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WHY?
Heart of mo. why do you sigh?
Why droop your eye lids, pale and shy,
Like snow flakes that on violets lie?
Why do you sigh, my heart?
Bweetlng. wherefore do you weep?
Till the flowers that May winds steep,
When the day hath sunk to sleep,
Seem from beads o’ dew to peep?
Why do you weep, my sweet? 7f
O my love, whence comes this glow,
Like the sunset on the snow.
Which on your face doth show?
Why do you blush, my queen?
Must I speak your answer, dear? /
* Listen then, and you will hear
Why you sigh and weep and blush,
Why e’en now you bid jne hush;
Sing, O sing, yo birds that bo;
Answer, music of the sea;
Spin, old earth to melody—
For my one love loveth me.
Doth she not, my heart?
—Amelia Rives in Harper’s Magazine.
THE SLIGHTED ARTIST.
Tho scene was 411 English artist’s studio
In Paris It was full of warm lights and
shifting shadows, with the clear radiance
of tho north sloping skylight streaming
full upon tho canvas that occupied tho
easel, while all around were scattered the
elegant little tokens of an artist’s refined
life and cultivated taste.
Rupert Cecil sat before the easel, a slen¬
der, fair-haired young man. with blue
dreamy eyes, and features outlined like
tho curves of a Creek model; while Lis
blue velvet painting cap. tasseled with
gold, and Persian dressing gmvu that he
wore added, by a species of sympathetic
contrast, to his refined beauty And
directly opposite to him, in n crimson
cushioned easy chair, upon the dais do
voted to Mr. Cecil’s sitters, reclined one
of the most beautiful git la of the Paris
season. Olive Clermont
Dark and glittering, with hair like
meshes of misty jet, and checks glowing
like shadowed pomegranate blossoms, she
sat there, as Cleopatra might hayosut en of
throned before the worshiping gaze
Mark Antony, her dyes filled vvfitn lambent
light beneath their long, curled lashes,
and the coral red lips half apart, and as
she sat a long breath, like a sigh, fluttered
through the crimson Miss portals. Clermont,” said
“You arc tired.
Mr Cecil, pausing wit palette h his brush poised
half way above the
•‘Not tired," Olive answered, with a be
witching smile “only 1 was thinking
“And may I venture to ask of what?”
“Of future. ’’
your
The dark eyes glowed, tho velvet lips
dimpled into a smile. *
Rupert Cecil looked up with a sudden
deepening of color
« i And how did your fancy honor mo by
picturing that same future?” ho asked, in
a low, thrilling voice. laughed.
Olive Clermont
“Nay, 1 must not tell you that. Fame,
glory, renown, will all bo yours; while
1-”
4 f Yes,” he repeated very slowly; “whi'o
you-- shall only Olivo Clermont.”
“While I bo
She rose as she toward spoke, with lady a sweet who
smile and a nod a young
sat in tho shadow beyond, engaged in
some light fancy work.
• i Como, Clara; I think, Mr. Cecil, you
said the sitting was complete.” answered mechani
“For today, yes,’’ ho
eallv
“Shall I come again next week, on Tues¬
day?” usual, if please.”
“As you
And Olivo Clermont, tying a rod plumed
hat over her black curls, swept out of the
room, followed by her companion, leaving
Rupert Cecil in a dreamy ecstasy of bliss
He had loved her with the passionate
adoration of a man of genius—and tho
faintest dawn of a possibility that his de¬
votion might be returned was simply in¬
toxicating to him.
He was still rapt in these meditations,
when, (some five minutes later, ho came
downstairs, stopping as lie did so in tho
little ante room to leave tho key of his
studio during his temporary absence..
As he stood waiting for tho porter’s
little boy to attend his summons, a silver,
clear voice from the vestibule rang on his
car.
I« What nonsense. Clara! As if I should
ever condescend to think twice of a poor
artist lie mav consider himself very
highly honored if I amuse myself ouo day
this poi Lia painting bust
And then the wheels of the
carriage rolled up to the door, and Olivo
Clermont and her friend. Miss Allen, were
whirled away
Rupert Cicil stood perfectly quiet,
the studio key hanging'pn his little finger
and no one would have thought, to
the composure of his lip and brow, that
tho brightest hope and aspiration of his
life had that moment received its death
blow. Well, what if the smart was bit
ter. tho sting passing keen? Men, aye
scores of them, had endured it, and lived
valiantly through tho agony long ere this
It was quite true, he was only a “pool’
artist. ”
When Olivo Clermont came into the
studio again, on tho following Tuesday,
Mr. Cecil was painting industriously away
at a little scarlet lighted “Eruption of
Mount Vesuvius.”
i 4 And my picture, Mr. Cecil?” lisped tho
belle, with somewhat of plaintive reproach
in her accents.
“lam very sorry,” he said quietly, “but
it has met with an accident. The canvas
is slit through from top to bottom.”
Olivo uttered an exclamation of sur
priso and disappointment. that possibly have
< • Oh, dear! how could
happened? But you will begin it again,
Mr. Cecil?”
