Year: 1878

Yes, Mr., MGovern, she is coming


home tomorrow"


No2 Realy--ah mean-exactly


yes


All, Mr.. MGovern, If you could


know how I've toiled and slaved and


pinched that that girl could have an edi,
cation ] never had no learning my.
self"


" Precisely Just so


And made up my mind that Annie
should be lady, and she H. sir, she
is--'


Certainly mo doubt. Really the
fact is.-wouId you mind? am very
busy"


Now the fsct was that Mr.. MGoyern
was determined not to take the slightest
interest in the world in his landlady's
daughter Aud at this moment he was,
also, engaged upon a piece of work that
not only absorbed all his energies, but
apparently presented difficulties that he
was not likely to overcome.


The case lay just here. Mr.. MGov,
ern, salesman and commercial traveller
for a large dry goods house, had recently
made the acquaintance in an adjacent
town, not as large, but tancving itself
quite as important, as New York, of
young lady who had suddenly insrired
him with the exaggerated sentiment we
commonly call love. At least he thought
so. And now the problem lay, how to
awaken a corresponding emotion in the
heart of the fair being to whom he felt
anxious and desirous to offer the devotion
of lifetime, II he had been rich, he
might have overwhelmed her with bou~
quets such as can only he produced by a
metropolitan florist. But he was not
rich. On the other hand. if, as he ex.
pressed it to himself, he had been one
OF those newspaper chaps, who are always
saying things and writing things, YOU
know, had walk into a girls heart when
they haven't even respectable pSir of
boots, or shilling to get their hair cut"
even then he might have done something.
But, as it was, what could he do?


Finally an idea occurred to him.
Brilliant in epigram he was not, and
certainly could never hope to be; but
somebody hal surely once said that
genius is Qply indOmitable persever.
ance, and there was the hare and the
tortoise, and the little busy bee, and
there was no knowing but that if he gave
month to it he might yet manage to get
up something she would like to read-he
could certainly write as good a business
letter as any fellow in the office. But
then it ought to be in rhyme. And here
another difficulty presented itself. Her
name was Arabelle? Yet Petrarch had
certainly been in the same scrape; there
isn't word in the language that ends
like Laura.


So he set yaliantly to work, and on the
morning when Mrs. Gibson invaded his
sanctum to announce her daughters
expected return, he had got Just this far


"Midst roses fair, oh lovely Arabella-"
Stop! there was cellar. But how TO
work it in? And here Mr.. M'Govern was
met by difficulty that had oppressed !
many great poet.


His landlady had broken the chain of
inspiration besides, it was nine o'clock
he couldn't do better than to 90 to the
office, for there was q fresh consignment
of goods that he was expected TO dispose
Of. In the evening he would 90 out and |
call upon Arahella which he did, and at
midnight he returned to his grimy
apartment on Mrs. Gibson's third floor.
more in love than ever.


But on tho following evening, when
he came home from the office, he remem>
bered Mrs, Gibson's announcement, and
1t the tea table he looked for the young
ady in question. Not that he cared
what she looked like, but then
Hum not a pretty girl, by any
neansl" but somehow, he looked again.
There she sat, a soft little body in a
,rey merino dress, with a pair Of very
1retty hands placidly folded in her lap.
What was the impression she gave him +?
Ha he didn't know. Now he had it
he seemed so very, very--funny word,