Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 27, Number 2, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 11 July 1896 — Page 3

A POSTER ROMANCE.

She pomed within a poster gown .'/•J Beneath a poster tree A poster background wiggled down

Into a poster sea.

I mustered up a poster smite And said, "Oh, oreet lass. If you decide it worth your while.

an

Our troth shall come to pass!"

She viewed me with a poster frown And cried, "It cannot be Ton havu no weird, grotesque renown

Too plain yon are for me."

I wildly dashed npon my wheel: I scorched it here and there. Collided, spilled, and, with a squeal,

I heard my garments tear.

Ail mod and blood and rags I ride To her who did me fling She drooped npon my neck and sighed, "Ah, now yoo'ro jost the thing!" —Chicago Record.

HIS SPANISH GIRL.

I wondered why Barry should be sitting alone in the garden at 10 o'clock on a fine midwinter night As I remembered him, he had been a sociable sort of fellow, fond of gayety and pretty girls, and there was a cotillon going tra indoors in the ballroom. I wondered, too, where his wife was, for he had told me he was married.

It was six years since I had last seen him. We had been boys together, just ont of college, and I hod vi^fred him for a summer in the southeriTpart of the state, where his home bad always been and where his family was one of the few "old" ones which could rightly lay claim to gentility of other than mushroom growth.

After that visit I bad gone back to San Francisco and to a truly Sail Francisco system of work, with the result that my health and spirits had steadily decreased, and at tho end of these half dozen years I was obliged to come south for a long rest.

I had chosen this delightful and quiet hotel in thehopo that I might not have my peace disturbed by any of my numerous acquaintances, but here, the first thing, came down upon us in our retreat a crowd of wordlings from town, bent on dancing a cotillon. Barry had como with them. Why, then, I repeated, was ho not in the ballroom, and where was his wife? Perhaps she did not dance. But, in that ease, why was either of them with the frivolous party that was turning our secluded spot into bedlam?

For a moment longer I let my gaze follow a girl in white satin, who had fascinated me. She was very young and brilliant and erect, with tho face a painter would have chosen for Olympiad wreathed in vines and serpents.

A high, unnaturally white forehead, with very black and very straight, thin brows, eyes long and flashing and cruel, a large nose, suggestive of the Hebrew, thin, red lips, continually parted in a wild sort of smile over wonderful teeth a brilliant color, along face, black hair, parted and twisted low on one of tho most columnar necks I had ever seen.

It was not a beautiful face. In repose it was far from beautiful, but it was rarely in repose, and her laugh was the most bewildering thing imaginable. If she had beeu tho heroine of a romance, men would have loved and hated her to the extent of tho shedding of a great deal of blood, but in life today it is hard cash, not women's faces, that accomplish that. I took one last look at the demoniacal young face and then went to hunt up Barry.

Wo had already met in tho office, but had not had time to exclmngo a dozon words. I wanted to talk over old times and new times, so, when I drew near him, I scraped my feet and coughed, as being the approved method of breaking in upon tetes-a-tetesand meditation, and when ho started I said: "Hello! That you, Barry?" and took a seat beside him on the bench. Ho offered me a cigar and gave mo a light, from which I inferred I was not unwelcome. "What are you doing, mooning under a pepper tree? It seoms to mo dancing's more in your line, or doesn't tlu madam dance?" "Yes sho dances." "Oh!" I said, and feeling slippery ground, proceeded to avoid it "Came down from town tonight with tho party, didn't you?" I asked. "Yes."» 'Heaps of pretty women." "I)o yon think so? I admire your northern women more. They have more distinction too. Ours fade early, besides. "Well, there's one girl there, by Jove, that makes up for a country of mediocrity—that witch of a flirt with the black hair and the very bare shoulders who is dancing with Thornton. If I didn't happen to have some one I like Setter in the city, I think I'd go in for

"But she's married, my friend." "No? Who's the proud possessor?" "1 am." 'You don't say? Since when?" "Since five years ago nearly." "Well, it's a little late, but permit me to congratulate you. Sho i* superb." "Thanks." And then we lapsed into silence, and I reflected upon the facility with which a well meaning man may put his foot in it "You wonder at my not dancing, don't yon?" ho said abruptly. "Well, I Used to like it I like it now, but 1 found Mrs. Barry was already engaged, so there was nothing for me t© do hot to order flowers gracefully and step oat here—to reflect and rrcnlL "Do yon know," he went on, "X had a romantic meeting and parting on this spot once, right under this very tree. It was just riftrr I left yon. six yeans ago—the meeting. I had ridden out from town on Nocturne. You tvtnember her. the little black mare? I was walking her along a road which ran about six feet from here, just about where that Bon Silene bush is (it was before the days of the hotel), when all of a sodden she shied at what looked like a bundle of old clot lien under this tree. No, no I wasn't thrown, and I wasn't rescued by the heroine. It was not much of a shy, just enough to make me look

again at the bundle and wonder what it was—it was dusk, you know—and then to notjee that the bundle moved. 5

