The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-08-25

first thought that there was shot in the locker-thst is, writing paper and stamps on hand-then c dampening second thought that those books sold yesterday must be reviewed to-day. If any one doubts the hardness of the adventures lot, let that one picture me as I spent the most of that day, lunchless and ready to drop with fa- tigue, devouring at the booksellers stall the identical books that only twenty -four hours before were my own. In treading my thorny adven- turess way I have had occasion many times to smile bitterly-as romance people do-at the frequent irony of circumstance. Sometimes have busi- ness batterywards that must be at- tended to, although without a cent. How often, as I have tramped wearily down from Murray Hill through that valley of humiliation, Lower Wide way, with smarting feet and tired limbs, some wretched creature has ap- preached me with winsome smile to say ;: "Ah, my pretty lady, you have never known what it was to be foot sore and wearyl Will you give a poor woman her car-fare home2"
 To my acquaintances of Murray Hill, perhaps the most shocking of my adventures, did they ever know of them, is my theatre going. I am passionately fond of the drama, and naturally of artists and plays cavtare to the average gallery god. When I am invited to the theatre, as some- times happens, sit at my ease, as if I never saw any other part of the house than the court end then occupy. But when I pay my own scot, behold & change. I take just thirty-fi five cents from such meagre store as I chance to have, and with that go to and fro in the cars, to and from the dusky back door of the theatre in which my chosen star is shining. Sometimes I sit among ladies of quite as much if not more refinement than I possess, even although they may come openly from studios on Fourteenth street or dressmaking rooms on Ninth, while skulk down from Murray Hill. Some- times, again, the real genius of the place, the peanut-eating gallery god, is my next neighbor; but in such the- atres and at such plays as choose I never find the god more offensive in his own gallery than beside me in 6 street car.
 I advertised for wife in pursuit of my ordinary career as an adventures, and adventured my last dollar to find material for ten- dollar article upon matrimonial advertisements. The folly, ignorance, duplicity and rank sin that were revealed in the hosts of answers were dark lesson in the science of human nature, and made me feel that my nine dollars (deducting one dollar for the advertisement) were greasily and smuttily earned.
 1 have also advertised "JiDgles," and to furnish clever rhymes upon every possible subject, birth, deaths, mar riages, christenings, and to wrap up the gist of an advertisement in dash ingly- brilliant Lngolds6y form. I have made some money this way, but upon the whole not enough to pay me for the wrath I feel whenever coarse theatrical photograph is sent me and am desired to rhyme upon 8 Haunting third -rate actress or idiotic masher, or for the dread feel in opening every letter lest it be one to shame my wo- manhood.
 This kind of an adventures have been for years, and see no end to my heavy way. Often when the years be- hind me seem SO ragged and mean, and the years before hide their faces, feel l can endure it no more, strive no longer to seem what I am not, to live where have no right, to impose upon all who look at me. I know that half my neighbors on Murray Hill do ex- actly the same, all in their different ways; yet that knowledge smooths not @ wrinkle from my pillow. And how am to help myself? Were to descend into Washingt square, I might board for one or two dollars less a week, but what would that mean, save perhaps fresher ribbons and con- nubial boots less often divorced2 There would be the same struggles, the same ambitions, the same underly- ing discontent for have not Philistia and Bohemia adventuresses as we'll as Belgravia, Mayfair and Murray Hill2 Do we escape our fate by changing our lodgings, or slip our gyves by turning our hands? Alasi there is but one way of help for me, and I long for it night and day.
 Unto you, ye editors, I pray, pay me more for my book reviews, and do not so often reject my manuscripts.
 Famous Women.
 If ia a ai0nificanf fact that nnoat nf