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The Denison Review
When things go right we can be good
And all the Christian virtues show—
Do unto others as we would
Be done by—seeds of kindness sow.
Still, all my praise I will reserve
For him who, battered hard and long.
Still keeps his temper and his nerve
When things go wrong.
—Chicago Daily News.
ft The Consequence ft
doctor looked into the woman's
brave eyes and slowly pronounced
her sentence.
"The operation must take place with
in a few days or
"Or what?'1*
"It may bo trfo late to operate at all."
"And-^I will get through it safely?"
"I hope so."
"You are not sure. You think there
is a risk?"
"There is always a risk in .every
operation," he answered, evasively.
"Tell me the truth, doctor I can
bear it."
The old man looked into the desper
ate ej'es and put his hand gently on
the woman's shoulder.
"You are a brave woman. I will tell
you the truth. This operation will be
a very serious one—in fact, there is
only a chance that you will survive it.
But there is a chance, and for the sake
of it you must not lose heart."
"Couldn't I wait till next month
Just for a few weeks longer? It surely
•would not make any difference if it
•was postponed till then."
"My child," the doctor answered, "if
we postponed it for a few weeks, for
even one week, you will lose one chance
of recovery. Besides, you will suffer
such agony that your life will be un
bearable. Let me advise you, and
makovup your mind to go through it
"Within the next few days. You
must go into the hospital to-morrow to
be prepared for it."
Then he explained the arrangements
lie would make for her, and after lis
tening in a dazed, half-stupid fashion,
Elizabeth said "good-by" to him, and
wearily went out in the cold and dark
less of the evening.
She drove along in a hansom with
tears running down her white cheeks,
and her heart rebelling at the cruel
hand of Pate that had so unsparingly
dealt her this blow. Had she deserved
it? Was this trial sent to her because
she had set one man upon a pedestal
and worshipped him to the exclusion
of the whole world? Or was it because
she, like a fool, had thrust away with
laughing eyes the happiness that had
been held out to her, and the gods had
guessed it was only a freak, and were
punishing her because she insolently
played with the best thing they had
to give? Six months ago, when David
Moore had started to tell her how dear
6he was to him, she had stopped him
«vith a laugh, and had warned liim that
it would be wiser to wait till he re
turned from abroad before he decided
that sho was the "only woman in the
world." She did not know why she
had done it why, when her heart was
craving for his love, she had coquetted
and warded him off. But right deep
down she knew that it was for his own
sake to give him a fair chance of see
ing other younger, more beautiful
women, before she let him tell her that
she was the best of all.
"I'll be back in six months, Eliza
beth," he said, holding her hands
tightly, and looking into the sweet
gray e.^es. "I'll come straight to you.
You will listen to me then you will
then believe that I am in earnest."
And so he left her.
And now the six months were at an
end for that morning a telegram had
come telling her of his arrival in En
gland and to expect to see him to
She had lived every hour of her life
in these months for David everything
she did was for his sake—was to please
him. And now, when the time had
really come, and he would be with her
in a few hours, she must gather up
her strength and send him away with
out a word of love, without a sign of
It was because the pain had waged
fiercely through the night that sho
determined to go to a doctor to beg for
something to give her relief, for the
time at least. She had gone, and had
had her sentence pronounced.
Although ne had not actually said so,
Elizabeth guessed that even if she did
survive the operation she would always
be a weak, delicate woman. And in her
great love she decided to sacrifice even
one hour of joy—she could never beai
to be a drag on David, she must send
him away again without explaining the
When shj} arrived at the house where
she lived in Kensington, she turned
down the lamps' under their red shades
1 f*
imill)l l^yjIHImffflWyyUf
E. F. TUCKER, Publisher
When things so right it Isn't hard
To keep a pleasant, cheerful face,
For other folk to have regard *-wi
And grant requests with smiling grace.
Sometimes fate knocks a man around
And scourges him with double thong
It's not so easy, I have found,
When things go wrong.
