River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1882-03-09

the cut-and-drled mack writers whose
contributions, although smooth and
polished, lack the freshness, the spon-
taneity, which is characteristic of the
contributions we sometimes receive
from unknown writers, and notably
from you. But, you see, am merely
an assistant editor, and person OF no
consequence at all, except as | am use
full to do the work, all the glory of
which goes to the distinguished indi-
viduals whose names are emblazoned at
the head of the paper. There that
sounds better, am afraid; but, my
dear Miss Bell, the fates have not
been so kind to me as to you. and it is
not for fame write, but for the where
withal to keep me fed and clothed.
What makes it perhaps harder is that /
have known what it is to have my
bread and butter fresh and sweet-ay,
and my honey with it, too-apd there
fore the thin slices that are doled out
to me now taste the drier by compar-
ison.
"Forgive me for boring you with so
much about myself. Pray, write to
me again. Your luxurious stationery,
with faint, delicate perfume prevail
ing it, is itself a delight. Sincerely
yours,
''MIss FRANCES BERTRAN SCREvEN.
AS read this letter / fe't myself a
scoundrel. My first impulse was to
write letter of confession TO Miss
Screven; but the desire to keep up the
correspondence and try my hand at
composing letters that should be sweet
ly feminine overeame my scruples,
and / sent off the following reply.
'DEAR Miss SCREvEN- of
boring me, the glimpse you gave me
of your life interested me more than |
can tell. But, at the same time, the
contrast between your life and mine
made me envious. Perhaps your lot
is hard one, but it is at least brave
and independent. Here am !, an only
daughter, petted and spoiled to a
shameful degree, and bound by letters
of luxury. Yes, / envy you. Sitting
here this morning in my silly pink
curtained boudoir, with a Dresden
shepherdess simpering at me from the
top of my escritoire, | feel my idle,
luxurious life hemming me and over
powering me, as the perfume, of
tuberoses makes heavy and sickening
the atmosphere of room that should
be flung open to the fresh air and sun
shine, would change places with you
to-day if could"
When reached this point of my let
ter, read over approvingly what had
written. Arrived at the lines descrip-
tive of my imaginary boudoir, smiled
as my glance fell upon boot-back in
one corner and the shaving-apparatus
in another. CHANGING at the place
where the Dresden shepherdess ought
to have been, my eve fell instead upon
a pipe, which | took down and filed.
and then resumed my writing with
considerable complac ency:
"This may sound to you rather
school-girlish, and | may as well con-
TESS that it is not many years-per-
haps months would be more accurate
since left the precincts of finish
ing school. Finishing school, indeed
Much / learned there besides the art of
doing up my hair However, the de-
fects of my education | must remedy
myself, and try every day to devote a
few hours to serious study. But it is
very hard to seclude myself long
enough to accomplish anything. Peo-
pie call; l must go to contemporaries;
l must drive out with my mother;
must hold solemn conclave with the
miliner and dress-maker; in short |
have constant demands of the most
frivolous nature upon my time.
Gail this you will prabably laugh at;
and, lest write yet more foolishly, |
will bring this letter to close. If you
are not quite disguised with me, do
write again soon.
Faithfully yours,
JANE BELL"
may as we'll confess that | thought
this letter a successful imitation of
some of the epistles that had myself
received from feminine hands. 1t
sounded enthusiastic and very "miss-
ish," and / sent it off that afternoon
with bold heart.
"Jack," quoth my uncle, who me
me as came from the postoffice, -"
rerily belieye you are making an ass OF
yourself over some girl. l don't be-
lieve it is the muses. you are counting;
it is no muse it is miss" And with
this he passed on. chuckling at his
own wit.
AS the days went on, however, my
uncle's words seemed in fair way to
prove true. l thought only of Miss
Screven. My novel / left untouched,
and my rhyming dictionary accumu-
lated dust slowly, but surely. Fled were
my visions of astonishing the world
with my genius. | lived only for the
mail from Boston.
As / re-read the letters I received
from Miss Screven, / can make some
excuse for my infatuation. They were
frank and outspoken, and sometimes,
indeed, tinged with cynicism; but
them there breathed sympa-
thy, a tenderness, that touches me
even now, as | read them over. Finally,
at my solicitation, she sent me her
which showed her to be
regular featured, large eyed woman, of
rather serious cast of countenance
indeed, but with a lurking smile in her
mouth, that l confess was large one.
She was not beauty, / saw that, but
she had an earnest, interesting face, |
hat grew upon me every day.
Little by little | gave myself up to
thoughts of her by day and dreams of |
ner by night. Her letters l awaited |
with feverish impotence, and if one |
were delayed l was in torment. | |
make no excuses for my folly. dear sir
Or madam; but pray do not forget that
[ was only one-and-twenty then, and |
lad fed myself plentifully with novels
md poetry. And this was my first
ovel
/ endured it for just ten days, and
hen | packed my satchel and went to
Boston. Bah! what day it was when
[ arrived there 1t had showed little,
and then thin, cold rain began to |
lrizzle down despairingly. The weather
suited me better than the garish
'plendor of the hotel, and / wandered |
'orth that evening, half-unconsciously
my way toward the street, in
which Miss Scrayen boarded. / found
myself opposite the house. From an
y 4 4