Democratic messenger., 1881-04-09
SCOTS IDEAL.
BY sTELLA G. AIKENs.


At about nine o'clock, one chilly
evening in October, three young men
were seated costly around'a table in one
of the smallest and most select clubs in
New York. Wine flowed freely, betting
was light, and, as usual in such circum-
stances, the conversation, confidential.
"Cyrus," said the youngest and mer-
riest of the trio, "what is this I hear
about your friend Scot? is it true that
he is such a confirmed misogynist that
he absolutely refuses to marry Miss Bel
lair with all her money-bags +? Why, to
my mind the man is mad, out of his
senses Anybody can see with half an
eye that the girl is throwing herself at
his head. He pretends he does not care
for any woman but / tell you he's been
hard hit sometime"
lizard hit no, Scot never was smit-
ten in his life; he isn't thai sort, you
know"
"Hello there he comes ask for
yourself and the speaker, Cyrus
Kemble, rose to his feet and warmly
shook hands with the new conner.
Greetings were interchanged among
the four men : fresh supply of wine
and cigars called for the days doings
gone over bits of gossip retailed and
relished but in the first pause the ir-
repressible Ned began his questions.
81 say, Scot, we were just speaking
of you when you came IN. / made the
remark, that you had been hard hit
in your day, and I'll stand by it. You
look it, my boy it's written on your
noble brow. You"
Pause, my young friend" inter-
rupted Scot, as he slowly removed the
ashes from his Havana, 81 would not
have you laboring in error for worlds.
Let me set you right, at once. have
never been hit by anything in flesh and
blood T; but if one can have an unre-
Quilted, unfulflled love for phantom,
an ideal, those are my symptoms. As to
its being legible on my brow, sincere.
ly hope not"
"Here, Scot, that is not fair TO raise
our curiosity in that way. It's too
vague. yearn for something ethereal;
everything nowadays is so really real,
you know. Come, tell us all about it. 4"
"My dear Scot" broke in Cyrus,
mournfully, when Ned had finished his
TRADE, 81 supposed possessed in some
degree your confidence, when suddenly
you bring to light skeleton of whose
existence | know nothing. 1t is indeed
hard"
well, Cy, / suppressed it for the
reason that it was not worth relating ;
nothing TO satisfy the cravings of Ned
Burnham's diseased mind. In fact, the
whole thing is this worship at the
shrine of woman who exists only in
my imagination"
"She must be cramped for room -
"No remarks, Burnham. Years ago,
Mt college, a lot of 'sophs' agreed, just
for lark, to write mp their ideal type of
womanhood. We read them aloud to a
select audience in our rooms. Some Of
them were very droll but q few of the
boys seemed to take up the matter in a
more serious light, and really gave their
/ opinions very viv1dly. ], among those
few. In fact, ] was actually inspired
with the subiect-with the quickenedf fire
and impetuosity of early manhood, de-
lineated the character, the very features
of the woman to whom j wonld give my
heart. My roommate, kind of sober
fellow like Max, there, catching some
1 of my enthusiasm, drew a head, life size
in crayon, and presented it to me as my
future wife. Where he obtained his
model 1 do not know, but the face was
utterly charming-it was indeed my
ideal. As for a woman, who will resem-
ble that portrait and possess the admir-
able traits with which l endowed her
why, the woman does not live and il
she does, is some other mans wife by
this time.
The men were ali deeply interested.
Burnham who was head-over-heels in
love with dear little girl, whose ideal
ity was certainly not in her temper, his
ardor knew no bounds. With his ell.
bows on the table, cigar between his
lips, he regarded Scot, and for the
twentieth time it struck him that Scot
was rather fine looking. The soft, fair
hair, the frank white brow and the
eyes blue as a mountain lake, made
an ensemble that was at once noble and
winning
"By Jove Scot, do you mean to say
you never spooned on any other girl
never flirted, never went in for that sort
of thing, but always have been true to
your ideal ?"
"Yes, Burnham, that is just what
mean to say. / have never given any
woman's lips lovers caress."
"But tell me, asked Cyrus, chow
did you describe this divinity? What
kind of make mp did You give her
Was she tall, short, dark or fair ? Give
us an idea.
"She is five feet FIVE, and fair, with
hair of that bronze hue-not auburn
you understand, nor vermillion; far from
it. Hair full of waves and ripples; eyes
like two stars, full of expression, YET
expressing nothing saveimpenetrability
until kindled from the soul The besi
feature in the face is the mouth; Just
the kind of mouth for a woman Not
a thin-lipped mouth, cold, unlovable
neither Is il coarse or sensual but from
the curved UPPER lin 70 the little yount