Newspaper Page Text
Pen Still Used
by “Dan Cupid”
No Falling Off in Writing
of Love Letters.
An exhibition of love letters writ¬
ten by famous people, mostly men,
has been attracting attention In New
York. The idea of deciphering with
one’s own eyes what Lord Nelson
wrote to his “dearest Emma" or of
examining what the ancient Benja¬
min Franklin told some French wom¬
an stirs the imagination. Even the
best brought-up are conscious of the
need of self-restraint when the hand
writing of others is set before them,
with the intimation that “it is a
wonder the paper did not take fire.”
But, sad to say, most of the interest
of third parties in these showcase
epistles seems to be rather anti
quarian. The tetters throw rays of
light upon various individuals, but
fail decidedly in making the heart
beat faster.
Perhaps the best love letters in
history were written and never sent.
They were not exactly letters either,
but poetry, the work of Elizabeth
Barrett, who was the wife of Robert
Browning. She disguised them by
giving them the title of “Sonnets
From the Portuguese" and Mr.
Browning never saw them until long
after they were married. However,
they may be commended to one of
either sex who is moved to the ex¬
pression of the tender passion on
paper.
Complaint is frequent that the art
of letter writing is declining. It is
quite true that modern means of
communication have made it rather
unnecessary to bite one end of a pen
and scribble with the other. The
dates on the epistles which should
be found in any proper attic are
rather ancient. Telephone and auto¬
mobile accomplish much of what was
undertaken by pen and ink a few
years back. Yet, as other forms of
letter writing decline, the love letter
increases. It has prevailed among
the young wherever there has been
separation.
Throughout the greater part of ini
man history young men seldom wrote
to young women, therefore the young
women had few chances to reply
Older folk took charge of the mar
riage question. Such matters were
arranged and, when the alliance had
been approved, the young people
were expected to go through with It
dutifully. Only a brief and forma)
courtship was possible before the
wedding. There had been no time
for letter-writing, which was perhaps
Just as well, as the young woman
probably could not write and the
young man was not much better edu¬
cated.
It was the exceptions who gave
the foundation for romance. A youth,
whose schooling had not been en¬
tirely neglected, might catch a
glimpse of a maiden and decide that
she was the only one in the world
If her father disapproved of their
meeting there was an inducement
for an interchange of brief notes
with the help of accommodating go
betweens. Such letters as there were
could hardly have been called
lengthy. There was so little to say
except “I love you.”—“Uncle Dud
ley,” in the Boston Globe.
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5' *NO 10'
LADY
BLANCHE
FARM
A Romance of the
Commonplace
by
Frances Parkinson Keyes
WNU Service
Copyright tiy Frances Parkinson Keyes
CHAPTER XIII—Continued
— 15 —
‘*1 don’t understand that either, of
course. But I do know that some of
the things we’ve always spoken of
as ’supernatural’ seem to occur much
more frequently since the war. or else
people are not so ashamed or so afraid
to speak about them as they used to
be. I believe the body and the spirit
are in some way much more closely
Interwoven than we’ve realized. That’s
one reason why we must try so hard
to make the one worthy of the other.”
“I’ve always known they were close¬
ly Interwoven In Philip. Oh. Mary,
will—will he be much changed, do you
think?”
He was not. He looked. Indeed, so
serene, so supremely happy, that
Blanche, kneeling beside him, burst,
for the first time, into healing tears.
And the nurse who had taken care of
him to’d her that he had suffered
very little.
“It was all so quick.” she said. "He
simply wouldn’t let us send for you,
and we really didn’t think it was nec¬
essary—until it was too late. He said
you must be saved all the grief and
care you could. He’d Just had a let¬
ter—”
“He got It hi time so that he could
read it?’’ asked Blanche, with such a
sudden leap of Joy in her voice that
Mary wondered instantly what had
been in that special letter.
“Oh yes. He was awfully happy
over it, that was plain to see, and
now that J’ve met you, Mrs. Starr. 1
don’t wonder he wanted to save a
lovely child like you from all the
anxiety he could. He didn’t suffer
much, honestly. And just before he
died—but I don’t know as I ought to
tell you—”
“You must—”
"Something strange happened.”
“Yes,” said Blanche breathlessly,
looking from the nurse to Mary.
