The Washington herald., 1909-03-07

Let the kettle sing. There is nothing
more cheerful in the world. not even the
cricket on the hearth"
The hostess smiled at the note OF salts
faction in her husbands voice.
we can listen 10 that when we have
10 one 10 talk to-" said she.
Have you read Mr.. Ebert Hubbard's
White Hyacinths. Mary2-the book In
which the author throws sweet-scented
bouquets at himself over the left. Isn't il
cutter I wonder how long the lady in the
book feels2 Now, for instance how would
you feel If VIII We're to take up his pen
and write all the nice things he has found
out about you and print II In a book.
with all the pipe dreams he has had about
your possibilities thrown IMP
why" replied she. Il should consider
II more daring than the confessions OF
Rousseau. who only told what ne knew
about himself"
In this day Of revelations. when peo-
pie are publishing their confessions and
their parents love letters and every NOR
bid fancy Of this delirious life, II is a rest
TO meet the old-fashioned sort of woman
who INDUCES in fancy work with her fin
gers instead Of with her BRAIN" said the
victim. for 1t is known Of the wise that a
do not grow literary. please. like 10
talk little now and then. but I cannot
talk books. I have never had time 10
read. / do not know what TO select in
the vast sea Of literature. When some
kind friend sends me a book. another kind
friend pops in just as begin to get inter-
ested in it, and, before I get at It again,
ii has lost its vogue, or the critics have
told me all about it,
you are known 70 be a very uncuI-
tured person, Mary, and only your travels
save you. because you have met all the
raw materials of which books are made
] love books. and should Ike nothing
better than 10 go 10 some far-off. mac
cessible island in the zone OF Gains.
where a kind fairy operates a slot ma
chine which gives I'D books for a nickel
beautiful, artistic ones. without a word
delivered"
Let the kettle sing" laughed the man.
But the hostess was not to be hushed.
Have you noticed" she went on. with
out seeming to have heard her friends
cynicism. ''how old It makes one feel TO
read old letters? One feels as II one had
reached the end Of a dispensation, and
and"
And what, dear?"
81 never do it any more. A woman
cannot afford 70 feel like that after she
is twenty-five Retrospection is the
luxury for the very young who cannot
look far enough back TO hurt them. or
for the very old who have almost reached
the state OF the gods lifted above mortal
hurt So I offer my old love letters TO
Zoroaster. But, however. you cannot
help remembering how you once read
them with incoherent Joy: laughed over
~ FnH
them next to your heart. locked them
from mortal eye. remembered them in
your prayers, then laid them away
things that hurt sometimes, but. oh. you
could not burn them They are a part
of your life's records, and when you die
they shall be buried with you
'"The years slip by You take them
from their case: the ink Is faded: an old
photograph slips from them. Something
long asleep wakes up and cries The old
familiar writing and the old picture-you
NAV not love them now-remind you or
such a sad, sweet. foolish time when you
did love them. You say 10 yourself. All
this is past and lay the picture, face
down. on the pile OF old letters And
then YOU say. All this is foolish and
stretch your hand toward the hre; ana
Won say. Tt was imagination Tor the most
part and drop the little packet into the
curling blaze"
Tt may be very undressing, dear
ladies, but I shrink from getting my
feelings hurt so do not encourage the
emotions"
1T is sort OF pose in men," said Mary.
cruelty, "and II makes you appear Ike
'Phroso; or. Is II a Man? that appeared
in vaudeville here whiel ago. You. VIII.
could tumble on q horse and pick your