Weekly Chillicothe crisis. (Chillicothe, Livingston Co., Mo.) 1878-19??, 1879-02-27
JHsteHaup.
OF COURSE!


How to Keep Domestic Treasure.
From Iarpers Weekly,
"Gwendolen!" from Mrs. Olivia Glen
moreland's sanctum.
"Jesslc!' from Mr. Gerald Glenmore
land'S studio.
Eyes, ma'anl-ycs, sir, from the prett
little maid coming up the stairs. Sh
stops moment when she reaches tn
landing, as though considering whicl
summons to answer first, and as sh
pauses, Il handsome young man leans ov
er the baluster and looks down upon her
and as looks he thinks that meyer gazed h,
he upon prettier picture.
A slight, graceful young girl, will
serious dark eyes, dclirately cut feature
clear, pale face, and light, wavy browl
hair, showing little Specks of gold as tn,
sunlight falls through the hall window
upon it, parted simply on the low broac
brow, and ripllng away behind the lovely
ears until lost in the heavy Grecian coil a
the back of the small round head, in {
closely clinging dress Of some soft, darl
material, with IL knot of garnet ribbcn Al
the throat and sister.knOt on each lace
trimmed pocket of the dainty white apron
"Oh! I say. browneyes, he calls ont
cheerily, as the girl, becoming consciou,
of his presence, looks mp with n smile
will you pose for me?'
"As soon as can, Mr.. Denys," she re,
plies in voice softer and sweeter, but u,
frank and CHEEKY as his own. "lom
father and mother both called me.
must attend to them first" And as his
handsome head is withdrawn, she enter.
the room on the right, which one can
see at a glance, is the den of sculptor,
and u sculptor who, if it be true that
good order is the foundation of all good
things" can never hope to attain any
wondrouS hight in his profession. Hall:
finished statuetteS and busts, dlapidatcJ
arms, legs and torsos in clay. plaster and
marble, are standing and lying about N
the greatest confusion. Over Shakes.
peare's domelike forehead droops Il broad.
brlmmed hat; from the throat of dane.
ing taun stream the long ends of a silkcr
neck'tie; and aower-girl offers with her
flowers Il pair Of crumpled kid gloves and
a soiled collar. The sculptor himscll-an
Odd-lOOking man with wildish black eyes,
and massive head covered with a tang.
led mass of the darkest curls, a gray
thread cleaning here and there-attircd
in Il blouse, the back OF which alone gives
Il hint of its original color, is regarding
with critical gaze half nodded bust on
Tho t1lAln haGnt.n ht,., ,,,l,,l,
CARDS him with the blank stare peculiar to
its kind.
"Ah! there you are" he said approx.
ing ly, as Jessie comes quietly in. ut is
well. want your nose, my chill. 'Tis
lust the nose for Elaine. Couldn't find
any better il | searched the wide world
DER. Stand over there bv vHercules-lhat'
a dear-and look at Mephistopheles. And
he commences to sing in strong ifnot al.
together musical voice the "Gold Song
from Faust, Us the voices from the opposite
room calls again, "Gwendolen!'
"Can you spare my nose a little while
sirP' asks the model, still looking steadily
at the grinning tempter in the corner
but with CLEAN of mischief in her bonny
brown eyes. Mrs, Glenmoreland is cali.
ing"
"Oh! ah yes, Misunderstanding
away. How long have you been Gwen.
dOlen?"
For two weeks past, sir. Ever since
mistress began The Prince and the Dairy.
maid. May 90, sir2" still, best of mod.
els, with her eyes fixed on the fend.
"YOu may; but come back soon; foi
kings may die and employers lose theil
crowns, but art is deathless, and forever
reigns."
"Yes, sir" assents Jessie, demurely,
and trips away.
Mrs. GIenmoreland, sitting before her
desk, on which is piled many sheets oi
paper covered with eye-exasperating chi.
rography, her right hand nervously way.
ing her pen about, her left hand grasping
her fluffy hair, to its great arrangement,
allows the wrinkle of perplexed Thought
OIL her brow TO melt away as the pretty
girl appears.
"Gwendolen, my DEAR" she exclaims,
turning suddenly toward her, and thereby
scattering the pile of manuscript in every
direction, ii want your ear. She has the
most correct ear'-this to an elderly LADY
who is sewing industriously by small
workable in the centerof the room. "Now
my prose is excellent, and my poetry not
bad-so | am told; but sometimes nv
rhymes don't rhyme exactly, and that sort
of thing is only allowed to the very great.
est of poets. I'm introducing a battle.
song in the last chapter of my novelette,,
and I'm in doubt about 'hurrah' and
'war'-'rah' and war, Are they twins,
or are the not, Gwendolen?"
But before Gwendolen, who is on her
knees pickingup the scattered papers, can
reply, somebody comes down the stairs
with rush, and bolts into the sanctum.
Mother, kiss your little ink-stained
fingers" he says. "But all the same
must have Browneyes; want herarm Ny
grape.gatherer is waiting for the where.
withal to gather the grapes"
as it-l mean are they? asks Mrs.
Glenmoreland, as Jessie puts the manu-.
script on the desk again, and places a pa.
per weight upon it. And then she smiles
at her son, who, after tenderly ruflling the
rufiled hair still more, kisses the brow be-
meath 1t.
81 don't think they are, modestly an
swers Jessie.
"And now, Browneyes, your arm!"
cries Denys, striking melodramatic atti-
tude.
"l'm afraid you can't have it Just yet,
Mr.. Denys, have promised your father
my nose for an hour or so" says Brown
eyes. dropping cunning little courtesy.
"By Joye is the governor at work
againp Ten TO one he never finishes it.
III look in on him for moment or two
he'll turn me out at the end of that time.
By-by, mamma"
eally don't know what we would do
without her" says Mrs. Glenmoreland,
musinEly, letting her pen fall and blotting