“He hud been having some -trouble
with his breathing. He was uncon¬
scious for • little while, I thought,
and delirious, off and on. Suddenly
he opened his eyes and looked toward
the foot of the bed, smiling as If he
saw something there that pleased him.
Then he turned to me and said, ‘Yon
did send for my wife, after all, didn’t
you?’ I told him no, that we’d done
just as he wanted about everything.
He looked kind of puzzled and went
on, ‘But she’s standing there with her
arms stretched out, dressed all in
white. She looks exactly as she did
the last night we had together—the
first night I really found her.’”
Blanche laid her cheek against the
quiet hand lying on the spread.
“Go on,” she said, after a moment.
“I was stupid enough to look there
myself, for he kind of startled me.
But of course there was nothing. So
l shook my head, and said not to
worry, that everything was all right.
The puzzled expression faded, gradual¬
ly, and he smiled again. And then tie
i spoke Just as if he was talking to
1 someone.”
“What did he say?”
“‘So you’ve come, little countess.
But you mustn't ever come to anyone
again. This must be the last time,
And I'm not sorry. It's al! been so
perfect—so perfect, while it lasted.’—
Do you know what flashed into my
mind, I don't know why? There
wasn't any real connection!—That
line about a ‘full, perfect, and suffi¬
cient sacrifice—’ ”
That was, blessedly, what it seemed
to Blanche. Even in her first grief,
she found, after all, the compensa¬
tion, the “glory of achievement” that
she thought she had been denied.
She did not ask, she did not need, any
| longer, to understand. She needed
only to feel, and as soon as her mental
and physical exhaustion left her, to
work.
She worked all the rest of the win¬
ter, and the next summer, and every
woman in Ilamstead worked with her.
France, with its thousands of widows,
was three thousand miles away, but
Blanche was in their midst. Through
her they reached out and found those
; others—
When fall came, she was not work¬
ing any longer, but the rest of Ilam¬
stead, thinking of her, worked harder
than ever. For she was lying, very
j still and happy, in the big four-poster
bed In the soft-colored chamber of
Carte Blanche, with the golden, downy
i head of Philip Starr’s son against her
j breast.
CHAPTER XIV
Moses and Algy Manning were com¬
ing home from school together. They
had, in three years, grown noticeably
taller and thinner. Their faces, as
usual, would have been improved by
the ministrations of a handkerchief
and a wash-cloth. But Gale Hamlin,
who had been riding for some hours
over roads that not infrequently caused
him to strike the top of the car or
ikid Into a ditch, leaned out of the
CLEVELAND COURIER
window and hailed them with delight
as he caught sight of them.
“Stop a minute, Morrison— Hello,
you kids! Climb in here. Going home
from school?’’
“Yes,” replied the two small boys
together, accepting his invitation with
alacrity, and seating themselves be¬
side him without further waste of
words.
“Getting along pretty well?”
“Fine,” answered Moses. “Algy’s In
kindergarten. I'm lu the second
grade.”
“Good for you! Can you write your
name yet?"
“Write my name!” exclaimed Moses,
with injured pride. “I kin write
poems!"
Gale Hamlin coughed. “No, really?”
he asked politely. “If you can, fame
and fortune await you. Unfortunate¬
ly, there are so many young gentlemen
who only think they can. They can’t,
really,”
“I’ll show you," said Moses, who did
not understand the greater part of
this speech but felt It, on the whole,
unimportant whether he did or not.
Removing the cover from his dinner
pail, and depositing on the seat beside
him two apple cores, half a doughnut,
a package of gum, a yard or so of
twine, a Jackknife and a Second Read¬
er. he finally pulled out a piece of
blue paper on the outside of which
was written in large letters, "Two
Poimes. By M. Manning,” and handed
them to the doubting Thomas in tri¬
umph.
"Ther wax a bee and—" read Gale,
“He sat on a tree and
He herd a sound
And he made a bownd
At the sound.
So that’s all so call.”
“Go on," said Moses, without false
modesty.
“There was a workman
Who carried a can
And his name was Smitler
And he went to the miller
And sat on a piller
And thats all ther was herd
Of Mr. Smiller.”
"You should try the Atlantic Month¬
ly,” said Gale, folding and returning
the paper. “But if that isn’t apprecia¬
tive, there are several other maga¬
zines. I will give you a list, if you
like, or I will undertake to place these
for you myself, for a small commis¬
sion.”