When things go right we can agree
With anyone on anything.
There's good in all that we can see
And joyous are the songs we sing.
But leaden grow the dancing feet, *m
We have to sing another song wis:**.
And trouble sours our little sweet «&<!.
When things go wrong. :&s
the fire. She decided to postpone her
preparations of her illness until after
her visitor had gone. She would only
have time now to prepare herself for
the scene she must go through with
After she had some tea she went to
her room. The frock she had chosen
to wear was lying on the bed. It was
a sofe blue silk, and was very simply
made. Quickly she put it back into
the wardrobe and took down one that
was just sufficiently old-fashioned to
be dowdy,
"Molly s,Hid I looked 20 in blue and
35 in black she whispered, as she laid
It on the bed.
Then she unfastened her hair. She
remembered some one once saying,
"To part the hair in the center either
makes a woioan look much older or
much younger than she actuaHy is. I
think, Elizabeth, that it makes you
look much older." Taking up the
comb, she carefully made a parting
down the center of hef head and twist
ed her hair into a tight knob at the
The reflection that the mirror sent
back to her made her shudder.
Then she put on the dowdy black
frock. Ugh! she did look plain and old
and commonplace. No man could
make love to a woman who looked like
that. And of all men, not David Moore,
for she knew so well that he liked a
woman to be good to look at.
Having finished her strange toilette,
she went down to her sitting-room and
waited. Fifteen minutes later her vis
itor came.
Elizabeth saw him start and the sur
prised look in his eyes as she held out
her hand to him and asked coolly how
he had enjoyed his trip.
"Are you ill, Elizabeth?" he said,
quickly, without answering her, and
looking anxiously at the face that had
changed almost beyond recognition
since he last saw it.
"No, no! Why should I be ill?"
"You look so white and—"
"Old," she finished. "Well, I am
six months older you must remember
since you went away, and I am not the
type of woman who wears well."
"Is anything the matter? Are you
in trouble?"
"What should there be to trouble
me? I never do anything but have
a good time. I love excitement, and
all that sort of thing."
The man looked as if he was not
sure he had heard aright.
"No," Elizabeth continued. "I am
not really different, but you have been
accustomed to fresh young faces late
ly, and so poor mine seems old and
withered in comparison. But please
don't waste the time in discussing my
appearance. Tell me how you enjoyed
your visit."
"Fairly but I was so anxious to get
back to London to see you again that
I did not think much about it. .You
know why I wished to be here by the
15th, Elizabeth?"
She looked as though she was try
ing to remember.
"Darling," he went on, coming close
to her, "you have not forgotten that
you said you would listen to me when
I returned. You know, without any
words, that you are the dearest wom
an in the world to me, and that I wish
you for my wife."
"Your wife!" she echoed, with a
sneering laugh. "Thank you, no. I
must decline the honor."
"Elizabeth!" and his face went
white as he held her hands tightly,
"what do you mean?"
'"Just that," she said. "I decline the
"Then," and he dropped her hands
and'turned away, "I had better go. I
was a conceited fool. Forgive me.
love for you has carried me too far."
Even in the half-lit room, Eliza
beth's face looked strangely white as
she put lior hand to her side and
leaned back in the cushions.
But she laughed again.
"Ah, it does not matter. You will
forget it as readily as I will. And
perhaps, after all, it was my own fault.
But you must always allow for a wom
an changing her affections. It is a
woman's way, you know."
"No, I did not know," coldly.
"Why not? She may vary her
frocks—why not her affections?"
"For heaven's sake, don't talk like
that. You might be a heartless flirt by
your tone."
"I hardly think I am that, for your
sex does not interest me sufficiently.
But I am a woman of the world, and
not a silly, love-sick girl."
