EVERY WHERE Vol. XXI September, 1907 No. 1 "D. The Court-House Bell. BY WILL CARLETON. OI love you? O, but listen!" And he saw her dark eyes glisten With a gentle joy that filled him, With a passion-wave that thrilled him: "Do I love you? Ask the ages Front of this life's blotted pagesCycles that our minds forget, But our souls remember yetIf the strands they saw us twine, In great moments half divine, Cannot stand against the cold Voice and touch of senseless gold! How can Wealth forbid the meeting Of two hearts that blend in beating? How can Thrift presume to fashion Heaven's eternal love and passion? Listen!-if 'tis not o'er-soon, Come to-morrow-day at noon;On that glad-that mournful day When my girlhood creeps awayOn that day-the understood Birthday of my womanhoodCome! and, joined in hand as heart, We will walk no more apart. Meet me do not let me waitBy this iron-this golden gateWhen, its mid-day hour to tell Rings the silvery court-house bell. "Should I fail you, dear, tomorrow, 3 And would cut our life in two. "Should I fail the second morrow, Hope from next day you must borrow; If I fail you then-endure: Hope and trust be still the cure. Nought on earth has power-has art Long to hold us two apart; None but God were equal to it, And I know he would not do it. I will come to you, indeed; You would wait, love, were there need?" "I will wait for you forever. So, next day, he stood and waited And his yearning soul afire; Searched and searched, with jealous care, 'Twas her word", he softly said: Still my heart is scant of fear; She will some time meet me here. My sad soul I will employ With tomorrow's destined joy; She will come-her love to tell- So, next day, he watched and waited, But his glance crept far and wide Day by day he watched and waited, Days and weeks and months and years Still his famished eyes crept round, Still he thrilled at every sound: None but God were equal to it, Yet he came-yet crept away; Half in earnest, half in dream, As, one day, his weakened form THE COURT-HOUSE BELL. Soft a voice-or was it seeming?— 5 How, each day, God's help entreating, Pain at last has cut the tether; Long to hold us two apart. IN N this great wide world, there is only one man that I detest, loathe, abhor, and that man is John Nubbins Brownley. Plainly stated, and without circumlocution, the following are the reasons for my sentiments regarding him. There is not a generous impulse in his whole being; whatever action of his seemingly par.akes of that commendable quality is instigated by the meanest of motives. He is never a friend except for his own elevation, and his selfish instincts are so hidden by innate deceitfulness that the innocent victim of his pretended regard is the last to discover the imposition. He is so penurious he maneuvers for dinner invitations to save his purse, although his wealth is well up in the thousands and he could live luxuriously upon the interest of his money aloi.e. He makes a business of learning small talk and short stories to make himself entertaining, while he has no more sense of the humorous than a snake. He prates of his honesty while stealing from his best friend. He causes his eyes to shed tears in talking of the abuse to which animals, children, indigent and otherwise unfortunate human beings are subjected; at the same time he turns into the street a sick and starving family that fails to pay him rent for a tumbledown hovel. He does not hesitate to inflict upon a child within his power any physical tor ture his savage nature instigates, and to kick in its wistful face the hungry dog that pleads for a bone to save him from starvation. From a small incident, innocent in itself, he constructs a story that smirches with suspicion the fairest reputation, and in the world at large his story carries conviction because the one germ of truth is known, and the public argues that if one fact be true, all must be. He is so plausible, so suave, when he is upon exhibition, that only people behind the curtain of his deceit can possibly almost know him, and even they are. forced to doubt the evidence of their senses. His charlatanism is so diplomatic that the running world finds him admirable. He is so great a coward that no man can ever outwit him, and his duplicity so painstaking and artful that the law seeks in vain to entrap him in its meshes. These may be generalities, and not so convincing as particulars, but every particular possible with any generality in connection with John Nubbins Brownley may be attached to the generality to which it belongs, and then the full truth be still unrevealed. Is it any wonder we, who know him, hate him? Unfortunately he has his grasp financially upon many of the young men in our social circle. While with some this withholds real expression of feeling, the outer trenches of his pharisaical fortress are so closely guarded there is no oppor |