“1 guess so," said Moses, feeling
again that lie was missing the point
somewhere. “1 showed ’em to Mary
and she laughed and told me to take
’em to school and let my teacher
see 'em.”
“How is Mary?” Gale asked.
“Well, she looks kinder peaked.
Was you thinkin’ of cornin' to say
good-by to her?’’
“Something of that sort. Why?"
“Because,” replied Moses, "I
wouldn't. If 1 was you. Thomas Gray
tried it, and he wasn’t suited at all.
With the way she said good-by, I
mean.”
“Moses and l were under the sofa,
playing lion, only Mary and Thomas
didn’t fesnw it,” said Algy, in an il¬
luminating jie-ide.
“.She shook hands, nice and polite,
like she’s taught us to do it,” con¬
tinued Moses. “1 don’t know what
more was wanted. But there was
something. He said so.”
“Twice," volunteered Algy.
"And then he said. ‘Mary, isn’t there
any chance for me at all?' and she
said, ’No, Pm sorry, but there isn’t.’”
"And Thomas,” continued the faith¬
ful chorus, "said, 'Wasn’t there ever
any chance for anyone except Paul?’
and Mary stiffened up and said, ‘Paul
threw his chance away.' ”
“What happened next?” asked Gale,
feeling very much as If he had been
eavesdropping himself.
“Thomas spoke right up as If tie
was kinder mad. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘are
you goin’ on rememberin' that all the
rest of your life, 'stead of that he
tried good and hard and plenty to find
It again?’”
“Ah !” remarked Gale.
"And then Mary told him she
couldn’t discuss it with him. He was
home just for a few hours, before he
went to France. That was most a
year ago. No one’s tried It on her
since.”
"Suppose,” said Gale, producing a
crisp dollar bill, "that you boys go to
Wallacetown with Morrison and have
a spree? You might enjoy it and I—
er—wouldn't run the risk of having
any lions under the sofa while I was
there!”
Mary was very glad to see Gale
Hamlin, and she did not attempt to
disguise the fact. He told her a good
deal of Boston news that pleased and
interested her, while he drank the
tea and ate the cookies that she
brought him, before he asked her any
questions. “How Is Mrs. Starr? I
want to see her, too!”
“Oh. she’s wonderful! So well, and
so busy, and so happy with the baby!
He’s the loveliest little creature!
Cousin Jane worships him, too. You
must see him before you go. He isn’t
like a Manning at all—he’s the image
of his father.”
“I am very glad she has him. Does
she have good news of her brother,
too?”
“She doesn’t have any.”
Gale did not answer immediately.
“I’m sorry if I’ve made a stupid
mistake,” he said at last. “You didn’t
mention any bad news, the last time
you were in Boston.”
“No—I don’t often talk about Paul."
“So I have observed,” remarked
Gale dryly.
Mary flared instantly. “Men are not
fair to women,” she said bitterly.
“I’m sorry to say that’s often true.
But it's no reason why women
shouldn’t be fair to men. Two wrongs
never made a right, you know.”
“Are you trying to tell me what is
right for me to do?”
“I’m trying to tell you what Is
wrong. It would be wicked if you
never married.”
“Wicked!”
"For you—not for every woman.”
"Why for me especially?”
“You ought to guess. And I’ve seen
you with men— I know how much
charm you have, no matter how you
try to hide it and how much power,
no matter how little you choose to
use it. And I've seen you with chil¬
dren—your patience and your wisdom
and your loving kindness. Philip
Starr has done wonderful things for
the place—and the woman—he loved
—by his death. But they’re nothing
to what you can do for the place and
the man you may love—by your life
—if you only will.”
The girl rose suddenly and turned
away from him. Gale crossed to her
quickly, and put his hand on her
shoulder.
“So you refused Thomas Gray?” he
asked quietly.
“Yes. There was never any ques¬
tion of Thomas.”
"Or of me?”
“Yes, there was some question of
yoa. 1 thought you knew that.”
"Will—could you unswer it any dif¬
ferently now?”
“No.”
“Or ever, do you think?’
“No. I—I’m sure 1 never could.”
“Then how are you going to answer
Paul when he comes home?”
“Paul isn't ever coming home,” said
Mary steadily—so steadily, in fact,
that a man who knew her less well
than Gale Hamlin did would Imva
been completely deceived by her tone
“What happened, Mary?” he asked
gently. “Please toll me.”