"I never imagined you to be a silly,
love-sick girl, any more than I
thought you as a 'woman of the world,'
as you put it. Perhaps it will amuse
you to hear that I was foolish enough
to think you were—well, altogether
"Yes, it is rather absurd," she an
swered, driving her nails into her hand
as she stood up and held out her right
one to him. "Good-by. There is no
need to extend this interview. Be
sides, I am busy to-night.' You will
excuse me."
He took her hand and held it tight
ly, as he looked into her tired gray
"Elizabeth, Elizabeth," he whis
pered, "what does it all mean? Have
you nothing kind to say to me?"
"Yes forget me as soon as you can.
And—you will loso your beauty sleep
if you don't go quickly."
He dropped her hand and went out
of the house.
Her acting had been a success, too
much of a success, for not only had
he gone away with the idea that'slie
was indifferent to him, but sho had
forced him to despise her for her
levity. Yet, after all, it was better
thus it would be less difficult for him
to cast her out of his heart.
She certainly did look plain. Yet her
appearance had nut made any differ
ence to him. Ah! that look of con
cern in his eyes when he asked her if
she was ill. Why couldn't she have
J/-. slLeLM
Sj 4. V* ?f & 4
and told thn maid to put more coal on told him It would have been so sweet
She then rang for her maid, and.
after explaining about what was to
happen to her, she gave her the letter
and said what she wished her to do
with it.
No surgeon can ever be quite certain
to what length a disease has spread
until he starts to use the knife, and
oftentimes he finds i^ more or less seri
ous than he anticipated.
So it was that when Dr. Sanders
commenced to operate on Elizabeth
Trent he was agreeably surprised to
find that, instead of her case being
most complicated, it was merely an
ordinary one.
"She will be all right now, nurse,"
the great surgeon said after the oper
ation. "Fortunately, it has not been
so serious as we feared. It is a de
cidedly interesting case, and she will
pull through splendidly with careful
It was two weeks later when Eliza
beth asked her maid if she had de
stroyed the letter she had given to her
on the eve of the operation.
"Destroy it, Miss Elizabeth?" the
woman answered. "I thought you said
to post it if you lived."
"Oh Harmon! You surely have not
sent that letter?"
"Yes, Miss Elizabeth, I have. I
thought you wanted me to destroy it
if anything happened to j-ou, and to
post it if you got safely through tK
operation. I waited until last night to
make sure that you did not have a re
lapse, then I thought it was time."
Before Elizabeth could answer a
nurse came in with a florist's box in
her hand and a bright smile on her
"This is for you. Miss Trent," she
said. "Shall I unfasten it?"
Elizabeth cried out in joyous sur
prise at the wealth of beautiful flowers
with which the box was filled. But
her eyes went beyond them to a letter
that lay partly hidden in their leaves.
"It is from David," she whispered,
softly, as she gazed at the dear, fa
miliar handwriting. As she opened it
with quick, trembling fingers, the nurse
and Harmon quietly went out of the
"My darling," Elizabeth read, "I
have just received your letter. Only
half an hour before, I met Mansfield,
and he told me of your illness. I
thought he must be mistaken, but he
said his wife had been to see you at
the hospital*yesterday. My first im
pulse was to go and beg them to let
me see you, but I remembered that you
would not care to have me. Feeling
deadly miserable, I went back to my
rooms, and there found* your letter
waiting for me. Oh, Elizabeth! It
seems too wonderful to be true—that
you should love me like that. Why,
my dear, you were never more lovable
in my eyes than you were that night.
You looked ill and tired, and I longed
to have the right to take care of you
and shield you frftm all annoyances.
When I remember the hard things I
said I feel that it will take all my life
to endeavor to wipe them out. Eliza
beth, almost as soon as'you read this
I will be with you. And then—my
atonement will commence."—Black
and White.
Truths from the Deaert.
Do not inquire the way to a village
you can see.
The camel's kick is soft, but it takes
life away.
The camel carries the load the dog
does the panting.
