Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1874-07-30
The Sturp Teller.
CORA,S DELUSlO
Cora Depeyster pined for a prince.

cora DepeySteF plueu lol d pliuee' ,
Not a common prince, like the sndfy old
Russian we used to see on Broadway, wearing
a greasy fur.collar and long overcoat, eating
garlick and drinking brandy three times d.
urnally, and growing at everything Amerl-
can 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 Hover
Of their youth: Thaddeus Of Warsaw, all
talent and pallor, and tenderness, and mu'
sical voice, and fine, rolling eyes, and that sort
of thing.
For nv part, don't believe in such princes.
The Prince of Wales isn't one Of that species,
and I'm 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 expert
ment on the state matrimonial, and had plen.
ty of opportunities, but common clay would
not do. A prince she must have, or single
she would remain.
Now, a real good writer of sentimental
stories could create such being especially for
the emergency, and, after the customary
amount of tantalization through the medium
of an obstinate parent or what not, marry OF
Miss Cora and her prince in the most satlstac-
tory style. But never was good at senti-
mental creation. must write about people |
know and see. am sorry for the Coras. l.
have seen lots of them; but what sort OF
princes did they marry? One now pours tea
for sharp-nosed, red-faced life-insurance
agent. Another is the spouse of strapping
farmer. who sits with his hat on and eats in
his shirt sleeves Another welded subdued
German, who playssecond clarionet in cheap
orchestra, 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 60 on pining for princes
who never come; marrying all sorts people
instead; and, dying, give way to fresh race
of Coras, who follow in their mammals foot
steps with a disregard of experience that
savors of the sublime.
One of the sweetest of waterng-places IS
Happy Valley. 1t is romantic and comfort
able at once. There is delightful bathing,
rowing, sailing and fishing in the lake itself,
and the shady groves which line its shores are
cool and green and mysterious, and suggest,
i've of dryads and nymphs, and fairies and
things. That is, if you happen to be of
poetic turn of mind. If not, they only sug-
gest firtations
will not further expatiate upon the de-
lights of Happy Valley, lest it should be fam
cied that have lots for sale in that vicinity,
whereas I have none anywhere-not even
burial lot; and that I believe, is the common
lot of all. Neither did Cora Depeyster have
any real estate to dispose of, but she thought
lust as I do, and passed much of the time
every summer in the fair demesnes that lie
smilingly adjacent to the Happy Valley Pa
vilion.
Notwithstanding the round of pleasures in
which she every summer took prominent part,
she could not stihe her inward and continu-
Gus 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 90 princeless through life. She sighed a
great deal, and began to think the great world
a cold, hard, unromantic sort of an arrange
ment.
Of course, you and I know better. |
never wrote romance yet, half so wonderful
as the simplest life would make were it truly
told. The only trouble is that the simplest
life cannot be truly told. 1t seems easy, but
you try it once.
Though there was no prince among the Pa
vilion boarders, there was poet Arthur
Bayne was there. 1t is barely possible that
Cora might have fallen in love with him !;
there is something very fine and hifalutin-
pardon the expression-in young ladys idea
of poet. But then Arthur Bayne was alto
gether different from her ideal. He knew the
world too we'll to believe in its holowness.
He had found it, in fact, very round, hard
and stubborn sort of thing. notice that
men who have really been shaken up a bit in
the merry-g -go.round we call life, are not apt
to preserve the outside show Of sentimental.
ism to any great extent. We all start of,
sometime or another, with our long hair, our
turn-Gown collars, our sable suits, our brigand
hats, and our little hidden sorrows; but when
we have cut our eye-teeth, and learned some
thing about other folks troubles, we always
come back to reason, to plaid necktles, to
stoyepipe hats and the barber.
Arthur was too matter of fact for Cora,
and she too sentimental for him, from any
hymenial point of view, yet they somehow
became very excellent and very intimate
friends. Ono evening they sat on the shore
of the little lake together. Cora was gazing
at the moon, of course She was one of that
kind. She had been telling Arthur what
kind of hero she had imagined for her heart
history, and described the prince with his
melting eyes and musical voice, his generous
nature and magnificent air, his mild melan-
choly and ipexhaustible affection, his ire
proachable morals, and aristocratic birth.
Arthur listened with due gravity until she
had finished
"Why don't you take me? ?" he asked. 81
am not very rich, but then poverty is roman
tic. l can't play the guitar, but know of a
fellow who is splendid on the banjo. AS for
a fine antique family, my father was Mr..
Bayne, son of Old Bayne; l believe he never
went to State prison"
"Now, Arthur, you are too bad! You
make fun of everything"
"Well, to be serious, child, you will never
find your prince"
"And why not?"
"Because they don't make 'em. Most men
are tolerably human, and humanity is not per-
fection. If man has no other small vices
he is sure to chew tobacco, write poetry, or
keep dog. We are fair but frail, we men" }"
"Ah! Mr.. Bayne, what world it is I
wish there might be some place where one
might 60 and hide away and dream in peace. I"
"There is; and am going there now. l
refer to my bed"
The next morning the bellies of Happy
Valley were in a twitter. The last train the
nioht hefnre had broupht q new vounp man