Year: 1874

Cora Depeyster pined for prince.
Not common prince like the snutfy old
Russian we used to see on Broadway,
wearing greasy fur collar and long
overcoat, eating garlic and drinking
brandy three times diurnally, and growl-
ing at everything American in the
most detestable English. Nothing of
the kind.


She pined for a prince such as we
read about in the little old sentimental
novels that amused our fathers and
mothers in the flower of their youth a
Thaddeus of Warsaw, all talent, and
pallor, and tenderness, and musical
voice, and fine, rolling eyes, and pedi-
gree, and that sort of thing.


For my part, 1 don't believe i'll such
princes. The Prince of Wales isn't one
of that species, and I'm afraid the
breed has gone out with the fine old
sentimental novels. Nothing else, how
ever, would suit Miss Cora Depeyster
Being not totally unlike other fair dam
sells of 20 or thereabout, she desired to
experiment upon the state matrimonial,
and had plenty of opportunities, but
common clay would not do. A prince
she must have, or single she would re-
main.


Now, q real good writer of sentimen-
tai stories could create such being
especially for the emergency, and, after
the customary amount Of tantalization
through the medium of an obstinate
parent or what not, marry off Miss Cora
and her prince In the most satisfactory
style. But never was good at senti-
mental creation. | must write about
the Coras. I've seen lots of them but
what sort of princes did they marry ?
One now pours tea for sharp-nosed,
red-haired life insurance agent. An
other is the spouse of strapping
farmer, who sits with hat on and eats in
his shirt-sleeves. Another welded a
subdued German, who plays second
clarionet in cheap orchestra, and has
to move monthly because he can't pay
his rent. Still another-but the cata-
logue grows melancholy. Thus with all
the Coras. They go on pining for
princes that never come marrying all
sorts of people instead, and, dying,
give way to fresh race of Coras, who





a disregard of experience that savors of
the sublime.


One of the sweetest of watering
places Is Happy Valley. 1t is romantic
and comfortable at once. There is de-
lightful bathing, rowing, sailing, and
fishing in the lake itself, and the shady
groves that line its shores are cool and
green and mysterious, and suggestive
of dryads and nymphs and fairies and
things. That is, if you happen to be of
a poetic turn of mind. II not, they only
suggest firtations.


will not further expatiate upon the
delights of Happy Valley, lest it should
be fancied that have lots for sale in
the vicinity, whereas 1 have none any
where-not even burial lot and that,
/ believe, is the common lot of all.
Neither did Cora Depeyster have any
real estate to dispose of; but she
thought just as l do, and passed much
OF the time every summer in the fair
demesnes that lie smilingly adjacent to
the Happy Valley Pavilion.


Notwithstanding the round of pleas
ures in which she every summer took
prominent part, she could not stife her
inward and continuous yearnings for
the music of q princely voice, the glance
of devotion from princely eyes, the
touch of princely hand in the dance,
and the sweet envy of oil maidens who
had to so princeless through life She
sighed great deal, and began to think
the great world cold, hard, unroman-
tic sort of arrangement.


OF course, You and / know better. 1
never wrote a romance yet half 40 won
derful as the simplest life would make
were it truly told. 1t seems easy, but
You try it once.


Though there was no prince among
the Pavilion boarders, there was a poet
Arthur Bayne was there. 1t was barely
possible that Cora might have fallen in
love with him; there is something very
fine and hyfalutin-pardon the express.