A dervish once traveling through the
desert met a camel, and said to him:
"Friend, your lip is crooked!" The
camel replied: "What is there straight
about'me that you take exception to
my lip?"—From "In Lighter Vein" in
!. JL
to have had his loving sympathy!
And if her operation was to be as
serious, and the result as fatal, as she
feared, was there not some way in
which she might, before it was too late,
wipe out the false impression she had
made to-night? She conld not bear
the thought that he would think bit
terly of hor—afterward. Surely it
would be some comfort to him to know
the truth then. Yes, he must be told.
She would write a letter and confess
all. If she lived, it would be de
stroyed if she died, it must be deliv
"I have sent you away from me," she
wrote, "and am now breaking my
heart because I will never look into
your face again. David, to-night I
acted a part to you. I forced myself
to be cold and false. I made myself
a fright to prevent you telling me of
your love. I knew that if you did so
I would not have the strength to resist
you. I did not want you to guess that
I cared. I wanted you to think me a
heartless flirt—to despise me—any
thing, rather than you should regret
or have a heartache.
"To-day my doctor told me that I
must go under the knife within the
next few days. He said that there was
a slight chance, but in my heart I know
that, if I do live, I will be a weak, sick
ly woman. But I don't believe there is
a chance, so I want to tell you how dear
you are to me before it is too late. I
love you as only a woman can love
the man who represents everything
that is good and strong and true to her.
For nearly two years I have waited to
hear you say what you said to-night.
Six months ago I prevented you be
cause I was not quite sure I thought
it would be wiser for you to wait until
you returned. I could not realize that
the glory of your love should be show
ered on me. I thought it fair for you
to see other women before you offered
your life to me.
"David I want you to understand how
desperately hard it was to refuse to
listen to you to-night. It was the
greatest sacrifice I have ever made in
my life, and I prayed for strength to
do it. My whole being revolted at the
part I set myself to play, although I
felt it was best for you—now and after
ward. Can you forgive me, David?"
He (continuing the narrative)—It took
me but a moment to collect my scattered
She—I shouldn't imagine it would take
you long.—N. Y. Daily News.
The Necessary Part.
It isn't the thing you do
That brings success to you—
It's the way you advertise it
Though your work Is the best on earth,
You must whoop for all you're worth
To induce the world to prize it.
—Chicago Record-Herald.
Not Breakable.
Clarence Willyboy—I have come to
consult you in regard to breaking my
uncle's will.
Bill Conkey (lawyer)—How much
did he leave?
Clarence Willyboy—Five thousand
Bill Conkey—Break a flve-thousand
dollar will? W'y, say, young feller!
five thousand dollars wouldn't Jast
long enough to make a dent In it.—
Husband—Would you have married
me if I'd been a poor man? But p'r'aps
that is rather an indiscreetquestion?
Wife—Questions are never indiscreet,
dear answers sometimes are.—Ally
Parodied for Present Use.
Truth crushed to earth will rise again,
And cut another cherry tree
But error on the baseball field
Gets jumped on most unmercif'ly.
—N. Y. Herald.
The Scare That Failed.
Edgar—There are 30,000,000 microbes
in one plate of ice cream.
Ethel—Oh, let's have some. How de
lightful to get so much of anything for
so little money!—Cincinnati Commer
cial Tribune.
Fact and Fancy.
Howell—I told Rowell to-day that he
should hitch his wagon to a star.
Powell—He is more apt to have his
automobile waiting around for a sou
brette.—Town Topics.
Mrs. Cutting R. E. Marks—I hope
we'll be settled in our new flat the next
time you call.
Mr. Borem Sew—When are you going
to move?
Mrs. Cutting R. E. Marks—Not for
several months yet.—Chicago
„,- fr
Facts in the Case.
Greening—Allow me to congratulate
you, old man. I hear you recently mar
ried a young lady with an Independent
Browning—So I thought at the time
the wedding was pulled off, but I find
I married a fortune with an independ
ent young lady.—Cincinnati Enquirer.
