San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-10-09

in the lot and scream bloody murder.
But amt no hand at writin'; didn't
even learn to spell when was little, and
I'd rather do days washin' than get up
\ letter.
"Bnt when you have read something,
Hannah, that sets your mind to work"
"Oh. | amt no hand to read, Mr..
Rand. aud never was | had only poor
chances and no schoolin' to speak of
I'm often slammed by Dick and Sybil be.
cause they know things can't no way
get into my head. Why. I'd rather clean
mouse a week than study over them big
black books Of yours an hour. couldn't
make ont the meanin of the long words
no way. can read the Bible sometimes
wien I'm tired. Not that understand
1t all. but the old book opens Of Itself to
some Of the most sUCtLln Of the Psalms
or Ia the Sermon on the Mount, and ]
don't thini; what the words mean. Com
fort flows into all my bones, and my heart
is eaaed of its load and feel rested and
refreshed. BEt I've got the poorest head
to understand book learnE, and can't
even read them novels Sybil brings
home from the library They'se all
stuff AID nonsense. What's the use
Of maxim up stories ont Of your
head that amt true and never
could have happened; when there
ere things TIE most wonderful, unac-
ccuntaL!e. strange, SID, joyful and tragi.
r;.l happening I'll the time right around
us--tiNags that !! they Were written
down in book wouli never I've believed
Occause they are So mach beyond any
thing them fiddle PADDLE novel writers
can think up. It's my novel to watch
folks and see how they live and die, lie
and steal. and overreach and are over
reached: 10 see how mean they are and
how generous. to sec how goodness
breaks ont like the sun and wickelness
come. to light Tnbeknown. Ny book is
the folks right round, their sayings and
doingS. love and hate and QuecrneSs and
tears and laughter. wish | could get
some Of the other kind of learniu' in my
head hut | can't, aud I'm near distracted
when | try to help Dick at night with
his sums and find my brain go buzzing
and humming as if swarm of bees had
Just lit down in it.
II wish | could help Dick" said the
old man with a gentle sigh; but I've a
worse head for figures than you have,
Hannah, and I'm afraid | never could
teach anything useful or practical. My
delight is to follow out odd trains of
thought, to chase them into corners, up
and down in all their twistings and
twinings. Did you ever hear Of one
Thomas Carlyle, Bannah:"
Il don't believe ever did" said Han
nah. unless he was one of them old fell
lows whose books you gave Dick to
read"
mo, no, Hannah, he was a modern, a
wonderful chap, can tell you, for he
pricked more bubbles and showed up
more shams in his time than any other
man. He wrote book, Hannah, on the
philosophy of clothes, and I've been read
ing it this morning, and was tempted to
try and write Il little piece of my own,
not in imitation of Carlyle's style of
writing, for that would be presumptu-
Gus, but Just to catch the overflow of
my own thoughts and faucies. Sit down
and rest for five minutes, Hannah,
would like to read it to you to see what
you think of it.
Hannah sat down uneasily on the edge
of chair and the old man cleared his
voice and took up Il sheet of paper from
the table before him and read the fol-
lowing fragment:
ooh, you little viper self, you mis-
created devil! How to live with yOu on
decent terms know not, seeing that to
live without you | cannot and there is
little hope of your amendment. Oh, the
tricks you play me, the mean, wrctched
turns, the illusions you cherish, the false
hopes you raise! Your vanity is with
ont bounds, and when you have done a
mean act You come fawning with low
and base excuses. WHO can count your
suDterfugeS. your cunning tricks and
turns: You are rs sensitive and weak as
Il woman and as foolish as a child. You
poor, ugly monster: cannot hate you,
ought not to love you, for we must live
together and rub along through the
world us best we can. try to improve
you morally, you know do | starve
you on a poor diet. and feed You on the
hard, dry bread of philosophy washed
down with tears Of penitence, but can
not change your nature. You come up
always the same.
well. what do you think of it, Han
nah?" said the old man, spying on her
over the top of his spectacles.
81 don't think much Of it," said Han
nah discontentedly, that is if | sense it
right. You know you amt selfish
man, and why should you be writin'