The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1892-08-10

like the skeleton of wreath, for sim
gle leaf, the last remaining one,
showed that it had been made of a
branch of a laurel.
The sight awoke my memories and
while Mark Antony poked the fire my
thoughts went back to the night Of bis
triumph. In his ''Virgilian Symphony
he had set to music the very soul of the
poet, combining in tempest of or
chestration the Bucolics and the Eneid.
That night, in the midst of thunders
of applause, an unknown woman, beau
tiful as goddess, had presented to the
young composer, who was pale with
pride and hope, this laurel branch,
plucked for him, it was said, from Vir-
gils grave
"How odd" he said, shat you should
have stumbled against me by chance in
this out-of-the-way corner of France!
You wonder how 1 came to exile
myself? Indeed, l hardly know; but
one day suddenly decided to go out of
town for little while-iust a month
or so-for was sick of Paris, with its
rush and fever
Fate ordained that should meet an
old college-mate. He was living as
gentleman farmer on his old family es-
tate and had a niece who was pretty
girl-not very rich, it is true, but we
pleased each other in an unromantic
way and We're married
at was not by any means my inten-
ton to give up Paris entirely. On the
contrary, we spent two winters there;
the third year, however, our courage
failed, for my wife was not very strong
and l in my loose slippers and corduroy
jacket thought gloomily Of always din
ing in evening dress, of making and re-
ceiving endless calls, of pawning in the
theater night after night
$50, little by little I was weaned
from city life, until at last seemed to
see Paris through mist, and now it is
to me far distant place, to which do
not know the way. 1 am thoroughly
provincial"
''And the music?" / asked.
''Oh, have not given it up entirely"
he said, with smile of embarrassment;
that portfolio in the corner is nearly
full l have begun several great works,
but nothing is finished, for somehow,
between ourselves, / find that the in
toxicating Paris air is necessary for in
spiration.
At that moment the door-knocker
sounded, heard the servant go through
the hall, and then a lady of progresses
ing appearance entered the room, pre-
ceded by two little boys dressed in sailor
suits.
my wife," said Mark Antony, pre-
senting us to each other, and the lady,
after bidding the children to shake
hands with me, asked if l would not
stay to dinner.
eve have nothing but a stew for din
ner to-day" she said: perhaps you will
not like it. My husband told me how
to make it, with pork, wine and spices.
I am rather successful with it, think"
'Delicious!" 1 said, and she hurried
into the kitchen, which adjoined the
parlor dining room Soon she reioined
US, holding spoon into which she was
blowing gravely, with the air of
priestess.
Taste it," she said to her husband,
who, having obeyed her, pronounced it
perfect.
She put the spoon to her own lips,
then said slowly: mo, there is some
thing wanting" After thoughtful
pause her face frightened and she
exclaimed: ''Of course, 1 have forgotten
the laurel leafr'
She went over to the piano, and smil-
ng gayly, unconscious of sacrilege,
picked with her plump little hand the
asst leaf from the Virgilian wreath.
A quarter of an hour after we sat |
Town to dinner and the stew, with its
slight SAVIOR of laurel, was indescriba-
ply delicious.-N. Y. Recorder.