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Kansas University Weekly.
your whole self at her feet you will be raised by the power of your love into knowledge and wisdom.
And this brings me to my last suggestion: I know something of the purity and dignity with which death invests his victims and the effect that old adage "Think no evil of the dead" has upon our minds. But when I am dead I wish you to remember me as I am, not as a superhuman creature. Remember that I was not honest or true except when it happened to suit my caprice to be so, remember that I had always an unhappy craving for continual excitement and a morbid desire to excite admiration. Remember that I was neither pure of thought nor earnest of purpose, that I had no self respect, no faith whatsoever, and the instincts of an actress.
But not forgetting any of these things, if you should find it within you sometime to think kindly of me and say to yourself "the child was not so much to blame after all and under different environment might have made a good woman," I believe that I shall know it and be glad. And I the breeze shall blow somewhat the softer for it, I the sun shall shine somewhat the brighter for it, I the river shall ripple somewhat the merrier for it, and I the grass shall grow somewhat the straighter for it. * * *
FRANCIS CHAPLINE.
Over the Sopena-chuck Falls.
On the afternoon of an early July day a canoe was sweeping down the Spirit river, propelled by three young fellows, Fred Arlington and Bert White, students in College, and "the Dutchman," a younger brother of Fred. For three days the little party had been steadily pursuing their way down the gently flowing stream with scarcely a sound to break the all pervading sultry stillness save the ceaseless swing of the paddles and at intervals the guttural caw of a solitary crow. Under the strokes of the three practical paddlers and aided by the current the long slender craft sped swiftly along, and in three days had traversed one hundred miles of the winding river.
Toward sunset the party began to watch the banks with special care to find, if possible, a good camping place.
"How does that strike you, fellows," demanded Fred, pointing with his paddle to a broad ledge of limestone which jutted out above the rock-strewn beach and from which the forest-clad banks gradually rose.
"Looks like a dry place," commented "the Dutchman." "I think I can see a corn field up there through the timber. Perhaps we can get some roasting-ears for supper.
The canoe was run in and tied to a projecting rock on shore. The various camping paraphernalia were quickly unshipped and an hour later the three supped in savage profusion.
"I tell you, boy's these rocks are going to be awful hard to sleep on, with nothing under one but a blanket," remarked Bert as he meditatively nibbled a roasting ear.
"They're better than the damp banks we've had to sleep on for the last two nights," returned Fred.
"Don't care a clam about that; don't want any rock in mine," persisted Bert, "I'm going to bunk in the canoe to night."
So as soon as the arrangements for the evening had been completed, Bert unpacked his blanket and after stuffing a small canvas sack with leaves for a pillow he clambered down to the lower beach. He was soon wrapped up in his blanket and snugly ensconced in the canoe, with the low gurgling of the water past the stern as a soothing lullaby. For a moment the young fellow lay awake, gazing obliquely up at the tree-shrouded ledge and at the clouds scudding across the sky. But a day's hard paddling is most exhausting work and soon, as he looked at the flickering camp-fire, the dim figures of the other boys and the dark overhanging trees seemed gradually to blend until at last they faded out altogether.
About one o'clock, as it afterward transpired, Bert roused up to find a gentle rain falling on his face and a heavy roar swelling through the damp air. For a moment he was so profoundly drowsy that all this made very little impression.