8
THE NEBRASKAN
Hi
if i!
i
i
t
a
G
t
W
i
t
overshadowed by her daughter. The daugh
ter ; how shall I describe her ! Of medium
height, with a slight, willowy figure, she was
the personification of grace. Her hair, black
and glossy as a raven's wing, clustered in
dainty ringlets about ner head. With fea
tures, as clear-cut as Cameo ; her face was,
nevertheless, not lacking in expression, as is
so'often the Case when the features are too
regular. Her eyes, which were of unusual
size, and under delicately penciled brows,
were probably brown although they appeared
black at night.
My heart went out to her at first sight. It
was not alone for her perfect features and
glorious eyes that 1 loved her, Mere phys
ical beauty has no charms for me. It was
the refinement and culture which was shown
in her every look and action. " Here,'' I
thought, "is one who would make a help
mate such as I have often dreamed of. Pos
sessing not only beauty, but intelligence and
education ; she will be able to appreciate and
respond to my every thought. Such an one
I am certain to love after her beauty has
lied."
I soon saw that they were looking for their
carriage. As they appeared unable to find it,
I decided to offer my assistance, and thus
make the acquaintance which I so much de
sired. Accordingly I approached them, and
was just about to offer my services, vhen she
turned and addressed her companion. I
leaned eagerly forward, so that not a single
inflection of that sweet voice should escape
me.
A slight frown appeared on her broad, fair
brow. There was an anxious expression in
the beautiful eyes. The sweet, red lips
gathered into a delicious pout as she ex
claimed : " I don't sec notu'n' oj it nowAcrcs."
I rushed off and drowned my disappoint
ment in a glass of soda water.
fciterary.
Eighty-live new stand oi new rifles will be
received shortly from the government arse
nal at Rock Island, making 275 stand of
arms in the department.
'The strange things we do and the strange
things we see, they are English, you know,"
Dixey used to sing. The strange thing of
which 1 wish to speak is not English, but it
is connected with something English. It is
and has been for years, a mystery to me
why the editors of Harper's Magazine, who
display such good taste as a general rule,
insist in inflicting one ol George DuMauri
er's impossible pictures and pointless "jokes"
on a long-suffering public nearly every
month. Those short-waisted, hook-nosed
smirking women may exist in England,
though it is doubtful 5 but thank heaven they
do not in America, in any part of it I have
visited at anyrale. Of course it may be in
accord with eternal justice that we should
bear part of the woes of our cousins "across
the pond." Most of us however are selfish
enough to leave the sight of such woebegone
females entirely to them. And the jokes !
Well they are bearable because the knowl
edge that they are intended for jokes makes
them really funny. There is a story (an
English one, so you may not see the point,)
of a man who climbed Table Mountain in
South Africa. He came down very much
disgusted because "it was" he said, "no
mountain at all, but just a bit of a plain stuck
up in the air." That has always been my
experience with DuMaurier's jokes. After
I get to the place where the point ought to
be it doesn't materialize. It is like the top
of Table Mountain, very flat.
Speaking of pictures of English women
reminds me of something even more out of
place in the literary column than criticism of
poor illustrations. The most striking thing
at the Fair (apologies to the Hesperian tor
mentioning the Fair) to most of the Univer
sity students, at least to ihe boys, was the
number of pretty women. From what most
of them say (I freely confess it for my part,)
they spent about as much time admiring
their country-women as they did looking at
the exhibits. It was a great relief after fill
ip
w i a , ,
II p c jkfK4VMkwHUrnMt.j
"-" J
mxtma
