EDITOR'S WALLET.

Otago Witness, Issue 2612, 6 April 1904, Page 71

EDITOR'S WALLET.

Two Lovers. — They Had Deceived Each Other. — '

She was , the only daughter of a retired business man, who "had once been eminent. Pie was a young and prosperous lawyer. She was of a morbidly poetical temperament, and looked at life always through a prism of sentiment. He was unimaginative and practical. In a word, each was the complement of the other. "Are you sure, George," she asked him, sighing, "that you really love me?" | 'Absolutely, dearest." "And you have never loved anyone but me? ' "Never — never — never !" "And you will love me always?" "Forever."

He yawned, and looked at his watch. They were half -expecting a visitor. - "Something might happen to change you," she pe-rsisted dreamingiy. "What could?" "Suppose I had a secret in my life which I had never revealed to you?" "What sort of a secret " "I always used to say, dear, that I had told you all about myself — everything; that I was keeping nothing back from you. lam so sorry!" Her eyes grew misty with tears. "I did not intend to deceive you. There is one — only one — event in my life I had never mentioned to you. I had ( forgotten it until lately. It has bee-n my ' one secret — the one page of my life 1 would rather one read "

"Well, and what is it?" he interrupted a little irritably. She sank down on a rug, beside him in an attitude of supplication, and clasped her arms -about his knees.

"Did you know, dear, that I once used to write poetry?" "Well, many persons do that. It may be foolish, but it is not wicked."

"I wrote a great deal of it. My sole ambition then vras to be a poetess. Much of what I wrote was love poetry " "Well, well! Yes?" "And about five years ago, dear, I collected all my poems into a volume, and published them."

"And the heartless man was the publisher?"

"No. The publisher was exceedingly kind. He thought very highly of my work." "Never mind the publisher. I am anxious to get to thab heartless man."

"The book was published, and I saw in a paper called The Gritic — oh, George, it was cruel — cruel !"

"If that is all " "All ! It humiliates me to think of it eve-n now. I rem-ember every harrowing word of it, but cannot — cannot bring myself to repeat them."

"Don't try to. My dear girl, why on earth should you upset yourself like this over a trivial matter that happened and was forgotten five years ago by everybody but yourself?"

"But think how I suffered I The publicity — the disgrace ! 'These poems,' he wrote — oh, do not ask me what he said !" ■ "And yet he may be a quiet, harmless, inoffensive sort of ass, if we only knew him."

"I felt as if all the world was laughing at me."

"You silly thing ! I don't suppose -even a millionth part of the' world knew anything about it. Nobody reads reviews of books except the men who write them." "I could not regard it so stoically," she

