The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1904-12-16
III III LETTERS.

MgSFrs1 SN'tr it funny" said Polly,
l EIl holding up bundle OF vel
low looking letters, "'how
N II they sound when you read
kll1lj lt9l!4 them over? They're just
like old-fashioned frock, or
the way you used to dress your hair
ridiculous. And once you thought
them so beautiful. They look like
white collins, don't they?" and Polly
pointed to half dozen bundles OF once
white envelopes, each tied with diff
ferent colored ribbon, which she had
laid out on the library table ready for
sacrificial burning on the altar of our
engagement.
''tThey remind me-" l remarked, as
began pulling out of my own overcoat
pocket bundle after bundle of pink and
blue envelopes, each tied with a com-
mon cord, and depositing them beside
Pollys collection, more of skeletons
or stale cigarettes
"Or dead roses" suggested Polly.
"Or cold pudding" said /.
! Polly commenced untying the violet
string around a slender packet, and l
lay lazily back in the big armchair and
watched her through the smoke of my
cigarette and began reading.
"Who was he, Polly?" asked gently,
blowing a wreath of smoke and watch
ing it curl around the chandelier.
"He-he doesn't sign his name," said
Polly, evasively, and turning pink.
l raised my eyebrows significantly.
Because said Polly, hurrying on,
'as he always said, it is inartistic to
sign your name to a personal letter.
If the one for whom it is intended can
not guess the sender by the very first
sentence, then either he or she does
not care very much, or else the letter
is entirely without individuality. You
do not have to label good picture
This is a cow do you?" 4
! Every clever of him." I remarked.
II don't know what you mean, Mr..
Heayyfeather
II mean," said /, chat the man who
doesn't sign his name TO the letters
he writes to a woman is either
ashamed of what he is doing or in
sincere in what he is saying; he is
either cad or coward. When q man
really loves you, the only thing on
earth he is afraid of is that he will not
get YOU
"Mr Heavyfeather," said Polly, cold
ly, "you never did appreciate style in
letter writing. YOU"
"Oh, I know his Style / remarked,
cynically, 'the insinuating, noncommit-
tai style; the style that never signs
his name and begins each letter imper-
sonally, as though he were talking to
space or posterity."
There was fash of something white
through the air, and the bundle of
letters fell from Polly's hand into the
blazing fire with crash.
snow" said Polly, bringing her ell
bows down on the table with little
hump and leaning her chin on her
clasped hands, cts your turn"
"But you didn't finish reading them"
I said, in surprise.
whats the user said Polly. "They
were all alike
! sighed and opened a pink packet
first. | felt Polly's eyes OH me, and
flushed holly at the very first line in
the intensely interesting epistle | hap
pened to draw out.
"Well?" asked Polly, al length.
! "Oh, pshaw" l began Feeling my
cheeks growing hotter every minute). !
f'It isn't fair, Polly, to"
"You mean interrupted Polly, that |
the lady who wrote the letter said some1
silly things?"
"They didn't seem silly at the time |
] replied warmly.
"They never do" said Polly, "and |
pudding never tastes fat when it's |
fresh, and cigarettes never seem stale |
nntil they so out: and you never have
a headache until the day after the |
dance
And a woman never seems happy"
j appended, until she can spell her
soul out on paper
well" flared Polly, ga girl ought to
be at perfect liberty to lay her soul
quite bare in a letter to her sweet
heart"
"That depends" ] remarked, ION the