The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1893-02-03
THE WITCH MAIDEN.
I had never loved.

had never loved.
From my earliest years I had always
evinced a pronounced aversion for the
''petticoat interest" as Kenelm Chilling
ly 50 facetiously dubs that speaking re-
gard for feminine charms. / took a pride
in my defensive attitude and plumed my
self on every possible occasion with my
stoical invulnerableness and scornful in
differentism toward the blind god Of tne
quivers.
And since l had just attained to The
eminently sensible age of thirty l fan
cied-aye, felt positive-that l might be
pronounced 'out Of danger" SO to speak.
and that need no longer fear the art
fulness of the weaker sex.
The gay and reckless period of youth
from eighteen to twenty-eight-I hal
passed quietly and happily, having cx-
perienced none of the "pangs Of dispri2ed
love MOI the infinite O. bliss of an attec-
ton returned"
To insure my safety | had not lived
the life of a recluse and refused all con-
course with the adorable fair. On TIE
contrary, l had first made a study Of the
sex, and in order to do this effectually
and successfully / must needs mingle
with them, lavishly fatter them, hypo-
critically worship at the shrines Of
beauty and a meager intelligence, rush
the fashionable functions, talk society
chitchat until felt q d~riveling idiocy
creeping on, and live in such epicurean
style that I finally fell a sore victim to
indigestion.
Verify, this butterfly life is not what
it's cracked up to be, so~liloquized lend
SO, without further ado or ceremony, |
dropped out of the madding crowd and
sought the level Of commonplace.
All, these social castles! What hollow
mockeries, what monumental lies!
The social waters glisten with a clean.
sparkling surface; there are beautiful,
clear cut waves that flash a thousand
binding lights; the white pillows roll on
in magnificence of state, and the view to
n standing on the hot, burning sands
is N of awe and a grandeur unrivaled.
But when one leaps into those tempt
ing deeps, lured into them perhaps by
the siren voice of so1ne false Lorelei--
what a delusion! Ach, Rimmel! It is
all mud and weeds beneath. The cur
rents are cold, and they are the currents
of public opinion and conventionality.
Huge monsters clasp us in the death grip
of their savage tentacles, and these we
call avarice, jealousy, hypocrisy, ambi-
ton and vainglory, each with its thou
sands of fendish allies. All, it is a his
cradle specter-this social apparition!
Occasionally one comes upon a coral
cave, rich in its purity and stainless
beauty, and one wonders how such a
marvel can exist in all this ugly filth and
loathsome decay.
ALI honor be to him who seeks to drain
away the dregs of social sins and brings
a sweet whOlesomeness to unhealthful
life! But, ye gods. what a herculean
task, what a chimerical fanaticism. holy
though it be!
Wearied and disguised with the hor-
rible sham, l quit its Shiny deeps to lay
myself down upon the sun bathed shores
of simplicity and unworldliness.
Some said I had been disappointed in
love. l, q scoffer at the grand passion,
as the eternal enemy Of marriage! But
what cared l for the senseless babble Of
the world was no longer of it. lived
in the quiet of my own thoughts-nature
my only mistress.
At thirty l was q bachelor and-a
cynic, though by no means a misan-
thrope. took life lu%xuriously and com-
placently. College days had come and
gone. had wandered aimlessly about
meath blue Italian skies, amused myself
for a time in q German university and
had now, in response to an unconquer-
able longing, returned to my native
cline, here to suffer the one calamity of
my otherwise TRANQUILITY happy existence.
Had 1 but known to what fate my steps
were leading me! Could the impenetrable
veil of the future but have been drawn
aside and the vision Of that impending
gloom been for a moment visible! All,
what misery spared, what heartache,
what intolerable b~itterness!"
By one Of those strange, inexplicable
impulses so common to us all, I was
urged to the scene of early youth. Thus
it was that in the beautifully picturesque
and popular summer resort known as
c., on the shores Of Lake Michigan, l
found myself one glorious day in June
one of those rare, heavenly days in that
dear month of roses.
The old place had undergone a decid-
edly revolutionary metamorphosis since
1 had ceased to call it home. The lazy,
dreamy atmosphere of the village had
been quickened into a more vigorous ac-
ton. Old landmarks had disappeared
with the influx of wealth. Old customs
had been superseded by new flights of
fashion, and old faces had been crowded
out by the new.
In a mood Of morbid retrospection !
had been winding my way through the
tortuous paths of H park, musing
upon the had beens and the might have
beens. A haunt in the city of the dead
had been a favorite one with me in the
I H. - r c-x $500