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VOii. VIII
J. H. & W. B. SEALS Jpro^^toS.
ATLANTA, 6A., APRIL 14, 1SS3
Terms in Advance*}SuT^'* 8,50
Single Copy Sc
NO. 3!)#
KILDEE;
-OR THE-
Sphinx of the Red House.
•f U MANCH,” “WILD WORK," “FIGHTING AGAINST FATE," Etc.,
CHAPTER V.
WHAT WAS FOUND IN THE LIBRARY—TnE VAIN
SEARCH FOE THE FUGITIVE.
Two hours later, Mrs. Montcalm’s maid,
Frances, returned from the party, escorted
by her sweetheart. She was bidding him
good night on the back porch, when the
door suddenly opened and a woman came
out. She was wrapped in a dark mantle;
her features were mullled in a veil. But as
she hurried past the girl, her veil caught on
Fanny’s shoulder, and the astonished maid
saw the face of her mistress. So white the
face looked in that swift, moon-lit glimpse,
that the girl came near screaming. The
apparation was gone before she had recov
ered herself.
“It was my mistress!” she said, in a terri
fied whisper to her companion.
“It was Mrs. Montcalm,” he answered,
“but how pale she looked!”
“Something is wrong; something has hap
pened. I am frightened half to death.
Don’t go away, Harry. Wait here on the
porch awhile.”
She opened the door. The hall was dark
and silent. She groped her way to the table
where she had left lamp and matches. Her
foot slipped in something; she stooped to
investigate and nipped her fingers in a
warmish fluid that seemed to have run I
alonjs- the flbor. With her heart in her
it<outh»%ho seized the
a/ light! As
through the silent house. The light had
shown Ijer her fingers dabbled with blood.
ams startled the inmates of the
CHAPTER VI.
‘‘Not for your silver bright
But for your winsome daughter.”
Months went by. More than a year had
elapsed since the tragedy at Wallport. Still
the murder remained a mystery. The police
had been baffled: Laura Montcalm had not
been 6een or heard of.
One day, General Montcalm dispatched a
note to the office of the “Daily Rattler,” re
questing that young Hall—a brilliant attache
of that paper—should come and see him in
his study.
Hazard Hall was one of the General’s
coterie of youthful pets. The old ex-soldier
and politician was no fossel. He loved dear
ly to gather young men of talent about him
— keen, enthusiastic fellows, who had their
way in the world to carve by their own wits.
Their bold theories, their sanguine views
revivified him. He was wont to say that in
their enthusiasm lay the seed of progress.
It was better than the cautious judgment of
age.
Shortly after Re had come to Wallport
with the hope to better his fortunes, young
Hall had rendered a service to General
Montcalm (saved him from being injured
in a streetcar accii^nt,) and thus had made
his acquaintance ind been invited to his
house. The General listened with interest
to Hazard’s comically told but pathetic ac
count of his battle with poverty, drew out
the young fellow’s ideas upon political and
Azcd the match-box and struck I social Question b-laughed at some of his ex
it flash* a up, her shriek' rang trerue notion^and finally took him by the
lle TJ | b r * *ng houses. Soon the hall was
filled
Put t.
'torne. ‘
'iust t>»
4,C'TfcW,
‘,?n, and hurried questions were
ited girl.
SIk# “Tlud °nly point to the stream of
blcnj? H had run from under
the library The door was opened; it
was not locked, but force was required to
push it open, for a dead weight lay against
it. The body of Captain Montcalm was
stretched upon the floor in a little pool of
blood. His upturned face bore the stamp
of violent passion. On his breast glittered
something like a star. It was the hilt of a
tiny poniard. A9 one drew out the keen,
slender blade, reeking with blood, exclama
tions burst from the group gathered around
the body. More than one recognized the
glittering hilt by its sinister design, a cobra,
the raised hood studded with a single ruby,
the eyes two diamond sparks. They had
seen it worn by Mrs. Montcalm, though
they thought it then only a curious and
costly ornament. Now, as they saw the
dripping blade, the eyes of each said: “She
did this deed. He denounced her for her
conduct and she stabbed him with this
seeming toy she wore.”
