The Russellville Democrat., 1880-09-02

you have told me to justify you in talk ing your life. Come, my friend J said I, becoming really interested in his case. "come. let us reason the matter out, Why should you complain because you have been unfortunate in love? Don't yon know whlt the poet says;
 The lot of the girls was to deceive
 Since winter first was snowy. from all time; women will be false to their lovers to all time.p
 But no woman has ever been so false to her lover as this woman was to me"
 Lots of 'em have"
 "No; none could be-"
 But tell you thousands of lem have. know one whose conduct towards-to- wards an intimate friend of mine was. Why should you kill yourself because one pretty woman has played yo'l false? Seek another one--a prettier one.' S "In vain, in vain," he groaned; "she was the only woman in the. world that l ca8d for; the handsomest woman in all Psfis, sir"
 .sEO, bosh. I know of hundred Eand- sQmer and more tender then she ever could be. You may think in the first moments of soreness that there are no other women in the world. but in a month from now you'll be prepared to admit how silly it was to entertain such a thought"
 My eloquence seemed so convincing and my position so sound thaS it was a pleasure to me to listen to myself. l went on:
 "Wbat good will it do you to hang yourself? Tell me, if you can, what use ful purpose will be subserved. Either the woman has heart, or she has not. If she has no heart"
 "She has none-none."
 'Of course she has none. Therefore your death will only be agreeable to her will only flatter her. It is big ad- vertlsement for woman to have man kill himself on her account. What will the public say, the boys? They'll say, Charles was an ass-a silly ass." Yes, Charles, everybody will say you are a silly ass, and everybody will be right in saying so."
 1 waxed eloquent, in point of fac.., for some moments it had occurred to me that was arguing my own case, plead- ing for my own lie. heaped fact upon fact, added argument to argument, with such earnestness and closeness of reas- oning that my friend Charles at last fell into my arms and cried, You are right, you are right; bid me do whatever you would and I VII obey you"
 All right" said l, ''let us go and get some breakfast"
 | l., G1lI Lion. l was terribly hungry.
 The table at which we seated ourselves was neatly set, and aided ones appetite by its snowy linen, its glittering glass ware, it's golden-brown loaves, its yellow butter.
 When thick and juicy steak with po- tatoes had been served up to us, tapping our poisoned nostrils in the elysium of it's appetizing odors and stained our knives with it's vermeil essence, and we had tasted the first glass of some re- markably particular Bordeaux, we were rapturously silent, bat our speaking eyes said-nay, shouted. "Well. life isn't such a bad thing after all."
 ''Ii hadn't met you," said Charles, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand.
 If hadn't met you." 1 thought. as l returned his cordial grasp.
 Tt was the most remarkable piece of luck ever heard of" he continued: "I don't suppose that a human being goes through that copse twice month"
 l remained discreetly silent.
 But say, you know" he went on, as if a sudden light had flashed upon him, what were you doing in that lonely part of the wood at that early ho2r of the morning."
 I could not help blushing guiltily.
 "You were going to hang yourself, too"
 q was-upon the very same tree. Here's the rope had in my pocket"
 "The best joke l ever heard of" said Charley, as we clinked our glasses.