, 1886-08-10
THE STORY OF FACE.

couldn't recollect just what particular
~where" IL was at this moment, and that
is what annoyed him, as 1t would any
man, for no man Of parts, or fractions of
parts, ever admits. even to his wife on his
honeymoon, that his memory of faces is
not near perfection as human mechanisms
are made. He was lying outstretcned on
the sofa, reading, half-dreamily, those
plain, white spaces between the printed
lines in his book, which to the ordinary
reader are merely useful in making black
type less black n more Ineligible, and
are therefore highly commendable on the
part Of the man who invented them. But
he was not an ordinary book rea Ter, and
furthe rmore his room WIS lighted by n
soft-rayed student lamp, the only way to
light a room when one wants to read. re-
fleet, and dream, in the same evening.
same room, and on the same sofa
Thus to our friend on his evening these
plain, white spaces between the black rows
Of type reminded him in some way of the
green meadows which used to reach
from his bed window In his grand
fathers farm house, early on holiday
mornings in springs and autumDs, to the
double rows of brown and rock-ribbed
hills, much less than two miles in the dis
lance. Not that white paper lines look
like green meadows, nor plain type like
rock-ribbed hills, even to an imagination
Of an habitually inebriated person, but l
doubt not they resembled them as much
as our youthful "Reminiscences ever do.
Twenty odd years & these meadows
their emerald pillows before him
like the rolling sea which he had never
seen, by the way. and In the mountains
beyond there were robbers caves to be
searched, gold and diamonds to be picked
up, and when he had companions who
would let him be head bandit, there would
be a banditti, with imaginary and blood
chilled victims, who witnessed with ad-
mira ion his still more imaginary deeds
OF daring. for what he didn't know of
daring bravery had not been Incorporated
into the current Juvenile literature of hat
day. This, however, was twenty d
years ago. Now these same meadows are
narrow, grassless pasture lots, and the
rock ribbed mountains are simply farces
and frauds Of dimensions and u d%epravity
uncomfortable, Judging them from n
scenic standpoint solely. But that is n
way juvenile scenery has OF doing, prob
ably so that we should not all be tempted
to become landscape artists just as we are
beginning to do well with merchant tailor
ing. Mt least it is charitable TO accuse
the scenery OF no more malicious mo-
tives.
II you don't believe this, just-pa the
old home n visit some ida summer day,
when you are healthy enough to stand II
shock, and !; you don't ini enough in one
spiAh acre. which by the way is the only
kind you will find, 20 make you blush for
old Dame Nature and 10 rouse
such feelings within your bosom
old Father Time md his m sera-
bic ravages upon your imagination as
would do credit to the innocent ~ferocity OF
an unculturei cannibal, her all you lack
is wings and a favorable breeze to carry
you direct to the only place where you
won't be lonesome.
But our meditative friend was not filled
with these unchristian sentiments on this
particular evening. He had never been
to his home in the country since leaving
1t because he had Away lived in the city
when he was little, md thus he did not
know of this duplicity OF Juvenile scenery,
therefore to his eyes these plain white
spaces looked like almost anything he
wanted them to, even like the green
meadows he once saw when he spent n
summer with his grandfather in old Yer
AtAVibH ~ bAI vi AhAhA,
which occurred to him at this special
time. lie was in n contented and refec-
tive mood which, when one is fortunately
situated, follows a good dinner as n small
boy does n hand organ-not because he
loves music, really cares for monkeys, or
enjoys the sub. and consequent p%aternal
castigation, but simply because he is a very
humsn small boy, and is just us suscept-
ible to temptation as all small boys have
been since the time OF Adam, who never
was "A small boy, but who was tempted
nevertheless, and made such a renowned
Ounce Of himself in yielding to it that his
tory has recorded his weakness for the
benefit of untold ages of subsequent small
boys.
Our friend read these unwritten lines
because he couldn't help rejecting, and If
his fancy turned too foolishly toward
mead. WIS and the like it was because he
was very foolishly rejecting about the
face of II young woman, and with the wis
dom of the sterner sex he sought her
identity in these white spaces which gen
erously gave him whatever he looked for
and many hundred things besides.
Was il Martha' he queried, and into the
white lines which widened TO give her
room there glided a school girl, more
gracefully than she was wont to glide
the likeness was n true one.
Through half a page of the patient book
she moved, displaying to the eyes of his
memory those wondrous charms which
subsequently married her to two artists
and a man OF brains in turn. No; 1t was
not Martha for whom he was searching.
Jane, %perhapsf he reasoned. and the
page ratified as Jane appeared, dressed
from head to toe with gaudy finery that
made the modest types look green with
envy. Green, red, blue, gold, yellow,
black, white, and a professional paint
mixer only knows what not, until she
suggested a cornwall rainbow, prepared
Tor a fishing trip to Coney Island. Sadly
the page was turned, for Jane was a
comedy wench, withal her gaudy glory,
and memory has its sweets in spite Of
splinters and posts to the contrary, but
Jane did not own the missing identity.
1t was n more tender face perchancef
A gentle sigh escaped the next page
like the rustling of the leaves Just outside
the village church window on summer
Sundays, and the close observer would
have noticed that the types were i'm
psessed as they formed themselves into
a frame about an illustration such as
modern artists seem to have lost the art
of making. Dark-haired, tall, slender but
not thin, graceful and 1.-the. the kind OF
n body to love ten or fifteen years after
she quit letting you IL you can
realize what that kind Is. That was
Mary, and az she turnel her face-a face
that made fools OF some men and men of
some fools twenty odd years ngo-the
meditative inquisitor half wondered
whether he ought to get up and apollo
gize about his books and papers
not being put away with proper
order. She seemed 80 lifelike that
for a moment he was deceived.
Twenty odd years ago is only a short time
sometimes, and this was one OF these
times. II he had known that she would
reappear among the portraits OF the past