sighed. "I cannot even now. You do not altogether realise my titter degradation. These babblings of incipient imbecility.' That vsas one of hh phrases." She shuddered at the recollection of it. "By Jove ! Of course, the best of critics are not angels, but yours must have been a " > "A heartless, heartless man !" [ "If it had 'been a man's book " 1 "He may no* hove known I was a j woman." "You aie too s-evere. No reviewer criticises a book till he has read the title page."' "But I did not use my nime. I wanted to see- if they would mistake my work for that of a man. I called it 'Heart Longings,' by Samuel Jenkins; but all my friends knew, so that really made no difference.'' Be had grown suddenly thoughtful, and spoke absently. i "Tou will forgive me, darling, won't you, for deceiving you?" I "Deceiving me?" he aeked. "Well, for seeming not to confide in you ; unreservedly?" j Taking the childish, pretty face between his hands, he gazed down .into- 'her dreamy blue eyes. "Yes. Well, come to think of it, I remember I have a secret which I have ; never disclosed to you. So, after all, we , are each as bad as the other." She started and scanned his features eagerly.* "You? A secret, George?" "Only a little one — like yours." "But mm© was no secret. I had forgotten it," she protested. "Besides, mine was nothing for which you could blame me." "Now, I want you to make me a promise. If I forgive you, you will forgive me?" She hesitated. "Tell me, first, all about it." "Do you promise?" he insisted. "Yes, ye<s, dear. I promise," she said desperately. "Whatever it is, I love you, and must forgive you." j She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, i "I won't keep you in suspense," said he. "We have both been sinners, and I was J the worse of the two. I must tell you, j then. Before I was a successful lawyer I was a good-for-nothing young scoundrel, with a very good opinion of myself and a j very bad one of everybody ..else. I- was ) a wicked young dog, and did several scandalous things that I am ashamed of now." She caught her breath and -waited in an agony of expectation. "They were all of the same description, but I am sorry on account of one in particular." "And that?" "Well, being hard up, I used to earn odd money in all maiuier of odd ways. 3. was a flippant, self-satisfied brute, and " He j paused, and putting an arm about her, drew her closer to him. "I have a heart now, you know I have, .sweetheart, don't you? ißut once upon a time — you have promised to forgive me and not to hate me — in the days when you published' your book I was " ■ <•" " , "You — you — were " . .>• "The heartless man who reviewed it 1" — New York Times. > A Modern Gideon. Sir Harry Lumsden, a brilliant officer whose career in India is related in a recent biography, was a fierce and dashing fighter, but he was also good at strategy, when discretion seemed the ■better part of valour. One of his earliest successes of this sort has been handed down as a tradition among the hill tribes that he defeated, and is still •» popular story among them. <He was at the time a young lieutenant, in charge of a small detachment of troops, and was confronted by an enemy of superior numbers. This hostile force was xKmcentrated on .the top of a* steep mountain, whence it seemed impossible to dislodgeit. "At last," Lieutenant tiiimsden wrote, "a villager came in, and told me that although the enemy occupied the mountain .top all day, they were in the habit of coining to springs half-way down to cook -and rest at night. "Acting on this information, I cent for some herdsmen of the district, and showing them a handful of gold coins, promised to pay them well if they would take a bugler and some odds and ends up to the top of the hill after the enemy had retired for the night. "A bargain was made, and next evening my little party was ready. The bugler was disguised as a shepherd, and the villagers — three in number — carried each half a dozen pots filled with powder, with fuses attached. These they wore to take to the top of the hill and lay out in a row, and at 9 o'clock, on a signal rocket being fired from camp, they were to light all the fuses, the bugler was to blow all the calls he knew, and thon the whole party were to make the best of their way back to camp. "When the time came, a stai rocket shot up into the cloudless sky. Bang ! bang I bang ! went the powder pots, the sound reverberating thiough the hills, in the still air, like salvos of artillery ; while the shepherds sent some large stones bounding down the hillside. "The enemy, concluding that by some mysterious agency the whole of our force had boen conveyed up the hill above them, instantly took to flight, those in front firing back on later starters, and each little party thinking his neighbour a pursuing Sikh. We in camp were too much convulsed with merriment to attempt to follow, even if we had had any intention of doing so." He gives one other curious detail of this clever little affair. Wheti he told his native subordinate to call for a volunteer bugler for the attempt, the man answered, "No; you would then get a really good man. Let me pick you out a good-for-nothing, and then it will not matter if he is killed !" Volunteer or good-for-nothing, however, the bugler was certainly good for something, as it proved, and he escaped alive and exultant, to receive the praises ol his ..comrades. A Bad Break. A man who was searching for the truth mot in the course of his travels a certain woman, and he said to li-cr — "I hope you are as good as you are beautiful." "What makes you think I am beautiful?" said the woman. "Because," replied the man who was searching for truth, "by the standard of beauty that exists among the people with whom I have been brought up, you would have enough points to pass the examination with ease." i "But," said the vrcnian, who was very

