Weekly Chillicothe crisis. (Chillicothe, Livingston Co., Mo.) 1878-19??, 1883-05-17

to which she sang rose pale and pure,
and bending from her window, flung
down a yellow violet, the flower OF
Spain, that in its passion whispered to
her lover:
al love you"
For this young girl was no longer Po-
mona, no longer the coldpale, shy apple
blossom of northern gardens swathed
in cold gray mist and dew; she was to
Robert Marlowe the very spirit and i'm
personation of fcrvid love.
One day he went to her and asked
her to hear the music he had written;
his last strange dream of passion that
had lowered into song. They were
standing together in the room where
he had spoken with her first, Mona S
hand in his, when the door swung
open. They turned and saw Prof.
MorrOSa, his face, as he regarded the
two young people, terrible In its look
of mortal hate. He strove to speak,
painting, but for 4 moment nothing but
a gurgling murmur passed his lips.
Then he made fierce rush toward
them and flung them from each other.
The movement was so unexpected that
Robert was flung by its violence back
ward; he caught at chair, and when
he recovered and gathered himself up,
it was to see Mona lying PROSTATE up
on the floor; stream of blood trick.
ling thread-like from her lips. Horri-
fed. he strove to lift her, when like a
raging animal the professor sprang
upon him.
"If you dare to touch her I'll kill
you!n hissed the old man. "She's
none of yours. She's my child. OF,
you've done harm enough!"
Good God, man! She is dying-shs
is dead! Don't you see? Help! hclp!'
IL tell you I'll kill you!' hissed the
father again. 'lf you want to save
your life, go! OFF! Off,
1t was too horrible. For sake of the
white, young creature lying there,
Robert turned away; yet, as he moved,
something glittered at his feet. He
stopped and picked up a long, thin,
blade of steel, a thing keen and cold
and cruel, and 1.-THE as flame is. A
stiletto! When Robert in the shock of
this new horror reeled down the steps,
he felt that the curtain had been drawn
back space and he had been given a
glimpse of blackest hell.
He watched the house, not cOnfcssing
to himself what it was he feared. At
first able physicians came and went,
then came Il sickening sense of change.
The appalling blackness of Grape on the
door; carriages came and went; there
seemed TO be the gloom of funeral Grape,
of mold ng plumes on coal black horses
everywhere.
What could it mean, since Pomona
was not dead' He turned always :
inpatient silence, in answeress fret,
from those who said to him, Pomona
is dead!'
Spring came, and Robert began 10
haunt the lovely orchard path once
more-those sun-sweet places, weighed
with apple-blossom breath that POmo-
ma had loved so we'll. 1t seemed to
him that he could hear her voice amid
bloomy boughs, whispering: Robert,
Bobet! come" He was sitting alone
one day, when he heard a rustic, faint
sigh, a perfume as from some flowers
shaken near him filled the place. He
turned and saw Pomona standing there
His Pomona! The same smile! the
Old-time tenderness in the sweet eyes
looked into his! All. heaven WAS good!
"Oh, my love! my love! YOU have
come back to me at last! Dear, you
have been gone so long. | have been
lonely. Why did you stay?"
81 have come back TO you," said Po-
mona, simply. "Oh, my love, did you
doubt | would come back?"
Doubt it? Never once! Never once,
even in his saddCst hours had he doubt
ed that Pomona would return to him.
When the buds and blossoms of the ap-
pie boughs made all the meadows
sweet, he had known she would come
back to him; the same Pomona! And
he had thought of that other far-oif
singer of another land than his, who
had mourned because
Beautiful E Evelyn Hope is dead.
And he had to endure the loss of the
golden hair and the red young warmth,
"likc n gcranium llowcr;' and how he
then had shut the geranium flower she
had loved inside the dead cold hand
and so with that farewell-gone to wait
patiently for some coming life, when
she should wake and, with the red
flower in her hand, understand and
come to him! All, even so, with such
faith he had waited for Pomona; his
Pomona!
He gathered her closer to him in his
joy.
II was so cold" she shivered. Il
heard your music and / came. o,
your love warns me; keep me
close. could hear you call; your
notes were like the fire and the sun. |
could smell the oleanders, and I could
feel the petals of the apple blossoms
fall upon my face. Do not let me 90
back. 1t is warmer here where Your
love is than in that cold silence where
they laid metz
20 love, my love!' he cried passion
ately. you shall not be cold any
more. See, does not the light in my
eyes warm YOU; arc not my words like
wine in your chill veins? Dear, my
heart is not cold and ice-like as yours
is! Lie here; it shall warm you thus!"
"The sun and your love make me
warm once more, dear Robert" said
the pale Pomona. al had only this
scarf of blue and gold cclor. l am
glad your music called me-and the
apple blossom BREATH
So Pomona came back to him again
The ache of memory, tho fret of
solitary passion was in his song no
more. If his friends turned from him
with tear eyes when he said,
Pomona is here again." what did it
He was happy. 1t was an
old story now for people to say in sor-
rowing pity:
Poor Marlowe! he is madr'-Melie
W. Carpenter in Springfield Republican.
A congressman speaking one day,
Got lame in his jaw, they do say,
With the ache he was toiling,
But a St. Jacobs 0iling,
He said was worth all his pay.
The champion driver Dan Mace,
Who never was cleft" in race,
Says for cuts and sprains,