men? Pa—Yes, my son, as a rule. Johnny—Then why does artists al ways make pictures of ’em standing on a bill three miles away looking at the battle tbreagh an opera glass?—Times of India. i LOVE. Deep in the moving depths Of yellow wine I swore I’d drown your face. Oh, love of mine! All clad In yellow hue. 80 fair to see. You ouched within my cup And laughed at me. Twice o’er a learned page I turned and tossed. For 1 could not forget The love I lost. All stern and robed In gloom. You read it too. I could not see the word9— Saw ouly you. Within the hungry chase 1 thought to kill You, love, who haunted thus Without my will. But in the gentle gaze Of fawn and deer Your eyes disarmed my hand And shook my spear. Beneath a maid's dark lash I swore you’d drown— Sink in the laughing blue. Give in, go down. But, nol While bathing there Right joyously. Out from her liquid eyes You laughed at me. —Dora Sigerson in London Sun. A CURE FOR LOVE. It was Kitty who first suggested to me that our prescription was not work ing well. As soon as she spoke I was bound to admit it. I had thought that Jack would easily get over his unfortu nate attachment. I expected that after a few quiet weeks with us he would forget Clara Wilkinson and her dis graceful treatment of him. She was, in my opinion, a worthless girl, and I grieved to see him take the affa'r so se riously. And just at first he had ap peared to rally. He had become more cheerful aDd more ready for society. 1 said as much to Kitty, hut she pointed out that there had been a relapse. In fact, she was emphatic on the question. ‘‘He’s getting no good here at all,” she said most positively. ‘‘Really, in his own interest, I must ask you to send him away.” “The girl has spoiled his life!” I cried angrily. Kitty looked at me for a mo ment, bnt said nothing. “I suppose you’re right,” I went on. “He would be better in a livelier place. ” “Of course he would, you dear old stupid,” said Kitty. I did not see that I had been stupid. “There is nothing to distract his thoughts here, ” I said. “ You will speak to him then?” asked Kitty. She was decidedly in earnest about it. “A woman does these tbiDgs so deli cately and tactfully,” I suggested. “Oh, I couldn’t think ot it, Robert,” said Kitty, blushing. I admired her delicacy. He was walking up and down the gravel walk, hitting at my flowers—of which I am rather proud—with his stick and smoking one of my cigars— I’m a judge of cigars—at a ruinous pace. When I joined him and linked my arm through his, he started. “Jack,” said I, “wouldn’t you be better away from here? Come, you know what I mean. You’re no great hand at a secret.” “I—I”— he began, stammering and in great confusion. “I know all about it,” said I encour agingly. “I thought you’d get good out of the place, but it’s clear you haven’t —quite the contrary. You want to see new things and new people and forget this”—I paused fora word and ended— “this unhappy mistake of yours.” “Upon my honor, you are a good fel low,” he exclaimed. “I don’t know an other man who would have treated me as you have.” And he covered his eyes with his hand. “Oh, nonsense. It's nothing. I hope I’m always ready to do my friends a turn. But it’s no use, is it? It gets worse and worse. ” “I’ll go,” he said, with a sigh. “I won’t stay a minute. After what you say I couldn’t. And, old man, I don’t know how to thank you. Many fellows would have taken the way I’ve been go ing on badly—most would” “Oh, we made allowance for yon. YouDg men mustn’t be judged too harshly.” “But you’re a true friend. It makes me feel pretty bad, lean tell you, Bob.” “Oh, you’ll soon forget it when you’re on the move.” “I’ll try. By Jove, I will!” he ex claimed earnestly. “Do—it only needs a little resolution. Because between ourselves, you know, you oughtn’t to be inconsolable.” -“Eh?” “In my opinion. Jack, you’ve bad an escape, and you can take my word for it. Remember I know the lady pretty well.” In fact. I’d met Clara Wilkin son a hundred times and had a perfect ly definite opinion about her. “Oh, you mustn’t say a word against her,” be protested. “She’s been all that’s good and kind