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THE COURIER
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SHORT STORIES.
BY I. S. 1 URGENEFF.
(Translated from tlio Russian by E. It.
I. '-The Old Woman."
I walked along tho'wide fields alone.
Suddenly it seemed to me I heard cautious steps behind me.
Somebody was following my steps. I looked back and saw a
bent old woman, muffled up all in gray rags.
Only the face of the littlo old woman could bo seen from undor
them it was a yellow, wriqkled, sharp-nosed, toothless face.
I approached her sho stopped. "Who am you? What do you
want? Are you a beggar? Are you waiting for charity?"
The old woman gave no answer. I bent toward her and noticed
that both her eyes wore covered with a half-transparent whitish
membrane, like some birds hare, to protect their eyes from an ex
ceedingly bright light.
But the littlo old woman's membrano was immobile, and did not
disclose her pupils.
That made me believe she was blind.
"Do you want charity?" repeated I my question. "Why do you
follow me?"
But the little old woman, as before, made no answer, and only
shrank somewhat.
I turned my back and continued my route.
Then again behind mo the same easy, measured Bteps, as though
somebody walked stealthily.
"Again the same woman!" methought. "Why is shopursuingme?"
And here I mentally added: "Probably the sho has lost her
way, and now by hearing she follows my steps in order to find a
habitable place. Yes; that it is."
But a strange disquietude took, little by little, possession of my
mind.
It began to seem to mo that this littlo old woman not only follows
me but also directs me; that she pushes me to the right and to tho
left, and that involuntarily I obey her.
However I continue my route, But in front of mo on my very
way there is something blackening and widening some hole
"A grave!" Hashed into my mind. "There she is pursuing mo!"
I turned short back.
The old woman is again in front of mo and she sees!
Sho looks at me with great ominous eyes eyes of a bird of prey.
I came near her face, her eyes again tho samo dim orbs, tho same
blind and dull look.
"Ah! methinks this old woman is ray Fate!
"That fate from which man cannot escape!'
Not escape! Not escape!
What an insanity!
One must attempt it.
I throw myself aside in another direction. I walked quickly but
the easy stops as beforo rustle behind me close close.
And in front of me I see darkening again a hole.
I turn again in a new direction and again I hear the same dread
ful rustling behind me, and seo tho same dreadful holo in front of
me.
And wherever I struggled with myself as a chased hare driven
wild tho same state, all the same.
Stop! Methinks I will deceivo her! I shall go nowhere, and
momentarily I sit myself on tho ground.
The old woman stands behind at two steps from me.
I do not hear her, but I feel that 6he is here, and suddenly I seo
that spot which was darkening far off; it swims, creeps itself nearer
to me.
Lord! I turned back. The old woman is staring straight at me,
and her toothless mouth, twisted with a smirk, hissed: "You cannot
escape!"
II THE BEGGAR.
I walked along the street, when I was stopped by a very old de
crepit beggar.
Inflamed, tearful eyes, bluish lips, rough rags, unclean sores.
O, how poverty has disfigured that unfortunate being.
Ho stretched forth before me, his red swollen, dirty hand. Ho
moaned, clamoring for help.
I began to feel in my pockets. I had neither purse nor watch,
scarce even a handkerchief.
I took nothing with mo.
And tho beggar still waited, his out stretched hand was feebly
shaking and shivering.
Bewildered and agitated, I firmly squeezed this dirty, trembling
hand.
"I am sorry brother, I have nothing."
Tho beggar stared at mo with his inflamed eyes; hiB bluish lips
smiled, and in his turn ho squeezed my benumbed hand.
"Well brother," uttered ho. "Thanks for this. This is a donation
brother."
I understood, that I also havo recoived a donation from at
brother.
Ill THE LAST INTERVIEW.
Wo were formerly intimate and close friends but there camo an
evil moment and wo parted enemies.
Several yeare passed away then returning to tho town whero ho
was livng, I learned that ho was hopelessly ill and wished to seo mo
I went to his house and entered hiB room. Our eyes mot.
I scarcely recognized him. Lord! what malady has made him.
Yellow, dried up, his head entirely bald, a narrow gray beard, ho
sat enveloped in a shirt cut out purposely.
He could not bear the pressure of tho lightest garment.
Impetuously ho stretched forth to mo his awfully thin, as if ..bo-"'
gnawed hand. Making an effort ho muttered a few unintelligible
words. Was it a greeting? Was it a reproach? Who knows?
His macerated breast began to move and upon the contracted
pupils of his inflamed eyes trickled to meager, suffering tears.
My heart sank within me. I sat on a chair near him, and letting
fall involuntary looks in tho face of this dreadful deformity, I too
stretched out my hand.
But it appeared to me that it is not his hand that I took hold of
It seems to me that between us sits a tall, calm, whito woman.
A long cover invest her from head to foot.
Nowhere are directed the looks of her deep pale eyes.
Nothing is said by her pale, severe lips.
This woman has joined our hands.
Sho has reconciled us for eternity.
Yes. Death has reconciled us.
. E. R.
MAKING HER RECORD.
"Sir," said tho proud young soubrette, "I positively refuse to marry
you."
"I wasn't awaro that I had ever asked you," said the plutocrat.
"Of course you haven't. But when I tell my friends and tho press
that I refused to marry you it will bo so, don't you seo?"
ADVICE TO A YOUNG MAN.
"I want you to advise me, Miss Barkereon," Baid the young South
Side exquisite. "I am going to take a lady to the theater this even
ing, and, after its over, I expect to give her a nice lunch at some
swell restaurant. What had I better order?"
"You want a swell luncheon,' I suppose?" said tho society belle.
"Regular swell. Way up."
"You are not particular as to the expense?"
"Want it got up regardless."
"And you want to do thb proper thing?"
"That's it, exactly."
"Well," observed the young woman thoughtfully, "suppose you ask
tho lady what sho would like?"
A PARADIS1AGIAL VISION.
Weary Watkins Can't you give me a Job of work or soraethin" to
eat, mister?
The Mister Well, I havent any jobs of work and there ain't any
thing to eat lyin' 'round, bpt if you'd step in and sit down I can give
you a couple of drinks of good old rye."
Weary Watkins (fleeing in terror) Weepin' Rachel! I am a gone
man! It ain't natchral such things should happen to people wot
ain't marked fur an early grave.