Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1879-05-27


right glad to get away from her escort
and to escape all question from her father
and unloose the foodgate of her tears il
her own bedroom: | daresay that wher
the young Princess has too deeply wound.
ed the young Prince, her lover, she feel:
something of the same remorse. / dare
say the pains of despised love were pretty
much the same thing to the princely mel
ancholic Dane as they were to Mr. Bow
ker. The Dane had a faculty of elo-
quence and a gift of scholarship which
Mr.. Bowker had not; but that young
gentleman, glaring disconsolate into his
own frelcss CRATE, by the light of one
candle, with his ears still obscured by the
big collar, saw there pretty much what
his more learned and polished fellow
sufferer looked at under similar circum-
stances-a miserable, foolish tumble of a
world, namely, in which it was surely
worth no sane mans while to bear fardels
any longer. We are pretty much of the
same flesh and blood al the world over,
and share toothaehe and heartache and
other ills in fairly equal manner.
There had been a little misunderstand-
ing between the sweethearts the night
before, but William knew that he had
meant no quarrel. and had supposed Sc
hna's ill-humor TO be as transient as his
own. Selma had put on few small airs
and graces, with a half unconscious in
tent to display and test her power. The
moment chosen had been inopportune-
the most charming creatures are not al
ways wise. Therefore these two young
people were now engaged in breaking
their own hearts, sitting within half
dozen Yards of each other-out of sight
and hearing.
"They m queer sort, be womenfolks,
mused the young man sadly. "But if
S'liner wants to marry creature as is
more like a cross betwixt she'p an
bullock nor like mon, ii cent no affair
o mine TAX your own road, wench,
tax your own road
Herewith he took his way to bed, and
lay down beside his love. The heads of
their two beds touched the same wall,
and the heads of the occupants of the
beds were within a foot of each other.
So near, and vet so far away You will
observe that William had that bitterest
of all jealousys draughts at his lips,
which is brewed by lover contempt for
his rival. Says the Laureate:
"Having known me, TO decline
on a range OF lower feelings, and narrower heart
than mlner
There's the rub! She has left me,
me, me, for that fellow. Had he been
or richer, or cleverer, have we
not all fancied that we could have borne
it better: But a man every way my in
ferior, Sir: a person with whom would
scon to compare myself, physically, men
tally, or spiritually-to prefer him to me
It's uncndurable SO also, i have known
Miss Smith TO speculate as TO what her
Wilkins could sec to admire in that in
significant Miss Brown. William de-
spised his rival, and in spite of that rival
triumphed. The young fellow tossed his
stalwart limbs hither and thither in the
bed through the long sleepless night,
and his sweetheart cried miserably and
quietly all night through, on the other
side of the wall, within foot of him.
"Her cent got as much cart as I'D
max pins yed," mourned William to
himself, unconscious of her tears.
"Oh, dear me, dear me-" Selma la
mented, I've throwed him away. I'm
a wicked, bad CELL He'll goo out to-
morrer Wi Sally Rogers. know he wull." -"
So the gray dawn rose on these two
sleepless and unhappy people. William
descended to the pump in the back yard,
and had a wash in the half-light of four
o clock, and Selma got out of bed and
took sly peeps at him through her tears.
William, his ablutions over, went out for
a dreary stroll, past the Hilly Piece, and
over Stevenson's Hills, and down Jacobs
Ladder, and Dead Mans Lane, and so
on to the brookside again. There, on
June Bridge, he stood and watched the
eddies circle around the great stones, and
found that negative and bewildered COM
fort which trouble always finds in running
water. Meantime Selma had gone back
to bed, and had there renewed her tears,
and was finding some comfort in running
water also. And, at the moment when
William stood upon June Bridge, Mr..
Abraham Cough, in a suit of fannels.
was making his way to the day-shift in
the Strip-and-at-it. Lest YOU should find
yourself too much disturbed by the
phrase, let me explain that the Strip-and-
at.it was a coal-mine, so called, by its
inmates, from the cant phrase of some
doggy or ganger; "Now, lads, strip
and at il"
Poor William regretted his holiday,
and longed for the hour when work
should begin again. He beguiled the
heavy hours of the day by the compost
ton of woe-begone verses, whereof for
tune has preserved a fragment, which |
here embalm:
"The sun tha. shines so bright above,
Knows naught about nv wrongful love;
The birds that sing in w IGNORE Lane,
Bring nothing to my heart but pain.
Ii is very dismal thing.
That in my ear the birds do sing
While my Selma has gone of
To walk with Mr.. ABB aham Cough"
Williams muse was in the right. 1t
is very dismal thing to the wounded
heart, grown egotistic through its pain,
that nature should seem out of sympathy