I 4 I regret to say,” lie answered coldly,
“that my other engagements will not per¬
mit of it. I leave for England next week.”
Olive Clermont pouted. “It will be a
very great disappointment to papa.”
4 4 I am sorry.” Cecil answered frigidly;
and that was all tho satisfaction the belle
could get out of him.
4 4 I don’t see what has happened to put
him out." she said to Clara Allen when
they wero once more seated in the car
riage; “but 1 don’t care very much about
it. one way or tho other. I was getting
tired of tho Hirtation.”
So Miss Clermont dismissed the young
artist for good and all from her mind.
Had she not plenty of other tilings to busy
tho capricious littlo omnium gatherum
that sho called her mind?
*
• 4 Is it really true that he is so famous?”
Olive Clermont was tho speaker, hut
oh. how changed! Pink cheeked and
cherry lipped still, with the roses and
cherries one buys in a perfumer’s shop at
so much per ounce, while blue circles out¬
lined the heavy eyes, and the lines of tho
face were rigid and inelastic. Moreover,
her dress was no longer rich and fresh
and studded over with jeweled sparkles,
for tho wealthy Moses Germ lit of old
was little better now than an impover
ished gambler, and Olive’s fast fading
Dopes of matrimony were on Hie wane
Yet she still strove to smile and look
prettily artless—what other hope was
there for her?
“Really true,” Mr Alkmond answered,
with a smile; “and not that only, but for
tunate in a pecuniary view, having inher
ited the large fortune of an uncle in the
West Indies Art is now a mere pastime
with him."
• * How delightfully romantic!” sighed
Olive, remembering, with a pang of self
reproach, the old flirtation in the warm
lights of the studio “We used to be
great friends once 1 shall be so charmed
to meet him once again
Rupert Cecil rich. Rupert Cecil at
top of fame’s pinnacle, and she Miss Cler
mont still Things had not worn pro
cisely this aspect ten years ago
Iler heart gave a little nervous pulsa
tion as the stately, wefl remembered head
towered high Lady above the shifting throng Would
that filled Castleton’s rooms
h-i remember her? Olive Clermont- be
lieved ft 1 the duration of sentimental
fancies, and she knew that Mr Cecil had
(•lice loved her as men seldom love
in their lives
Surely it was worth the effort.
She put out her little hand, clad in
twice cleaned kid glove, as Mr Cecil ad
vanced, tho unconscious center of every
glance. Cecil—Rupert."
“Mr
His gaze of genuine lack of recognition
rather discomfited her
Clermont? •Surely you she have faltered, not trying forgotten Lard for
• •
a careless smile.
‘ Miss Clermont Certainly I have not
5" ou But pardon me, it is such
-
‘>f“ .
» si no ° *• nlet
, „
j L
. <To me it has seemed a long time. Mr
Cecil hut you have been growing famous
j the while.
i < 1 have been m Italy, „ he answered
calmly, ignoring the implied compliment
“I suppose you have quite forgotten the
TS v „
° “ a > ‘
. ‘ ™ means - there are some pas
sa £®f 111 a mal1 s ie cannot easily lor
Olive’s heart beat high with renewed
hope. did think of me?”
“Then you spmetimes
• ( Miss Clermont,” he answered, looking
full into her eyes, “I did think of you
once, years ago. but your own voice de¬
stroyed the illusion.”
“Mine?”
“Yes, yours. I heard you say you novel
should condescend to think twice of a
poor artist—that I might think myself
highly honored if you amused yourself
one day in a week with the portrait
painter In that hour, Miss Clermont,
your image was hurled down from its
home in my heart. No man can endure to
be despised ”
Olive had grown pale beneath her arti
ficial roses.
“1 was but a foolish child then,” she
faltered. “My thoughts and my senti
ments have undergone a thorough change
since then.”
« 4 So have mine,” ho answered, cruelly
distinct. “Miss Clermont, when you
come to Rome, if ever, i shall be happy
to introduce you to the young lady who is
to be my wife—Lady Isabel Varney.”
* i Thank you.” faltered Olive, her heart
sinking like lead in her bosom, “but 1
do not think I shall ever visit Rome.”
Sho sank down in a low chair as he
passed on, her face haggard beyond its
usual wont The now and then of life
were facing each other with mocking dis
tinetness, and Olive Clermont could see
tho future plainly, ns if reflected in a
mirror. A loveless life, a dreary, down
hill path to the grave
“If sho could but have recalled those
idle words ’’
But of what avail was the half breathed
wish? Olivo Clermont went slowly back
to her dreary home, and that was the last
time she ever looked upon the man who
was engaged to marry Lady Isabel Var¬
ney.—Exchange.
Engineers Not Always MaeliinNts.
