The Bottineau pioneer., 1894-11-10
SAVED FROM HISLOVE

OA ED Z hUM HID IOVL
Reginald Vaughan, journalist. was
smoking solitary midnight pipe III his
chambers when there was a knock at
the door. He looked up without rising
from his chair. "Hullo, Ensor" he
said, "come In Where have you been"
His visitor was young man in even
ing dress, an old Cambridge friend,
and now also engaged In earning an
imaginary income at the bar and an
actual one by his pen. "Been to the
theater," he answered, land thought
would look you up on my way
home, Why, what's the matter
with your he continued, Us he
leisurely took of his great
coat, and filled a pipe. you're look.
ing as melancholy as If you, instead OF
myself, had been witnessing the per-
formance of a modern English farce
The gloom on Vaughan's face deep
ened. THAT'S the matter" he answer
ed laconically pointing to bulky en-
velope which lay on his writing desk.
You don't mean to say that your
editor has sent back some OF your
workT' said the other as he moved
toward the table.
"Worse, much worse" said Vaug-
han, with infinite pathos In his voice.
"Why, it's Mabel Lawrence's writ
ing! Your lady love sends you lengthy
letters, Vaughan. Or is it merely a
collection Of your own epistles which
she now returns to you with scorn!
believe there's some sense in that girl
after all!'
"Sit down, Ensor, and don't be q fool.
OF course it isn't that; we are to be
married next month. She Is dear,
nice girl but she has lately conceived
the notion that she can write, and
sends me reams of the most impossible
copy, begging me, IL I love her-which,
of course, I do-to get them used:
What on earth am I to do?"
4 see she Is one Of the modern
young ladies who looks upon literature
as pleasant alternative to crochet
worA The Englishman is supposed
to say: 1T Is a fine day. let us kill
The Englishwoman undoubtedly does
remark:It Is a wet day; let us create
Hence the feminine novel; which, by
the way, has almost ceased to be novel,
and would be thought to be feminine.
And so Mabel is afflicted with an at
tack Of modernity?"
mot, in the least. She is, thank
goodness, quite free from that taint.
She would rather read blue book than
a yellow book. fancy. This is called
Domestic Drama Vaughan got
up and drew bulky roll Of manuscript
from the envelope.
"All the worse" said his friend. III
Il ,k,.AR ,I{ {r1,
and wholly decadent we could place 1t
easily enough however badly it is writ
ten. But wife who prefers the poetry
Of domestic drama to the prose Of the
domestic dinner-table can not be ex-
pected to provide very attractive food
bodily or mental. My best advice to
you, Vaughan, which know You won't
take, Is back out of your engagement
as quickly as possible. She can hardly
love you much If she pesters you in
this way. Depend upon 1t. she looks
upon you only as a medium whereby
her productions may find their way
into print = &4@ = -
you're talking bosh, my dear fel-
low" replied Vaughan. "She does love
me; indeed, the tragic part of it is she
has written these things, because she
thinks we ought to have all interests
in common, and that, as she puts it, we
shall thus be fellow-wOrkers.' instead
Of making jokes about It, for Heavens
sake tell me what am to do. dare
not sent it back, and tell her It is
worthless-that would break her
heart. And yet no paper could print
the stuff" .... ..s--.sui1 ~,
rs it so bad as that p" asked Ensor.
II didn't know that any one had at
tained to writing down to that level
in these days. Let US hear some OF
It," q IS
mo: I'm not going to read it, have
not the courage to. You can study It
for yourself IL you like. 1t is Il COM
pound of every possible fault in gram
mar and expression, and Its story is
too terribly inane." s,.
Ensor took the manuscript, glanced
through Il few pages, and struggled mo-
bly, t0.'snppress his smiles, while Vau-
CHAN thrust out lis legs toward the FIRE
and smoked moodily.
SWELL" said Ensor at length, tossing
the MS. aside, 1T is certainly the most
awful rubbish, Seriously, by far the
kndest thing you can do Ia to tell the
young lady frankly that she can never,
by any possibility, succeed In literature.
Why don't you do this?"
The other shook his head mOurnfully,
II can't" he said. First, she sent me
some verses, worse even than this story,
and those did send back. Next came
what was meant for q humorous arti-
Gle. That also ! returned, though It
made her rather angry. And. wishing
to defend myself, without hurting her
feelings, I explained thnt people are