Clinch Valley news. [volume] (Jeffersonville, Va.) 18??-2019, 1894-02-02

clear field. After all, it was perhaps
only natural effect of my ailment that
1 should long to tell some one my
secret. The glory of secret lies in
imparting it. Keeping n secret is
very poor fun, and L have no secrets
at 2 o'clock in the morning-it is n
n sympathetic hour. / rose and stood
by the fire. s.'''s
"Harold, old boy, I've something
to tell you. 1 am i'll love with Kate
Winterton!" e-es-af III,
The Saxon nearly dropped his pipe.
He gave a long whistle and said moth
ing. 1 was disappointed; expected
congratulations, pleasant laughter
good wishes something.
After. moments silence, he said,
with hesitation
"You haven't actually proposed, eli?
Have you?"
"Nol no of course not. No one
knows but you, and why the mischief
l told you L don't know" added test
lily. His GOODNESS irritated me.
"By George! old fellow, I'm sure
l wish you Joy, Benedict Redivivus {"
He laughed heartily and shook me
by the hand. The Saxon was himself
again and SO WAS /.
''Ah! Harold" I said, az hardly
know now whether / shall ever tell
her. Let me see, this is Monday
night"
Tuesday morning, you mean"
eyes, yes. l shall not see her until
Sunday; L have week before me vet.
All, my boy, give me your wishes on
Sunday. Tho better the day-you
KNOW" I shook him by the hand
again. He was not very enthusiastic,
but no listened to my garrulous raw
ings, and That was all l wanted then.
81 feel young again." continued,
''nnd when ] think of her loving face
and sweet gray eyes
Gug gug gugl 1t was that con-
founded limp; out it went, and put
period to my rhapsody.
LET us take it rs gentle hint to
me, and not us lovers omen"
laughed Harold pleasantly.
| CROPPED about, found candle, and
babe him good night Then 1 sought
repose and dreamed real dreams,
haunted with Hates bright eyes and
silver treble laugh.
think | have said that | reviewed
for the Slasher in those days. II was
poor stuff, and had long ceased to be
proud of it; but it provided my daily
bread, or rather my duly outlet and
pint of claret, and was ut least hon
est about it. certainly worked very
hard at my learned reviews, and
crammed my subjects thoroughly. |
was always at work. Etherilge used to
say: 81 worked like n Trojan, but
without his intelligence !" the truth
is, they were all little jealous of my
position. For | was tho "we' who
taught Darwin science, instructed
Tennyson i'll the laws of metre and
pntronized George Eliot. It was nd
United, too, on NIL sides, that 1 was
excellent Mt turning ont those read
able reviews that the public enjoy, and
that used to drive weak minded authors
to enrly graves in my time. Nowadays
weak minded authors are difficult to
drive, more's the pity. I was writing
something the next evening for Snt-
urday's Slasher, when Harold came in
with merry smile on his face.
"Do you want subject for one of
your real good things?" he asked.
Here is new volume of poems Just
out; they are scrcamingly funny"
"Whero did you get them?"
81 found them i'll IL fellows room.
and borrowed them for, :. lew days
No ono knows. be HASTILY added.
He hantleu'me thin volume. dnin-
tily got up in white and gold boudoir
binding, lettered in scarlet on the
cover, "oighs from My Heart, by
Sappho.
Modest young lady, isn't she?"
suggested the Saxon, quizzically,
eff she is II lady," | replied, senten-
tiously, with the air of one who was
too old hand to jump at obvious con-
illusions. 1.
"Listen to this, them" cried Harold.
snatching the book from nv hand and
reading with very comic effect n poem
addressed to "My Hero" each verse
of which ended. thus:
His locks are gold,
His looks are hold.
My herol
Gust suits you, Penrose," he said,
as he finished. You have red hair,
and your looks are perfectly brazen.
"Who published it?" 1 said, smiling
ut his vagaries. "Ah, I see. Well.
I'll run through it, aud if it is all like
that stuff it will come in useful. I've
n lot of dull, solemn things here, moth
ing to make fun Of"
"Now, do write good one. Let us
have specimen of your cayenne pep
per papers, rs Croft calls them. L
shall come in and keep you up to it.
His lo,ks are gold,
His looks are bold,
My hero,'''
Etheridge struck an attitude as he
recited this, laughing aloud at me in
his merry, high-spirited way, and went
of, leaving me the volume.
| read the poems, found them inst
tho weak sort of rubbish expected.
and knocked off notice of them. [
sent down to the publishers to find
Dtt tt-t,, L..