Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1893-10-26

JolIhdilSl ID lHc uIuuSe VI literature.
All his faculties are the slaves of
tyrannical master. whose name it Tc-
day. He must think only of the pres
cnt, write only for the present. He
must hIrbor neither memories of the
past nOr dreams of the future If
Shakespeare and Goethe had written
for the papers we should have neither
Faust nor Hamlet"
But YOU will not always have to
work for the papers,
WI no can tell? l must be at work
curly tomorrow 10 write description
of that scene on the Brouse for the
Monday number"
If l could only help you. sighed
Kathleen.
You do help me, dearest You
have helped me to nobler ambitions, to
purer hopes You have made me work
with II,ghe@ purpose, with steadier aim.
You aIc the good spirit of my life
Tell me about your story she said,
TT story that you have in your mind"
1T is al about lOve--and you. l will
tell you nothing. But some day [ shall
conu:yts 10 write it, between whites.
between paragraph and para graph
leader aud leader, and l shall get 4
publisher to produce it, under a nom
de plume. dnC the book shall be the
talk Of Paris; and you shall read it with
SrI;leS and tears, and you shall say
"O Ga>tcn. what Il painter, what a
WI, ing l,os, r :,
maG must 70: L only wish l knew Who
he is, that | might worship him" And
Shall say, Worship me, love- | am
the poet and the dreamer; and you are
my only Egeria.'
He looked like Il poet, as he lay at
her feet on the Sun-bulned sWard, his
eyes gazing dreamily over the city in
the INDEPENDENTLY away towards
Mount Faleriap and the Notifications
on the other side of Paris.
They loitered away the long summer
afternoon in sereneSt conteDtment, in
deep inexpressible bliss. It seemed
to them as if life were hencefOrWard
perfect. They had nothing left to de-
Slre-eNcept, perhaps, on GaStOn'S side,
fame and wealth, in a remote dream
like future Kathleen had no desire
to be rich. Poverty had never hurt
her; except i'll that one sad time, when
her sister was i'll. And now she lad
Il little money, put away in 4 secret
Ilace, against any such evil hour.
Poverty had no flavor of bitterI ess for
this easily satisfied nature. She rose
rs gaily as a lark; she went about her
little duties singing for very joyous
ness. Her humble fare was sWeeten ed
by her contented spirit. Her humble
home was beautified by all those little
arts which endear loWly rooms to the
1Welier And now, to begin life anew,
on the same third floor, in the Rue Git
lie Occur, with her loyer-huCband, was
like the croWning bliss on the last page
of Il fairy tale,
The streets were very quiet, and had
:; somewhat gloomy look as the wed
ding-party drove back to Git lie Occur:
but they were all too happy, too much
engrossed by their own bliss, to remark
the change that had come eyer the
aspect Of the city. No more flags, no
more cheering, no more songs of tri-
umph.
Il wonder they did not illuminate
some of the public buildings said Du-
rand, as they passed the Palais de
Justice.
Not Il festival lamp twinkled in the
August shutdown; not a star of colored
light sparkled on all the lenght of the
quayS; not Il rocket shot up above the
chestnuts in the Gardens of the Tuiler-
les. Paris wore her everyday aspect.
However elated the city had been this
morning, she was taking her triumph
SOberly tonight.
The little dinner in the Rue Git lie
Occur was great success. The feast
was held in Madame SchubertS apart
ment and that kindly matron presided
at the banquet. Never was there a
merrier meal; voices all mingling now
and then in a joyous tumult of speech
voices low and sweet, deep and
resonant-the ripples of happy laughter;
a frequent blinking of glasses, and
anecdotes and calembOrS. GaSton'S
friend the journalist turned out wit
of the first water; and the graybeard-
ed grave artist proved wonderfully
good company; he was loaded with anec
dotes, like Il siX-chambered' revolver,
and before his audience had done
laughing at one story he had begun
another, still funnier and then another,
funnier again, Il perpetual-crescendo OF
mirth.
Just as a browning feature, with the
desert, came a single bottle of cham
payne. whose cork exploded with the
force of a cannon.
Listen therer' cried the journalist.
How that thunders. 1t is the true
wine of war;
And at this a burst of gaiety. 1t is
such a dron thing, Ia guerre, when ones
own country is winning.
Just one little glass more, une
polichinelle, my friend" said CASTOR,
filling his fellow-scribbler' glass, ito
fete our arms"
After the champagne, CASTOR slipped
out quietly, with just whispered ex-
PLANTATION to his wife. He had to so
round to the newspaper Office, in the
Rue st. Andre des Arts, to arrange
about his descriptive article for Sun
day, or, in point of fact, to write his
paper on the spot.
He was gone about an hour and
half, and although the anecdotes and