41

Wherefore I concluded it was woman, probably a Mexican. It was a woman, or a very young girl, rather, and a deuced pretty one—a Mexican too. I could see that, even in the twilight, for her eyes gleamed in the dark as only a pair of Mexican eyes can gleam, and there was an added brightness, for the eyes were wet with tears. How do I know? I dismounted and found out, of course. It- isn't likely I was going to see a woman prone on the ground long way firm the nearest habitation at nightfaP and yet not #fer her any assistance in my power. "Well, as I said, she was crying stormily, and I set about finding out why. She told a most blood curdling tale of parental cruelty. It wasn't true. I've found that out since. She was only 16, but she could tell an extraordinari ly good lie. As a matter of fact, she had found that a particular flame of hers was going to take another girl to some shindy. But the cruel treatment story did nicely, and I comforted her—she was such a mere child, I honestly thought. The lie was innocent enough. They aren't taught to think a falsehood anything serious. She was just a trifle shy and shrinking, like a little girl who puts her hands behind her and lowers her lashes at the advances of a stranger In fact, that is exactly what she did. You have seen those lashes. You'd have been just as big a fool as I was and have staid until the moon rose and made an appointment for another meeting, and eventually you'd have fallen as badly in love as I did. "We alwr.ys met under this tree. It was on her father's land, but quite out of sight of the house. She said that if he were to find us together he would re double his brutality, but I assured her that if we were discovered we would run off at ODce and get married. The child was in one of her acquiescent moods and lowered her eyes and agreed, Of course I could only manage to get away on Saturday evenings or Sundays— this is. the anniversary of our meeting, by the bye you see I cling to old mem ories—but we made tho most of our time. I never had been so infatuated as I was with that Spanish child, with her tawdry, bright frocks, her shy ways her gorgeous eyes and her broken English. She really was Spanish and not Mexican, I learned." *y "They all are," I ventured. "I know, but your sarcasm is wasted. In this case it was beyond question, and there was American blood in her veins, too—a little of it "I insisted upon running away with her and getting married at sea, and, after no end of refusals, shp finally consented. Oh, I was far too smitten, too ensnared, to have it occur to me then how a match of the sort would hamper my career how an ignorant country girl would prove a thorn in my flesh in the critical town clique what asocial drag she would be upon me! I knew the family would raise particular Cain, but when a man wants to marry in spite of his family he is apt to look upon it as a small stone to be kicked out of his path, and it takes him some time to disoovcr that his pebble is a good sized bowlder. "But wo quarreled." A long pause, while Barry lit another cigar from the old one and puffed it into glowing. I kept silence, and after awhile he went on: "You may think most women are ficiy, but you should try a Spaniard. She got the cruel father—a harmless, shriveled up old follow—to tako her into town behind one of his trotters one day. She wanted to buy a gown, which sho told him was for some kind of a baile out here, but it was really to get married in. I had brought her a sample of tho Btuff I wanted her to get otherwise she'd have appeared in pink and green and white laco beyond a doubt "Well, she saw me on the street with a city girl. I believe it was Nora Olarke. You remember her? She was the merest acquaintance, as you know, and I treated her as one does any woman one happens to meet We passed a confectioner's, and I, naturally enough, asked her to have some soda water. I don't suppose I'd have done it if I'd known that Ysadora was around, simply because I was aware that she wouldn't take it as an American fiancee would have done.

But she was around, and sho thought I was doing the.deadly devoted, so the next Saturday, when we wero to have run away, she met me with reproaches and tears and deviltry generally. She wouldn't listen to reason. She tore up the new gown and refused ever to marry me or any other man, and she used some rftroiig but musical Spanish. I fancy she was more jealous than hurt, but I—well, I was completely done up. To say that she looked more beautiful than ever would be to put it weakly. When I saw her disappear for good over behind that clump of eucalyptus, I was oil the verge of suicide Pity 1 stopped at the verge. "The fellow vcho has since built the hotel bought this spot, that saw our meeting and our parting, when her old father died, a year or so later. "Yon

CAiue

along I was going

over old memories «itl vising—I suppose I should not say it—wishing that it wero six years ago, and that I was still blir^'y infatuated with my Spanish swee «rt of 16."

