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anda. The crickets chirped merrily outside, the hum of voices and the gay swing of a waltz, just begun, came to their ears, but in spite of the pleasures around them, the conversation between these two seemed not to be pleasant. At last he arose and as he left her he said haughtily, "I owe you no apology Miss Holmes, I am not to blame that we cannot be friends."
She was sitting alone when Jack came across to her. He could not see her face but he felt that the atmosphere was rather cold. She quietly got up, straightened herself to her full height and said, "It was very kind indeed of you Mr. Walker, to arrange this meeting with your agreeable friend—Good Night!" She walked quickly away.
He tried to speak to her but she was gone. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets with an expressive grunt, and walked slowly down the veranda.
In one of the chairs in a corner was a dark figure which rose as he came nearer. "Well?" said Ned.
"Well?" said Jack.
"Pretty mess," said Ned.
"Your own fault" returned Jack.
"Its your's, you meddler," blazed Ned. "If you had kept your infernal fingers out it might have been allright." He turned on his heel; "You're a regular old woman," he fired a parting shot.
Jack leaned heavily against a post of the veranda and emited a long low whistle. "H'm!" he said "this is pleasant.—The next time, they can do as they blamed please."
FRANCIS MOON.
The Tragic End of My First Love Affair.
I think I should never have fallen in love with Mary Brown if father had not remarked just as I was leaving home, "Now, for Heaven's sake, John, don't make a fool of yourself over the first girl you see!" This warning worked upon my imagination to such an extent that before I had been in the Algebra class a month I was nursing a promising bud of affection for a dusky-haired damsel who occupied the chair in front of me.
You don't care, I suppose, to follow the progress of my first love affair, to hear how I bought four new neckties and a pair of patent leathers the day after she let me pick up her pencil for her. How I read Livy for a week to the fellow who introduced me to her in the chapel, and changed my boarding place twice so as to command the best possible view of Mr. Brown's front door. I am ashamed to state how many pounds of Huyler's chocolates, all purchased for the object of my affection, were disposed of by my self-sacrificing room-mate, or how I missed three classes in one day while trying to raise my courage to the point of asking Mary to go to "Trilby" with me. After that night at "Trilby" our acquaintance flourished amazingly, so that shortly after Christmas I resolved to place my hand and my fortune, this latter being, by the way, entirely hypothetical, at her disposal.
By the time a fellow is a Senior he has become used to this sort of thing, but it is no fun to a Freshman. I called upon her with ardor in my heart and nervousness in my demeanor. We talked about Professor X—'s expedition to the Pole, the marvelous possibilities of the cathode ray, and whether or not Mrs. Marlborough-Smith blondined her hair. To save my life I could not lead the conversation in the direction of a carefully prepared speech, which was slowly but surely slipping away from me. Finally, throwing logical order to the winds and plunging boldly into the business of the meeting, I told her that I had something to confide which I hoped she would respect and consider. At this point she looked interested and I was moved to leaving my chair. Finding no other, however, in her immediate vicinity, I weakly retreated to my former position. "You can have no idea," I resumed, "of the torture I have suffered during the last few days. I have at last decided to put an end to it all and tell you how—" "Oh, don't feel so bad about it, Mr. Youngfellow," interrupted my divinity. "Lots of boys flunk every term. They'll let you stay and make it up, you know."
The trade in Huyler's chocolates suddenly declined, and the fellows are now trying to find out why I again changed my room so suddenly.
HELEN G. METCALF.