and” “Of course you say that,” I inter rupted impatiently. “I suppose you’re bound to, but it won’t go down with me. If ever there was a heartless, worthless jade” rSoor he cried, starting away from me, bnt I was determined he should hear the truth. “If ever a woman.” I pursued, “led a young fellow on deliberately, wicked ly, never meaning anything except to get him in her toils and then turn him adrift with a laugh—that’s what she meant with you. Oh, I know her—no one better!” The unhappy young man turned pale, and his lips trembled. “Now you know the truth about her, and 1 hope you’ll proceed to put her image out of your heart.” I concluded. “I’d have staked my life on her!” he murmured. "She—she seemed so differ ent. Bob, I couldn’t help it. She never” “You were only the victim,” I inter rupted, patting his shoulder. “I—1 shall go at once. I can’t stay here. This revelation—you are telling me the truth. Bob?” •'Honestly, to the best of my knowl edge,” 1 answered firmly. ”How awtull" said he. "Surprised, are you? Why. any of the fellows at the club could have told you the same thing " "Awtul!” he murmured, gazing at me. "Come, come," said I, "it’s possible to make too much of such a trouble as this. When one’s eyes are once open ed”— And I ended with a shrug of the shoulders. Suddenly he held out his hand. “Shake bands, old man." he said. I shook bands. The poor fellow was a good deal moved, and 1 didn't wish to appear cold. "I shall go straight.” he repeated. "Well, tomorrow morning will do.” "No. Tonight—the next train. And you—you must stay here?” "Of course I stay here,” 1 answered, staring in my turn. He sighed heavily. "It’s bad for me. old chap,” he said, laying a hand on my shoulder;”but, by Jove, what must it be for you!” “For me?” I exclaimed. "What do you mean?” “That woman!” he gasped. ‘And how you keep it upl One would think to see yon—well, well, it’s brave. It would kill me in a month. It’s brave, that’s what it is!” “What in the world are you talking about? I haven’tspoken to her for three years.” "Except before strangers? Good heav ens!” "Not at all. I haven't” “Hash—here she comes! I—1 can’t meet her!” “She here? Bosh!” I turned round—and beheld my wife! With a gasp, 1 fell back a step. Jack tore past Kitty and vanished through the open windows of the drawing room. “Well, was he reasonable?” asked Kitty. I could say nothing. “1 hope you were gentle with him. Bob. He’s a nice boy, though he’s a particularly silly one. He meant no harm, Bob.” "Was—was—was he”—1 stammered. “ Wbat the dickens does it mean?” “Only,” said Kitty, coming close up tome, “that he’s quite forgotten Glara Wilkinson, and” “Well?” “That you’ve got rather a nice wife. Bob,” she whispered. “Did you say j anything about me, Bob?” I looked at her for a moment. “Heavens!” I cried and rushed into j the house. That young man would go and tell all the club that my wife and 1 —oh, Lord! “Jack, Jack, Jack, you young fool!” I yelled. The butler appeared. “Mr. Vincent, sir, has just jumped into the dogcart, sir—it was at the door i by your orders—and driven off like mad. He said ne was summoned to town, sir. ” I sank down in a chair. Presently Kitty came in. She was laughing. "Oh, dear,” she said, “and 1 tbonght you were so nice and considerate in pre tending not to see it!” And the silly little woman went off into a fit of gig gling. Then I told her the opinion of her and of our domestic happiness which Jack Vincent was carrying away with him. That sobered her, and we began to send telegrams. But the young ruffian—he may break his heart next time, and wel come—had gone straight to the club. When I go there now, they ask me sympathetically il matters are “any better.” I kDow what they mean.