The Juvenile Idea.
Johnny—Maw's always talkin' about
a hygienie diet. What is a hygienic
Tommy—It's a kind of diet you don't
'll:e!—Chicago Tribune.
Politics in the Sanctum.
Sub-Editor—What shall we call the
political meeting that was held in the
town last night—a "gathering" or a
Editor (who has been away)—Was it
on our side?
Sub-Editor—No our opponents'.
Editor—Well, then, call it a fiasco, of
course. Surely you know that much.—
Tit-Bits. ~,
Misery Loves Company.
The poor, benighted heathen has no bills
to fret his life
He never has to purchase gowns or bon
nets for his wife
He never has to fuss and fume and struggle
To have cash for the packages that come
in C. O. D.
Contribute liberally for the sullen heathen,
And let us put him In the plight of all the
other men.
Where he. no longer Ignorant, unthinking,
and despised.
May know Just what it means to be com
pletely civilized. W
—Chicago Tribune.
She (after a little tilt)—I'll promise,
hubby, to be real nice to you after this
—more I certainly can't do.
He—Yes, you can keep the promise.
—Fliegende Blaetter. f,
Two Views.
matter how I plot and scheme and
My trade's going to the dogs—a sad de
"That's funny," said the merry sauS»g«
le, the dogs all go t«
Why, is
"I always
Miss Flirty—Your husband tried to
kiss me last night!
Mrs. Dash—Ah! Well, he's not par
ticular when he's been drinking.—Illus
trated Bits.
"I will not deceive you." the doctor siaid.
"Your life hangs now by aslender thread."
Spoke the tailor, feebly: 'That will do,
If the thread's waxed, doctor, I'll puli
—Chicago Tribunp.
Drew the Line.
"I did say I could live on a desert
island with you, my love," she tear
fully protested, when he charged her
with indifference. "But I did not say
I could live with you on canned
goods."—N. O. Times-Democrat.
Stricken Off the Pay-RolX.
"It seems to me rather ridiculous to
call a workman who quits work a
"Why so?"
"Because usually he's the one who is
stricken."—Philadelphia Ledger.
Supreme Indorsement.
"He is an egotistic person."
"Very. He is one of these people who
cannot think of a higher compliment
than the remark 'I agree with you.'
Washington Star.
Orators and Others.
Mrs. Crimsonbeak—When a man
talks a good deal he is called an ora
tor, I believe?
Mr. Crimsonbeak—Yes.
"Well, when a woman talks a good
deal what is she called?"
"A nuisance."--Tonkers Statesman
Horse and Horse.
Merchant—I'm looking for a man I
can trust.
Applica-nt for Position—Then I guess
there's nothing doing. I'm looking fcr
a man who would trust me.—Chicago
"4$ $$ V\ ^j.
xS V4 A. -°rt *3 -L, jt A« ?r sS'
.* j^f^j
A Tip.
posed Mrs. Dazzler's dia­
monds were real until the other night."
"What convinced you that they were
"Why, I asked her where she bought
her cut glass, and she really got an
gry. There's where she wasn't clever.
If she had taken it as a joke I would
have never known the difference."—.
Detroit Free Press.
Xn Recent Years the Supply of Loana
ble Money Has Become
Scarce and Dear. •r.
