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Kansas University Weekly.
They had a church wedding and I understand that it was a very elegant affair.
FRANCIS CHAPLINE.
"She."
When I first met her she was only a mere slip of a girl with round olive cheeks and big, soft, blue eyes, and over her smooth brow clustered an array of golden curls. In my eyes she looked an ideal queen. Yet I had been warned that she boasted almost as many "scalps" as an Indian chief. In other words, she was a coquette of the deepest dye; and yet as I looked upon her sweet face, smiling in such a way as to properly exhibit two rows of pearly white teeth, and as I listened to her singing tender songs in a deep contralto voice, I was often inclined to disregard all warnings. I lured her on by every charm I could exercise; I never so much as glanced at another, I made her believe she was all in all to me, and oh! how easily I could have believed it myself.
I can see her yet, the glancing light of her eye and the glint of her hair, the proud young grace of her form, the charming fit and the exquisite taste of her garments. How her eyes grew brighter at my approach—at times I seemed to think she did love me just a little bit; but alas! that was impossible. And yet how trustingly those big, blue eyes would look up into mine and I would grow happy as I held that little hand so closely. Then the warnings would come back to me, like a dark cloud on a summer's day, and I would drop the tiny hand and think, "she's after my scalp, too; but I'll play her at her own game."
The night was rather chilly and every now and then a slight gust of wind rattled the rickety lattice work on the front porch of a large old building situated well back from the road; a dim light burned in the front parlor, and to a casual observer, the household was wrapped in slumber; but to a close observer, it appeared that the front door stood the least bit ajar, while between the light from the parlor and the darkness without stood a flaxen haired girl with her right arm extended backward through the
opening of the door and holding to the knob inside. Just in front of the frail form stood her gallant lover, holding her little hand in his and so close to her that the gentle breezes were forced to divert their courses and take a circuitous path. A gentle sob—a sound resembling that of the society belle as she coaxes her pet poodle to come to her,-a farewell, and all is still. * * * * * *
There was an awful ringing in my ears and with unconscious latent athletic power, I landed in the center of the room and siezed the alarm clock, trying to persuade it to "ring off," and at the same time I gently murmered, "that eight o'clock class is the greatest bore I ever had."
A. L. F.
Seraphima and the Colt.
Seraphima's elfish, gray eyes looked serious, and her tousled, yellow hair fell down over her forehead and tickled her nose. Little white streaks extending from her eyes to the corners of her mouth, said plainly that tears had been trickling their way down Seraphima's grimy face. She walked slowly up and down the gravel path, her head bowed, and her hands clasped behind her. Seraphima was thinking. She was longing for new worlds to conquer; for it was painfully real that she could not in any manner conquer the monarch of the only world she knew—her aunt. A sobbing sigh escaped her lips; the miserable lump that had been choking back the words was gone at last, and she was again able to speak.
"Ijes' b'lieve I'll g'off an' die!" she said, tossing back the yellow curls from her eyes. "I'll kill myself. Life ain't worth livin' anyhow. Ijes' can't do nothin'."
A colt that had been grazing in the front yard, came up and sympathetically thrust his nose over Seraphima's shoulder. She whirled about, and planted a resounding kiss upon his dirty, black nose.
"Pet," she said, "you're the only frien' I've got,—an I'm goin' to kill myself! Auntie sp—whipped me again, an- an- Dickon lafted at me—an' I'm goin' to kill myself, so there!"