Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1890-05-17

yond this holiday tnrong, n at last rouhu
a hill upon which vegetation was wilder
and more romantic, and where they were
alone for a little while, looking down upon
Paris lying IN an oval basin at their feet, q
city of white Houses and church towers,
domes and statues, girdled with gardens,
flashing with fountains, the beautiful river
winding through the white streets and quays
like a broad blua ribbon. touched with
CLEANS OF gold.
us 1t not a noble city?' asked Castor,
proud of his birthplace, the only home he
bad ever known.
Yondet 10 their left, on the s'ope Of the
hill, lay the GENET ny crosses and columns,
Egyptian sepulchres, Romaf temples GIT.
tering Whitley in the sun, amidst a tangle Oh
summer foliage.
'Shall we be there, among the lines, when
our life Is over, I wonderg' unused Kathleen.
Perhaps you will have n tomb Ike Balzac's
OF Mussets, Who kn6ws?'
WHO knows, fnfeed, dearest? have
been earning my bread by my pen for the
last ten years, and do not find myself Any
nearer the fame OF a Balzac than when | be-
gan. Yet who knows what i may do now L
have you 20 work for? Balzac had a long
time 10 walt. Fame comes in an hour some
times. GHd ~ lgte, ipsplred by thoughts
Of you, I have nursed tie ding idea ~ a
novel. as I tramped backSaffs apf for
wards 70 the Office. Yes, ! believe / hare a
fancy which, worked out faithfully, might
hit tie patisiaps. Bits Journalist is the
drudge Of literature. I'll his facilities are
the slaves Of n t~yrannieal master, whose
name IL To-day. He must think only Of the
present. write only for the present. He
must barbor neither memories Of the past
nor dreams o. ttd future " Shakespeare
ard Goethe had written for Che PAPERS, ~c
should have neither Faust n0r Hamlet"
"But you will not always have to work
for the papers?'
who can tell2 | must be at work early
10 morrow 10 write a description Of that
scene 6n the BourSe fsr the Monday mum.
ber."
III | could only help your sighed kaiii.
leen
"You do help me, dearest. You have
helped me to nobler ambitions, to pure
hopes. J Oh have made ms work with higher
purpose, with Steadier aim. You are the
rood shirt Of nv lie"
h'AA ~ NpDAA tAl 9Abils FlN Ndths iiN
story you have in your mind"
1T Is all about loye-and you. | will tel,
you nothing. But some day I shall contrive
20 write II, between whites, between para
graph and paragraph, leader and leader,
and ' shall get . publisher u produce II,
under q nom he PLUME, And Tire book shall
be the talk Of Paris; and y5u shall read ii
with smiles and tears; and you shall say;
70 CASTOR, what a painter, what a poet;
what ar inspired dreamet this man must
be! | only wish l knew who he Is, that
might worship him." And I shall say,
"Worship me, love. I am the poet and the
dreamer; and you are my only E~yeria."'
He looked like a poet, as he lay at her
feet on the slin-burnt sward, his eyes gazing
dreamily over the city In the valley-dreami'
" away towards Mount Valerian and tic
Notifications on the other side Of Paris.
They loitered away the long summer ait
ernoon In serenest contentment, in deep in
expressible bliss. N seemed TO them as il
life were henceforward perfect They had
nothing left TO desire-except, perhaps, or
Gaston's side, fame and wealth, In a remote
dream-like future. Kathleen had no desire
to be rich. Poverty had never hurt her ex-
cept in that one sad time, when her sister
was i'll. Aud now she had a little money,
put away in a secret place, against any suca
evil hour. Poverty had no favor of bitter
ness for this easily satisfied nature. She
rose as gaily as a lark; she went about hel
little duties singing for very ~joyousness
Her humble fare was sweet ,Eed by her con
tented Spirit: Her humble home was beau
tilted by all those little arts which endeaI
lowly rooms 10 the dweller. And now, !,
begin life anew. Hn the same third floor, h
the Rue Git lie CPur, With her lover-hus
band, was like the browning bliss On tn,
last page Of 2 f"iry IA q.