There is a general belief among the tin
initiated that all good engineers are prac
tical machinists. This belief is entirely
erroneous, for tho rule has always been
that the best engineers come up from tin
ranks of the firemen, and not from the
machine shops While an engineer of
experience can repair a-break in th•-• tna
chinery of his charge, he could not build
a locomotive or any part of it at all intri
cate in construction Instances can be
cited where machinists have totally lacked
tho nerve, gained by long experience, to
run an express train at the high rate of
speed necessary to make schedule time,
and in the majority of cases where a man
is taken from the shops and placed on a
locomotive he makes a better freight en¬
gine driver than when put in charge of a
passenger. popular engineer who had
1 once knew a
worked in the machine shops until into
middle life, and had then been given a
desirable run on the limited express His
train was always behind time, and in a
few months he looked terribly aged One
day he threw up his job, and none too
soon, for he would inevitably have lost
tho place anyway, and he afterward told
me that he lacked the nerve to pull the
throttle out and give her the full headway
needed to make the time on his run He
said that when running at a rapid rate he
felt like a man gazing downward from a
dizzy him height, and nothing could induce
to step within the cab again. He
went back to the shops There are excep¬
tions, of course, but they are few and far
between.—Engineer in Globe Democrat.
j | thousand pictures have Vm»!i sent
to the Koval academy 'xhiLiUca. in
cludlnff 3
- V
’ TO H N! G H r l < \ t
> c v
lie. vviiii u ,
anma gBu^m.
rhou ait come, thou art come, thou art seen:
rejoice:
Ah: louder, louder, louder sing,
pi n te out the language of the spring;
Nay let those j 0 «- notes rest,
Oh my nightingale, nightingale, trill out thy
anapaest.
Come, my companion, cease from thy-slumbers.
Pour out thy holy and musical numbers.
Sing and lament with a sweet throat divine,
Itys of many tears, thy son and mine;
Cry out. and quiver and shake, dusky throat,
Throb with a thrill of thy liquidest note.
Through the wide country, and mournfully
through
Leafy haired branches and houghs of the yew,3
Widens and rises the echo until
Cven the throne room of God it shall fill, *
Then when Apollo, the bright locked, hath heard,
Lo. he shall answer thine elegy, bird,
Playing his ivory, seven stringed lyre.
Standing a god in the high god’s choir.
Ay. and not he alone.
Hark From immortal throats arise
Diviner threnodies,
Sounding together in a heavenly moan.
And answering thine own.
—A. Mary F. Robinson, from Aristophanes.
?
What London and Paris Eat.
In London apd Paris the annual ave
rage consumption a head of population is
stated to be as follows, the greater quan
tiiy in each case being credited to
Parisian Apples. 65 pounds and 6 ounces
— 145 pounds, pears. 3D pounds and
ounces—170 pounds and 13 ounces. f>eas,
3 pounds and 8 ounces—G pounds and 15^* M
ounces, carrots. 7 pounds and 3'ounces —1
37 pounds celery. 11 ounces —6 pounds!
and 13 ounces, cherries, 2 pounds and 13
ounces—20 pounds and 14 ounces, plums
and damsons, pounds 17 and pounds and 12 ounces.^ 1
— 183 4 ounces, raspberries:
I ounces —2 pounds, strawberries, 12® 31
pounds and 10 ounces—13 pounds and
ounces, asparagus. 1 pound and * 3 ounces
—5 pounds and 4 ounces 0
On 1 he other hand, while-the
eat 173 pounds 4 ounces of potatoes
the Parisian eats only 40 pounds and
\ ounces The average consumption of
onions, tomatoes, cabbages, cucumbers
and than turnips in Paris, is but also with greater these in London|
excep
tions the French are by far .the
consumers Housekeeping of fruit and vegetables.—Good j|
( lothing of Russian Convicts.
The suit of clothes for summer wear
consists of a shirt and pair of trousers
linen, and a peasant’s coat of camel's
which last costs five hard shillings The con
viets condemned to labor wear
yellow diamond shaped patches sewn o^P
the back, those without labor have
piece only, whilst other marks of a whence]!
character indicate the province
they come At the Kara gold mines ll 1
learned that a coat of felt is given yearly
A shirt must last six months, and
washed once a week, whilst in summer a
pair of rough leather shoes is served out
every twenty two days Those working
in the mines are provided also with gloves.
the annual cost there of a man's clothing
being £4 In a convict village near Vladi
vostock they told me that on being settled
as colonists they receive monthly seventy
two pounds of flour and fivepence a day
Every year they receive a shuba, or
skin coat, under linen, two pairs.of winter
boots, three pairs of summer shoes, and
once in three years a long coat —Henry
Lausdell. HD., in Harper’s Magazine.
Ta-tes of tho Rook Hunters.
In book hunting men’s tastes vary
widely just as some hunters pursue a
mountain grizzly, the buffalo or the ante
lope, vvhile others find their
in shooting on the wing Some men
prize only Bibles, some Shakespeare, some jk j
old ballads, some the Elizabethan lit era
ture and some Queen Anne’s Some wan t
only American, and ot-hers only first edrtC
tions The field is. in fact, as broad asi
literature and as boundless as human de I
sire There have been mighty hunters ini
the book world, and their story is one nU,.
the most interesting chapters in literaw.
ture It takes one into a region unknown. 1'
but full of fascinating interest Those I
who have not become acquainted with it
know nothing of the highest joys of booka^j i
-Ov ta Hpmld