I am not fond of the mc« nm unfinished stocy. I want to see tho heroine Lm in ber grave by a fc of -r grandchildren, and the fo^vu her contentedly soma «,*:• r, so I ask t. "But what became of the girl?" "Nothing evfcr'becranee' in real life," he aa«w?wd. ,, "W re is she now?" I persisted. "In the ballroom, dancing the c~nllon with Thornton.n ^^-5 **Tbcn"— "Yea. We made it up after her father's death and were married—on dry land—and have lived hap ever aft- «," he added, shrugging but shoulders and throwing away his cigar.—Owen* dolen Overton in San Francisco Argonaut

FOE LITTLE FOLKS.

A JUNIOR FISHERMAN.

He Helped to Land a Muskeltange Whiek Was as Lone as Himself. What is perhaps the biggest muskellunge ever caught was landed the other day by a big man and a small boy, both of whom live in Buffalo.

How big the fish was you may glean some idea "rom the illustration given here. When the giant muskellunge took hold of the hook, the two in the boat

thought they bad caught a shark. They were, not at all sure that it wasn't a shark either, when the big fellow was finally brought aboard the yawl.

The monster muskellunge when weighed tipped the scales at 40 pounds. He was beautifully marked, and his scales looked like silver and gold as the fat water bird lay panting for breath on the stern seat of the small fishing craft,

You can only guess the feelings of the junior fisherman as he helped drag in the great floundering fellow.

It was a proud achievement for any boy to take part in, and the young Buffalonian is well pleased with his work, you may be sure.—New York-Recorder.

Rose Got the Doll.

A pretty little story comes from Baltimore. At a fair held there for the^eneflt of a church a little girl, named Rose had worked very hard while the fair was in progress to sell various things that were intrusted to her. A doll was at one of the booths that was to be voted to the most popular little girl and Rose's name was among others a candidate for this prize. The child was very anxious to possess the lovely doll, which seemed to her the most beautiful thing in the world. On the evening of the drawing little Rose could hardly wait, but when the numbers began to be read off it was notioed that she was not around. Some one went to look after her and found her in a part of the room where the crowd was the least on her knees saying over a little childish prayer whioh begged that the doll baby might be sent to her. The sight brought tears to the eyes of those who saw and listened. Just as she finished the word was sent among her friends that Rose had, indeed, earned the doll, and a second later, so touched was every one with her childish faith, it was snatched from the table and put in her arms. Happiness beamed all over her baby face as she carried her treasure around the room, and everybody who saw her was as glad as she was that she had got it

His Firefly.

The small boy had never seen any fireflies. He had, however, seen the stars—the beautiful, faroff, mysterious stars, and he regarded them as altogether about the best thing that this round world had provided for his especial entertainment and delight All last winter he used to "beg off" from going to bed that he might sit in his nurse's lap and gaze up at the little golden twinklers set in the dark sky. How he longed to have them closer, that he might catch and hold them and find out for himself just what they were. The other evening a firefly flashed for the first time across the small boy's path. The sight of it filled him with wonder and curiosity, but no one was able to satisfy him as to just what it was. Presently his big brother caught one and put it in the small boy's fist "Oh, mamma," he cried, as he viewed the tiny, twinkling insect at close range, "I know what they are now they're bug stars."—New York Sun.

The Animals of Bern.

I have a set of animals From Bern across the sea. V: 1 You'd never think that OOWB and pigs So beautiful could be. For all the pigs are pale light bins And all the oowa are green ^heir coats are speckled o'er with flower* Of every kind that's seen. The horses area fine bright pink, 1 dailies mottled over T_. sabs are white and violet, With leaves of meadow clover. There are no animals like thou Ir. *1 my Noah'* ark T.'v re are no animals like those In all of Central park. A :1 sometime* when I think of them don't know how I yearn To vely animals A-waikuit ruund In Bern. —Pauline King in St Nicholas.

TEIJKE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, JULY 11, 1896.

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A Clever Dog. 5.'

Did you ever hear of a dog that could say a Mother Goose rhyme? There is a little fox terrier in a river town whose mistress repeats before him the familiar jingle:

Bow, wow. wow! Wltoeedog art tboat I'm Tommy Tinker's dog. Bow, wow. wow! He will listen intently, with ears eocked up, as she says, "Now pay attention, Jack," and raises her finger. "Bow, wow, wow," he begins, and sfaa adds: "Wbo*»e dog art thou? I'm Tommy Tinker's dog." when Jack breaks in, in perfect time, with another "Bow, wow, wow. "—New York Times.