—• Black and White. Christmas In Calcutta. The sun shines gloriously overhead, the sky is a pale, cloudless blue, and the foliage around ns shows every shade and tint from brown to scarlet, from the palest to the deepest green. We saun ter along the grass under the trees be side the avenne and find a qniet spot, with a pool of clear water haunted by swans, before us. The ground is car peted with soft grass and shaded with trees. On one side, 300 yards away, is a bank of shrnbswith the most gorgeous variety of coloring from mauve and li lac to crimson red; on the other three, cool, restful green leaves. On such a Christmas morning it is good to be alive. Let us think of it as we shiver over onr fires in England. We spread our rugs and coats on the ground and lie down and smoke lazily. Presently the Khidmutgara arrive with hampers. We do not move, for in India we have not that irrational and idiotic notion that a picnic is no picnic unless yon wait upon yourselves, lay your own lunch and burn your own fingers over your kettle. The lunch is admirable, from the solids to the fruit, from the drinks to the ice Nothing has been forgotten, for once a Kbidmutgar has been taught a thing be may be relied upon to do it again with absolute exactitude on a similar occasion till the cracx of doom unless he is idiotic. A picnic is a complete rest, with nothing to do save to lie still and enjoy. No one even talks unless the spirit moves him. For the most part we sit quiet, drinkiDg in the beauty of the scene. The servants pass silently to and fro, handing dishes, which are accepted or rejected as silently. It is waste of energy to speak. The cool breeze fans ns gently. There are no mosquitoes. All is peace. Last of all come the co5ee and the cigars.—Saturday Review. Genius Appreciated. “Look here,” said the editor to the de tective, “some fellow has been running round the country representing himself , as a debt collector of ours. He has been taking in more money than any two of the men we have, and I want him col lared as quickly as you can.” “All right, sir. I'll have him in prison in less than a week.” “Great Caesar, man! I don’t want him : fut in prison. I want to employ him.”— Brooklyn Life. A PORTRAIT. You cannot trace the likeness now1, old fellow! I should have had the grace To cl e while I looked lliat way and not ruin My youthful eeraph'a face! It looks as if i meant to set forth straight way To seek the holy grail. Perhaps it did. I only found o’er all things The serpeoCs deadly trail. It does seem out ofr place among the portraits Of frail, fair women here. A halo’d make a fine saint’s picture of it? Ah, now, my boy, you jeer! You’re thinking In your heart how many halos Would make a saint of me. Confess, you cannot force yourself to grasp it That I was ever he. Well, yes, a skull and crossbones would !>e cheerful Compared with that boy’s face. It’s the Egyptian’s death’s head at the revels We have up in this place. I could have given them points, those old Egyptians. I’m sure a man’s dead soul Is eerier to have around at banquets Beside the flowing bowl Than any grinning skull they ever put there! Confound his living eyes! Drink to him. Jack! We’ll give him that much reason For all their shocked surprise. J. E. S. in New' York Sun. IT WAS A DREAM. Mrs. Warrenton sat in her little bine and white parlor in a beruffied white muslin, her blond hair in a classic knot, her blue eyes filled with wTell bred ennui and her feet in coquettish blue and white canvas slippers idly prodding the lazy old Maltese tabby lying just out of range? of the rocker. Mrs. Warrenton sighed deeply and looked at her guest sideways. “Good gracious, Bob, you are enough to provoke a saint!” she broke out, with sudden jjetnlance. “If you were anything lint the great dull boy that you are, ” continued his hostess aggrievcdly, “you would see that I am dying of stagnation. You’re the only interesting person I know, and now you come hero and talk about the hot weather and look out of the window and don’t offer an original suggestion or a new idea when I’m fairly verging on intellectual starvation. Do something, say something or go homo!” “The weather is too warm for muck mental energy, but I think if you fanned me for five minutes I might evolve a thought. I’d go homo only it’s shut up for tho summer, and I’m sick of the club, and you are the only available amusement. ’ ’ Mrs. Warrcnton arose majestically, possessed herself of a large palm leaf fan and began fanning the thinker. “You’re sure you’re thinking? Don’t