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Western Kansas world. [volume] (WaKeeney, Kan.) 1885-current, April 22, 1893, Image 1

Image and text provided by Kansas State Historical Society; Topeka, KS

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn82015485/1893-04-22/ed-1/seq-1/

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"Yearly Subscription 1
O, WTltorB realistic I
Won't you, jutit to please a friend,
IBe not so pcsBimistiu
In the way your storieB end?
Jndoan'tyou now and tbeu contnva
To let the lovers wed.
Nor have the heroine arrive
To find the hero dead?
The fair appearing things of lire
Are not forever bad ;
And even in thiB vale of strife
Are moments that are glad
O' can't you to your word of doubt
Admit a little Hash
Of Bunshme now and then, without
ItB going all to smash?
Quit blasting every happy bud ;
Quit clouding every hour.
Quit smearing all our gods with mud,
Quit making sweet things sour!
We're tired cf repiners who
Embitter every cup.
Elng off ! ye bilious whiners, do
For pity'B sake let up!
-Free Press.
Elsa came in with flushed cheeks
And brilliant eyes.
Laura, bending over a spirit lamp
on the littered table, glanced up from
her brewing.
"I waited awhile for vou, but as
.you did not come " she observed.
lifting the small copper kettle from
the slender blue flame.
"Why did you wait one moment?'1
cried Elsa.
She lingered somewhat over the
simple operations of removing her
gloves and putting up the books she
Drought in. She presently gathered
herself together with an effort
"Did you get any lunch for your
self?" Laura was calmly sipping her tea.
"" "No? Laura, how could you? To
work all day at those illustrations
without eating! Do you meau to say
you have had nothing at all since
Laura, instead of replying, cast a
circular glance about the room.
"What became of the buns? We
had some buns left, had we not?"
Elsa went to an ancient and some
how picturesque chest of drawers,
and from under an improvised drapery
of half a yard of old brocade brought
out a paper bag.
Their eyes met, and in a moment
both girls had broken into long shrieks
of laughter, ending on Elsa's part in
a half-strangled sob.
"Oh, Laura, I am afraid I can't
stand it much longer! It is so so
Laura had consumed her bun and
was now gathering up the two Jap
anese cups and saucers.
"Did you lunch to-day?"
Laura nodded.
.""With Mr. Varian, I suppose?"
Elsa only made a little additional
motion with her pretty head. Then:
KJh, Laura, you don't think there's
any harm in it, do you?" she pleaded.
"That I should have happened to
meet Mr. Varian once or twice and
that he has asked me to take lunch
with him? You see, it is not as
though he were a complete stranger.
As long as he knew grandfather a
little and knows who I am, too, why
it's different somehow. Don't you
think so?"
"In your case no, I don't think
there is any harm exactly."
"Laura! You say that so curiously!
Don't you think Mr. Varian is is a
an "
"An honorable man? I hope so,"
rejoined Laura, coloring in her turn
rapidly under her rich dark skin. "In
anv other case I should advise you to
be more caref uL "
"You're always advising me to be
more careful. But I don't know any
one more inde jendent or more care
less as to what other people may
think than yourself," then remarked
the younger girl in a tone a trifle ag
grieved, "In my case it is very different, '
was the short reply. "I am not
pretty. You are."
"There are times when you are
very, very handsome, Laura," said
Elsa's soft voice with earnest convic
tion. But it was not quite half an hour
"before even up there, where-the last
rays of the summer tirilisht lingered
"' 'Vwilj
. SO.
gesf, Laura was obliged to push
the work from her. As she did so,
waking from the creative absorption
in which she had been lost, a singular
sound attracted her, coming from the
other side of the room. Getting to
her feet she saw that Elsa was sob
bing, with her face buried in the de
moralized upholstery of the scfa bed.
"What is it?" said Laura very
gently and firmly. But already Elsa's
face was buried once more, and this
time upon the shoulders of Laura's
gray stuff dress.
"Nothing, nothing, Laura! But,
oh, I feel so so unhappy and
wretched! I know I'm very, very
weak. But it's so dreadful being so
poor and living so so "
"I warned you, you know, dear,"
came Laura's quiet voice.
"Oh, I know, I know! You are so
brave and strong and talented! But
I don't believe I ever shall succeed,
and and "
There was a little pause, during
which Elsa's sobs grew full of dreary
"You must go home, Elsa."
There was a protesting movement
of her palpitating little figure.
"Yes. You must go back to your
people. You are too tender, too deli
cate, too sensitive for this sort of life.
You know I told you," the girl went
on a little wearily, "that making
one's own living and striking out in
dependently for one's self was not
so easy as it might seem. If a girl
have a good home, even though it
were so simple a one, shj is, perhaps,
safest and happiest in its shelter."
