Spirit of Jefferson. [volume] (Charles Town, Va. [W. Va.]) 1844-1948, 1896-07-21

after all, it is quite simple. only Ben
son is such material person The
Stock Exchange has made him worse
Anyway, am going to tell You
'tYes!" ! said invitingly.
"You remember, :" he said, settling
himself back in his chair. ''I had al
ways my own views about women F"
''You expected great deal, - said
sWell, " he went on. not needing tho
interruption. ''you know L can well
afford to marry. If I had found the
woman wanted. should have married
long ago could not find her, much as
L sought The clever woman had no
beauty, the beautiful no brains, or,
where the combination did exist, the
woman was already married, or had
some equally prohibitive defect "
'sYou sought for what did not exist, -
I said. "There is no ideal woman, as
there is no ideal man.
stNot IN your sense, - he said. Ger
tainly not in the sense of n man like
Benson, if he can conceive the possibii-
ty of an ideal woman ut all, or an ideal
anything"
'sAnd in yours?'' said.
He rose from his chair and going to
a long drawer in n cabinet took out
from it an armful of photographs-thero
must, 1 should think, have been some
90 there in all "Just look through
these" :" he said
1 did so, wondering Every type of
female face and female beauty was
there represented, from the English and
American woman to the French and
Austrian, from the creole to the eau
casian, from the daughter of the people
to the daughter of the peer. Some of the
/ faces might well have been those of
saints; others were indubitably those
of sinners. Barmaids jostled against
| Sisters of Mercy; actresses followed on
the princesses of the blood royal. Some
of the faces were too utilitarianly clever
to approach physical beauty; others,
| again, proclaimed the triumph of body
| over soul.
"Well?'' L said at length. still more
astonished
He spread out the photos on the table
| before him, eying them lovingly, fon'
ding them as a man foudles the woman
who is to be his wife. There" he
said, pointing to the rows of faces be.
! fore him, f'you have a perfect type.
u
You We're right. 1t was impossible, but
I have got it there. ="
Yes" I said, smiling at his intensi-
| ty, "but these are only mere photo
graphs. The essence of them constitutes
the perfect type of wsmanhood, nc
doubt, but these things are not alive.
They are mere counterfeit presentments.
You are not nineteenth century Pyg-
malion. You cannot make mere photo
graphs live :"
perhaps not" he said. ''At least,
who can tell? know that when / gaze
long on these faces conjure up from
their various characteristics the perfect
type of woman and can never care fol
any one else-I mean any woman. This
face 1 have erected represents to me
the supreme essence of feminine lowell
ness, the one woman for whom man
should be glnd to die, for whom I would
die, did she require me, this very min
ute. People tell you 1 never go out any.
where. How can I-when this splendid
beauty smiles before me at home! tell
you never lived till 1 knew her, and
now cannot live with her. To me she
is the one woman in this world or the
next Indeed, not the one woman, but
weman herself +"
1 left Wetherby's chambers half an
hour later wondering if my old friend
was going mad. As turned to close
the door behind me saw him suddenly
bend down over the table and sweeping
the photographs together into his arms
| coveY- Them with n rain of passicnate