Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1883-12-30
LOVE A-C0LD.
Disappointing nt's Pail Cast Over a
Passion that Might Have Worn
the Stars OF Joy.
[Chicago Tribune "Lakaside Musing N

s'Do you speak Greeksn
George ". Simpson looks up at Minerva
Stiggins in the frank, blue jay-on- the-fence
manner SO characteristic of western people,
and answers her only by a quiet, dreamy
smile that tells with far more eloquence than
could any words that he does not con
ceive her question to have been put in earnest.
And then, as the signing winds of autumn
sweep softly over the veranda on which they
are sitting. bringing with them a faint,
sansuous perfume OF New England rum and
Xxx naclierel, he recalls the fact that he is
far, far away from the home OF his childhood,
and that the one beside whom he is sitting
was born in this town whose quaint old
houses and girls VINO say p,ano-linlb are cast
into strange relief b. the daily presence of
two beings whose lives jut out boldly into
history and whose influence on the higher
influence OF the century viii be felt long after
they have passed away or been ordered up
Ralph Waldo Emerson and John L. Sulli-
van.
And 50. starting suddenly from his reverie,
he looks at Minerva oaly 10 notice that the
tears are coursing silently down her cheeks,
and that her bosom, rounded and voluptuous
as a knife-bade, is shaken bya storm of s0bs.
He sees also that she is chewing cum with a
mad, passionate enargy that tells is own
story Of terrible grief, and his whole heart
goes out in food OF love ami sympathy
toward this beautiful being whose eye
glasses are wet with the saline evidence OF
her overwhelming sorrow. Stepping close
beside Minerva, and putting hassock be.
tween them so that the soft, rounded curves
Of her Venus like form may not bruise him,
he twines one arm tenderly about her taper
waist
Presently he bends his head little and
whispers softly in her pink-tinted ear. Il did
not mean to offend yor, my darling" says he
81 love my little natural history-girl, I
mean-far too well for that. My whole being
is wrapped Up in your life, and without it my
life would be as aimless and dreary as ST.
Louis joke. Such love as ours cannot.
must not be destroyed. It would be a cruel
wrong to throw the black pail Of disappoint-
ment over a passion that might SO easily
wear the stars of JOY. You must fly with me,
Minerva-hy to the golden west, and there
amid the beauties which nature has showered
with lavish hand upon the face of mother
earth, decking each feature with garland
of her own making, we will while away the
hours together, our love making the days
pass on golden wings, while every passing
zephyr shall bear with it our peans of joy at
being forever united. Do not scorn my prof
fered love, Minerva, but say that you will
make my whole life q great, holy, three-story-
and-basenlent joy''-and dropping the hassock
that had heretofore Tended her off George
clasps the blushing but largely osseous girl to
his vest
And SO they stand there-he too much out
of breath to break the silence, and she too
blissfully happy in the knowledge of his love
to say the words that are yelling up from
her Massachusetts soul. George can feel her
heart beating against his feel the throbbing
buniOn on her left foot, and a STILL small
voice, like that announcing the vote for
Hayes in case he should run for president
again, tells him that the answer to his plead
1ngs will be favorable one. Bending again
he imprints a chaste, historicaI-society kiss
just abaft her larboard ear and waits for an
instant until he can recover from the shock
cam to receive no answer, my precious
oneF' he murrnurs, laying his cheek against
her bang as he speaks. ''Can you not whisper
your answer in my ear?'
The girl looks up, and placing her ruby
red lips in front of his Hoosac-tunnel ear
says: 81 would follow you, my prince, to
the end of tie world.n
to the left of the dealer in a Chicago poker
game.
That man is George W. Simpson
In the richly-furnished parlor of turreted
boarding house that fiecks the horizon on La
Sale avenue sits Minerva Stiggins, the bride
of a twelvemonth. She is pe9ring anxiously
out into the darkness. Presently form ap-
proaches the house, and she hastens to the
door to admit her husband
''Hello, Mini" he says in CHEEKY voice,
''What are you up so late for!'
81 am waiting for you,' she answers 81
wish to have talk with you," and she leads
the way to the parlor
George seats himself in front of the fire and
Minerva, twining her arms around his neck,
prepares to perch on his knee.
Not there" be cries hoarsely.
"Why notg' exclaims the girl Why may
not be folded in the embrace of the one man
whom I loves'
Because he replies. in tones that be-
speak his earnestness, 81 do not wish to be
frost-bitten. From His Bony Bride" by
Murat Halstead.