Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1892-10-06

Mrs. kmidcn was not OF the impress
sionable order, and the men who danced
attendance on her were wont TO give
more than they received. Barnard's
comparative success bad beon matter OF
i envy. ,l...i.. =. }.,iis.4. ef,>>s-
~ can't help thinking Of that little
beggar, F" Barnard said, with a smile, as
he pulled cigar from his pocket and liz
1t, while Theron gathered up the reins
and they drove of, followed by the open
admiration Of Aunt Sarah's ''oiive
branches" Elbow unnecessarily he slip
ped into aud out OF life. The lifetime OF
q day Most Of us do little enough with
a much longer span, but he did abso-
lutely nothing II he had been born
twenty -one years old, and in New York,
he might have had fuller existence, if it
were short. Poor little Jack in-the box ~
Two months later Barnard met Mrs.
Amidon in New York at an afternoon tea.
She had only returned from Europe a
week before, and the newspaper accounts
of her doings there had not been the most
| grateful reading for him. Her greeting
was friendly. But Barnard had the
sense that il would have been quite the
same if they had Glanced upon one an
other in an Eskimo hut at the extreme
North. It was so independent of condi-
tioDs. She would have said: "How do
you doa" and would have made
some remark about the icebergs as a
timely conversational topic. AS it was,
she said he looked brown. Had he been
yachtingl
He had never seen her appear so
charming. She was to him the ideal
grande dame Her exquisite figure could
have warmed an antique statue to an en-
vious thrill 1t woke her man dress
maker to extravagant admiration. And
her face was so softly, coolly beautiful.
Yet her charm of manner almost made
one ignore the graces of her form and
face.
Mrs. Amidon resumed Barnard where
the close of the season had interrupted
him. He fell into bis rather favored po-
sition in the line with a well-defined pur-
pose of playing himself with such success
that he could secure an enduring post at
her side. He knew that she had taken
him up; he meant to assume her.
|
distinct advance. Toward the end of
that month some fashionable woman gave
an entertainment at which Mrs. Amidon
and himself were present. The large
rooms were not stuffily full. Barnard
was very much at Mrs. Amidon's elbow
this evening, and there were two or three
a,tdnces in her treatment of him which he
construed delightedly as a gratified ac-
ceptance Of his devotion, something so
much better than if she had merely shown
a consciousness OF being able to command
it.
Several of the people present had
drawn eleemosynarily on their powers of
entertaining. Somebody had played on
the violin, young woman with brazen
accent had rccited something from Andre
Chenier, and Creole girl had sung two
or three folk-songs of French Louisiana
with bizarre quality in the lifting chant.
Then Barnard stepped a little forward
with bit of paper in his hand.
'Iu my'travels of last summer in the
full tones and slightly drawing manner,
~ CHANGED upon warriors grave. For
If, as they tell us, life is warfare, then
was he knight though he jousted but
for day."
Mrs. Amidons fan moved more gently,
until it came to repose. The allegory
was amusing.
"He had his monument, had this knight,
one proportional to his life and deeds;
for the summer grasses threw slender
shadows quite across its top. This me-
mortal shaft chronicled nought beyond
the name of him who had fought the
good fight, save that he waged it in q
day. thought that even so small poet
as myself might sing of this incense
quential warrior, and, If you will of
your patience suffer it, l will read what
for lack of better title, l have called
'Verses on Hamilton Pinkney Fairfax:
aged one day"
Mrs. Amidon had sunk back in the
broad chair, her fan lightly resting on
her bosom, till the glistening gardenias
seemed yelled in film of mourning, as
if for the dear, dead summer.
LIES ftful day is DER, and here he
Tucked fast asleep beneath his native
skies,
Earth's warm, brown blanket folded on
his breast,
His wisdom monumentally confessed.
For when nc came, he did not like the
place,
And had the wit TO wander into space.
The crow of chanticleer hailed him be-
gun,
Noon saw his prime, and twilight found
him done.
Hamilton Fairfax, ut the crack of doom,
Will flicker forth to judgment from his
tomb,
To find how little of the Book of Life
Was needed to recount his earthly
strife.
This to the world his modest shaft must
say,
When it records his span of but day:
White was his soul at dawn, as white at
noon,
White when it passed, at curfew, not too
soon
Had he but known life's way he would
have chuckled
That ut her breast he was so briefly
sucked.
Hamilton Fairfax, lucky wight were
you,
To get to Heaven for what you did not
do I"
There was murmur of soft laughter
as he bowed gravely at the close, and
moved away. Smiling faces and mock
protests met him. One volatile young
woman tapped him with her fan, and
cried in "A high voice: ''You hard