The Findlay Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Hancock County, Ohio) 1870-1881, 1878-06-21

paddock, was lOOSened; the ladies seated
themselves in the stern, Mrs Sinclair
taking the tiller, and as her husband re-
Imembered that I had rowed on the
stroke side at the University, / was placed
on the after-thwart,in easy conversation,
al contact with them. When Sinclair
wanted to join in the talk he had to raise
his voice and to demand repetition Oi
any laughter causing observations with
a whats that?'
l had not rowed for some time and my
hands were rather tender, but took il
easy and saved them.
1t was calm and glowing evening, the
scenery was that which l like best, the
conversation of the ladies was not of fur
bellows, as Sinclair had put it, but clever
natural and interesting, so that 1 was
enjoying myself thoroughly and no lon
ger calculated on an early departure.
aAre you talking about books?' cried
Sinclair from the bows. Mind what you
say, Kate; Jones there is an authority
"No, no" said l; Il am only hanger
on to journalism"
ooh, am SO glad that you are liter.
ary man. 1 do SO want really good
opinion about certain book. Miss Fill
mer, you must know, is an authoress."
"Oh, no, Kate
"You are, Daisy, and you are great
deal too diffident. Diffidence is great
bar to success, is it not, Mr. jones'"
In my proper profession, the law, it
certainly would be fatal" replied laugh
ing. "And 1 think that in authorship a
little confidence isjustas well But what
is your work, Miss Filmer-a novel?H
"No, though am accused of difidence,
/ was so ambitious as to write verses.
But was rightly punished for my tenn
Gritty, and their worthlessness was fully
exposed"
"The most disgraceful, the most un
manly, cowardly attack that was ever
pennedl F." cried Mrs Sinclair Indignantly.
"Some of the poems are beautiful; all
show originality snd talent; you shall see
them for yourself, Mr. Jones, and judge.
"Oh, no, pleasel" said Miss Filmer,
who looked really distressed.
Il hope you will not refuse me the
pleasure of reading them" said /.
"She cannot; you shall have my copy,
cried Sinclair from behind me. al am
no Judge of poetry myself, but 1 thought
them capital, and so did the publisher
really you know, because he printed them
without making any charge"
Il am afraid he has lost money, poor
man." sighed the poetess.
"Oh, Miss Filmerl what was the name
Of the review that attacked you?"
"The Blank Review" replied Mrs
Sinclair for her friend. "Did you ever
hear of it,"
"Yes," said 1, as carelessly as | could
but bit of lump began to rise III my
throat; Il have seen the periodical. Did
Miss Filmer publish under her own
name?"
"No, she took the nom de plume OF
Dora fortunately: l think she would
hardly ever have got over the attack, il
it had not been for the shelter of a
pseudonym."
"Mr Jones will think me very thin
skinned" said Miss Filmer with smile;
@but do not think that should have
taken any fair criticism Of my book,
however severe, to heart, Indeed, some
were kind and some were harsh, and
set them against one another. Rut this
particular notice seemed to be dictated
by personal malice, for it sought to turn
me into ridicule, as well as my work.
1t made me feel as though had done a
bold and unwomanly thing, and GER.
tainIy cured me forever of authorship
No success would compensate one for
being made the subject of such attacks
IfI give you my real name which Of
course is not Jones, you would recognize
the fIct that ] am not generally consid
cred dei.cent in that useful forensic
quality-or-suppose We call 1t brass
Even in those early days 1 was not
easily put out of countenance. But on
that occasion | did wish that the bottom
of the boat would open, and friendly
barrel of whale like proportions absorb
me quietly.
For once in my life did feel most
utterly and intolerably ashamed of my
self. That pretty little, delicate, gentle
girl, so refined, so sensitive-oh it was
Just as if had struck blind man, or an
infant
"That is the old form" gasped Sinclair
"But I-say-you-know-we-have--
to come--back-again."
you will knock my poor husband
quite up if you row so fast, said his wife
with smile that had touch Of anxiety
in it. And in truth trying to escape
from my reflections, and not aware what
1 was about, had set him a racing
stroke, and we we're tearing through the
water alta grand pace. 1 easied at once
and presently we turned; | was so thor
oughly disconnected, however, that
made my blistered hands an excuse for
changing places, and tc shifting the
brunt of conversation to Sinclair.
Before we retired that evening / bor-
rowed the volume of poems. 1t wa:
indeed the Echoes of the Heart" which
I had treated so unkindly; but why did
they let her choose such a provoking title
1 read every line before going to bed
and felt more ashamed of myself as
proceeded. 1t was not merely the meri
of the verses which rebuked me, though
they were more than meritorious, bu
the kindliness, the broad charity, th'
flashes of eloquent admiration, excited
by all that is most noble in humanity
should have guaranteed the book agains
insult. at all events. Ipassed bad nigh
over it. but recovered my selfpossessior
: in the morning, and at breakfast ex.
pressed myself in terms which brough
| color into the cheeks and light into tn
4 ewes of the poetess. As for the hostil'
: critic, alluded to him in a way whicl
t prevented the ladies' ever mentioning HI
! libel again, for fear, as Sinclair told me
e least should find out who the culprit wa
3 and become engaged in some persona
q conflict with him. That | might b
# SHARED no element of remorse, Mis-
Daisy proved to be an orphan and poor
her father, retired colonel, having tal
r len into the trap which catches so man
}, old officers, and become director olson
e company which broke down and swal