The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1889-03-30
PEOPLE WHO MAKE YOU TIRED.

10 'ho'l FNoSIouS anu DTlRnt. f1eI
friends say of her, "She has wonder
ful flow OF language" Her enemies,
especially the vulgar ones-and all enc
mics are vulgar-say that she can I" talk
the hind-legs off a mule" See how
different the point of view can be
Wnen her friends hear what her enc
mics have said, they politely wonder if
she has talked off their hind-legs. But
why repeat these spiteful denominations
lhls young lady is fond of retiring with
her victim into secluded corners, where
she entertalns him with the history OF
her abnornally gifted family for several
generations back. She never loves a
dear gazelle, to glad her with his bright,
soft eye, that she does not impart to
him anecdotes culled from the family
history. There are episodes of her own
childhood which also must be told, and
to which the family's prowess was
merely mild prologue. Naturally
these "reminiscences of a promising past
spur her companion to emulation. He
recalls remarkable evidences of genius
which decked with amaranths his brow
OF youth. He burns to tell them. He
chafes to enter the arena. As she
pauses breathless, he cuts in with
eyes, yes; very funny, That re-
minds me of when l was little chap
"And it was two years after that"
she meditatively interrupts, her eyes
fixed in stare of working memory on
her foot, "that l fell through the Ice out
skating. 1t was one of my most hor-
ribIe experiences" etc She takes the
bit firmly between her teet and canters
proudly off. He succumbs, but waits
his time. At the end of her recital he
makes spring for the silence and
clutches it with:
GAS l was about to remark, when I
was little chap, not six years old, my
mother had often told me the story"
"Six years DID," she murmurs, rails.
ing her eyes to the chandelier in the
deepest reverie: "when my brother
George was six years old he wrote
Spanish poem, which was considered
very remarkable. He was wonderful
child"
She drops the words out lingeringly,
but he sees with horror that she is
warming with her subject; opening
vistas of recollection of Georges
distinguished powers stretch away
before her mental vision. George is
on the carpet for the next fifteen min
utes. He holds his advantage bravely.
The Spanish poem was followed by
Greek one at eight, and Hebrew at
ten. Her companion is gradually
swamped by it. Like the queen of
Sheba before the glories of King Solo
mon, "there is no more spirit left IN
him." He only sits and waits patiently
tor the happy time
| when silence, like poultce, comes
| To heal the blows of sound"
The girl who has no chaperon -
the Stitcher is, l believe, the appelation
by which she is known in the mystic
circle of the Boys-about- -Town-in her
highest forms, is something which
freezes the young blood of youth and
makes the neatly-parted hair of middle
age stand on end. She is, of course,
not charming. She is apt to be old and
gushing, and, like the wicked, when she
flies no man pursueth. 1t is just the
opposite way. II she has firm hold
of a partner he may as well give up al
hope and cease forever to yearn for lib
erty. When he has danced with her
SIX consecutive times and is arriving at
the stage where one foams at the
mouth and dies, he says, with ICY quiet:
"Miss Jones. can l take you to your
chaperon7"
81 haven't got any," says the sprightly
creature.
They promenade around the room IN
heavy silence. The men whom the
victim knows avoid his wretched, be-
seeching eyes, and, when they see his
melancholy approach, they dispurse
hurriedly. He wonders if he couldn't
suddenly throw her down and rush
madly out, or wouldn't it be feasible to
fall in dead faint, overcome by the
heat on night when the thermometer
is far below freezing. Unable to bear it
any longer, he stops short, and says des-
perately:
"Then where can leave your"
She sees that he has reached the end
of his patience and surrenders.
"Anywhere will do" she says, re-
signedly, knowing that the happiness of
the evening is past.-,San Franciso
14reonaM.