The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1894-05-03


His thou !hts we're purified, even when
He chafed and RACED at the might. have been
ne learned that living is not whim.
For the soul in her became part OF him
He fights as others--to win or fall
And the spell of the woman is over oil.
Bravely they battle in thin degree
tor the woman love shl be proud of me-
And the man and woman, the one in heart
But the strong will battle for his de gree
Add the woman love shall be proud of me!''
He read the poem over, then read it
again. Down went the brown head
upon the desk, and sob passed the
sweet, sensitive lips, shaded by
silky, dark mustache. At length he
lifted his head, and the deep, dark
eyes, with their long curling lashes,
were wet with tears
ut is just like herr he murmured,
softly. ''She is just like the woman
in this poem. How noble and good
she is! 1t is always the noble and
good that is unattainable to me! Look
at yourself, Will Summers!'
He arose, and going over to the
mirror upon the wall, gazed for a few
moments upon the handsome face,
with its haunting eyes and tender
mouth; then he turned away-moody,
disconnected.
what am l, to hope to make wo-
man my friend?" he groaned.
''True, | am young, passably good
looking, possessed of means sufficient
for ordinary use. But she-she with
her heart of fire, her brain, her warm,
generous nature, and above all the
toll tr lS11, ,o1r b
other women-she would never think
of me! Yet her very presence gives
me. rcngth-courage. When I am
with her feel a desire-a necessity
to make for myself a name. I had
once thought myself talented, be-
lieved that the profession of writer
was open to me; but now 1 am utterly
discouraged, beset on all sides with
Observation-Disclosures in by doubts. Ill
health. failing ambition@bah! I have
no longer any ambition. At thirty
am an intellectual wreck!'
He paced up and down the floor of
the pretty room which he designated
his ''den"-a room whose walls were
lined with books, and everywhere in
dications of taste and refinement. At
last in sheer despair, he sat down and
wrote letter. When it was finished,
he addressed it to Mrs: Augusta Story,
in a far-otf southern city.
For several years these two had COR
responded meeting occasionally; and
each had found in the other an ideal
companion. She was a writer of fic-
tion-a brave little woman, all alone
in the world. In Augusta Story. Will
Summers had found his dream full
filed, Of pure, true womanhood; to
him she was a star of hope, the only
creature in the world who undo STOOD
him, and read him Alright.
To-day he had come across the little
poem which had so affected him that it
brought tears to the eyes of this man
-world-weary and sad, trying to make
himself believe in his own uselessness.
Yet all the time, within his breast, a
still, small voice was whispering of
hope-for him-for him. ''The spell
OF this woman was over ALL
She led him onward and upward
Her hand pointed to the better world;
her example stirred all his higher ma
ture.
Ambition aroused within him; hope
awoke within his breast; and with
hope, the desire to make name.
He learned that living is not whim:
For the soul of her became part of him.
Will Summers took up the pen once
more, and slowly but surely Gt is nee
essarily slow work, but that makes it
all the surer) he began to carve out
his own future His talents were de-
voted to doing good. His pen was
never defiled by an unkind or cruel
assertion-no scoffing at honor or up
rightness; not afraid to defend a just
cause, no matter how unpopular it
might be. His name became the syn
.onym of honor, and he was known as
~ want to invent said the F.end with a
smile.
"A weapon that's cowardly, fierce, and vile,
For madmen and rOgues to play with
More deadly more brutal. more cruel more
keen,
Than dynamite dagger, Internal machine,
Or anything Christians Stay with!
~ want to improve on the poisoned shaft
On the hellish weapons of helthen craft
On Europe's most skilled invention
It must beat the bullet outst ID the knife
Its wounds must torture, while lin gers life
Is there anything you can mention?'
'''Then he thought of the scribes inhumen
Who make OF q gift that the gods might own
The deadliest weapon the world ha, known
And stab both man and woman:
And the Fiend went straight to his desk and
took
A weapon that lay by his blotting- book
And held it above him, CRYING:
Here's the deadliest weapon that woundeth
men!
Can the devil improve on the poisoned pen?
Said the Devil, I don't mean trying'
At last he was able to offer to the
woman he loved name which shown
brightly among the stars in the liter
airy galaxy. He had made up his
mind that life was empty and dreary,
and utterly unlivable without her. Sc
he wrote few lines:
81 must see you,'' he said. eff dc
not receive telegram from you, for,
bidding me to come, l will be with
you in a week"
No telegram came; and week later
he Stood before Augusta Story, in the
little parlor of her quiet home. And