Mvefl!375
12
THE COURIER.
I
ture, there is nothing more common in
the annals of matrimony than your
case."
"Then when I 'went on,' as you call
it," Desmond said sneeringly, "you stay
ed behind to offer consolation, I sup
pose!" Ferris took a step forward and stopped.
"Tdia is your house, Desmond, acd I am
a guest in it," he said quietly.
Desmond dropped into a chair. "Good
God, man, can't you see I am beside my
self ? What does all that this matter
,with Lola up there like that?'' He
shuddered at the thought of her.
"It is my justification for tonight,
Desmond, and you must listen. In all
these years I have not begun to keep
peace with you; I 'stayed behind,' as you
fay. At forty I am a humdrum old
bachelor, but I have kept my honor and
my self-respect, and I hare been able to
be of some use to the woman I most
cared for in the wcrld. Never since I
came back into her life has the matter
of love been considered by either of us.
With another typo of woman it would
not have been possible to sustain such
relations, but Lola has quaint, old
fashioned rrinciples, and she is not emo
tional or analytical. She accepted my
loyal friendship without a question."
"I believo you, Ferris, but she must
have ail-unconsciously been loving you.
It was to you and not me sho turned to
night."' "YeB, God bless her for that!" A sud
deu light of happiness illumined Feme's
face. "Sometimes I have thought, Des
mond," the younger man went on, "that
somo other woman may have come into
your life it does not stund to reason
that you would go your way altogether
alone, the need of companionship is so
great. But if it is so, you have nover
betrayed it, and I like you for that. You
havo been the model husband, attentive
and courteous alwayp. gratifying for
every wh-h she is full of praise of you."
"Don't, Ferris," the man broke out
impulsively; "don't, I can't 6tand it."
He folded his arms and gazed intently
into the tire. In another fire, upstairs
in his room, the ashes of a little note lay
smouldering.
'You spoke just now of another
woman." The words came slowly, and
Desmond's voice took on an absent tonn
as if his thoughts were far away. "If I
am as you say, a model husband, it is all
owing to her influence. I deserve no
credit. Whatever of virtue there is in
me. she has made."
The doctor entered the room, and
went up to Desmond's chair. "She has
passed away without regaining consci
ousness tnere was no hope from the
first. Will you go up now?"
Desmond staggered over to Ferris, and
laid his hand heavily on the other man's
boulder. The faces of both were ashen,
and Deemond's throat was parched so
that it was with great difficulty that he
poke.
"I respect you more than any man
living," he said. "Go up to her now;
you have the better right' He pushed
Ferris toward the door, and turned to
the doctor with an hysterical laugh that
ended in a sob.
"This is my silver wedding," he said.
TRIADS.
Three things havo men of tho Cymric race:
Strength of limb, fpirness of face.
And emtio deed, stout knighthood's grace.
Three thing of the soul the Cymn own :
The soldier's zoal to fcarunknown,
Worship f woman, help for tho lone.
Three things ire of their spirits within:
A loathing hato of deadly sin.
And love, nod faith, where lights begin.
The home of tho mighty tho Cymric land :
Three things bound in its rocky strand,
Ture air, rich vales, and mountains grand.
-Idyla.
TO A DAHLIA.
Madam your vast voluminous skirts
Are out of out of date,
Tho twentieth century maiden flirts
And rides of late
In garments that resemble more
A springtime blossom loved of yore,
A bifurcate.
Gowns are for priests and judges old,
And grave to wear;
They need tho dignity of fold
And laces rare.
Skirts for girls havo had their day.
So change your dress for b'.oomeiB gay
Or folk will stare.
Isabel Richey.
going to school
Do the children go to school? And are they joyous
and happy? Is school-life a pleasure? And is progress
being made ? Or is the opposite true ? Does the close of
each day bring a headache ? There is no appetite and sleep
is imperfect. The color gradually leaves the cheeks and
only a little effort is followed by exhaustion. To continue
school means to come to the end of the year with broken
health. What is the best thing to do? Take
ScellS SlTVuIstCTU
of Cod-liver Oil, with hypophosphites. The cod-liver oil
nourishes the body and makes red corpuscles for the blood.
The hypophosphites are tonics to the nervous S3'Stem, giving
mental activity during the da' and refreshing sleep at night.
Don't let you child get thin and worry along. Give Scott's
Emulsion; insist on a generous amount of out-door exercise;
and the vigor of youth will return.
to cts. and Ji a botUe. SCOTT & BOWKB, Chemists, New York.
A WINTER SWEETHEART.
Oh. isn't she neat and trig and sweet!
With her hair acurl and the swish
and swirl
Of silk and lace round her Hying feet,
Her eyes a shine and her cheeks all
pink
The queen of the lake and the skat
ing rink.
And the beautiful belle of the ball!
As she waves her fan from the opera
box
The world is at her call;
She breaks all hearts and she lowers
stocks
In last year's summe' girl!
Not long ago Mr. Andrsw Lang put
forth some strictures upon a paper of
George Moore, with the result that Mr.
Moore.wno has evidently learned a thing
or two in literary polemics, replied in
the following very amusing letter ad
dressed to the editor of the Saturday
Review:
To tho Alitor of the Saturday Review.
Sir: In this month's Longmans Mr.
Andrew Lang comments somewhat
strangely on my article entitled "Sinco
the Elizabethans." published in the Cos
mopolis for October.
It happsned to me te spend a few days
last summer in an English village. As
1 drove from the railway station to the
lodging which had been hired for me, I
noticed a pleasant river, which seemed
to promise excellent fishing. I mention
ed the river ty my landlady.
"Oh, yes, 6ir," she said, "there is very
good fishing here many people come
here for fishirg."
'"What kind of people come here?" I
asked distractedly.
"Literary gentlemen come here very
often, sir; we had Mr. Andrew Lang
staying here."
"Oh, really! . . . Does he fish? Is he
a good fisherman?'
" i en, sir; he fishes beautifully."
"Really! Does he catch much?"
"No, sir; he never catches anything,
but he fishes beautifully."
Yours truly,
George Moore.
v V'fi I fcMMaJr Fl II 1
asarv &rzmr
rs5afi-
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s -m
Illustrated
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Hewitt I don't see how you can love
that girl.
Jewitt You didn't hear her father's
will read.
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