The Arkansaw traveler., 1884-12-27

au0RStueI ueG IIOm ISSluB OA WOunOCu pride.
 "There is but one way, Miss Bontave- beg your pardon" He had touched her hand again. "There is only one way open to every heart that swells with ann bition. That way is hard work. The pen of bright fancy may gambol with the lightness of a fawn, but before this &C., complishment is attained, it must plod with the deliberate weight of an ele- phant."
 So satisfied was he with this remark that he arose, and while mentally exam ming a photograph in wheat-straw frame, he ran over the words again, and mentally resolved that he would make room for them in the next issue of his paper.
 "Yes, that is the only way,' sitting down again.
 But suppose" said she, "that we plod like an elephant: who will assist us to gambol like lhe fawn2 You editors speak so fippantly of sitting in judgment upon the destiny of piece of compost tioR that might have been the result of weeks and weeks of study"
 "Pardon me, Miss Bon, excuse me" He had touched her hand. "I see that you may fall into an error, and do us an injustice. It is not matter of fippancy, 1 assure you. It is with profound regret that we place the iron heel on the literary hopes of soul that is attempting to rise. No bird, in contemplating the hnsuc- cessful attempts of young fledgeling to fly, can feel deeper sense of regret than we"
 He arose, examined photograph in frame made of acorns glued on paste board. mentally resolved that he would embody the idea in an article, sat down, touched the girls hand, and again re- quested her to excuse him.
 "l think that you possess the eie- ments of distinguished writer," said he
 Her eyes beamed with the light of hope. "Yes, feel quite ass ured in mak- ing this statement, and, let me remark, that never before in the course of my ed- itorial experience, have held out such inducements to any one"
 "Oh, thank you."
 Not at all, not at all"
 He touched her hand. She did not withdraw it. He took it, looked at it like a man examining pocket-book, put it down and took it up again, and then sat awkwardly holding it. His face burned. The light in her earnest eyes grew brighter.
 Bontave."
 The light Of her soul flashed upon him.
 Be my wife and shape your own course to the heights of fame. love you with an intensity that cannot ex. press. Just think, sweet girl, how we can sit by the fire at night and edit our paper-Onr paper, sweet girl. You can write delightful little stories and those charming paragraphs that women like to read, while will shape the political-the political maul"-he could think of no other term "and keep up my reputation as a humorist."
 "I will," she suddenly exclaimed, giving him both her hands. "We will help each c,her-we will be famous"
 CHAPTER II.
 One night, nearly year after mar riage, the editor of the Weekly Defendey and his wife sat by the fire in their own house.
 "Bontave, what are you fumbling after?" he asked as she arose and began to search the manslepiece.
 "l'm looking for my manuscript, that's what"
 "Your hddlesticks. 1 think that little closer attention to the frying-pan and a more minute association with the household pot would materially increase your chances of heaven"
 "I do wish to the Lord that you would shut your mouth,' she replied, finding her manuscript and reseating herself.
 "Oh, you've found it, have you ? Didn't know but the rats had carried it of. Rats are powerful bad on literature this year. Whats the use of fooling with the thing? Pm not going to publish it.'
 "You good for nothing thing, hate you," she replied.
 "Of course, and, simply because am frank enough to tell you that you can't write"
 "I can write as good as you can, sir, and better too"
 "Of course. Plutarch could write better than Thucydides, but somehcw he didn't"