inquisitive, "all this? may be tine of th«> people whom you know, but how about those on the other side, of the world? I heir standard of beauty is wholly different, and, according to them. J wouldn't pass. Vk here, then, lies the truth?" "What you say," remarked the man who I was searching for truth, ""is, of course, 1 "But is it true?" =a:d the woman. 'The ' mere fact that I have said it, and that it '• 6trikcs j-ou as being true, doesn't make it •so." The man who was seaiching for truth was struck with the ingenious subtleness of her re-ply. "That is also true," he replied. "Yet, manifestly, if that is true, some of the other things were not true. And if they are not true-, they must be false, and if they aro false, then the truth of even your laefc i statement may, after all, be false. You are inde-ed a wise woman. Your powei I of analysis is -the best I have ever seen — .in a woman. In fact, you arc just the j one- I have been looking for in my great | search. - You can help me if anyone can. | And now, let us begin at the beginning." j "All right," said the woman, "go ahead."' j "Very- well," said the man who was j searching for truth. "I will taiko back ' what I said about your being beat'tiful. . You are not beautiful." Then the woman rosa up. "Enough!" she said. "Good-bye-. The conversation of such a liar as you are' ceases to intc-rest me." — Toil Masson, irthe Denver G-Jobe. A Professional Opinion. Ministers, as a rule, are not at all avei'sa to telling a good story, -even at their own expense. Here is one of a preacher who was as much amused at a witty criticism of his own preaching as he would have been at a similar comment on some other man's sermon. One Sunday morning a very well-known railroad man came in and took a seat in one of the pews. It was the first time he had been seen there, for he was' not a j church-goer, and his presence created quite ' an interest. The minister preached bis ! sermon, and then, perhaps to make the i most of his opportunity, he travelled over J the same ground again in language cal- ] culated to be more impressive. Thus the > discourse was spun out to unusual length. When the service was ended, one of the deacons waited for the railroad man and i expressed the hops that he had enjoyed the sermon. "Yes. it was all right," said the visitor, but with an air of mental reservation which led the deacon to express the hope that be would at least come again next Sunday. "Well, I don't know; I may," said the j visitor. "There's only one trouble with your minister." "What i® that?" "He doesn't appear to have very good ter* n?inal facilities." "What She Would Take. An amusing story is told of an old woman who appeared a few days ago before' the city court. An impecunious old man,, whom she had bean suing for" arrears of rent(he had lodged in her bumble home), informed the magistrate that he would only be able to pay off the- debt by very small instalments. "What terms are you prepared? to accept?" the- magistrate asked. The" old " woman was deaf, and did not catch the question. "What will you take?" shouted the policeman 6tanding by her side. %*. A bright smile illuminated her features as she replied: "Well, I?ve been in this 'ere court many a time afore, but you," pointing to the magistrate, "are- the - very first that ever asked me w"hat I'd take. A little gin hot, if -you please." It -was some time before the 'magistrate, who has long been a" teetotaller, recovered from his surprise. Busli Philosophy. An' Australian traveller was riding ove; the Darling Downs when, as he was passing a "selector's" hut, the dcor oponed and a man rushed out, followed by a

woman, who was vigorously chastising him with a broom handle.. The man slipped and fell, but the beating continued until the onlooker feared that it would end in a tragedy. When at last the woman desisted, the observer drew near and tendered words of sympathy.

The man evidently did riot fec-1 the necessity, for, pointing with pride to the marks of the affray, he replied: "Tell you what I call it, boss — a reg'lar, right down, good hammering. But I don't bear no ill-will. Not me. I'm proud of that woman ; I am so, and I don't care who knows it. See here, boss; when *?ie wife sets out to do a thing, by gosh ! she does it thorough." If that is not philosophy, what is?

A Came of Authors. The oldest author — Adams. The youngest author— Ohild. The healthy author — Hale. The sickly author — Haggard. The fragile author — Rgade. The collier's author— Coleridge. The farmer's author— Fields. The gardener's author — Ouida. The sportsman's author — Hunt. The harvester's author— Hay. The dairyman's author — Cowper. The pugilist's author — Knox. The warrior's author — Shakespeare The jeweller's author — Goldsmith* The ditcher's author — Trench. The angler's author — Hooker. Ther chef's author — Cooke. The dude's author — Taylor. The lover's author — Lincoln. The suburban author — Townsend. Tho domestic author — Holmes. The greedy author — Hoq.g. The woodland author — Hawthorne. The cunning author — Fox. The evasive author — Dodge. The pontifical* author — Pope. The precocious author — Chapman. The submarine author — Cable. The painful author — Bunyan. The groaning author — Paine. The dangerous author — Wolfe. The aboriginal author — Savage. The blistering author — Burns. The refreshing author — Brooks. The breakfast author — Bacon. The dinner author — Lamb. The snappish author — Crabbe. The chorister's author — Sangster. — United Presbyterian.