San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1890-10-24


love. I'm in love with that small, brown
eyed musician, yet wouldn't marry her
if could; but l mean to find her and
know her and use her as an ideal, if
have to sell my immortal soul.
LENA is good, wholesome girl, am
pie in everything but imagination, ami
able and lenient, and she loves me, poor
child, with her whole soul. All, well,
the least can do is to treat her deeently!
And l wish to gracious this ordeal was
over with
my idea in hurrying the thing was to
escape the gaping mob, and the servant
at the door told me he had counted one
hundred and twenty. never could I'M
derstand the whims of woman and her
aversion to quiet weddings.
"And then the nonsense of paying
tribute to her intuition! I'll swear that
haven't made love to her, and know
for certainty that haven't kissed her
three times. She thinks she loves, and
she thinks she has heart, and she
thinks she thinks, which is equivalent
to the demonstration of an absurdity."
Lena Hartman, buxom, blonde and
warm blooded, belonged to that vast
army of women that thrives best on
neglect. She loved Henry Henshall be-
cause she feared him.
He had called her silly when she at
tempted to be playful, made fun Of her
theories, and referred to her as dull, in
artistic and shallow pated.
He leased her numerically, but what
hurt her was the indifference he showed
when she pouted, expecting to be
coaxed.
Coaxing was not in the painters tao
tics. He could have soothed her with a
hand clasp if he cared to do so, but he
didn't. and by ignoring her moods he
deifed himself to ''whistle-and-r I'll
come-to-you'' state of Importance.
Inadvertently Henry was training his
wife for future success. Women are as
easily spoiled as children, and once in
dulged they Irvine a man about their
fingers or play doormat with him, as the
humor suits.
It's the stinting of grain and grass
that gives the thoroughbred beauty and
go; and just in proportion to the check
ing and stinting of his affection will a
man hold and enslave the woman who is
in love with him. The velvet glove is
very soothing to the touch, but woman
wants to know that there's an iron grip
under it.
Henry Henshall counted the belfry
strokes and waited for the resounding
tones to die away before unlocking the
door,
In the hall, ON his way to the bridal
chamber, he met Banker Hartman go
ing to signal the leader of the orchestra
for the march.
"Ah, old man; glad to see you! How
are your knees? Shall l get you drink
of something?"
"No, thank you; I'm all right. Where's
Lena?'
"Dear Henry, how do l look? Is my
veil on straight? I'm awfully nervous.
Are you"
The pale faced bridegroom was spared
the effort of response by burst of mel
ody that came from the fifty strings
hidden away in some place overhead,
and offering his arm to the goddess in
satin and pearled tulle he led her down
the broad staircase, along the rose trel-
Used hall, through the orchid scented
drawing room and into the floral bower.
In the gateway stood the venerable
clergyman, book in hand, straight as
sentinel and bright as January rose.
The sweet strains of "Oberon" came
from the pleading, sobbing violins.
In six minutes by the watch of Broker
Henshall his son was husband, and at
o'clock the following evening Mr.. and
Mrs. Henry Henshall, Mrs. Smith, Mr..
Crawford, DR.. Watson and Miss Brown
We're in the Union depot of Chicago,
waiting for the San Francisco limited.