The Springdale news., 1889-08-23
MY OWN SISTER" "
She Is Now Something a Thou
 sand-Fold Dearer.

How sweet it was to think and speak of my dainty, darling Sisley like that.
 She was my own sister all and only my very own.
 had no brother to share her pro- cious affection.
 And no one but me could take in her dear love a brothers placc-not even Howard Martmar, although he was the handsomest and best fellow in the world and adored her as he would have adored an angel-not even Dicky Sheldon, although he had heart of gold and would have walked un- shod over burning plow-shares for her dainty sake!
 How l used to smile at their wasted devotion. For was she not my own sister? was not I her own and only brother? Then how could any of her myriad worshipers ever be as near and dear to her as l?
 And yet l could not wonder at the enthusiastic devotion she inspired from her countless admirers.
 For she was the lovciest and most radiant creature who ever walked the earth since Eden was in it's prime of gladness, and glory, and bloom.
 Her figure, in its delicate curves, in its perfection of Hebc-like symmetry and grace, was lovclier than any which ever charmed a sculptor's dream.
 No canvas ever immOrtalizcd a face so dazzling as hers. with her rich, dark skin. with her lustrous, jctty, black hair tumblcd in silky little rings all over her proud little head, with her great, luminous, midnight eyes fringcd by long, witching lashes, curl ing low on her soft, round checks.
 Then Sisley had the daintiest little feet and her hands were like lily pe- tals, so exquiaitely white, with deli cately pink nails, and rayishing little dimples where knuckles are supposed to be.
 And Sisleys voice was such won- drous melody like the strains of some mystic Eastern song. like the delc- ious music of the nightingale singing in the dewy dusk amid the summers freshest perfumed bloom.
 And, besides, she was gentle and gracious; she was earnest, sincere and true; she was refined and accom- plished.
 And yet she disdaincd no homely duty, if done for love or for duty's sake
 And with Sisley dress was an art which she knew without being taught; and her every gown was poem, just as her every attitude was picture
 She was sister of whom any brother might be proud-and can one marvel that l loved her as never man loved sister before?
 I was five years older than my Sis ley.
 When I left home for college she was a laughing, coquettish miss, with a fleece of raven curls ripping far be- low her tiny waist.
 When 1 returned. after three years of study and an additional three years of educational polish and of travelling experience in Europe. she appeared before me as a revelation.
 My shy yet coqucttish, my saucy yet demure, little maid had been trans formed to dazzling young lady, whose entertainments bcwildered me.
 My puritan blossom. with her thou sand merry and innocent inconsistent cies, had bloomcd into a brilliant tropic r-inconsistent still, but infinitely moro adorable.
 How well 1 remember what she wore, how she looked, even every syllable she uttered on that memor- able day of our meeting.
 1 was lounging in a big, tempting, Turkish chair, which somebody had smuggled into the music room, when suddenly, straight before my eyes, two exquisite hands drew a dull, crimson portice apart on either side, forming an admirable frame for the vision which appeared between the parted folds.
 l saw tall girl of eighteen. in a marvellous gown of lusterless and di aphanous white, with broad bands of unjeweed dead gold about her bare arms, and about the swan-like neck, so chastely draped with misty lace. A mass of wonderful hair, lustrous and black as midnight. was piled high on proud little head; and in that glori- ous hair and upon that lovely bosom, she wore tiny knots of some delicate flower, brightly red, like drops of blood.
 As our eyes met the olden half-shy and half-coquettish smile hoyered about her exquisite lips.
 Not until then had I recognized her, 60 bewildcring had been the change!
 ''Is it you, really-Sisley-my own sister?n l sprung to my feet and hastened toward her with hands ex- tended.
 "Is It really Sisley," she answered me, in that most enchanting of all melodious voices, and with second smile, shyer and more exquisite than the first.
 I bent my head toward her that l might touch my lips to hers; but she