The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1904-04-27

her the right of precedence in every
thing. She is beautiful child, with
ve1vety-black eyes.
Again see, among the girl gradu-
ates of fashionable seminary for
young ladies, in an exclusive southern
city, a young girl come before the foot
lights to read her essay. She wears
a clinging gown of snowy-white, with
scarlet geranium flowers dashed here
and there about her shoulders and
bosom and in the midnight of her
hair. She is the encored, the admired,
the sought-after, by scores of fashion,
able young men. She says to me that
night after she Is in bed, her great,
velvety eyes shining and cleaning:
"Oh, it is such delicious thing just
to be alive-to enjoy! am happy,
happy, SO happy"
Then the years slip into each other.
The season of JOY needs no recording.
On the bosom of the dangerous, sea-
green river, way down in the ricelands
Of Louisiana, little boat comes drift
ing slowly, slowly.
Its occupants are man and q wom-
an, both young, both beautiful.
They seem made for each other by
the laws of nature and love. But,
alas, there is no joy In their faces,
only an unconquerable longing, deep
desire and patient despair on his;
on hers fierce revolving against the
cruel hand of destiny that is crushing
her against the rack
They love, indeed, mot wisely, but
too WELL"
In all her checkered career no one
ever quite understood her as this man
or loved her SO utterly. A mist comes
over my eyes. The still figure on the
bed had never ceased to thrill, even
to the very last hour when we spoke
together of this one-the tender lover
who had no right to love-the friend
that had through everything stood by
her and shielded her as best he might
even to the bitter end
On the mantle now were delicacies of
fruit and CONNECTIONS and sweet red
roses that he had sent only yesterday.
How her beautiful dying eyes had
lighted up when she saw this last proof
OF his love, and she had murmured
family: True to the uttermost."
But back again to the man and the
woman and the boat adrift on the sun
kissed river.
They say good-by. They know full
we'll the hopelessness of it all; for he
is bound by an irrevocable tie; held by
bonds of law when love had sickened
and died, almost ere it had a begin
ming
He must renounce the heaven of her
love. He must battle with life and
still his pain. She must endure. Won
en- and some men can endure.
There are 1iirtations, there are low
ers, there are exploits, for she was a
creature who lived only on new expe-
riences-was so from her very baby.
hood.
She held her own bravely.
Then one day she came to me with a
new glad light in her eyes, and said
she could love again.
And when l saw the man my in
credulity died. He was the most beau
tiful specimen of physical manhood 1
ever saw. The strong, fine limbs, the
wonderful breadth of shoulder, the
winning smile, the caressing manner,
the blue-gray eyes and goldtinted hair.
the rich bloom on the milk-white skin,
all were what she most delighted in.
A few months of happy wooing and
winning. A grand wedding. A Louis.
lana across the lake" wedding, with
flowers everywhere and music and
dancing.
Once again, on that night she came
to me with shining eyes and cried out:
I'm happy, happy, happy!'
And she who had been shielded from
everything, went out into the world
to meet and grapple with the agony
we call living.
All went we'll for a time.
Then came physical pain, such as
she had never dreamed of-the little
babe with the gold-tinted hair was
born dead.
Then the grind Of life-the ups and
downs of daily intercourse; the asso-
citation Of two natures heretofore dis
tinct and separate.
Sometimes she laughed and some
times she cried. Everything was so
new. She did not like the housekeep-
ing (she never did to the very last);
the buying of the groceries always
caused within her an intense feeling Of
disgust Some very practical people
condemned her l never did.
She was born for the ethereal things
of life.
She could no more discuss the mar
let price of butter OR eggs than she
could tolerate the coarse or unattrac-
tive in nature or art. He humored her
in almost everything. And though
himself practical man of the world
perhaps he understood her far better
than any of us. | know to her dying
hour She always spoke of him in terms
of adoring love.
Just as she was trying to master the
e*erydayisms of eXistence-was learn
ing (and pretty aptly, too) to play the