The thought burst into vehement utter
ance when Mrs. Montcalm could no where
be found rnd when the maid told her story,
corroborated by her lover, of meeting her
mistress flying from the house. Hers was
almost the only evidence in the case, be
yond the testimony that Mrs. Montcalm had
that day gone to Aphrodite Island in defi
ance of her husband’s wishes, that she had
worn the jewel-hilted poniard (in its gold
sheath) stuck in her silken girdle, and that
she had returned from the island in com
pany with her husband’s clerk.
David Holt was found in bed in his room
at the warehouse, but he was in no condi
tion to give evidence. His senses were
locked up in a stupor, which proved to be
the prelude of a brain fever. It kept him at
death’s door for many weeks, and when at
last it released its hold, it left him a wreck
in mind. Friends from his native place
came for him and took him back with
them.
Not a doubt of Laura Montcalm’s guilt
was entertained, even by those who had been
her friends. The State offered a reward of
five hundred dollars for the detection and
apprehension of Bayard Montcalm’s mur
derer, and five thousand dollars was added
to this by General Montcalm, the elder
brother of the murdered man. General
Montcalm was one of the oldest and most
honored citizens of Wallport. He had loved
his brother devotedly.
Burrell was much younger than he, and as
a youth had been wayward but brilliant
and lovable. The general had regarded him
with a mixture of fraternal affection and
fatherly care and solicitude. His death
in this terrible manner was a shock which
at first paralyzed the general, then strung
every fibre of his being to the vengeful de
sire to find and punish the slayer. He felt
firmly assured that this was Laura Mont
calm, and that she had fled to Miles Carleon
for concealment. Carleon scornfully threw
open his house and grounds at Aphrodite
Island to the inspection of the police. A
thorough search was made, but without re-
Still there were many who believed that
the fair fugitive was concealed in some se
cret portion of the oddly-built mansion, or
in some nook of the intricately planted
grounds. Others believed that she had
drowned herself after committing the des
perate act. .
4. veil, with the initials of her name em
broidered in the corner, and tracks, which
corresponded with the size of her slender
feet were found at the waters’ edge.
Bnt in discredit of this theory it was as
serted that a small malachite box in which
she kept money and valuable jewels was
Ul Xhe police force of the city bent its ener
gies to finding the missing woman. Tele-
grah wires had at once flashed a description
of her along every line. Every vessel and
every railway train that left Wallport under
went detective scrutiny.
But all in vain. Nio clew was obtained to
the woman whose name had become a by
word of shame and crime.
hand and introduced him to the proprietors
of Rattler—a L-w, live paper which was do
ing its best to supplant the two dull digni
fied dailies of Jiie city.
“Full of braids and vim—worth a dozen
of any man you) have on your staff,” was
the General’s recommendation of his favor
ite to the managing editor of the Rattler.
And the latter found the eulogy was pretty
well deserved.
The new attache at once brought himself
into notice by the skill and ingenuity with
which he traced out some well covered up
frauds in the late municipal administration,
and the daring with which he had exposed
them.
The General sat in his study—a pleasant
room in his large, old fashioned town resi
dence—when Hazard Hall was announced.
He held out his hand to the young journalist
—and smiled paternally into his dark, eager
face; then drew np a seat for him in front
of his own easy chair, and with characteris
tic promptness, entered upon the subject
that occupied his mind.
“My boy,” he said. “The clever way you
ferreted out those frauds in onr city govern
ment prove that you are keen on the scent—
that you have the born instinct of the de
tective.” t
“And you have sent for me to declare that
it is my destiny to be the American Lo-
cocque?” interposed Hazard smiling into the
General’s face in his half impudent, half
confiding way.
“I have sent for you to ask that you will—
if so please you—undertake a little in that
line for me?”
“For you, General?”
