The herald and mail. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1873-188?, 1874-05-15
CORA'S DELUsION.

| OIu russian we used TO see. on Broad
way, wearing a greasy fur-collar, an6
long overcoat, eating garlic and drink
ing brandy three times diurnal1y, and
growing at everything American in the
most detestable English. Nothing Of
the kind.
She pined for a prince such as We
read about in the fine old sentimental
novels that amused our fathers and
mothers in the flower of their youth q
Thaddeus of Warsaw, all talent, and
pallor, and tenderness, and musical
voice, and fine, rolling eyes, and pedi-
gree, and that sort of thing.
For my 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 sentimen-
tai novels. Nothing else, however,
would suit Miss Cora Depeyster. Being
not totally unlike other fair dam sells 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 re-
main.
Now, a real good writer of sentimen-
tai stories could create such being es-
| peclally for the emergency, and, after
| the customary amount of tantalization
| through the medium of an obstinate
parent or what not, marry off Miss Cora
| and her prince in the most satisfactory
| style. But never was good at senti-
| mental creation. / must write about
| peo lie | know and see. / am sorry
for the Coras. I've seen lots of them !;
but what sort of princes did they mar
ry? One now pours tea for a sharp
nosed, red-haired life-insurance agent
Another is the spouse of a strapping
farmer, who sits with hat on and eats in
his shirt-sleeves. Another welded a
subdued German who plays second
clariOpet in a cheap orchestra, and has
to move monthly because he can't pay
his rent. Still another-but the cata-
logue grows melancholy. Thus with
all the Coras. They go on pining for
princes that never come marrying all
sorts of people instead and, dying,
give way to fresh race of Coras, who
follow IN their mammals footsteps with
disregard of experience that sayors
of the sublime.
One of the sweetest of Watering
places is Happy Valley. It is romantic
and comfortable at once. There is de-
Gghtful bathing, rowing, sailing, and
fishing in the lake itself, and the shady
groves that line its shores are cool and
green and mysterious, and suggestive of
dryads and nymphs and fairies and
things. That is, if you happen, to be of
a poetic turn of mind. If not, they
only suggest dirtations.
/ will not further expatiate upon the
delights of Happy Valley, lest it should
be fancied that have lots for sale in
the vicinity, whereas I have none any
where-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 as I do and passed much
of the time every summer in the fair
demesnes that lie smilingly adjacent to
the Happy Valley Pavilion.
Notwithstanding the round of pleas
ures in which she every summer took
prominent part she could not stiha 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. I
never wrote a romance yet half so won
derful as the simplest life would make
we're 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 Pavilion boarders, there was poet.
Arthur Bayne was there. It is barely
possible that Cora might have fallen in
love with him; there is something very
ine and hyfalutin pardon the express
sion-in young lady's idea of a poet.
Bnt then Arthur Bayne was altogether
different from her ideal. He knew the
world too well to believe in its hollow
ness. He had found it in fact a very
round, hard, and stubborn sort
thing. / notice that men who have
really been shaken up bit in the mer-
ry-Go-round we call life are not apt to
preserve the outside show of sentiment
alism to any great extent. We all start
off, some time or another, with our
long hair, our turn-down collars, our
stable suits, our brigand hats, and orr
little hidden sorrows but when we
have cut our eye-teeth and learned
always come back to reason, to plaid
neckties, to stove pipe hats and the
barber.
Arthur was too matter of fact for Cora
and she too sentimental for him from
any hymeneal point of view, yet they
somehow became very excellent and
very intimate friends. One evening they
sat on the shore of the little lake to-
gether. 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 ma9nifi-
cent air, his mild melancholy and mex
haustible affection, his irreproachable
morals and aristocratic birth. Arthur
listened with due gravity until she had
finished.
"Why don't you take me?" he asked. |
4" am not very rich, but then poverty
is romantic. can't play the guitar, but
know fellow who is splendid on the
banjo. As for a fine antique family,
my father was Mr.. Bayne, son of Old
Bayne I believe he never went to state
prison"
Now, Arthur, you are too badl You
make fun of everything" /
well, to be serious, child, you'll |
never find your prince"
And Why not ?"
Because they don't make 'em. Most |
men are tolerably human, and human
Ity Is not perfection. If a man has no
other small vices he is sure to chew to-
bacco, write poetry, or keep dog. We
are fair but frail, we men,
"Ah, Mr.. Bayne what world it is !
wish there might be some place where
one might go and hide away and dream
in peace.
"There is and aEa going there now.
/ refer to my bed.
The next morning the bellies of Happy
Valley were in a twitter. The late train
the night before had brought new
young man, and young men were not
dEug at the Pavilion. The new conner
had taken the finest suite in the estab-