160
THE WEST SHORE.
FKHRUAKY NIGHT.
Below, the tea lies blue and cult) as steel,
Ami smooth as satin stretched from shore to shore,
Save where a shimmering fish leaps; or an oar,
Keeking with sunset's gold, dips; or the keel
Of some ship lets a broad track backward reel;
The sun a filming thing sinks low and loner,
And beats upon the west's inclosing dxr;
The shadows downward creep, and reach to feel.
With long, back fingers, if the day is dead.
AIhjvc, the sky glows hke a pearl alight,
With a rose-diamond's shifting gold and red;
And o'er the eastern mountains, large and while,
'Hie moon lean, trembling, from its chaste, cold lied
A virgin brideto meet the lips of night. m
instant whinney and the look of dumb misery in his eyes went to her heart.
As she hesitated, a little urchin with the kind, honest heart that-thankGod
beats in the breasts of some of the most lawless little urchins on earth, came
along, stamping his feet, slapping his red ears with his redder hands, and
whistling all the blizzard out of his heart.
" I'll tell you whose horse thct is," he cried, stopping suddenly, " It's ol'
Fitzhigh'si V he's been in th' s'loon all day, gett'n' gloriously full. Yuh
turn thet horse loose, W he'll go home straight 's and arrer I've seen him
do 't lots o' times." The lady looked at him, still hesitating, when suddenly
he came nearer, his impish eyes twinkling with delight. " Say!" he whis
pered, confidentially) " Ef yuh'U never tell, I'll do 't myself!" The lady
smiled. " I am not afraid," she said, and deliberately unfastened the horse,
shook his rein, and bade him go. With a glad whinney he struck out for
home as fast as lib poor, stiffened legs could carry him. As he passed the
corner there was a great shouting, mingled with oaths, and his master came
reeling and staggering out of the saloon and started after him. But the snow
was deep, and the horse had the best of it j and if you could have heard his
last long whinney of delight, you would have thought there was a touch of
triumph in it, and a bit of human nature beside.
Society real society is a delightful and an elevating thing ; but recently
there has been too much attention paid to so-called high society, and too little
to one's home and friends. The little home-maker whose income is limited
can not, or thinks she can not, venture to invite a few fnends to a quiet card
party at which light refreshments only are served during the Lite hours, or to
a simple dinner of three or four courses, lest her modest effort at entertain
ment be voted " tame " and " a bore " by her guests, who have probably
already entertained her at some elaborate reception or dinner party. What is
she to do, when John's salary is only $2,000 a year, and they have solemnly
nude up their minds to save and invest $500 of that, come what will? It
brings a little wrinkle to her brow and a nervous patter to her foot each time
she thinks of it. Shall she and John economize in every day home comforts,
sliall they work harder and enjoy fewer happy, leisure hours together; shall they
get along without so many books and magazines and quiet theater evenings,
(I1.1t thry may save a few hundred dollars to put into an elaborate reception
once a year, so they may feel that they have done their duly to their fashion
able friends? What fully! Why, the most charming and gracious lady I
ever knew lives in a small and exceedingly modest home. She has three or
four frirnds dine with her at least three times a week, and she entertains them
so easily, so cordially, so happily, doing every bit of the work and cooking
with her own hands which yet look always well cared for and taking such
genuine delight in her guests that all the best people, the most " exclusive "
people, even the ultra-fashionable people, are delighted to be entertained by
her. Drop in at any hour of the day or evening, and you will be offered
tome dainty cakes of her own making and a glass of wine, sweet cider or
milk punch, which is not all milk, by the way. The secret of it is that she
loves (teoplc and makes them feel at home 1 she does the best she can to
make you enjoy her hospitality, but, at the same time, she is frankly independ
ent, thinks a great deal of herself, and is not going to work herself to death
or go to much expense to entertain you. If you are not satisfied with the
result, her line perception will recognije it. If something goes wrong, she
laughingly tells you aUiul it, instead of sitting in nervous horror, wondering if
you have observed it 1 but she never, under any circumstances, makes apolo
gies, She hits her faults, of course, but she is so sweet, so kind, so womanly,
that all mm admire her and all women envy even while they like her.