“Yes; you were not here at the time, but
you heard, you know that my brother—my
dear and only brother—was found dead in
his room—murdered.”
“Yes, General.”
“And yon know that the murderer es
caped, that he—no, let us speak the sex out
plainly-she, has never been traced. The
police here are a stupid lot. They have no
imagination; a man cannot be a good de
tective without it. Imagination suggests
probabilities,
Now, I want
examine the
some idea is
to getting npi
Hazard did
had his hands
determined to'
ent candidate for
you
ih research may verify,
look into the matter; to
it evidence and see if
d which may lead
the criminal.”
er for a minute. He
The Rattlerhad
^ftfrward an independ-
r ernor against the regu
lar nominees,one of whom was Ira Heathcliff
present mayor of Wallport, The fight would
be a hard one; his pen would be called upon
to do vigorous work.
Seeing his hesitation, the General said:
“You know what reward has been offered;
I will add to it if yon think it not enough.
And any favor beside I can do yon ”
“0, the reward is ample. If I undertake
it, it will be for your sake, General, not for
the reward.”
But still be hesitated.
“Why do the roses bloom,”
sang a rich, sweet voice outside. It was the
voice of Honor Montcalm, the General’s
only child—the image of her dead mother,
whose beauty had shone supreme at a for
eign court. Honor was walking in the gar
den. Hazard could see her from the win
dow; a tall, stately girl, dressed in white
with a cluster of red carnations on her
breast. The low sun glinted on her dark
gold hair, her white neck and brow. She
looked a creature made to walk among lilies
and coses.
“Well?” said the General, breaking the
pause.
“Well, sir, I will undertake it,” Hazard
answered, and he added to himself:
“ ‘But ‘tis not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome’—daughter.”
After a few suggestions from
Montcalm, Hazard rather hurriedly took
leave. That white vision in the garden
put murder and detection out of his
He went out of the room thinking to
her. But on reaching the piazza he found
himself forestalled. Some one else had
joined Miss Montcalm in the garden—some
one who walked confidently at her side, her
hand resting on his arm. Hazard knew that
tall, upright, square-shouldered figure. A
look of strong dislike came into his face.
“A cold-blooded, purse-proud upstart!
COLLEGE PRESIDENTS.
1. PRES. F. A. P. BARNARD of Columbia. 2. PRES. JAS. MC COSH of Princeto 11 '
3. PRES. CHAS. W. ELIOT of Harvard. 4. PRES. JAS. B. ANGELL of Ann Arbor.
5. PRES. NOAH PORTER of Yale.
pocket to get a fresh pencil, he felt and
drew ont a note which General Montcalm
had given him, with the remark that the in
formation it contained about a city matter
would make a good item. The note was
from Mayor Heathcliff—the late Demo
cratic nominee for Governor—Honor Mont
calm’s suitor. Hazard read it and sat musing
half absently. Suddenly he scrutinized tht
writing more closely. Something in the
turn of a capital letter had struck him with
the idea that there was a resemblance be
tween this writing and that of his unknown
patron. He caught up the envelope that
had contained the money and put it beside
Heathcliff’s note. Was it only his fancy, or
was there a resemblance in the shape of
certain letters? He at once remembered
that a noted expert was then in the city on a
business mission: h6 would take the envel
ope and note to him, together with a number
of specimens of other handwritings, and see
what he could make ont of it. He put the
two pieces of paper in his pocket ar.d going
into the room of the business manager,
asked for and obtained a goodly number of
letters that had been “worked over” and
thrown into the waste basket. A few min
utes later, he was ushei;ed into the room of
the expert, a taciturn man with a face like a
tombstone
Hazard put the pile of letters on the table
before him, among them the note from
Mayor Heathcliff, and giving him the en
velope that had contained the money, said:
“Can you tell me if any of these letters
were written by the same hand that wrote
this address?”
“In half an hour I can tell yon,” replied
the solemn-looking man.
“Very well, I will wait.”
