Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1889-08-01
THINGS ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM.
Taking Stuffed Club to Some of the Ro-
mance's of Life.

hA"hSo . VI i4iIe.
1t was quite romance. 1t might
have made sweet, pretty, fearful
novel, only it didn't. But it was quite
a romance. She was q pretty girl,
just about twenty, and of course she
was charming. She had very serious
illness. For some time they did not
think she would get well, but she had
a strong constitution, and was alto
gether too well fitted for life to lose it
so easily. She got we'll enough to be
angry with the doctor and accuse him
OF deceiving her because he did not tell
her she was going to die when she was
so i'll. Just as she was convalescing
the doctor told her he had young
man, interesting, stranger patient
living exactly opposite. She immedi-
ately y became wild to be allowed to get
to the window and see him. But the
doctor forbade her for several days.
at last he said she might get out of
bed and-well, well, just 70 think of it.
When the sun was shining, and the
world was all so fair, the first thing
she wanted to see was that interesting
young male invalid opposite. She saw
him, and he waved worn hand to her,
for he had been told about her. Then
there came over little punches of flowers
and she would wear them in her wrap
per, and he would smile wan smile
of pleasure. They did not send any
other communication, but every morn
ing they would greet one another from
the window. She was well first, and
the doctor could hardly keep the
young man patient in his room, he was
so mad and wild to get out. And so
between these two interesting young
people there sprang up sympathetic
feeling that seemed to grow stronger
every day. They both got well. All,
was it not romanticP Picture to your
self what came out of this strange and
touching acquaintance. Can you not
see the two meeting after the illnessp
Can you not hear that gentle voice
that congratulates him, and the earn
est tone in which he repliedp Well, he
got well, and twelve hours afterward
gone East.
tell you, there would be great
many more romances if they did not
end in such matter-of-fact way.
Fate is with peoples lives like the
young woman who begins to write
story. 1t seems to 60 certain way
with them and then it drops them, or
else it suddenly becomes practical and
makes everything prosaic. Romance
does not last. You go to picnic and
you meet lovely girl, and you have
just the sweetest time in the world
under the trees and by the brookside.
And you are in a kind of poetic dream,
until it comes time to go home, and
when you get to the ferry you make a
break for your dinner. You're too hun
CRY to be poetic. The human stomach,
come think of it, is a sad destroyer of
your romance. Its prosaic call is so
recurrent and so imperative. / don't
like to think of the shepherds and
shepherdesses of Acadia sitting down
to meal of bread and buttermilk;
there may be poetry compatible with
eating grapes, but even pears, and
apples, and oranges are only poetical
when they are part of the landscape.
Few people can eat oranges and feel
comfortable without finger bowl.
When you come to think of it every
thing in life seems to conspire against
poetry. It's all we'll to fancy your
sweetheart laid on her snow-white
couch dreaming of you, or standing in
a gauzy costume by the window look
ing at the moon and apostrophizing
you as Romeo. But then you know
that she has to take the hairpins out
of her hair. and when her dainty little
feet touch the cold floor you know that
she screams, Couch! how cold it is!'
and in that single instant poetry is
dashed to pieces. And you! Well,
you have lots of poetry internally, 1
don't doubt, but you are not poetic
in a robe de mutt; you know you're not.
| know fellow who reduced every
thing to prosaic. We walked up
Market street one afternoon. A
pretty girl was coming down. There
are plenty of them.
What pretty girl" said.
"Yes."
THAT is as pretty foot as l have
seen in long time"
"Yes. What pity such a lovely
angel as that has to cut her corns."
NO." said the melancholy fellow.
You can't tell about these things.
used to be very sentimental when
was young, but | got it all knocked
out OF me. l thought the actresses
who played pretty, fearful parts were
such true, gentle, sentimental women.
l went once to hear young lady give
recitations, and they were sweet, ten
der things such as touched me, and she
was pretty, with soft, meaningful eyes
and sad expression about the mouth.
l fell in love with her and got intro
duced to her. asked her to come out
to supper with me after her reading
one night. l was poor, but l had
massed all had to give her dainty
ethereal supper to wake up all the
poetry in her, so to speak. thought
that sad mouth must be a portal for
only dainty food and we went to the
swell restaurant.
"'What shall order, sirp' said the
waiter.
"They don't often say sir now. but
those were days of politeness.
"'We will have began.
"'For me- she broke in with her
deep, meaningful eyes and the same sad
expression about the mouth, Il want a
beefsteak and bottle of English
porter. / find that suits me best after
a nights recitation
at saved my money, but D! how it
burst up my dream of happiness. -
San Francisco Chronicle.
The Women Of Corsica.
The women of Corsica are devoted
to their husbands, and willingly sacri-
flee everything to their demands. A
wife considers herself the complement