“He was wounded last May,” sli*
said in a hard voice. "Not seriously.
Cousin Violet had a letter, written by
Paul himself in the hospital, saying
the wound was just a scratch—that
he’d be out again for the next 'big
scrap.’ ’’
“Yes.”
“He was. He was at Belleau Wood
and Cliateau-Tliierry. Then he was
listed as ‘Prisoner or Missing.’ We
haven't heard since. That was nine
months ago.”
“Yes.”
"There were very few marines taken
prisoner. We thought, after the
armistice was signed, we'd have some
word.”
“And you haven't?”
“No—not a syllable. We hope—I
hope, anyway—that lie was killed. It
would he much less horrible—than the
other.” Then with a swift change of
tone, she exclaimed. "Don’t you ever
read llie Casualty lists yourself? Oh,
1 believe you knew all the time!”
“Yes—1 did. But 1 wanted you to
tell me yourself. I’ve been waiting,
ever since last summer, to see if you
wouldn't. I wanted to know just how
you felt about if.
“Do you know now?"
“I think I do—Mary, don't you ever
bend?”
“Bend?"
“Yes—because if you don’t, Pro
afraid some da.v you’re going to break.
You did, very nearly, you know, once
before. You remember the old fable—
“1 have been doing what I could,”
Gale went on, as Mary did not an¬
swer, “to locate your cousin ever since
1 found ont the situation. But, so far,
I haven’t discovered anything. Now,
however, I’m starting for Europe my¬
self—almost Immediately. Until now,
it has seemed as if I could he most
useful here. I am glad that at last
there appear to lie ways in which I
can help over there—reconstruction,
investigation—1 don’t need to tell
you— There, my dear, there—’’
He waited patiently for cue storm
to pass, stroking very gently flip soft
hair about the hidden face. lie wait¬
ed, it seemed to him, endlessly. For
Mary was weeping with the abandon¬
ment, Hie utter hopelessness, that
marks the ultimate despair of those
strong souls whose fortitude enables
them to restrain their grief until It
reaches its culmination, and the shat¬
tering of wtiose spirit is all the more
tragic because it is so sudden. Gale
Hamlin’s heart twisted in Ills breast
at the sight of her unrestraint and the
thought of tier agony. He knew he
was powerless to help tier except hy
surrounding tier with the sense of his
Infinite compassion. It was a long
time before she raised her head, and
as she did so, still far from composed,
the door was flung unceremoniously
open and Algy and Moses entered
noisily.
“The dollar’s all spent,” announced
Moses.
“Well,” said Gale, with a slight sigh,
"it. lasted just about long enough, i
rather wish, though, I had given you
a dollar and a half! Will you take
me over and introduce me to your new
little cousin?”
*******
Mrs. Elliott, who was “passing the
afternoon” with Violet, saw him walk
down the cobblestone path with a
small boy on either side of him, from
her point of vantage tn the North Par¬
lor window. Violet did not receive
her callers in the kitchen, like Mrs.
Gray. She did not consider it “select”
to do so.
“Look here, Violet,” called Mrs.
Elliott excitedly, “if there ain't Mr.
Hamlin cornin’ down Seth's front
walk! He don’t take ’no’ for an an
swer very easy, does he?”
“No,” said Violet, "and Mary doesn’t,
say ’yes’ very easily, either. I can't
think what that girl’s made of. She
used to be always laughing and sing¬
ing, but now-a-days she's so glum—
except with the children—that you
can hardly get a word out of her, and
you can’t ask her the most trivia)
question that she doesn’t lose her tem
per. And she's never shown the
slightest feeling about Paul!"
(TO BB CONTINUED.)
Wi\
an
Humo
Descriptive
A young wife, wishing to announce
the birth of her first child to a friend
in a distant city, telegraphed r
•‘Isaiah 9: 6." Which passage be¬
gins: “For unto us a child is born,
unto us a son is given.”
Her friend, unfamiliar with the
Scriptures, snid to her husband:
“Margaret evidently has a hoy who
weighs nine pounds and six ounces,
bur. why on earth did they name him
Isaiah?”
Maybe He Wa. O. K.
At a recent gathering, the nervous
young secretary of a church social
club was apparently confused hy the
presence of one or two people of
title, and prefaced his opening re¬
marks with “Ladies, Gentlemen, and
others—’’
Debatable
Man at Desk—Why do you claim
a trombone player is less of a bore
than a pianist?