To economize time Hazard took ont his
note book and began to write, while the ex
pert examined the letters, bringing each
one within a few inches of his nose and
peering at it intently through his short
sighted glasses.
Before the half hour was quite out, the
oracle had spoken.
“The hand writing of this letter and that
upon the envelope are the same. The latter
is disguised but it was written by the same
the other.”
and went to the ta^)I^
had indicated was the
bearing Ira
signature. £
does he think to win her?” he said between
his set teeth.
He had seen that Mayor Heathcliff—the
rich mill-owner— before so indifferent
to women— had, suddenly entered the
list of Honor Montcalm’s lovers, and
he had heard that she favored his
suit. But this he did not, would
not believe. He shut his eyes to everything
that might crush his hopes. With the im
petuous ardor and sanguine self-belief of
his nature, he had determined that the pos
session of Honor Montcalm should be the
goal of his ambition. She liked him: she
showed this frankly enough. His brilliant
talk amused and aroused her. She admired
the ingenious daring of his intellect, his
dark and handsome face. She permitted
him sometimes to be her escort. Surely
this was encouraging.
Yet there was a difference in her manner
to him and to Mr. Heathcliff. Hazard noted
this now—in the way she leaned on Heath-
cliff’s arm and looked up into his face.
She, who for all her sweetness, was so proud,
was little wont to lean upon or to look np
to any one. Hazard’s face grew dark.
“Yet I will not give her np without a
struggle,” he muttered, as he closed the
gate and turned into the street. He had not
been seen by the two who walked in the
garden in the fragrant twilight.
CHAPTER VH.
TRACING OUT A MY8TEB0US BENEFACTOR.
Hazard walked rapidly back to the office
of the Rattler, and mounted the two flights
of stairs that led up to his “den”—the eight
by ten sanctuary in which he did his share
of .th^ daily scribbling and scissoring for
the paper. A glance around this small sanc
tum would have told an interested ob
server that there were mixed elements
in the character of the occupant.—
The walls were covsred with engrav
ings; here a pure-browed Evangeline, there
a bold-eyed danseuse in fleshings; here a
St. John with seraph-face, and opposite, a
burly prize-fighter, stripped to the waist. A
tiny glass on the desk held a white tea rose,
and in a pigeon-hole just above it was a bot
tle of beer and a half-smoked cigar.
The afternoon’s mail had been brought
in and the desk was piled with unopened
newspaper exchanges. A-top of these were
two letters. Hazard had few friends and no
kins-people, so his personal correspondence
was limited. He took up the letter on top
carelessly, opened it and glanced over the
half-dozen unimportant lines it contained.
His eye lighted on the superscription of the
other letter, and with a quick change of
countenance, he took it np and broke the
seal. Out dropped a bank note of a hun
dred dollars. This, enclosed in a sheet of
paper on which was written, “Please ac
cept,” was all the envelope contained. He
was not surprised. He suspected what the
contents would be when he saw the hand
writing on the address. Twice before, since
he had been in Wallport, had he received
anonymous gifts through the mail,
opes were postmarked Wallport—
letters therefore: but who could
them. Not his friend, the General:
do nothing so mysterious, even if
he was inclined to play the benefactor in
this way,*which he was not. Hazard could
not conjecture who the mysterious donor
could be. He scrutinized the chirography
on the envelope. The letters were cramped,
and written backward—evidently a dis
guised writing. He looked at the bill with
mingled feelings of pleasure and dissatis
faction. The money was not out of season
His pay was small, and his tastes, in some
things, inclined to the luxurious: but he was
proud and sensitive; he could not bear that
any one should suppose him to be in want
of money. Nevertheless, he had spent the
sums that had come to him previously. He
had put them aside at first and hesitated
about making use of them for some time,
till urged by necessity his scruples had been
set aside. But now he felt increased repug
nance to using money that had come into
his possession in this irregular 'way. Love
and ambition had stimulated his pride.
Moreover, the strangeness of this gift forced
itself more and more upon his attention.
