Year: 1874

Not cohuot PRINCE liht tht
snuffy old Russian we used to see,
wearing greasy fnr~colIar and
long overcoat, eating garlic and
drinking brandy three times 'iurn>
ally, and growing at everything g
American in the most detestable
English. Nothing of the kind.


She pined for q prince such as
We read about in the fine old senti-
mental novels that amused our
fathers and mothers in the flower
Of their youth; Thaddeus Of War;
saw, all talent, and pal'or, and
tenderness, and musical voice, and
fine, rolling eyes, and pedigree, and
that sort of thing.


For my part | don't believe in
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, however, would suit
Miss Cora Depeyster. Being not
Totally unlike other fair damsels of
twenty or thereabouts, she desired
to experiment upon the state mat
rimonial, and had plenty of oppor>
tun:ties, but common clay would
not do. A prince she must have or
single she would remain.


Now, q real good writer Of senti-
mental stories could create such a
being especially for the emergency,
and, after the customary amount of
rehabilitation through the medium
of an obstinate parent or what not,
marry off Miss Cora and her prince
10 the most satisfactory style. But
I never was good at sentimental
creation. Imust write about people
I know and see. I am sorry for
the Coras. I've seen lots of them;
but what sort of princes did they
marry? One now pours tea for a
sharp nosed, red>hsaded life insur-
ance agent. Another is the spouse
of a strapping farmer, who sits with
hat on and eats in his shirt sleeves.
Another welded subdued German
who plays second clarionet in q
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 60 on
pining for princes who never come;
marrying all sorts people instead;
and, dying, give way to fresh race
Of Coras, who follow in their
mammals footsteps with e disre-
gard Of experience that sayors CT
the sublime.


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


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


Notwithstanding the round of
pleasures in which she every summer
took prominent part, she could not
stifle her inward and continuous
for the music ofia princely
voice, the glance of devotion from
princely eyes, the touch of a princely
hand in the dance, and the sweet
envy Of all maidens who had to 60
prlnceless through life. She sighed
a great deal, and began to think the
great world cold, hard, unromantic
sort of an arrangement.


Of course, YOU and l know better.
never wrote a romance yet half 50
as the simplest life would
make were it truly told. The only
trouble is that the simplest life can
not be 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 is barely possible that
Cora might have fallen in love with
him; there is something every fine
and hyfalutin, pardon the express
sion-in q young lady's idea of a
poet. But then Arthur Bayne was
altogether different from her ideal.
He knew the world too well to
believe in its hollowness. He had
found it in fact a very round, hard,
and stubborn sort of thing.


! notice that men who have really
been shaken up a bit in the merry
goround we call life are not apt to
preserve the outside show of senti-
mentalism to any great extent. We
al start off, some time or another,
with our long hair, our turn>down
collars, our sable suits, our brigand
hats, and our little hidden sorrows;
but when we have cnt our eye>teeth
and learned something about other
fnlks' trouble VIA alwavs come hack