"You mean a girl like me," said
j Elsa, sitting up and nodding her head
with dreary sagacity. ' 'You know that
nothing would induce you to go back
to the sort of life which I should
lead on the farm with grandfather
and Aunt Poll'. But you are differ
ent so different Some day you will
surely succeed, whereas I "
Laura was silent a moment.
"And Mr. Varian?" she finally said.
She felt the presence of the blush
on the other's cheek which she could
not see.
"Don't don't! Don't speak of him
in in that way!" breathed Elsa.
"Come in," called Laura a week
The summary invitation had evi
dently not been heard, for the knock
was repeated after a discreet inter
val. This time Laura rose, and, pencils
in hand, opened the door herself.
"I am very glad to see you, Mr.
Varian, " she said gravely. 'Come in. "
Of the two it was not she who was
embarrassed. Laying down her pen
cils she pushed a chairslightly toward
him with the gesture of a queen.
"Mr. Varian," she said, "1 have
known you but a short time. Prac
tically we are strangers. Yet I think
we shall understand each other. 1
do you the credit of believing that I
can speak frankly to you. l assed
you to come here to see me for a
special reason, which I shall broach
at once. You are aware," she con
cluded, "that Elsa Miss Hart has
returned to her home and friends?"
"Indeed? I had no idea of it
Laura dropped, her eyes for a mo
ment "You make it more difficult for me
to say what I wished," she observed
in a moment "She has gone back
to her friends because she was far too
sensitive and delicate a little creature
to face the hand-to-mouth, struggling
existence of a female art student suc
cessfully. She should never have at
tempted it I blame myself now, for
I love the child dearly. Still, her
year of such experience as she has
known -here would do her no harm,
rather good, perhaps, were it not for
one thing." and here those gray eyes
rested full upon the young man again,
"and with that you, Mr. Varian, are
The gray eye flashed scornfully.
"It is unworthy to dissemble!"
cried Laura. "If you have given
that poor child cause to think that
you love her, and have taught her to
love you in return, there is no reason
why you should-attempt so to conceal
the fact
A-Jfe. "' ' "
"Pardon me, I have been unneces
sarily rude and hasty. But I am
Elsa's best friend, I think. I know
her very thoroughly. Her happiness
seems to have become, in some sense,
my responsibility since she left
the safe shelter of her home
to be with me to try the same
life that I have tried. Mr. Varian,
I believe Elsa is very unhappy now.
And -'
"And you think she is unhappy be
cause I have trifled with ner affec
tions? Led hfer to fix them upon me
when "
"Of course, you are a man of the
world, Mr. Varian, and Elsa is a
mere little country girl." interrupted
Laura, with lapid utterance. Her
case somehow, did not seem so very
clear after all. And strong and col
lected as she always was she was
growing strangely nervous now.
"But Elsa is a good, pure girl,
worthy to be the wife of any man'
she hurried on "And " She
paused abruDtly.
"I honor you more than I can say
for what I have seen of you within
the last ten minutes," said Varian's
voice at this juncture. "Few women
would have had such directness, such
loyalty to a friend, such courage
But there is a mistake here. 1 I
cannot marry Miss Hart."
Laura raised her head. For a mo
ment they measured each other.
"You cannot marry '
"No Because I do not love her.
I have looked upon her as a pretty
child nothing more; and mindful of
her grandfather's kindness to me the
summer that I was thrown from my
horse when riding near his place and
laid up under his roof for weeks, I
have tried to do what little I could
for her. That is all. I sought her
out not for herself, but because she
was your friend because she was
near you. "
She had turned ashy pale. The
pallor of her cheek was reflected on
Verian's. He had not thought to
speak so soon. Their eyes held each
other for a long, breathless pause. In
an instant the young man was on his
knees it her side.
"Laura! Laura!"
"No, no, no!" She shrank away
from his touch; but he had seen the
expression of her eyes, and all his
pulse beat in the intoxication of a
new hope.
"You must go away; you must
never come back, " she said, hoarsely.
"Laura1 You can't mean that?"
the poor fellow gasped.
She had risen to her feet
"Why? Why?" he stammered,
following her as she retreated from
him. A light burst upon him, in
duced by something in her lace.
"It cannot be that You are
not thinking of Elsa, of Miss Hart?
But this is folly, madness! For a
girl like you head and shoulders
above other women such a stand is
"She loved you; she trusted me,"
said Laura, rigid and white in her
effort at self control.
"Good heaven!" the man exclaimed,
driven to bay, "you would not have
me marry a girl I do not love simply
because she happened to fancy other
wise? I deplore the delusion, but
what more can I do? Laura," he
pleaded, "you will not send me
"Yes." She still stood rigid, with
downcast eyes.
"At least," he pleaded again, after
a moment of silence, "will you not
tell me that you care for me a
Not even then would she raise her
"Very well. 1 shall go now, but I
shall come hack. Do you hear me?