He connected it with the mystery of his par
entage. The sender of this money must
know who were his parents, and why he had
never been told of them: why he had been
sent to the Catholic school of St. Mary’s
among the Maryland mountains when he
was a little child, and there had been reared
and educated without once seeing any being
who claimed kinship with him or guardian
ship over him. His expenses had been paid
np to his sixteenth birthday by money trans
mitted through the mails, to the president
of the college—money accompanied by no
name or address. When he was sixteen
these remittances ceased—the boy fancied
himself slighted because he was a depentent
and ran away from school. He made his
way to Cincinnati, and did odd jobs for a
living, meanwhile picking np a knowledge
of type-setting. Accident showed his em
ployer the boy’s fine faculty for writing, and
he became a reporter on a daily paper. The
pay was poor, but the training and discip
line were invaluable. He was a rapid and
forceful writer at twenty-two, when he
drifted to Wallport, and through General
Montcalm’s influence, was taken upon the
staff of the Rattler.
He had a strong belief in himself and his
future. Partly this came from natural self-
confidence and partly it was caused by the
prediction of the noted spirit-medium, Mad
ame Sylvestre. Like all imaginative per
sons, he had a vein of superstition in his
nature, and when this gaunt, gray-eyed so-
ceress gave him a history of his past life,
true in every detail, so far as he knew it
himself—which she could well do, being a
mind reader—and then informed him that he
would succeed beyond his hopes and become
rich and influential her words took hold
upon his imagination and colored his hopes.
She told him also that his parents were
dead, and that he had been left to the charge
of a dishonest guardian who had swindled
him out of his patrimony. This conjecture
had been floating about in his own brain for
a long time, and her subtle mind-reading
instinct had probably perceived it.
“I will ferret out the mystery of these
anonymous gifts,” Hazard said to himself.
“If I can get a cine to the donor, I suspect
it will lejd' me straight to that rascally
guardian, who has cheated me and kept ont
of my sight or knowledge, enjoying my
fortune while I am earning my bread by the
hardest sort of drudgery.”
As he spoke Hazard attacked the big pile
of newspapers, tearing' off their wrappers
and scanning the columns with his rapid,
practiced r ye, clipping a paragraph here
and there i nd putting it between the leaves
of his note-book for reference or comment.
The las: paper had undergone this rapid
examination, and Hazard had dashed off a
page or two of those short, pungent satiri
cal paragraphs in the writing of which he
excelled, when on putting his hand into his j
CHAPTER VTTT
A STORMY INTERVIEW.
Major Heathcliff sits in his study—a plei_,
ant room in his elegant home on Evergreen
street. A striking presence is that of Ira
Heathcliff, mayor of Wallport. Tall, mas
sively built with a firmly-poised head, a
resolute mouth and steadfast gray eyes-
such a face as might well belong to a man,
who had worked his way up to fortune and
position. The lines on his brow show that
this rise has not been achieved without a
battle, and a peculiar expression in his gray
eye—a large thoughtfulness, shading in
to melancholy, seems to hint that he has
also had to do battle against himself.
But it is hard to read eyes so fall of deep
meaning as Ira Heathcliff’s. Just now they
are crossed by changing lights. He is open
ing and glancing over the papers and let
ters the mail-carrier has deposited on his
table. As he reads the various comments—
caustic or congratulatory—upon his pros
pect of political elevation, his face changes.
With all his stern strength of nature, he is
not proof against a thrill of pride as he
reads the praises of his integrity and fitness
for an office of trust. But the bitter
flings of his enemies kindle in him only
amusement or mild scorn. He has learned
to expect rebuffs and to disregard them.
Only one of the newspaper thrusts really
wounds him—a few paragraphs of keen,
biting satire in the editorial columns of the
Rattler, the new daily, which has a rattle
snake as its figure-head, with the motto:
“Nemo impunitale lacessit.” The thrust is
in the French style, delicate and deadly.
He recognizes the hand that dealt it.
