SYBILLA'S EXPERIMENT.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume LVI, Issue LVI, 21 July 1909, Page 2

SYBILLA'S EXPERIMENT.

(By Quewiie Scott-Hopper.)

PART II

J. .fILLXiX J.i. "I am going to- Avrite kn Mr Acton j and send him the poem as the work of . a friend who desires for the present to remain anonymous. Thus I shall make sure of obtaining a clear, dispassionate judgment on itsj merits. The worst of it is," she continued, knitting her pretty brows, "there is & hard-and-fast regulation about manuscripts being typewritten." "I will typewrite the versea with j pleasure, if you like," volunteered Madge). "1 have a typewriter, as you know, and at present, unfortunately, it is swelling the ranks of the unemployed. You are heartily welcome to its services." "Thank you, Madge — thatfs capital!" said Sybilla. "You aviH do it very nicely, won't! you?" "Accuracy " and neatness gua.ra.nr teed," declared Madge, with a bow. "All commissions promptly executed to clients' invariable satisfaction). Give me the precious manuscript, my child, and you shafi have it back by ttai time." "You're a dear," said Sybilla, "and I'm very much obliged ! By the way, Madge, I wonder if you ha.ye any seasonable little verses that you would like to send to The Scepter at tihe samel time? They would be sure of receiving consideration: — at any rate,shei added, with a pretty air of importance, "if they were brought to the editor's notice by a letter from me." Madge's face brightened. "Oh, would you ready do that, Sybilla?" she gratefully exclaimed. "It is kind of you to offer. I wrote a poem the other day that I think might have a chance of success. It was called 'St. Valentine's Day,' like yours, but I can, easily find some other namei for it. I will typewrite it this afternoon and kit you ha,ve it when I am returning yours, if you are quite sure that you don't mind sanding it on." "Quite sure," said the editor's sweetheart,. "You won't feel too dreadfully disappointed, wiil you, if it should come back?" "Oh, dear, neT rejoined Madge, with a harsh little ring in her voice. "One takes one's disappointments as a> matter of course. It is > the successes that are the wonderful and bewildering surprise;." j Madge and the manuscript took their departure, and a little later in the day a small, neatj roll was handed in to Sybifla. Shet unfolded iteagerLy. How pretty her verse© looked in type ! She raad them over three times, and at each 1 reading liked them more. Then sihe looked up the original manuscript in her desk and thought she would take a, look at Madge's produc 1 tion. It was called "The,. Saint of Lovers," and was an insignificant trifle twelve lines long. Sybilla glanced hastily through it and discovered that Madge had omitted, to append her name). "Oh, Madge wants to be anonymous, too, does she?" thought Sybilla. "It's quite 1 a necessary precaution on her part.. Gerald couldn't possibly be influenced by knoiwifig that her namei is Margaret HaHiday." She wrote. hor little letter in businesslike terms, as befitted a communication) addressed tor the editor at his official headquarters, and enclosed the twoi typewritten poems, aocompaniedi in the proper way by a stamped addressed envelope! for possible return). Them she mailed it with her owni hands in the ptllar-bo>x round the corner and waited for results. The editor responded with a deigreie of promptness that is rare in editors. Gerald Acton and his Scepter wielded power over many, but Sybilla and hesn \ scepter wielded power over Gerald. ' And the editor's sweetheart was left j iv no long suspense concerning the editor's judgment on her anonymous - friends. "With regard to the versies you • send me," wrote the editor; after a ' page devoted to purely personal matters, "I fear I must return ''St. Valeu> ' tine's Day' to the author with my com- 1 pliments and regret — my compliments on her audacity in sending the production, and my regret ,that she) should ever 1 have written it. • I fear I j can hold out no hope tha.t she will ever be able to write poetry ; but by • procuring an elementary handbook on the lilies of verse-making ' she may possibly succeed in discovering what is rhymes and what is not. One's J teeth cha/t^r ia one's head as onei , leads^ — " 'But now the dreary winter-time is o'er, And past those cutting gales with edges raw.' | Until our young rhymer gets rid of some of her 'edges raw* I must beg of her to give The Scepter a wide berth. And why extract a whole line bodily from Tennyson without so much as a quotation comma in acknowledgment of the poet's prior claim to it? I suppose your friend knows in which of his poemisi occurs the passage slid has so shamefully annexed. No, 'St. Valen^ tinei's Da/ — the effusion of a 'spring poet' of the worst type — will not do for j The Sce.pt.er. 'The Saint of Lovers' is, ' on the other hand, a real poem — ori- , ginal in conception) and charmingly I graceful and tender in execution. I j shall be glad to have the author's namei and address, that I may sond j proof shortly and check in due cours©. I I shall bei glad also to see some further j work from) the/ same" pen. Somehow or j other, though no little bird has whis- 1 pea-ed it, I have a fancy that I can ' makei a shrewd guess as to its author- j ship. If my fancy bei correct), Sybilla, let met congratulate you with all my