If Dickens Had Lived.

How swift was the blow that struck Pickens down on that summer's day in 1870! Rich, happy, universally honored, rejoicing in his prosperity and in his .power of giving pleasure to others, he worked faithfully to the last Toward I the close of his life his labors as a nov- 1 elist had been somewhat interrupted, and from 1861, when "Great Expectations" was completed, until 1870 only j' one novel had come from his busy pen, and that not one of the best But in that latter year (or, rather, in the close Of 1869), after months of the most untiring exertions, traveling, lecturing and reading, he turned again to his true vocation and began "The Mystery of Edwin Drood."

There is no traoe of fatigue in it no sign of lessening vitality. He was working on the ground that he had made his own and he was happy in his work. On the morning of the 8th of June, 1870, he had been writing in the little chalet in the grounds of his house, at Gads Hill, writing cheerfully, hopefully. Contrary to his usual custom he had resumed work after luncheon, and continued through the greater part of the afternoon. Then he walked back to the house he was never again to leave alive.

He had made an appointment with a friend in London for the following day, but it was never kept. By the evening of the 9th he was dead, leaving "The Mystery of Edwin Drood" a mystery still, though one, it may be, that does not need much unraveling.—Macmillan's Magazine.

Some Gigantic Crystals. '.-

If you are*a fancier of mineral specimens, you probably treasure one or more three or four inch crystals and fondly imagine that they are of unusual size. As common cabinet specimens go, they are oertainly large enough, but as compared with real large mineral crystals they are as a mouse compared with an elephant. At the town of Grafton, N. EL, they find the largest crystals known to the geologists and mineralogists. How large do you suppose these giants are? One, two or three feet long? Well, I guess so. A single specimen from that locality taken to Boston and deposited in the museum of the Society of Natural History weighed nearly 2^ tonsl Another, found at the same place, iB the largest crystal in the world, so far as is known. It is a perfect six sided prism, having a circumference of 12 feet Three weeks' labor by two men was expended in exposing this giant of the mineral kingdom. The crystal is of beryl, and, according to estimates made by experienced quarrymen, weighs not less than five tons. —St. Louis Republic.

Wfien Holmes Was In London. I had to give more than $2 for a pit ticket and had hardly room to stand up, almost crowded to death. The Duchess of Kent and the Princess Viotoria—a girl of 15 and heir to the throne—came in first on the side opposite the king's box. The audience applauded somewhat —not ferociously. The princess is a nice fresh looking girl, blond and rather pretty. The king looks like a retired butcher. The queen is much such a person in aspect as the wife of the late William Frost of Cambridge, an exemplary milkman, now probably immortal on a slab of slatestone as a father, a husband and a brother. The king blew his nose twice and wiped the royal perspiration repeatedly from a face which is probably the largest uncivilized spot in England. I have a disposition to tartness and levity which tells to the disadvantage of the royal living and the plebeian defunct but it is accidental and must be forgiven.—"Life and Letters of Oliver Wendell Holmes." .r

Among the Healers.

It was a social occasion whioh had called together a number of men who are eminent in their respective professions. The person who asked questions was there, aud as soon as he was able engaged the attention of the man who knows everybody. "Who is that man with the dark asses?" wus the first inquiry. "That's Dr. Lenser."

What is his business?" "He's an oculist." "And who was the gentleman who put a speaking trumpet to his ear every time anybody spoke to him?"

That's Dr. Tympan." Has he a specialty?" Yes. He's an aurist""" And the man who has such a phenomenally husky voice—who is he?" "That is Dr. Eppa Glottis. He's the famous throat specialist"—Detroit Free Press. ,.

Some Hen Have Lac]

Bfeturcing to Paris from Brazil after 80 years' absence, with 300,000 francs in his bag, M. Georges H. took a cab home. He called at a friend's house, entered for a moment and returned to find the cab gone with his bag and his money. M. H. prepared to return to Brazil to make another 800,000 francs, but en route called at a prefecture of police. Here they handed him bis money, with apologies from the cabman.

It appears that while M. EL was in the house the driver went to sleep. While the driver was asleep the horse, getting bored, moved on round several corners, and the cabman on waking oould not remember where he had come from. Therefore he drove off to the police station.—Paris Messenger.

Biliousness

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