dare to go to sleep!” she exclaimed as the brows unknitted into peaceful se renity. “Time’s up!” Mr. Vinton unclosed his eyes and sat ; bolt upright. “You look,” said he irrelevantly, “like a Dresden china shepherdess in all those white ruffles and pink ribbon. Put on the big hat with pink roses, and you can play Phyllis. ” “Is that all you’ve thought out?” “No,” continued Bob radiantly. “I’ve thought further. You play Phyl lis, and I’ll be Strephon, and we’ll go | to Arcadia.” *»»**■* “Suppose, Bob, you should tip mo over” “Strephon, remember, Strephon!” prompted Bob as he paddled out slowly into the stream in the red glow of the sunset skies. “Well, Strephon, then!” and- Mrs. Warrenton dabbled her finger tips in the water and forgot to repeat her ques tion. “I didn’t know the Charles was so beautiful. What’s all that green bank and bridges and shady nookery np there?” “Arcadia,” said Bob sententiously. Mrs. Warrenton leaned back, nestled her pretty head against the shawls and looked picturesque. Mr. Vinton paddled industriously and gazed straight ahead toward his destina- j tion. “You look ever so handsome in your shirt sleeves. I always like men better in their shirt sleeves—they’re so much more picturesque. Why don’t you paint ; your next hero in shirt sleeves, pad dling a canoe with a pretty girl—that’s I, of course, ’ ’ looking sentiment at him. ‘ ‘Look sentiment at me, Phyllis, and I will,” said Bob lightly. “All right, Strephon, but what shall we talk about?” j “Do you remember, Phyllis, the aft ernoon I taught you to skate out on the marshes? And going home in the early dark winter afternoon you slipped on ] the ice and hurt your ankle and cried— you were only a girl of 12 then—what a pretty girl, though!—and I put my arm around yon and helped you home and kissed you a sweetheart kiss iu the base ment vestibule. That was a good many years ago, Phyllis. ” i on were a nice ooy, strepnon, nut you were always bold, ” said Mrs. War renton. And then she added, with a touch of coquetry, “Would you believe it, I’ve the valentine you sent me—the one in a bos with pink roses and Cupid?” “I used to think you’d settle down to marrying me when you tired of flirting with Jack Warrenton. That’s why I didn’t shoot him before he ever married you, Nell”- I “Phyllis, Phyllis,’’she interrupted, smiling. But he did not smile. “Phyllis, I mean—but my going off to Rome that summer was a fit of pique. You said you didn’t care, and when I came back you were married, and I’m sure I’ve acted like an angel ever since I wonder if you ever did care?” “I wonder!” murmured Mrs. Warren ton dreamily. “And now, ” she contin ued, “you’re going to marry that nice little girl of yours down at Newport and be a steadygnng Benedict and never any more spend afternoons in Arcadia with Phyllik” “Fact!” returned Bob a little bitter ly, and as a -ut-ak of dying sunlight struck across ,,is face through the i brain lies he soused tho paddle viciously and paddled into a little inlet overhung With shade, Mrs. Warrerwm leaned over and laid ono hand timidly on the brown muscu lar 0110 still grasping tho paddle. “People ara never cross in Arcadia,” she murmured. “I wish you’d bn in earnest,” ha broke out passionately, “and not treat mo as if I were a boy. You’re too con foundedly coid blooded No—well— that doesn't sound pretty—but 1 mean make bolievo you’re human. You've al ways kept mo at arm’s length—just far enough so you could pull at my heart strings when it amused you"—ho broke off suddenly—“I’m a brute." “No, Streplion. you’re a true hearted, hot headed boy, flying off on a tangent ono day and repunting tho next, ’ said Mrs. Warrenton gently. “As it is, Phyllis, why don’t you offer to be a sister to me?" he suggested whimsically, smiling. "Would you mind if I talked to you about myself a little? Ormaybo you won't care to hear. But this is tho last time we'll be in Arcadia together, and though it will do no good I w mtod you to understand. “If I’d had a mother, maybe I d be a better man. I don’t think you ever knew how much you have done for me, boy and man. I loved you when you were a slip of a girl in short dresses and braids, and I said to myself: ‘She is good and pure. 1 will try to deserve her, and then I will win her. ’ "But I d: In’t win you. That was a hard time with me. I was a little reck less afterward, and I drifted into tho fa..