Russra's position is like that of a
nobleman who has a large but utterly
neglected estate and a house that is fall
ing about his ears, who is deeply in debt,
who pays one lender by borrowing from
another, who sees his debts steadily
mounting up toward the point a^whicU"''
ruin becomes unavoidable and who des- •,
perately makes the most fantastic at
tempts at making money, hoping to dis
entangle himself, says O. Eltzbacher! in
the Nineteenth Century. One of Rus
sia's strange expedients for getting
money was lately revealed. According
to its extremely well-informed Peking
correspondent, Russia claimed, after:
the Boxer rising, from China, an in
demnity of £17,900,000, on the ground:5™
that she kept 179,000 soldiers in China
at an expense of £100 each. According
to the Peking correspondent of the
Times she kept in reality only 50,000 in
Of late years the supply of loanable'
money has for various reasons become,
scarce and dear in the various money
centers of the world, and it would have
been extremely difficult for Russia to
provide for her ordinary peace expendi
ture, as she would not easily have been
able to obtain these loans without which'
she can apparently not make both ends
»eet. Therefore it is not easy to see
how Russia will be able to raise the
funds necessary for carrying on the Jap
anese war, which wi^ll probably prove
exceedingly costly, and how she will*
meet her current obligations unless she
should abandon her overambitious pol
icy, which is beyond her financial
strength, and disband her army and
navy. However, such an event seems
hardly likely.
Many of the best observers have for a
long time past been of opinion that Rus
sia is financially unable to conduct a
great war. However, lack of money has
never prevented a nation from going to
war, for it may make up for its war ex
penses by repudiating its public debt.
Whether Russia will meet her obliga
tions in full remains to be seen. If she
should be forced to repudiate or to com
pound with her foreign creditors, either
because of the costliness of the present
war or because the international money
market can no longer supply Russia's
insatiable financial requirements, it will
be an evil day for the French nation,
which has lent to Russia more than
Russia's financial collapse would prob
ably mean the break-up of the dual al
liance, for in the first place the thrifty
Frenchman is exceedingly sensitive
when his pocket is touched and in the
second place Russia would have proved
herself financially unable to be an efR-\
cient ally to France in case of war. Am
ple funds are, after all, sinews of war
which are as indispensable as are armies
and fleets.
Negroes Predominate in Muskogee,
Whites Come Next and Reds
af ,« Are Almost Rarities.
The first impression one gets of
Muskogee, the largest and most impor
tant town in Indian territory, is that
of a southern city with a large negro
population. The negro predominates,
the whites come in next and the red
men are often pointed out as excep
tions, one might almost say raritie?.
And yet, says the Kansas City Journal,
legally and technically in Muskogee a
large proportion of these negroes and
white men are Indians and are called
such and this is true throughout th'
Creek and Muskogee nation. The
title Indian includes Indians by blood,
Indians by intermarriage and freed
The freedmen are the .slaves who
were liberated (Jui'ing the civil war,
or their descendants. They were ad
mitted to full citizenship in the Creek
nation and are entitled to share in the
distribution of the lands and moneys
of the tribe. They fan vote for the sstffl
tribal officers and are eligible to tho
tribal offices. The Creek council, con
sisting of the house of kings and tho
house of warriors, is in part made up
of negroes.
Freedmen, however, have not been
admitted to citizenship in the two
southern tribes, the Choctaws and thn
Chickasaws, but the United States gov
ernment proposes to give them 40
acres of land apiece, but it must reim
burse these two nations for the lands
thus presented by a generous govern
ment to those who were formerly in
bondage to the government's wards—
the Indians.
Intermarriage between the full-blood
Indians and the freedmen has been
frequent and extended among the
Creeks somewhat less so among the
Seminoles, and practically unknown
among the Choctaws and Chickasaws
The existence of these negroes in such
numbers as in the Creek nation and
under the circumstances creates a ne
gro problem of great importance and
greater difficulty.
Pattern Right at Hand.
"I am supposed to die of a broken
heart," said the unmanageable actress
"Now, how am I to know how a per
son with a broken heart behaves
"I'll tell you what to do," answered
the plain-spoken manager. "You study
the author of this play after he sees
your first performance of it." Stray
Doctored Herself.
A woman died in St. Leonards, Eng
land, recently, of self-doctoring, as she
disliked doctors. A witness at the in
quest testified that deceased had been
known to take at one time, just before
going to bed, nine compound rhubarb
pills, several mixtures, four tablespoon
tyls of senna, three tablespoonfuls o{
cascara and a quantity of magnesia
*•"5? vW

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