Time works many changes and I
shall return."
And. so saying, he left her.
But she never hoped for his return.
She never expected it
The last of the warm days had
flown, the autumn afternoons were
growing short, Laura worked on,
leading her own solitary lifa
She had fresigned herself to the
solitude in which she seemed to have
been abandoned. Her pencil never
faltered in these days. But the hand
that wielded it aid grown thin and
r.rie,l -
white, and the blue veins showed like
delicate tracery under the transpar
ent skin.
She was coming home late one dark
afternoon, when, in the gloom-fllled
landing before her door, she made
out an indistinct form. It did not
move at her approach, and only when
she had thrown open the door did she
recognize who it was.
Then she staggered back a little
"You see, i have come back as I
told you I would," said Varian.
In the stronger light of the room
he saw how changed she wasand how
she trembled.
"Laura my poor girl!"
Even then she strove to push him
from her.
"Good heaven, Laura," he cried,
stepping back; "do you not know
that Elsa Hart is married?"
He drew a folded paper from his
"You see, she was married two
weeks ago, and to a fellow I happen
to know, a clever young artist, rising
in his profession, who spent his sum
mer sketching on her grandfather's
farm. Now, Laura, will you come
to jne?"
, V-yiit now couia sne, -now coma
she "
"Forget me so soon?" laughed
Varian. "Pardon me, dearest, but I
think you rather overrated the depth
of her feelings. She liked me no bet
ter than she would have liked many
other men who happened to be a little
kind or attentive to her. She is a
dear, sweet little woman, but" he
broke off impatiently why should
we talk of her? You have not yet
answered a question I once put to
"What question?" The girPs eyes
would not meet his.
"I asked you once if you cared for
me a little."
Then, indeed, her gray eyes met
his with the full glance of the Laura
of old.
"I think 1 have always cared
from the first more than a little,"
she said. Washington Post
The CoUectlng: Mania.
A most violent fad is that of col
lecting collecting no matter what,
so long as a collection is made. Fans,
china, gloves, shoes, watches, gems,
and so on ad nauseam. 1 heard a
man say the other day to a young wo
man, "I wish I Knew something
to collect." "China," suggested
madame. And the dear fellow went
immediately to work buying china
cups and plates and pitchers. One
girl I know announced some time ago
that she was collecting plates for a
harlequin dessert set, and that con
tributions would be gratefully re
ceived. Her friends found it an easy
way to pay her a compliment and at
the present time her collection num
bers 119. The young woman would
fain have stopped long ago, but the
word had gone forth and her last con
dition is worse than her first and
her fate will probably be to lie buried
'neath these bits of china, as did the
Indian maid who had betrayed her
father's city beneath the gold and jew
els the invaders heaped upon her.
Another girl is collecting vinai
grettes. She had seventy-nine at last
counting, and is still in it These
are a few of the least hurtful fads.
There are others, many of them, not
so harmless; and think what might
be accomplished if half the time and
energy expended on this one fad of
collecting were devoted to some even
fairly useful purpose! A fad is pretty
sure to be not in the best taste. It
argues a departure from established
form, and usually in matters where
custom, necessity, and circumstance
have chosen the best method for
establishment The reaction is sure
to come, and after the untastefui
prodigality, perhaps simplicity will
obtain. When we tire of the orchid,
perhaps we shall go hack to the daisy,
and bethink ourselves that, after all,
old things are best Harper's Bazar.
The more worthless a man is, the
mora he likes to sit and spit on a hot
AxA2fi3 only, allowed to speak
well of women and religion.
'. ,; state foist society
-. " -
, ,
v I
, - j-
Cam's Horn Sonnds a Warning Not t
the Unredeemed.
MALL books are
read the most
Praise never
has to be coaxed,
Don't try to
carry all your re
ligion in your
It is as wicked
not to do right
as it is to do
A Christian's
working capital is his faith in God.
Truth is always willing to be bap
tized with fire.
The Drayer of faith never stops ex
pecting an answer.
Nobody can become rich by never
giving away anything.
No man treats Christ well who
treats his wife like a mule.
We never love God until we find
out that he is a God of love.
Purity in prison pays better divi
dends than sin in a palace.
It is hard to feel at home with
people who never make mistakes.
It takes a fool a lifetime to find
out what others see at a glance.
He who would be strong in mind
must have facts for his diet
The best workers are those who
have learned best how to rest.
The pleasures of sin have a bright
look, but their touch is death.
The man who never praises his
wife deserves to have a poor one.
It is only a little of the preacher's
work that is done in the pulpit
It takes contact with others to
make us acquainted with ourselves.
What some people call prudence is
often what others call meanness.
The devel shoots hard at the man
who makes an honest tax return.
There is no investment that pays
any better dividends than being good.
