Arizona republican., 1892-01-01

and rhyme the thoughts which lay heavy upon them. It has been true all ways, and the poet wrote of no new dis covery; he merely put words to the old, old chords in a minor key, which have beaten upon the sounding boards of mems and women's hearts since men and women were.
 If one who had been interested in them had asked John Marston and Mary Palvey why they were no longer friends, as they had been since childhood, neither she in her quiet home in New England, nor he in the active, thriving western town could have given definite answer.
 They would have made the attempt, of course, each according to the light pos sessed, for who has ever known lovers who quarreled to be unable to give a most explicit and satisfactory explana- tion-to themselyes-of the course of their arrangement, carefully emitting none of the factors making the iuteger of their alienation?
 Marston was quite positive in his own mind that Mary had been entirely too whimsical for any sane man to tolerate for a moment, much less a lifetime, and Mary was quite as sure in her mind that John Marston was the most perfectly outrageous man she had ever met in the whole course of her existence.
 Observe, gentle reader, that these two people were sure 'in their minds of this thing. What degree of certainty was registered in their hearts will appear later.
 Be it as it may, the years had crept along slowly enough, until as many as three lay between the New Years day when John had turned his back on the east and Mary and the one which, God willing, was to find him once more un- der the old roof where he had known all that the world seemed to have for him, until this unkindly parting had sudden ly flung him into such d chaos of un- known things that at first he wandered about among them as one bewildered and blinded by great shock.
 In it all, however, and through it all, the spirit of the girl he had left behind him shone as soft light in misty at mosphere, and do what he would, her face came ever between him and the faces of all other women.
 He fiirted with the pretty maidens of the west, of course; he would scarcely have been man if he had not, but he was proof against all their womanly wiles and willingness, and they had him listed as "heartless," but he only smiled at that and went on his way untouched, but not unfeeliug.
 Now, when he was on the point of re- turning to the place of beginning, they saw bit of newer sunlight in his face, a tenderer look from his eyes than any of them had ever won from him, and some said that it might be MT. Marston was not such an emotional Gibraltar as they had fancied him to be.
 He got away at last, and in the rattle of the train and the whirr of the wheels the west began to fall away backward along the straight lines of steel stretch ing across the prairie, and Marston dreamed of the east.
 The east, where the sun rose-would it ever rise again?
 In the little New England town among the hills, up to its knees in the snow, there was the usual holiday hilarity, not unmixed with that intangible sadness which ever falls about and infolds the days of the dying year. Christmas had come and gone, and the children were as happy as children only are at Christmas, and the older grown were drawing their dividends of enjoyment as well from Santa Claus and the season.
 New Years was following fast upon the crispy heels of the departing Santa Clans and as a fitting tribute to the