Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1889-01-06


repaying ANY little kindness she had had
Il in her power 20 show"
Sine was as good as her word. As the |
days and wesks went on these opportuni- !
ties became more and more frequent, till |
Miss Emden, Ike all her predecessors, |
fouSd tina! her whole lie was given up to |
the Countess. But, unlike her predecessors, |
she rfj Diced and gloried in it, ard Mary |
felt the diffAencs between the grpdging |
payment OF hired service and the tree gift |
OF toe servics Of love-
Miss Enden had been for three months |
an inmate If The pretty house az Hamp- |
stsad, when the Countess received en- her
birthday, among some half hundred costly
bouquets and brilliant uselessnesses, the |
following vers,s.
TO such a one on such a day
What is 10 I can bring
How % your summer can M Spring
Make any Offering, say
"The brightest gems that can bring
Show b5 your beauty, gray,
Too poor The tower that deck my way
To ask your gathering.
"But near you. round you. Lady May,
My heart gOehWendeIug
While Autumn winds are whispering
Down paths your face makes gay.
Think that they say the unsaid thing
] have no words TO say.
Nor shut me out on this your day,
From your remembering
They we're carefully drawn on a card, on
which a spray of hawthorn was painted,
and for a blessed five minutes the Countess
believed that they were written by Ever.
ard DObbs, the reiguing critic in her set,
and the handsOmCst man she knew, who
combined the gift Of verse writing with
| the rarer one OF discretion. He seldom
published his verses and the few he did
publish appeared only in an ultra demo
cratic weekly which he ran himself lat a
| loss Of about forty pounds month, end
which was never read by his own most in
innate circle.
Look here ,7 The Countess passed the
card across the breakfast table to the COM
panion. Az she did so her eye caught a
glimpse Of vii ing on the back Of it. She
drew back her hand. The companion was
crimson.
"Why, you wrote it. You dear" The
Countess ran round to kiss her, knocking
over q light chair with her skirts. why,
You never told me you wrote pOatTyw
That's not poetry, l fsa-. should
have written better il l had not wished
so much to write WE'LL
"Not poetry? why it's charmingl It's
the first time any one has written any
poetry to me that did not make me want to
laughw
Tie Countess did not take much interest
in her other letters aud presents. She
read and re-read her poem. She was rath-
er silent during breakfast. AS she finally
sat down to her coffee cup she said
thoughtfully:
81 wonder whether l could write po-
ety?"
81 should think so, " said Miss Emden,
cheerfully; tits very easy.
Mary plunged again into reyerie. She
was distrdite all day. That night at u
O'Clock she knocked at Miss Emden's door.
AN l disturbing you2 I've been trying
to write poety, and I've come to read You
my first attempt"
Next spring the literary world was Ia
ken by storm.
"Msy-blossoms," by the Countess de
Villermay-with its white biading, its
gold hawthorn spray, designed by Jean
Enden, its wide margin and clear type
was the verse book Of the season. Critics |
PRAISED it; people read it, and above all, |
the public bought it. It's special feature
was the piquaEcy given 10 il by the neon
gruity of lis democratic sentiments with |
ths fact that it was written By a Countess.
Not Wanted Lies Story" the most |
strikisg piece in the volume, was a reslis- |
tic poem of real power and merit. Ii was
a tale Of desperate struggle against star
walton.
Probably the Countess had never been
70 happy in her life. From her former |
position as a sprat among salmon she was
now raised to the rank of a salmon amoEg |
minpows. People whi had snubbed her |
now cultivated her. She received dinner |
invitations from those who had formerly |
sent her "At Home" cards. Her friends
became more friendly, her acquaintance |
more numerous. The Atieneim called |
her our greatest living poetess, the dis
corning reviewer remarking of the weak |
es. peem in the book, "surely this has in
il something of the induchveness Of vital |
ity;" and even the Saturday vOuchsafed en-
comiums.
Miss Emden was to the full as happy as
the Countess in the success of May |
blossoms" She had copied out the manu- !
script, corrected the proofs, designed the |
cover. She collected the favorable re-
views; there were no unfavorable ones, for
the press was unanimous-as il ought to
be ia praising a Countess. Aud she read |
and reread the book with devotion that |
sometimes made Mary almost impatient. |
When Eserard Dobbs wrote and asked |
to be permitted to call and offer hi3 hon.
age to the author of May blossoms" |
Miss Emden and the Countess were |
equally excited.
"I've only met him twice. said the
Countess, ito speak to, that is. l almost
wish he WASH coming, Pm horribly afraid
he will find me out
"How do yOu mean?'
"Well, he will expect the author Of
'May-blossoms' to shine more in cOnversa-
ton thsa she will don
"You are much more brilliant than most
Of the poets we know"
And Mary, mentally reviewing in a
flash a line of lODg-haired flabby youths,
felt her remark to be Just.
She had dressed herslf to receive Mr..
Dobbs's visit in gown whose fashionable
trimmings were more than usually elabo-
rate. she was now engaged in putting
the drawing room straight" as she called
IT, That is, she was deX erously obliterat-
ing all marks Of human occupation and re-
ducing the room to something between the
drawing room Of hotel and that repre-
seated on our national stage.
II was delicious May afternoon. Hamp-
stead Heath wss profusely dotted with
nurssmaids and psrampulators.
Everard Dobbs, in his hanson, leaned
back and enjoyed through his piRceaes the
beauty of the day. 1t was to him an hour
more interesting than his hours we're wont
70 be. He was a man whose unhealthy