Good men are hated because their
lives tell sinners that they are wrong.
The devil may drag a Christian
sometimes, but he can never drive
The man who is faithfully im
proving his one talent will soon have
Whenever we look at the dust
we ought to remember where God
found us.
The sin that is not entirely blotted
out will soon cover the whole page
The man who is ruled by his feel
ings will always travel in a zig-zag
Whenever a soul is saved God has
given another proof that the Bible is
Not many tears aye shed when the
man dies who has lived only for him
self. There is no such thing as getting
rich without asking 'God to tell you
The man who is not afraid of a lit
tie sin will soon be in the power of a
big one.
The devil never feels that he is los
ing ground in the home where there
is a moaerate drinker.
The Ravages of the Hookworm.
One of the greatest plagues with
which the librarian has to deal is a
little insect; called Augiossa pinguin
alis, which deposits its larva in books
in the autumn. These produce a
mite which does a great deal of mis
chief. Small wood-boring beetles
also cause much destruction among
the covers and bindings. The best
preventive Is the use of mineral salts
in the binding. Where this has not
been done, the book shelves should be
sprinkled with powdered, alum and
pepper, and the books should be rubbed
3nce or twice a year with a piece
Df cloth that has been steeped in" a
solution of alum and dried. This
tviil effectually prevent the ravages
of the hookworm.
When a hoy goes out doors in win
ter, he IeavSs the door open, to warm
" She hill where he intends to slide.
r I - Pr-
& CROOKS, Propra.
A Book that
Cost Little,
but is Worth
Among the things not generally
Known is this fact: There is at the
present moment, something like
$100,000 worth of a particular kind
of book floating around America and
nobody knows where the volumes are,
nor is it likely that the present pos
sessors are aware of the value of
The name of the book is "Alice in
Wonderland." and this is how Alice
got into Wonderland in the first
This most popular imaginative
work was written by a mathemati
cian, of all persons on the earth. As
everybody knows, his nom de guerre
is Lewis Carrol, and as everybody does
not know his real name is G
L. Dodgson. Mr. Dodgson is
mathematical tutor in Oxford
and is, I believe, a Christ Church
man. I am told that Mr. Dodgson
knows absolutely nothing of Lewis
Carrol. The delightful and charm
ing writer Lewis Carol, on the other
hand, probably cares very little about
the man of figures in Oxford. They
are the Doctor Jekyil and "Mr. Hyde
of literature in a way, although of
course neither Carrol nor the mathe
matician are given to the deplorable
habits of Mr. Hyde. If you wish to
communicate with the author ot
"Alice in Wonderland" you must
write to Mr. Lewis Carrol, care of his
London publishers. If you wish to
consult an authority on figures, write
to Mr. Dodgson at Oxford.
The editor of a big London daily, t
ignorant of the etiquette in these'
matters, wrote Mr. Dodgson asking
him to contribute to the big London
weekly. The editor was much of
fended at the reply he received. He
found that the grave mathematician
knew nothing about the frivolous
writings of Lewis Carrol.
But all this has no more to do with
the books in America than the writer
ot children's stories has to do with
"Alice in Wonderland" was writ
ten nearly thirty years ago. The au
thor secured John Tenniel of Punch,
as illustrator. The books were
printed at Oxford. The Oxford press
at that day knew very little about
printing wood cuts. When Tenniel
saw the book he was wroth and he
absolutely refused to have a copy
sent out with his name attached to
it, because his illustrations had been
so badly produced. The Oxford press
was evidently not proud of the produc
tion, for its name does not appear on
the volume. The publishers found
themselves with 2,000 copies of a
book by an unknown writer on their
hands which they dare not circulate
in England. At that day anything
was thought good enough for Amer
ica, so the whole 2,000 were dumped
in at New York to be sold for what
they would bring.
They were sold and are now scat
tered all over the land. Anyone who
has a copy is hereby informed that it
is worth 350 to-day on the London
market. When the 2,000 books were
landed in New York anyone might
have bought the package for about
the price of the paper and the print
ing. If he had kept them until to
day he would have made a good thing
out of it
Even the English first edition i
valuable. It bears the imprint of
Clay of London, and fetches from $25.
to $30. Of course "Alice in Won
derland" was largely pirated in the
United States. These Uew York
editions, however, are valueless from
the book collector's point of view.
Somewhat Eccentric
Charles Lamb's dear old bookish
friend George Dyer, could never be
?ot to say an ili word, even of the
vilest miscreant. "Come now,
George," said Lamb one day, on teas
ing intent, "now what do you say of
Williams?" (Williams was theKat
sliff Highway murderer, the Jack th
Ripper of his day, celebrated in De
Quincey's 'Murder as aEine Art.")
"Well, Mr. L3mD," replied Dyer, "I
must admit he was a somewhat o
sentric character."

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