The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1894-11-14
SAVED FROM HIS LOVE.

smoking q solitary midnight pipe in
his chambers when there was a
knock at the door. He looked up
without rising from his chair.
ssHullo, Ensorl" he said, "come in.
Where have you been?"
His visitor was young man In
evening dress, an old Cambridge
friend, and now also engaged in
earning an imaginary income at the
bar and al actual one by his pen.
'sBeen to the theater," he answered,
'saud thought I would look you up on
my way home. Why, what's the
matter with you?" he continued, as
he leisurely took of his great coat,
and filled a pipe. ''You're looking
as melancholy as If you, instead of
myself, had been witnessing the
performance of a modern English
farce"
The gloom on vaughan's face deep
ened. 'Thats the NATTER" he an
swered laconically, pointing to o.
bulky envelope which lay on his
writing table.
"You don't mean to say that your
editor has sent back some of your
work?" said the other, as he moved
toward the table.
"Worse, much worse" said
Vaughan, with infinite pathos in his
voice.
s'Why, it's Mabel Lawrence's writ
ingl Your lady love sends you
lengthy letters, Vaughan. Or is it
merely collection of your own ele-
CANT epistles which she now returns
to you with scorn? ! Ibelieve there's
some sense in that girl, after allP'
f'Sit down, Ensor, and don't be
fool. Of course it isn't that; we are
to BIO married next month. She is d
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,
If L love her-which, of course, I do
Ito get them used. What on earth
. am I to do?"
II see; she is one of the modern
young ladies who look upon litera-
ture as q pleasant alternative to
crochet work. The Englishman is
supposed to say Ttis fine day; let
us kill The Englishwoman url-
doubtedly does remark: Tt is wet
day; let us create Hence the femi-
nine novel; which, by the way, has
almost ceased to be novel, and would
scorn to be thought feminine. And
so Mabel is afflicted, with on attack
OF modernity?"
stNot in the least. She is, thank
goodness, quite free from that taint.
She would rather read blue book
than o yellow book, I fancy. This is
called q Domestic Drama. ;"
Vaughan got up and drew bulky
roll Of manuscript from the envel-
ope.
"All the worse, ",said his friend.
"If the stuff were only slightly i'm
moral and wholly decedent we could
placeit easily enough, however badly
It is written. But wife who pre-
fers the poetry of domestic drama
to the prose of the domestic dinner
table cannot be expected to provide
very attractive food, bodily or men.
tai. My best advice to you,
Vaughan, which I know you won't
take, is to back out of your engage
ment as quickly as possible. She
can hardly love you much If she
posters you in this way. Depend
upon it, she looks upon you only as
q medium whereby her. productions
may find their way into print"
-''You're talking bosh, my dear
fellow" replied Vaughan. ''She
does love me; indeed, the tragic part
of is that she has written these
things because she thinks that we
ought to have all interests in COM
mon, and that, as she puts it, we
shall thus be fellow workers In
stead of making jokes about 1t, for
heavens sake tell me what am to
do. I daren't send it back and tell
her 1t is worthless-that would break
her heart. And yet no paper could
print the stuff"
SIS it so bad as that?" asked En-
sor. II didn't know that anyone
had attained to writing down to that
level in these days. Let US hear
some of it."
mo; I'm not going to read it
haven't the courage to. You can
study it for yourself if you like. It
is q compound of every possible fault
I'm grammar and expression, and it's