Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1898-07-24
AN IDYLL OF THE WAR TIME.

The girl was a true heroine.
The man in the case was a fair, av-
erage young patriot, the glitter on the
brass of whose uniform, and the sheen
of the pomp and panoply Of war had
begun to tarnish in the damp weather
reports of the rainy season in Cuba.
There was really no reason for his
going into the fight when there were
thousands fairly stumbling over each
other to take his place. He could much
better remain at home, preserving his
health so that when his beloved country
needed strong new men to lead her to
final victory he would be in perfect
readiness to respond.
1t was in such a light that he looked
upon the question, and hundreds and
thousands of men and women are look
ing at it in exactly the same light.
But not so the girl
She had determined that any man
who won her favor, must do so in the
front of battle. The only way to her
heart lay through the field of her coun-
try's glory.
She came CT fighting stock, and a
long line of illustrious heroes stretched
far back from her to the mystery Of
the history of beginnings.
There were battleaxes and petards
and arquebuses and catapults and ar
roo nd chia1Ic mr. MI l.,
and scimeters and visors and battering
rams and ironclads and rapid-fring
guns, and military tops and torpedoes
and dumdum bullets and breechloaders
and all sorts of disagreeabe and dan
gerous things jutting up all over her
lineage like quilts on the fretful
porcupine, and she could not bear the
thought Of having the record stop with
her.
The young man called to see her for
the last time and say goodbye ere he
went to the front but ne had not
thought Of her lineage.
1t was possible for him TO retire now
with honor and he felt that when the
moment for the last goodbye had ar
rived her woman's heart would assert
itself and she would not let him leave
her side.
brave man could not ask a woman
to do this, but a brave man could make
any sacrifice for the woman he loved,
and who loved him.
The clock was on the stroke of II
when he arose from the silken sofa
where they had been communing with
the infinite tenderness of lovers ever
since the sun had sunk TO purple rest
among the amethystine clouds.
There were tears In her dark brown
eyes as she gazed fondly On his stall
wart figure, perhaps for the last time
tears of sorrow and tears of pride.
He opened his arms without speaking
and, like a tired bird to its nest she
fluttered to him and nestled her golden
head upon his manly bosom.
Like powerful hands of velvet steel,
soft as spring-time and unyielding as
frozen winter, she felt those enfolding
arms about her and was unspeakably
happy in the knowledge. that their
protection was hers.
He whispered to her soft and low.
and she looked up into his face en-
tranced.
Once, twice, thrice-ffty-a hundred
"a thousand times he kissed her-her
hair, her cheeks, her eyes, her lips
and the ecstacy of incomDunicable
bliss filled her soul and thrilled her
heart.
He could feel the tremors Of her rap
ture sweeping across her like a great
storm of feeling and he had strong
hopes that she would not yield him up
to the bloody sacrifices of the battle.
But her pride was greater than he.
She recovered herself suddenly as
from trance.
''Oh, Harold" she exclaimed Nth a
sublime effort. pushing hin, frora her.
this is magnificent, but it S noQ war.
Goodbye"
And Harold knew that the die Twas
cast.