The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1876-05-11


And thus became the alligator;
And the incubator was potentate,
But the alligator was potentator. ...
POOR MARY ANN. >.:
"'Deed an it isn't nell be here
waitin' for ye much longer, Dan
Doyle" said Mary Ann Blake, aloud,
as she saw the sun begin to sink be.
hind the low hills. It was a warm, va ID.
soft twilight in May, and Mary Ann
had stolen away, after the COWS were
fnilked, to the "far meadow :" where
under an old wlllow-tree by the little
river that bounded her fathers farm,
she had promised to meet the lover
she dare not ask to the farm house.
Mary;Ann was a beautiful creature.
No wonder that Dan Doyle and ev.
cry other young man for miles about
fell in love with her: Tall; shapely,
alert, her untrammeled figure had;
the grace Of a statue and the color.
ing ofa picture, I was about to say :.
but no canvass ever wore those won
derf1l tints Of pure flesh and blood,
Her low, white forehead the, milk
and roses Of her exquisite cheek; the
moist, red lips, that, full and sweet in
repose, yet parted widely over the
teeth, white and even as rows of fresh
corn; the great dark eyes, that were
agate gray in some lights and hya-
einth brown in others, but always
dancing and overdowing with mirth,
mischief or passion;, the long masses
Of blue black hair that were knotted
tightly at the back of a delicate head
poised on its full white throat, or, un-
fastened by chance or sport, fell fair.
" to her ankles-al1 these charms,
made up a "vision of delight that
naddened many a soft Irish heart
and hot Irish head and when the
vision spoke with the seftest of merry
voices and the piquant coquetry of
her sex and race, grander and wiser
men than the factions" about Bally.
moreen might have lost their senses
and worshiped old Pat Blake's
daughter. Moreover Pat was a we'll
to-do farmer. He kept COWS and q
horse, his wife made butter for the
Dublin market, and he had money
In the Dublin bank. And his
daughter was the apple. Of his eye.
He thought her fit to marry the
L rd.Lieutenant's son, and he meant
she should marry the biggest: man in
county Kildare anyway, that man
being, in his eyes, Harry O'More,
son of Sir Ulrick O'More, rough,
drinking, dashing, aoridly handsome
young fellow, who swore like pirate,
betted, raced horses, and did every
thing a man should not do. But all
this went for nothing in Pat Blake's
eyes. Harry had made sweet speech.
es to Mary Ann, danced with her
many time, sent her posies and
fairiDgs, none of which she looked at
twice; for, partly out Of instinct
i've repulsion, partly because her fa-
ther wished her to like him, Mary
Ann having a little more than
the ordinary perverseness of femi-
nine nature, and partly because
she had q dawning fancy for some.
body else, she hated Harry O'More
soundly, and after the fashion Of WON.
'en, fell deep in love herself with the
last man in the world her fathe,
would countenance for Dan Doyle
had neither a penny in the world no,
an old family underground. His ia,
ther had a hut on Sir Ulrick's es.
tate, a potato patch, and seven small
children belonging to a second wife
for Dams mother died in his baby
hood. Nor would it seem to an un.
prejudiced observer that he was al
all calculated to captiyate pretty Ma
ry Ann. Yet there she stand,
under the willow waiting for him,
lovely as an ideal, in her dark cotton
gown and red jacket, with deer
blue shawl thrown over her head, Ger
tainly not for warmth. Can MARY
Ann know how that deep gentian tint
brings out all the pure tints of hel
exquisite skin, and contrasts with th'
dull red of her Jacket Great il
the perception Of woman if she il
beautiful, to the becoming. 1fit on
ly extended to the plain, how mucl
less plain would they be! But i
never does. Mary Ann had no tim
to breathe against her delaying love
for he appeared just as she close
her lips after that first soliloquy
and, too breathless even to SPEAK
could oply use his lips in othe
ways to apologize.
/ "Oh, it's great felly ye are, TO b
keepin' me here this half hour
pouted Mary Ann.
"Deed thin, dhrop ov mo hear
it's not two minnits be the clock ove
beyant in the stewards house thu
I'm late. Sure Mr.. Barry KEEP m
about the pitaties."" :.
"An' I'll have all the b'ys follerin
afther to seek for me, an mebbe tn
father himself, if do be stayin' her
over ten minnits; so if you want
spake, Dan, spake quick. Whativ<
made We sind for me tonight of a