One winter morning in Kaslern Oregon, with the thermometer pointing
below zero and a lime jlrrt whitening the air, a fanner rode into town,
" hitched " his horse to a post, and hurried away in search of a shelter.
A lady olervrd the action from her window, and gave a regretful thought to
the dumb animal left thus without protection 1 but, naturally supposing tliat
his matter would soon return, she liecaiuc engrossed with household affairs,
and forgot it. Nearly six hours later, coining again to the window, she saw
that he was still there. The stonn had grown colder and sharper, in fact had
liecoine a bliiiard, and the poor beast stood trembling and helplesswith his
head drooping to the sidewalk. She immediately summoned the only officer
tliat the tittle town afforded, ami asked him to put the horse in the stables and
make the owner settle the bill 1 but that gentleman, being one of those who
think they were elected only to wear blue coats and brass buttons and look
pretty, declined to inlerfrre. The afternoon wore on, and as night approached,
unable to longer endure the sight of the animal's sufferings, she muffled herself
in iiiu ami going out to him, laid her hand on him and sMike kindly. Mis
Are you an optimist or a pessimist? Stop and think about it. When
one of those blue, dreary days steals in, and the wind rattles the doors and
windows and screams down the chimneys ; when the sea birds circle into the
harbor, chattering noisily, and the rain drips, drips, drips from the eves all day
long with dreary monotone, do you mope around with dull eyes and a droop
at each corner of your mouth, and wonder " what is the use of living, any
how ? " Or do you cheerfully make the best of it, and feel a bit thankful that
you are not out on the ocean j and fill up the grate until the whole room
glows ; and think what a magnificent sunset there would be if those black
clouds should roll apart at night? If you have a care or a sorrow, do you sit
with folded hands and bowed head and ponder upon it, or do you shake it off
and find time to listen to some other's tale of woe for the heavy hearts are
all about us, you know, if we only keep ourselves out of our own eyes long
enough to see them. Now, next time you meet a melancholy, sad-eyed, list
less individual, just you observe him very carefully. He will probably hint
that he has " troubles j " that " fate " has not used him as he deserved j that
he is not appreciated ; that he is misunderstood and misjudged, and that life
is an empty husk for him. My dear, that is a pessimist, pure and simple.
Ten to one, he has not a trouble save those that sprout from his own imagina
tion, which, by the by, is usually the only lively and vivid thing about him.
He intimates that he doesn't care much for " people." With a dreamy, far
away look, he speaks of the grandeur of the hills, the music of the waves, the
silent companionship of the forests. Now, we all love these things some of
us passionately ; to some of us nature has a heart that beats, a soul that never
dies, lips tliat talk to us day and night, and such things are all very interesting
to write about, because no one need read lest he choose. Hut when you are
with people, talk to them brightlyjcheerfully, and do not intimate that their
company is less desirable than nature. When you find a pessimist, laugh at
him. Tell him that he doesn't know what trouble is, but that you do, because
your brother was hung, your sister murdered and your mother died in a mad
house. Let him see that you are laughing at him, and, before he knows it,
he, too, will be laughing. Do not be a pessimist. This is a hard world, and
a sad world, and a mad world 1 but when you have once looked fairly into the
eyes of death you will realize keenly that this is also a very sweet, tender and
beautilul world as well.
American women are said to lie very proud of (he size and symmetry ol
their hands and feet in comparison with those of English women. Now, I
think the average English woman has more beautiful hands than her Ameri
can cousin i they may not be so small, but they have the beauty of shape,
firmness, strength, character and care. Her feet, it is true, are not pinched
into boots two sizes too small for them, and because of this bit of sense she
is always a good, vigorous walker s and to be a walker, my dear, means that
the complexion is clear and beautiful, the eyes bright, the carriage elastic, the
health fine. There is no corner in the walker's composition where melan
choly, hysterics or languor may find lodging.
If charity covereth a multitude of sins, there is many a magdalen who is.
more guiltless in the eyes of God than some of the pillars of churches.
Each wrong deed brings about its own punishment on earth.