“Et tu, Brute?” he says with a smile half
sad, half cynical.
The next instant he forgets all about the
Rattler, for his eye has lighted upon the
superscription of a letter which changes the
current of his thoughts. He breaks the seal
and reads with a frown the few lines, in a
lady’s hand, written upon the square white
card which falls from the envelope. He
tosses the card upon the table, exclaiming:
“It is impossible for a woman to be rea
sonable. How can I humor her when—”
A knock on the door interrupts him. A
visitor is announced. He bites his lip when
the name is given, bnt finally says, “Show
him in,” and Hazard Hall walks in. The
mayor does not seem to notice his haughty
nod, bnt courteously invites him to be seat
ed. But the young man walks straight to
the table and throws an envelope down be
fore Ira Heathcliff.
“My business with yon is brief,” he says.
“I want first to ask, did yon write the ad
dress upon that envelope?”
The abrupt question, the keen, sudden
look, threw Heathcliff off his guard. His
face flushed; he half stammered:
“Why do you ask me this?”
“I see you did write it,” Hazard returned.
“You sent the money that is enclosed in it;
yon sent a similar sum twice before in the
same way. Now, tell me what is the mean
ing of these anonymous gifts? What busi
ness have yon to send me money? What
right have I to it?”
Heathcliff did not speak for an instant;
then he said:
“Regard it as a mere friendly present,
sent through me by one who takes an in
terest in your welfare.”
“Who is this person, and why does he
take an interest in me?”
“That I cannot tell yon.”
“You will not tell me, you mean!” the
young man cried, angrily.
“Have it so then: I will not tell you.”
“Nor will you tell me who my parents are,
though you know. Do you not know? Stay;
do not speak yet. I will entreat you to teU
me who they are—will you do it?”
Once more Heathcliff hesitated, looking
even kindly into the young face before him,
where anxiety had softened the expression
of haughty distrust with which Hazard had
regarded the mayor.
“No, I cannot tell yon. Why should yon
imagine that I know?” he said at last.
“You shall tell it. I will force yon to.”
Hazard burst forth, thrusting his clenched
hand almost in Heathcliff’s face.
The mayor’s cool, contemptuous eye
brought back th* boy’s self-control.
“The money yon last sent is there” Hazard
said more calmly, pointing to the envelope.
“The other sum I will return to you as soon
as I can. I will not accept the money unless
I can know what right I have to it. Doubt
less you have most honorable motives for
keeping this from me.”
“What dishonorable motive could I have?”
“Such as this. I am perhaps heir to a
‘large amount of money, which has been
confided to your charge. You have used it
to enrich yourself. As a salve to your con
science, you send me a beggarly stipend in
this underhand way.” -
Anger lightened from Heathcliff’s eyes.
He rose from his seat and confronted the
young man.
“By Heaven!” he cried. “If it were net
for one consideration, I would divulge the
whole secret and humiliate yon to the dnst.
It would be a fit punishment for your inso
lence in daring to say such things to me.”
“Yes, I dare say such things to a man who
withholds from me what I have a right to
know, even if that man be so great a per
sonage as the owner of Heathcliff mills,
mayor of Wallport and prospective Gover
nor of the State. But that last title remains
to be won; and you will not win it without a
fight, for all your money. Money can’t
muzzle the Press, though it may pat its
chain and collar on a few cravens of the
pack. We will scent out the secret flaws in
that moral recordyou count so largely upon.
We will lay bare your motives and schemes.
Benefit by the warning if you can. Adieu,
Mayor Heathcliff. If not before, we shall
meet at your Phillippi—the polls.”
Heathcliff sat motionless for a minute
after his impetuous visitor had vanished
through the doorway. His anger was gone;
his face wore a look of grave perplexity.
“W hat can be the secret of that boy’s deep
rancor against me?” hemnsed. “It cannot
be solely because I have withheld from him
the source of a benefaction. There must
be some other reason.”