heart and urge you to 'go on and prosper.' " The letter slipped from Sybilla' s hand to the floor. Her real, definite grasp of its contents had given way after the cruel words. "No, 'St. Valentine's Day' — the effusion of a 'spring poeit' of the worst type — will not do for The Scepter." Sybilla felt on the verge of suffocation;. "I hate Gerald ! I doteist him ! He is the most odious man I ever met! Calls me a young rhymer — ah-h-h, how dare he? Calls me a thief, just because- I happened to have the same idea* as horrid old Tennyson! Great minds often do think alike. It's a beautiful poem, whatever anybody says about it; and Gerald is a horrid man ! How could I ever have imagin|ed that I liked him 1 I have a graat mind to send him back his engager me<nt ring this very minute 1" She wept vehemently for the nest teai minutes — hot tears of rage and woe; and then, having bethought herself that she wasi due at a church fair that afternoon, and that weeping grievously detracts 1 from personal charms, she endeavored to stem the flowing tide and read the rest of the letter. The rest of the letter was about Madge's poem — how strange that 1 he should have admired it so much! "Original in conception, tender in execution." And, dear me, he imagined it had been executed by Sybilla — Sybilla, who a moment before had been conscious of a wild wish to execute him ! How pleased he had beein at his own "shrewd guess" ! How nice it would have bern to write and say, "Yes, you guessed quite right!" Am' therewith a voice whispered to her from among the soft cuishioais of the easy chair I—the1 — the selfsame voice that first startled and then beguiled Sybilla's ancestress, Eve of Eden. "Put his letter in the fire — the best place for it ! And put 'St. Valentine's Day* in the fir© also — the best place for it, too! Madge Halliday never sees "The Scepter, and if her verses appear in it, with your name below them, why, who will be any the wiser? You can tell her that the editor said " "Ah," whispered another- voice, "how horribly petty and narrowminded women are, event the nicest oi them ! You know very well that you couldn't possibly have written a poem like Madge's, and you are not geaierous enough to give! honor where honor is duiei ! Nay, more — you are plotting a piecei of downright dishonesty and fraud! Oh, Sybilla, Sybilla., how differently you would be acting if you accepted your fata like a mail 1" Sybilla groaned within herself and groveled deeper and deeper among the cushions- of the) easy chair. "Dear mci, how excited Madge will bd! She says that successes are a bewildering surprise. And, putting honor and glory together aside, she does waait a new hat most terribly. It will bei good news for herthab there is a check in prospect, and that Gerald wants to .see some more of her work. Who knows? He might happem to stand fairy godfather to 'Rosamond Merivale' ! I'll go and tell her now, b*efore> lunch. The worst of it is she is j sure to make inquiries after 'St. Valen1 tine's Day 7 I" j And Sybilla's cheeks burned at the; recollection o£.the "raw edges." "I won't take tlie. letter with me — yes, I believe I will. The really, truly j honest-, open thing will be to let ' Madge know the whole truth. And if she crows) over me — well, I can't help it ! I wonder " Here Sybilla came to a meditative pause. j j "I wonder if Madge noticed the 'raw j edges' when she was reading the poem ■ the other day? Perhaps she did; and I while I thought she was keeping back its due of praise she was really keepj ing back its due of something else, j She might have told! ma in a friendly ] Avay; and yet I don't believe, honestly, that it would have been much u&ia I , should have got into a temper and semt my poem to Gerald just the same, and I shouldn't have sent hers: with it; and I suppose things are best as they are. I'll go and tell Mad,a:e first and write- to Gerald afterwards."" j Which she did; and not many ho.urs afterwards! the editor himself appearjed upon the scene and stood, with very much the air of a culprit, in the presence of his "spring poeit of thti worst type." | "It was your own fault, all the same, <my dearest. You should not have done it. If you had taken me into your confidence " "If I had taken you into my con1 fidenot'," declared Sybilla in a ! paroxysm of mingled tears and laughter, "your treatment would not have beem half so vigorous and efficacious. No*, Gerald, I wanted to make sure of having a clear, dispassionate judgment on the merits of my work, and I've got it !" ~ (The End.)