-i -t i for a time, but I had my art, and ti,: kept me from forgetting-my self entirely. "1 h.;v come regularly to you to be teased and smiled at, and you have m.Vi s .sued loi - liv,.: what your light est look or word was to me. “I have been kept, from the follies and vices that havo tempted me chiefly by the thought, ‘I will not deserve to lose her respect, ’ “I used to dream of a life with you as its inspiration. “And so as I find I can never love any other woman, and that my love for you might make mo forget all things else and make you hate me some day, so I have asked a nice little girl to mar ry me. She does not want, my love par ticularly, but my income and position, and her family and my family think it a good match. It is an experiment, and I—I am the most unhappy of men. ” There was a long silence when he had finished speaking—a monotonous silence punctuated with tho regular plash oi his paddle and echoes of laughter and oar strokes from tho rowers abroad on the river. tie guinea tbe boat about a shartowy bit of island and then paddled slowly along the homeward stretch of waters. “You see, I am a mad fool, Phyllis," ho whispered, “but you are so cold, so calm, so fax above me, it surely could not hurt you for mere pity to let me dream tonight. ” “Strephon, ” she sighed and touched his sleeve lightly with her linger tips, “wouldn't it bo happiness if we could be bom again into another sort of world out of these social tangles and sordid limitations—into a simpler, honester world? “We’ve lived too long in this arti ficial world and grown used to the pate de foie gras, and theater parties, and the symphony, and the society, and Paris gowns, and English tailors, and summers at Newport, and autumns at Lenox, and the rest ever to go back to primeval Ar cadia. “But if we could, you and I—if we could—I think maybe wo could have been old fashioned lovers too. But I’m a woman of the world, and my heart is hard maybe, and I’m frivolous maybe, and I flirted with you to pass the time maybe—but, Strephon, you are a man of the world, too, and I never thought yon had a heart. ’ ’ The miles of water were swept back slowly by the paddle. The little bark swept on with the tide; the boathouse was in view in the shadows. Suddenly he put down the paddle. He leaned forward and groped for her hands with his, and as he clasped them the trembling fingers closed on his with an impuLse of strength seeking. Bending closely, he saw her fat IT eyes were wet with tears. “Forgive me. ” he pleaded hoarsely; “forgive me!” “There is so little love in thi. world that we cannot afford to be thankless for any that is offered. God knows the heart aches for the lack of it, ” she whis pered. “Once, dear, once for all the years, that have been, the years that will be. Kiss me once!” She shook her head gently; her hands slipped from his grasp. “We have dreamed, ” she said gently as they reached the shore. “Yes, we have dreamed,” he repeat ed.—Kate Field’s Washington. The English Peerage. Few of the members of the British house of lords can claim descent or even distant relationship with the barons ot King John's time who extorted from him the Magna Charta. Of the 538 temporal peers, no less than 350 have been created since the beginning of the present cen tury and 126 during the last century, leaving only 62 whose titles were con ferred prior to the year 1700. Of the en tire number, only five can go back as far as the thirteenth century.—Exchange. Kindly Directions. Footpad—Hold up y’r hands! Lone Citizen—I haven't a cent with me. Just loaned all I had to a friend. Footpad (in disgust) — Go ahead. You’ll find the idiot asylum three squares to the left.—New York Weekly. A Victim of Habit. Ellen—Habits are hard things to break. Maud—Yes, indeed. There is Minnie Sereleaf, who formed the habit of being £2 some years ago and has never broken !t yet.—-London Tit-Bits.
