Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1878-01-30


Good gracious, no Horace, l never
read Latin books"
:" But this isn't a Latin book, darling.
It was written, you know, by Sir Thomas
Browne. Listen to little extract will
quote to you. Surely" he says, "there
are in every mans life certain rubs,
doublings and wrenches-"
Like your stumbling over the stone,
Horrie. Which was that, please?"
1T is true and beautiful, if you would
but hear it through, Nora. And so is
this He who discommendeth others
obliquely commendcth himself He
who whispered their infirmities pro
claims his own exemption from them,
and consequently says, / am not as this
publican, or hic niger ~"
Now, Horrie, don't 1t may be all
true enough, but beautiful it isn't, and
if Mr.. Browne were man of taste, he
surely could select better language.
What does hic niger mean?"
!" You don't understand, darling. 1t
" Whose fault is that, Horace? Mr..
Brownies think, for he should write SO
people could understand him."
"When you read him, my Nora, your
active little mind will appreciate the
beauty and nobility of his. l would
not for the world have you any differ
ent from your dear little self, but would
like to have you read my favorite au-
thors. Let me lend you a volume of
Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy"
Just at that moment, large black
dog sprang from the bushes, and rushed
towards the advancing couple, flashing
his tail and barking violently tf-.
ceiling to me, darling Follow me
Run 7" and Horace started off toward
high board fence, pulling Nora along,
till she managed to slip her hand away,
and stood with look of amusement
and vexation watching her lover He
sprung to the top of the fence,-then
came one of the "rubs, doublings or
wrenches," and he fell to the other
side.
With the words, Keep close to me,
darling" he picked himself up, and
rushed frantically over the field.
The dog in the meantime was bark
ing, and frowning upon Nora.
"Well, Tige, good fellow" she said,
patting his shaggy head, "Iguess you've
scared him of, and now you must stay
by me, for I've got to walk two miles,
all alone in the dark, Tige. Shouldn't
mind a volume of the melancholy book,
now, good doggic."
1t did look pretty gloomy, and Nora,
though brave girl, couldn't help think
ing of tramps, and so she kept close to
Tiger, and kept up a running talk to him
and herself. Na
Will he come back, Tiger? or is he
gone for good? And where will he think
l ann And if he should come back,
old fellow, would he be afraid of you?
And wouldn't it be fun to think he was
a tramp and set you on him, Tiger /!
What would you do then, doggie. Tell
him you could take better care of Nora
than he could? And what would he
say then? l am not rs hic niger? No,
he isn't, Tiger. And don't tell any one,
Tiger, but / can't marry man after all,
who would only read the books. That
is all very nice, but | couldn't always de-
fend and protect him"
A very merry laugh broke in upon
Nora's soliloquy at this moment Ger
tainly a tramp would not laugh so hap
PLY, and Nora's face flushed rather than
paled, as she thought of her careless
words to the dog and looked doubtfully
at the figure of the young man few
feet from her.
Please excuse me, Miss Moore. Can
you ever forgive Inc, but have done
my best to keep in ever since he ran
of. But this was too much for me-"
and Jack Hubbard went off into another
ringing laugh, with which Nora was
forced reluctantly to join. Jack was a
cousin of Horace's, as fond of active
life and outdoor sport. as Horace was of
by-gone volumes and musty books.
81 should have come right up, Miss
Moore" he went on, but l saw you
were not bit afraid, and meant to see
you didn't get frightened. You didn't
know l was following, for Tige made
so much clatter over these leaves and
branches. Can you pardon me, Miss
Moore?"
eyes, but please, Mr.. Hubbard, don't
tell of this, and / thank you very much,
but you needn't 90 home with me, Lam
not afraid" =. /, DR.. .s
Please let me-" pleaded Jack, "and
let me atone for my eavesdropping. Miss
Moore" .N-
And where all this time was Horace ?
Flying over fields, with a good many
"rubs, doublings and wrenches, f" till half
mile had been passed over.
And then he missed Nora.
He could have sat down then, and
written an Anatomy of Melancholy
himself, or rather an Anatomy of shame
and chagrin and vexation. What would