The Bloomfield times. [volume] (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1867-187?, 1874-06-16
Cora'S Mistake.

old Russian we USED TO see ON DrOauWay,
wearing greasy fur collar and long over
coat, eating garlic and drinking brandy
three times diurnally, and growing at
everything American in the most detestable
English Nothing of the kind.
She pined for prince such as we read
about in the fine old sentimental novels that
amused our fathers and mothers in the
flower of their youth a Thaddeus of War
saw, all talent, and pallor, and tenderness,
and musical voice, and fine, rolling eyes,
and pedigree, and that sort of thing.
For my part l don't believe in such
princes. The Prince of Wales isn't one of
that species, and I'in afraid the breed has
gone out with the fine old sentimental
novels. Nothing else, however, would suit
Miss Cora Depeyster. Being not totally
unlike other fair damsels of twenty or
thereabouts, she desired to experiment
upon the state matrimonial, and had plenty
of opportunities, but common clay would
not do. A prince she must have or single
she would remain.
stories conld create such being especially
for the emergency, and, after the customary
amount of tatalzation through the medium
of an obstinate parent or what not, marry
Miss Cora and her prince in the most sat
factory style. But never was good at
sentimental creation. / must write about
people know and see. am sorry for
the Coras. I've seen lots of them but
what sort of princes did they marry? One
now pours tea for sharp-nosed, reG-headed
life insurance agent. Another is the
spouse of a strapping farmer, who sits with
hat on and eats in his shirt-sleeves.
Another welded subdued German who
plays second clarionet in a cheap orches-
ira, and has to move monthly because he
can't pay his rent. Still another-but the
catalogue grows melancholy. Thus with
all the Coras. They go on pining for
princes who never come marrying all sorts
of people instead and, dying, give way to
fresh race Of Coras, who follow in their
mama's footsteps with disregard for ex-
perience that saVors of the sublime.
One of the sweetest watering places is
Happy Valley. 1t is romantic and COM
Portable at once. There is delightful
bathing, rowing, sailing, and fishing in the
lake itself and the shady groves that line
its shores are cool and green and mystic
rious, and suggestive of dryads and nymphs
and FAIRIES and things That is if you hap.
pen to be of a poetic turn of mind. If not,
they only suggest fiirtations.
will not further expatiate upon the de.
lights of Happy Valley, lest it should be
fancied that have lots for sale in the vi.
cinity, whereas have none anywhere
not even burial lot, and that, believe, is
the common lot of all. Neither did Cora
Depeyster have any real estate to dispose
of, but she thought just asI do, and passed
much Of the time every summer in the faii
demesnes that lie smiling adjacent to the
Happy Valley Pavilion.
Notwithstanding the round of pleasure
in which she every summer took part she
could not stifle her inward and continuous
yearning for the music of princely voice,
the glance of devotion from princely eyes,
the touch of princely hand in the dance,
and the sweet envy of all maidens who had
to go princeless through life. She sighed a
great deal, and began to think the great
world a cold, hard, unromantic sort Of an
arrangement.
Of course, you and know better.
never wrote romance yet half so wonder
full as the simplest life would make were il
truly told. The only trouble is that the
simplest life cannot be truly told. Itseemf
easy, but you try it once.
Though there was no prince among the
pavilion boarders, there was apoet Arthur
Bayne was there. 1t is barely possible that
Cora might have fallen in love with him
there is something very fine and hyfalutir
pardon the expression--in young lady'i
idea of poet. But then Arthur BaynC
was altogether different from her ideal
He knew the world too well to believe il
its hollowness He found it, in fact, very
round, hard, and stubborn sort of thing.
notice that men who really have beer
shaken up bit in the merry -go-rouud w
call life are not apt to preserve the outside
show Of sentimentalism to any great extent
We all start off some time or another will
our long hair, our turn-down collars, ou
brigand hats, and our little hidden sorrows
but when we have to cut our eye teeth ant
learn something about other folks trouble
we always come back to reason, to plai'
neck-ties, to stoye-pipe hats and the bar