Man in Chair—He Is because he
doesn't get the chance. He doesn’t
find a trombone In every home he
visits.—Brooklyn Daily Eagle.
IN A HUMOROUS VEIN
“She says that I am dull.”
"You should crack a few jokes once
in a while; ask her to marry you, or
something like that."
Not the Only One
Clilupp—I understand that Quiggle
has a very good voice. Does he cul¬
tivate it?
Cutajar—1 don't know whether he
cultivates it but I do know that he
irrigates it sometimes.
Vital Information
“So you joined the army so as to
‘see tiie world,' as the posters say?
What made you leave?"
“They didn’t tell me that 1 would
have to do it on foot.”
Boating Party
She—Where did you put the rec¬
ords?
He—Records? I had work enough
lugging this heavy gramophone along
without bringing a box of records.
QUESTION
“Are you laughing at me?" de¬
manded the professor sternly of his
class.
“Oh, no sir," came the reply from
the class president.
“Then,” asked ibe professor, “what
else is there in the room to laugh
at?”
Reason for It
“This egg is bad.”
Landlady—Well, what do you ex¬
pect when you come down so late
to breakfast?—Everybody’s Weekly.
Drug Shop Burglars
First Burglar (to companion dur¬
ing raid on chemist’s shop)—I’ll take
the cash; you’d better take some¬
thing for that cold.
peppermint real , .
N-IC5 l
DOUBLE MINT GUM
No Escape
Two clubmen were discussing thefir
wives.
“I suppose 1 mustn’t grumble at
mine,” said Martin. “She looks aftet
me very well.”
“In what way especially?’’ aske>S
his friend.
"Well, tor instance," said Martin,
“she takes off my boots In the eve¬
ning.”
“What, when you come home from
the club?" asked the other.
“Oh, no; when I want to go there,”
came the reply.
Blooming Liar
"You don't say you got rid of that
nice lodger of yours, Mrs. Brady?”
“Yes! I got suspicious of him. He
told me he was a bachelor of arts,
and I found out he had a wife and
two children.” — Sheffield Weekly
Telegraph.
WISE JACK
“Jack is a foxy Individual. He pro¬
posed to Miss Peaches by wireless.”
“What was the great idea ir that?"
“It leaves the record up in the air
where it can't he rend in court In
case he happens to change his mind.”
Has Her Price
"I'll give you thirty shillings for
that pup.”
“Can’t he done, sir. That pup be¬
longs to my wife, an’ she’d sob ’er
'eart out. But I tell yer what—
spring another ieri hob an' we'll let
'er sob!”—Humorist Magazine.
Little Sunshine
Stern Mistress (to maid)—You are
discharged. Sarah, for allowing the
master to kiss you. What sort of
reference do you expect from me
after that?
Pretty Maid—Well, you might at
least say that I tried to please every
one, tnadani.
No Luck a’Tall
Bobby—I lost a quarter this morn
ins.
Nellie—Thats’ a pity, Bobby. How
did you lose it?
Bobby—Aw, the man what dropped
it heard it tall.—Philadelphia Eve¬
ning Bulletin.
GOING THE LIMIT
She—Don't you think that women
should have the privilege of propos¬
ing, as well as men?
lie—Certainly they should, and
they ought to have the privilege of
buying theater tickets and cigars for
the men if they want to.
An Angel in Sight
Muriel at pantomime rehearsal) —
Who’s the properous-looking Johnny?
Not in the show, is he?
Frank—Well, we’re trying to per¬
suade him to put up the money for
tlie production — our “Principal
Buoy,” so to speak!—London Tit
Bits.
Watted
“Here’s a dandy car with a rumble
seat, too.” said the enthusiastic sales¬
man.
“Rumble seat 'd he no use to me,”
growled the unentliusiastic customer,
“my wife insists on doing all her
back seat driving from the front
sent.”—Cincinnati Inquirer.
Up to the Player
Rinks was making a hopeless first
attempt at golf, and to cover his em¬
barrassment he remarked to the
caddy, “Golf's a funny game, isn’t
it?”
“Sometimes it is, sir,” retorted the
boy. “but It isn’t meant to be.”
Exact Change
“1 have known gents what gives a
bit over,” observed the taxi-driver.
“Ay,” said McPherson, “that’s why
I asked ye to stop under a lamp."
