The Arkansaw traveler., 1886-02-06

v s>SSAs~S AAc SAVOUh0k uSGvSS ot an in. ferior creature are but as the liiele.. quartz lines in the unvitalized rock ,h,. the mere fact of consciousness can m.I. no difference in the treatment of tbem.s
 When you read these things can vo. help knowing that the increase of spfss'
 ing is regarded as no check on the mi tiplication of energy7 Men must do things and make things, even if ths things are only made to suffer-"
 Some men, if they knew, would cea.. to make" l answered abruptly.
 Her dark, sad eyes fixed themselv.. more intently upon me with the eagey. ness of great anxiety.
 "Are you," she said "one of tbos. men?'
 felt myself flush under her searcbinv gaze. The oppression of finding myself closed in by an unpleasant yet just de mand was beginning to weigh upon me. but ans wered briefly, "I am not one n, the men who make"
 "You have given life to the dying Gre. ations of another man, Oh," she said clasping her hands together, and stretch. ing them before her in an outbreak of passionate appeal, "f have fought for the strength to speak to you, for the power to burst the limits of my life, and to make an independent effort; it was not for myself only, it was for the others too, all the others who suffer and do not know. Perhaps am the first who ever did it, but shall not be the last. For. ever more and more, the artists, the crea. tors, strive to give us more reality and more individual life. They are not sat. isfied to make us pictures or types; they want us to be real men and women like themselves. They do not make us yerv great or very good, only very real-and unhappy. And no man ever tried hard. CT to escape from the sadness of his life by putting it into the lives of hts charac. ters than Wilfred Gale. No one knows this better than you do. Yet for long time you would not see my appeals to you, you would not hear me when spoke. You have looked into my face with the cruel reality and incredulity of your eyes until you drove me back into the shadowy hopelessness of that exist. ence from which tried to reach you. Now, when you can doubt no longer, you are going away, away where cannotfol- low you. Will you leave US then to our miseryW
 The intensity of the woman's look, the reality of her speech impressed me strangely. could not refuse to answer even if she were all she seemed to be.
 "What can do to help you ?" asked her at last.
 Undo what you have done. You write in many papers without signing your name write in all of them the op. posite of what you have said before; speak slightingly of us; say that we are nothing; encourage the world to pass US by and forget us."
 " "Bu' shall not forget you"
 She sighed little. That is the dan. ger of it; and knew that. You will for. get the others at least. It was only for your friends sake that you thought of them so much. When you go to other work it will wipe out the memory of what must take my chance. Even if you don't forget, the worlds hold on me will grow less and less. shall fade out of other minds, until at length my thread of suf- fering will become very slight indeed; then, at last, when you die" she smiled here faintly, and did not finish.
 " see-your troubles will be over," answered somewhat dryly. "But does it not occur to you-capable as you seem to be of independent thought-that my DO. sition has its duties ?"
 You strained your convictions for the sake of your friend; you have only to do as much in another direction, and the mischief will be enumerated" she answered quickly.
 There is also the memory of my friend to consider, and his wishes" re- piled, determined to argue the question out.
 "A dead man, one who does not know, who has escaped" she said scorn- fully, as if indeed the gate of death was haven of refuge denied to her.
 "Aud his sister, whose happiness is bound up in his success2"
 She looked at me keenly then, press. ing her thin fingers heavily on the table again.
 "One woman," she said; only one. You must love her much to put her hap piness against that of SO many"
 "She is living, and my friend"
 "And we only dream that we live. An, but the dreaming is bitter p She (1Veut ACt UISdtu III A IT Wltn tuS nOTIUI of some remembrance. "And she can go her own way, and make her own life; help those she loves, and leave those she hates: die at the end and have done with it. Would you sacrifice us to her ["
 x: is terrible thing that you ask me to do."
 "And terrible thing which beg you to undo"
 "IfI did it and told why, no one would understand me-" said, speaking more to myself than to her.
 "Has that anything to do with the rightness ofitF" she asked, quite gently and moving little nearer to me. Whes started at the movement she stopped and flushed all over her pale face, as if my instinct of separation put she resumed her speaking softly. ' You do not always act for such reasons" vas what she added.
 l looked at her surprised.