Not once did it enter his mind that this
fiery young stripling was a lover of Honor
Montcalm and that jealousy was the secret
of his bitter animosity to Miss Montcalm’s
favored suitor.
[to be continued.]
Kitsioc J» Sw eetheart, r ' *
Jake, of the Boston Globe, says: Every
body believes they know how to kiss, but
they don’t; not one man or woman in a hun
dred knows anything about it. Kissing is >
an art, a science^ and numberless people go'
through life without ever extracting the
bliss there is in a kiss. Yet they will all
acknowledge there is bliss in a kiss. Yes,
that’s so, but the more you know about it
the more bliss.
Now I know a sweet girl (I know lots of
’em), bnt she don’t know any more what to
do with her mouth than a demijohn. She
hasn’t been educated. I had been saying
tender things to her for some time, so one
night I made bold to ask her for a kiss.
(Kisses should not be asked for, bnt taken.)
She immediately acquiesced, but how? She
pursed her rosy lips into a ring as though
she were going to whistle, and when I
touched them they were so hard it was like
kissing the husk of a cocoanut. (She is
learning, however.)
To learn kissing there are three things
requisite to make a beginning, a man, a wo
man and love. The first two are useless
without the last. It would be like the cook
and the cuke without fire. Yes, there must
be warmth to make a kiss a success, and the
only appropriate warmth is the fire of love.
Boys and girls, I know lots about kissing
and I shall lose nothing by imparting my
knowledge, for, as Byron says of wine, so I
repeat of a kiss:
“The more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.”
and make any number of you happy by giv
ing you the benefit of my experience. 0
This instruction is offered only to people
of sentiment and refinement, others will
please not read.
First, take your partners. It don’t matter
how old or young, short or tall, large or
small you are, so you have a mutual liking
for each other. There is no fun in kissing
a person you do not wish to kiss, and what
pleasure could there be in kissing a strug
gling, shrieking girl who vows she will not
be kissed? That she is not telling the truth
goes for nothing. She makes known the
fact that she is about to be kissed, and by
so doing deprives it beforehand of half its
pleasure. Two are enough to know it. A
legal contract is not required, neither is a
fife and drum accompaniment necessary.
Haste mars everything. When you meet
your heart’s idol for the purpose of pursu
ing and capturing a kiss, don’t hurry. Put
your right arm over her left shoulder, clasp
her right hand with your left. Slide your
arm slowly down her back to the belt, then
pass your hand gently round her waist: now
send a little thrill down your arm, draw her
close to your heart—don’t hurry—look lov
ingly into her eyes, bend your head till your
lips almost touch hers, till yon feel her
balmy breath, then sweep your mustache
softly across her lips by way of preliminary.
Aim fairly: don’t strike at the corner of her
mouth or th6 end of her nose, but let the
four lips come squarely together, then let
them melt Blowly, as it were, into a pulpy
oneness accompanied by a tender glance
that gradually fades away into a misty noth
ing, and thought wanders off on wings that
float you through an atmosphere of rosy
light that is felt but not seen; then, with a
long sigh, you come gradually and reluct-
back to earth. But you don’t stay.
Oh, no! You begin all over again and try
to improve on the first effort, and you sne-
ceed so well that the experiments Continue
indefinitely, and when that young woman’s
ma yens from the top of the stairs: “Sakes
alive, Charlotte Matilda, hain’t you gone to
bed jit? it’s almost midnight,” you feel cer
tain that old woman is a liar until yon bear
the church bell striking the hour as yon turn
the next corner.
Drawing Pennies and Tears.
A woman in a dark room, weeping over
the body of her dead husband, drew pennies
from the pockets and tears from the eyes of
some good Cincinnati ladies a short time
smee. When they had been gone some time,
one of them returned to search for a hand
kerchief she had left, and was not a little
surprised to find the corpse and his wife
counting over the change they had just taken
in.
Ann Eliza, the nineteenth wife of Brig
ham Young, is still going around the coun
try lecturing. She believes that the widow’s
might lies in her jaw.
BBTINCT PRINT
