The age-herald., 1899-12-17
THE MURMUR
 OF THE WORLD

Every man has builded an altar to some
 woman: every woman has erected a shrine
 to some man. Altar shrine may be placed at the crossing of the streets, at the
 most sacred place in the house of God or
 at the hallowed point where the ways part
 ed when love and life were young and hearts exuItant. Wherever raised, altar or shrine marks the beginning or the end of
 human joy or human disappointment, tran 1 qml as the calm hour when the voiceful l rustling of the dawn awakes the world | from slumber or as turbulent as the time
 when wind and sea meet as playmates and | thunder defiance to mani In the holiest
 places of every mans soul there stands the
 radiant image of woman he lost. Wife 1 and children may caress him in the tram | quility of his own fireside: their laughter, 1 their joy, the abandon of their love and 1 trust may bring to him a nameess com-
 fort, but above it all is the figure of another | woman, bending in benediction or in wrath. | He sees 1t all, knows it all, and a small | voice tells the story to the mother OF his | children-dhe story old and new quick and
 
 1 historyl To her, as she reflects there | comes O heart-t threb born of pain. They press their children to hearts that ache and | break and bleed: for in her own life there | is harmless worship of another life's mem- I ory; in his life is that other life he longed to meet, without which life his life is in- | complete.
 woman does not marry the man she | first wished hoped to marry. No man | ever yet was joined to the first woman | whom his fancy claimed as his own. You | may fool yourselves in these particulars, | my beloved but you are powerless to fool | others. Sweetheart or wife may swear that lover or husband is the only man she ever loved but if he believes her he is scarce worthy of a wise woman's love. The most | cherished thing in a womans inner life is l the memory of him who was first to her, and whom she persuades herself she could have married had she so desired. The most tenderly pathetic element in a woman's life is that conviction which she has forced upon herself that she could have married either of a preposterous number of men, The most comical side of a woman'S life is' that spirit which leads her to tell her husband or accepted lover of her conquests. | They deceive themselves fondly tenderly, | pathetically; but, God bless them! they deceive nobody else.
 Yesternoon a young girl paused upon the l pavement to look at the gay furnishings of l a great window She perhaps fifteen. | On the back of her head she wore Tam OShanter roguishly. Her rough woolen | skirt fell to the top of laced boots that fitted perfectly her perfectly pretty feet, | which she clearly found it impossible to | keep still. Her hair as half-burnished | copper, her white face bore the flush that | is found upon the tips of peach blossom petals Her thin lips were slightly parted, forming a little mouth made to kiss and be kissed and give forth love-songs through | uncounted years She was instinct with loveliness, youth, grace; and as the glo riously golden sunshine fell upon her she was right radantly beautiful. She stood with one foot moved forward resting her l self upon the other, a marvel of graceful l ness. As she passed on her way, she car | ried herself like a little queen quite un | conscious of the superlative charm of her l own presence; and so bright, so beautiful, | so happy she seemed that one almost list | ened for her to burst into song, as little robin might sing his heart out in the glow of the sunlight. Her yet undeveloped fig ure already dreamful in its charm was be- | wilreringly suggestive of the full perfection | of woman; and one thought of the tribute, | "From your beautiful white face to your | beautiful white feet you are perfect and | one wondered too if her food were violets and daisies She was the incarnation of entrancing youth, and she had power to | blot out the record of half lifetime. One 1 felt like iinging his cloak upon the ground l Chat she might press upon 1t with her little l feet and her little life, and her great good- l ness of soul. After she was gone the sum- | light was less golden in the streets; but | there was a new song in the heart and a | new hope and precious memories stirred. l In the dim lamplig'ht floating over the | tufted floor when night was come. the | lover and the loved stood silent. It was tho moment of goodbye, when hearts that love | pulsate passionately, Silence had fallen as l if angels were speaking the hour of prayer. | She appeared to be the beautifulest young | woman in all the world. Yea! she was tho 1 beautifulest. Youth crowned her royalty. and in all the splendid valley under the | splendid mountains none was so fair as she. Upon him the world and the years | had lightly traced their marking. She l looked up to his face almost defianty, and | saw the nervous tremor of his lips. He | spoke her name. That was all. Her eyes | fell. The proudly poised head pended ever l so slightly. The chamber was perfumed | with divine incense from unseen censers l from unseen hands swinging. He spoke | her name again, and in the simple utter l ance were years of life. She threw her llnead back proudly, and her liquid eyes Hooked into eyes that were eloquent of song llthat was ringing in souls wild turbu- | ence.-She spoke no word of protest; stood | silent there. It was tae continuation of l their dreams, the moment triumphant of | all his life. He passed out, and looked at 1 the stars of gold in the biack-bue; looked l at the trees, and the faint shadows cast