The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1882-02-03

shine. Z would change places with you
to-day if could"
When reached this point Of my let
ter, read over approvingly what I had
written. Arrived at the lines descript-
i've of my imaginary boudoir, I smiled
as my glance fell upon a boot-jack in
one corner and the shaving apparatus
in another. CHANGING at the place
where the Dresden shepherdess ought
to have been, my eye fell instead upon
pipe, which I took down and filed,
and then resumed my writing with con-
siderable complacency
+ "This may sound to you rather school
girlish, and [ may as well confess that
1t is not many years-perhaps months
would be more accurate-since I left the
precincts of fnishing-school. Fin
ishing-school, indeed! Much learned
there beside the art of doing up my
hair However, the defects of my ed
ucation l must remedy myself, and TRY
every day to devote a few hours to Sc
rious study. But it is very hard to Sc
clude myself long enough to accomplish
anything. People call; I must go to
garden parties must drive out with
my mother; must hold solemn con-
clave with the milliner and dress maker;
in short, l have constant demands of q
most frivolous nature upon my time.
"All this you will probably laugh at,
and, lest l write yet more foolishly, /
will bring my letter to close. If you
are not quite disguised with me, do
write again soon. Faithfully yours,
"JANE BELL"
may as well confess that I thought
this letter successful imitation of some
of the epistles that I had myself re-
ceived from feminine hands. It sounded
enthusiastic and very missish," and
sent it off that afternoon with bold
heart.
Jack" quoth my uncle, who met
me as / came from the postoffice, ct
verify believe you are making an ass of
yourself over some girl. I don't believe
it is the muses. you are counting; it is no
muse it is o MISS" And with this he
passed on, chuckling at his own wit
AS the days went on, however, my
uncles words seemed in fair way to
prove true. [ thought only of Miss
Screven. Ny novel | left untouched,
and my rhyming dictionary accumulated
dust slowly, but surely. Fled were my
visions of astonishing the world with my
genius. | lived only for the mail from
Boston.
As I reread the letters 1 received
from Miss Screven, I can make some
excuse for my infatuation. They were
frank and outspoken, and sometimes,
indeed, tinged with cynicism but
through there breathed a sympathy, a
tenderness, that touches me even now
as read them over. Finally, at my So
icitatiOn, she sent me her photograph.
which showed her to be regular feat
ured, large-eyed woman Of rather Sc
rlous cast of countenance indeed, but
with lurking smile in her mouth, that
could not but confess was large one.
She was not a beauty, I saw that, but
she had an earnest, interesting face that
grew upon me every day.
Little by little 1 gave myself up to
thoughts Of her by day and dreams of
her by night. Her letters I awaited
with feverish impatience, and if one
were delayed ] was in torment. make
no excuses for my folly, dear sir or
madam; but pray do not forget that I
was only one-andtwenty then, and had
fed myself plentifully with novels and
poetry. And this was my first love
Coventry Patmore says in one of his
poems:
Well, heaven be thanked my first hove failed
As, heaven be thanked, all first loves do
This was a sentiment I could not echo.
for at that time it seemed to me that If
were separated from my fair unseen
sweetheart my life would be stale, flat
and Improbable.
The correspondence was kept up all
the summer and autumn; but in Deem
Der there befell what was to me an awful
calamity. Miss Screven did not write.
l sent imploring letter after letter. but
no response gladdened me.
Has she Tilted you?" said Uncle
Dick, heartlessly, when he noted nv
pale face. In truth, I could not sleep
nor eat 1 was consumed with fear and
anxiety. What could have befallen
her?
endured it just ten days, and then
packed my sachel and went to Boston.
Bah what a day it was when I got
there. 1t had showed a little, and then
thin, cold rain began to drizzle down
despairingly. The weather suited me
better than the garish splendor of the
hotel, and I wandered forth that even,
ing, half-unconsciously vending my way
toward the street in which Miss Screven
boarded. found myself opposite the
house, From an upper window light
struggled feebly between the closed
shutters and thrilled me through and
through. Perhaps she was there, IL
and alone, uncared for, save by the mel
cenary landlady, or, worse still, by a
slatternly servant. [ went up the steps
and rang the bell. A slip of a girl
opened the door to me, ami I handed
her my card, saying mechanically. "Ask
Miss Screven if she will see me.
| trusted that the name John Bell
would, perhaps, lead her to suppose that
/ was cousin or the father of her
friend.
The slip of servant-maid looked at
the card, and then looked at me.
Frances Screven? she said, interroga-
lively.
Yes" I replied. Then I took the
card, ran my pencil through the en-
graved name, and scrawled my illegible
signature below it. The servant took
the card again and skurried away, leav-
ing me standing alone In the cold, dark
entry.
1t was several minutes before she re-
appeared, and then it was only to say in
q singing tone, "Three flights up: first
door to the right"
went up the three fights and raped
at the first door to the right.
A voice called out, "Come in"
| entered a medium sized. plainly
furnished room that was redolent of to-
bacco, with which was mingled a faint
smell of whisky. There were two arm
chairs, large table covered with a
faded cloth, and an old-fashioned horse
hair lounge, from which, as I entered. a
young man rose. He was thin and hol-
low-eyed, and beard of several days.
growth made him look, to say the least,
unkempt. ''AIr. Bell, / presume" he
said, offering me his hand, and then
drawing up chair for me.
Il have called to see Miss Screyen,
said /.