The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1882-02-11
A POEM BY wINONA SILVER.


chief was in Europe, and consequently
had twice as much work as usual to do)
toiling through long manuscript, and
wishing with all my heart that the dis
tinguished writer had seen fit to use the
familiar letters of the alphabet instead
of hieroglyphics of his own, indistinctly
resembling them, when there came a
| light tap at the door. Come" L
called, rather sharply, for was little
vexed at being interrupted, and the door
opening slowly, disclosed lightly clad
much too lightly clad for a cold JAN
uary day; saw that at glance-girlish
| figure standing on the threshold.
Are you the editor Mr.. GrayP"
asked very sweet, timid voice.
Il am" l replied. I" Come in,
please"
The girl entered, closed the door, sat
down in the chair beside my desk, to
which 1 motioned, and said never
word. | could hear her breath coming
quickly, as though she were terribly
frightened, and l purposely went on
with the unravelling of the Oriental
characters before me to give her time to
recover herself; for | remembered with
painful distinctness my own first call
upon an editor (knowing intuitively
this was first call), when my heart,
albeit it was a manly one, thumped
harder than it ever thumped befoSe or
since. AT last l raised my eyes from
the paper. My visitor had thrown back
her vail, from which dripped little drops
of water-melted snow-and was re-
garding me with wistful, beseeching
gaze. In return, l regarded her with
one of establishment, for hers was the
sweetest and most heart-touching face |
had ever seen in my life, and SO pecu-
liar in its beauty that l find it hard to
describe it. Big, pathetic, light-brown
eyes, with glints of gold in them; long,
bronze-brown lashes; hair of the palest
sunshine, as though moonlight and sun
shine had mingled together; slightly
parted, rosy lips, revealing glimpse of
small, white teeth; colorleSs but prettily-
rounded cheeks; and over all that in
describably charm of innocence that is
to youthful beauty, to use old and we'll
worn SMILES, as the bloom to the peach
and the fragrance to the rose.
"What can do for youP' l asked,
speaking gently enough this time.
I-have-a-story," stammered the
| pun llJIlc UIlHS, WulCu lHOuSuG YOU
might It's my first-and if you only
would"
81 will look over it with pleasure" 1
said, as she paused, apparently unable
from sheer nervousness to go on.
"Leave it with me, and promise to
give it my earliest attention"
And as she handed me the roll of pa
per, saw she wore no gloves, and her
hands were red with the cold; but L also
saw they were as exceptionally pretty as
her face, with slender tapering fingers,
and pink shell-like nails.
I" 1t is not written ON very nice pa
per- she said, rising, as 1 took the
manuscript from her, II had nothing
but scraps of old letters, and backs of
circulars and bills; but''-with CLEAN
of modest pride, and glance at the
hieroglyphics-" write very plainly,
and it will not take you long to read it.
And when may l call for an answer?"
Tomorrow" said l, without a mo-
ment's hesitation, though 1 knew /
ought to devote all the time l could
spare from my other duties for weeks to
the very lengthy contribution of the dis
tinguished author.
"Thank YOU" and she fitted away
as noiselessly as she had entered.
But for the life of me l could not for
get her. Wherever my gaze fell, there
l beheld those great pathetic eyes, that
faint golden hair, those prettily curved
trembling lips. "And she was cold.
Cold! | should think so-actually shiv-
ering in that thin shawl, while l, great
strong fellow Cooking at my heavy
overcoat hanging on the opposite walD.
Pshaw! you may stay there tonight"
And l actually went home without it,
as though that would make the poor
little girl any warmer, and caught a
severe cold in consequence, as l might
have known | would. After which
ebullition began the story, and read it
through.
1t was written plainly, that could not
be denied; in fact, in the way of chirog-
raphy, it was all that could be desired !;
and there were some pretty and fairly
original ideas in it, and some CLEANS of
a poetic nature; but the plot was so
highly romantic and visionary, and the
whole thing so evidently the work of
one who had not yet even mastered the
primer OF authorship, that it was i'm
possible to give it a place in the pub
LEGATION of which / was junior editor.
But never did the necessity of saving
"No" distress me before, not even
when Alveretta Strawhorn, since known
as the author of "A Riddle Solved by
Cimeter," told me that, in spite of
my rejection of her novelties, "the
laurel wreath of fame would encircle
her brow when Twas still groveling, the
obscurest of the obscure"
| slept but little that night, thinking
OF it. Something told me it would al
most break the pirl'S heart Should /