Evening Star Newspaper, June 11, 1922, Page 62

THE -SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JUNE 11, "1922—PART 4. I Across the reception room his broad shoulders sligh for tha'firet time, and agreed io join the all-sta He sald ho had never written Re would like Then we & and his play t s of the ih - We spoke you knew how Bt you sce a don't you know And that's people as they feel have loo 1 was con that big app why they lo standing of © [ talked, as if 1 1t and of it at th ip of Foun what t Just it are. but w nto fur pla ious, as I s that reaches 1 him 1selves. oy To h His [GHLAND Pl those new 1t a4 new S was one THE PERSONALITY OF BOOTH TARKINGTON T HAD se¢med impossible to see Booth Tarkington been days trying. znd then he was coming toward me Blue couch, and 1 told him of the plan for making & point, American literature. was Alice Adams thi th for his rare MARY STEWART CUTTING The First of a Series of Stories by Leading American Authors on the Subject of “Marriage.” 1 had of the hotel. He came quickly, tly bent. We sat upon a hig i | He was interested l r program of American fiction. | a story on marriage and that | | | known him always, about sing produced. He told me would write vears “How did nswered, oorway, had themes he . ind 1 ask 23R i standing nk It's very simpl him it is all simple—he sees . ’ part such kind that you and thit know distant things. ) the spirit in his books the American people. 1 knew | nd sympathetic under- | implicity of gr | is th They al stranges swee They wear expressions of caintly sweetn Everybody speaks | f & sweet woman with loving rever- | speak | ness, i e i, and it's menerally felt that it | oo T : would be practically immoral to con- so that when citizen tradict one o m. To be actually | i vl L ond i . |sassy 10 sweet woman would be u 1Al parts) of he eny come rtving oot pal sl A let their voices afternoon in spring they say S|l ovely sounds | goodness' When did this happen? | Y AL ey always have the most exquisitely self-sacrificing rea- m more'n a year 1 to have Fourth o or so sing July plent And now just look at it—all built up with bride- and-groom houses!™ Highland pla was the name given to this cross-street by the speculative land company that had “developed” it, and the only reason they had not named it Waverley Pl was that th had already produced & Waverley 1 u block below. Roth “places” were lined with green-trimmed “small white houses, “frame” or stucco, and. he honeymoon suggestion o strong. as a matter of fact | ants held them- 10 marricd pe couples hav L wedding 14 an- hollow -t stucco resid Mro and George M Thus it been defined under a photugraphic r production with the captain. “New Highland Home, one of the rs not long after the little Mrs. had t ullender Flace Sullender ap and pave ender me " oo 3 Fouse but the first to be 1 in the place.” 1 had had its picture in the paper, It natura ok ftself for granted as heing the most it * impor FOUNG Mrs. Willlam Sperry. whose equally young husband had just bought the smallest but most con- spicuous bride-and-groom cottage In the whole “place impressed with the Sullender impor- rce as she should have been, since were the newcomers of hborhood, had not yet been admitted to its intimacies, and might well have dis «yed a more amiable deference to what Is established “No,” Mrs. Sperry told her husband when they got home after their first experience of the “plac hospital- . a brid; arty at the Sullender: “1 just can’t stand those people, Wil They're really awful “Why. what's the matter with ‘em?” he inquired. “I thought they were first-rate. They seemed perfectly | S friendly and hospitable, and—-" “Oh, yes! Lord and lady of the manor entertaining the temantry! 1 don’t mind being tenantry,” young Mrs. Sperry explained, “but T can't stand the lord-and-lady-of-the-manor style in people with a nine-room house and a one-car garage!" “One-car it may be her husband laughed, “but it has two stories. They have a chauffeur, you know, and he lives in the upstairs of the garage.” “So that entitles the Sullenders to the manor style?” didn’t “But 1 notice any of that style,” he protested. “I thought they seemed right mice and cordial. Of | course, Sullender feels that he's been making quite a success In business, and it naturally gives him a rather condescending air, but he's really all right” “He certainly was condescending,” she grumbled, and went on with some satire, “Did you hear him allude to himself as a ‘realtor’?” B ‘“Well, why shouldn’t he? one. That's his busines: “My' lord, the realtor!" Mrs. Sperry cried mockingly. “There ought to be An opera written called Realtor,” like the one there used to be with the titla ‘Il Janitor' Those are such romantic words—‘toreador,’ ‘realtor,’ ‘humidor” xS “Here, here! He Is her husband said. “Calm down! You seem to have got vourself worked up Into a ‘mighty sarcastic mood, for some reason. Those people only want to be nice to us, and they're all right.” Mrs. Sperry looked at him coldly. “Did you hear Mr. Sullender saying that his company had sold seven ‘homes’ this month?" she inquired “Oh, you can't expect everybody to know all the purist niceties of the English language,” he said. “Sul- lender's all right, and his wife struck me as one of the nicest, kindest women 1 eve - “Kind!" Mrs. Sperry echoed loudly. “She doesn't stop at being ‘kind.’ She's so caressingly tender, so angel- ically loving, that she can't possibly pronounce a one-syllabled word with- out making two syllables of it! Did you notice that she said ‘yay-yus' for ‘yes' and ‘no-oh’ for ‘no’> I do hate the turtle-dove style of talking. and 1 never met a worse case of fit. Mrs. Sullender's the sweeswt sweet woman I ever saw in my iife, and T'm positive she leads her husband a aex’s lite!” “What nonsense “It serves him right for his real- toring, though,” Mrs. Sperry added thoughtfully. “He ought to have that kind of a wife!" “But you just said she was the sweetest—" “Yes—the sweetest sweet woman I ever saw. I do hate the whole clan of sweet women The young husband looked per- plexed. “I don't know what you're ' talking about,” he admitted. I al- ways thought—" *x w'n #¢v'M talking about the,sweet woman type that Mre Sullender belongs use intended aweetness. ked out | was not so deeply | ons for every action of their lives, but they do just exactly what they want to do, and everybody else has to Ao what a sweet woman wants him to. That's why T'm sure Mr. Sul-| lender, in spite of all his pomposity, leads a dog's life at home.” “Of all the foolish talk™ young | Sporry exclaimed. “Why, everybody s they're the most ideally mar- ried couple, and that they lead the riest life together that—-" ybody says'™" she mocked him. interrupting. “How often have you known what ‘everybody says' out to be the truth about any we don’t Know | of " these people, | den’t know anybody else that | Who is this ‘everybody’' that's you how happy the Sullenders | Anad, besides, thing about Land we dues a | “Well it's just a general impres- | sion I got,” he admitted. “I think 1 ward sone one downtown alluding to | ullender's domestic relations beiag ry fortunate and pleasant.” | “Oh, you think s0? 1Is that ai? u don't really know a thing ahout | it, the i} | 0 matter. You're wrong th i time. Belli. The Sullenders— But Bella shook her pretty voung h Kain L interrupting him u’ I do hope there won't | be too much intimuacy. but t live across the street from | »ple very long in a neighborhood like this without getting to know the | | real truth about ‘em. You wal: and | |see what we get to know ahout the | | Sullenders { I'll wait”” he laughed. “But | | now long?" | “Oh, I don’t know—maybe a ycar, | | maybe a month.” 4 | “Let's make it a month, Bella,* he | to have aid, put his arm about her. “If | we don’t find out in a monta rhat the Sullenders are miserable togetber, | w rou admit you're w0 0. I won't! But you'll propab; have to admit that I'm right lefore | that 1ong. 1 have a sense for these | | things, Will, and I never go wrorg |when 1 trust it. Women know ! tuitively things that men never sus- know I'm right shout Mrs. 2= pect. 1 Her husband permitted the discus- sion to end with this, wisely fearing | | that if he sought further to defend | his position Bella might plausibly ac- Insisting upon cuse him of “always | the last word” And so, for that |night at least, the matter was |dropped from their conversation, | though not from the thoughts of |Mrs. Sperry. Truth to tell, she was | | what is sometimes called an “obsti- inate little body,” and also she appre- | clated the advisability of a young | !wife's building for future and life- |long use the foundations of infalll- bility; that is to say, she was youns and therefore inexperienced, but she had foresight. Moreover, she had at- tentively observed the matrimonial condition of her parents and aunts and uncles. Many and many a time had she heard a middle-aged husband speak to his wife of like years some- what in this manner: “No, Fannie; you're wrong again. You're mistaken about this now, just as you were about James Thompson's adding ma- chine in 1897; and you were wrong about painting the house the year after that, too. Don’t you remember how you insisted dark green was the right color, and finally had to admit yourself that dark greem was awful, and light vellow would have been just right, as I all along said it would?* Thus, young Mrs. Sperry, looking to times far ahead, had determined to be wrong about nothing Whatever during these early years of her matrimony. Moreover, since argu- ment had arisen concerning the Sul- lenders she had made up her mind to be right about them and to “prove" herselt right, “whether she really was or not,” and that is why, on the morning after her arralgnment of sweet women generally and of her grac’vus neighbor particularly, the pracy newcomer In “Highland Place” found herself most pleasurabiy ex- cited by the naive but sinister revela- tions of a stranger elght years in age. * Kk k ok AT 2 little before 9 o'clock Mr. Wil- llam Sperry had departed (fn a young husband’s car) for his place of business, some five miles distant, in the smoky part of the city, and not long afterward the thoughtful Bella, charmingly accoutered as a gardener, came forth with a trowel to uproot weeds that threatened a row of irls she had set out along the gravel path between the tiny white veranda and the white picket gate. Thus engaged, she became aware of a small presence fumbling at the latch of this gate, and she changed her position from that of one on all fours who gropes Intently in the earth to that of one upright from the knees, but momentarily relaxed. “Do you want to come in?" she in- ! quired, looking out from the shade of | her broad hat to where the little fig- | ure in blue overalls was marked off| into stripes of sunshine and lhldbwl by the intervening pickets of the gate. “Is there something you want here, little boy?”* He succesded the in operating shy “Have you found any nice he asked worms?” vt found any at what surprised by his adjectiv I dow't think th are any worms Worms are " the. promptly and se " nice worms “Oh, I don't think so.” “Yes, there is" “Oh. no.” “There is, too!" he sald stubbornly and with asperity. “Everyho knows there's plenty of nice worms “Where did vou get such nonscnse in your head?’ Bella asked, a litte sharply. “Who ever told you there are nice worms “Well, there is!" But what makes vou think so?" 2 insisted Well He hesitated, then said. with a conclusive air, settling the My mother. Bella stared at him incredulously for a moment. What's your name My name's George—my name's George, the same as my papa.” he re- | plfed somewhat challengingly. “Don’t you live just across the street?” she asked “Yes. I do.” He turned and pointed to the “George M. Sullender resi- dence,” and Bella thought she de- tected a note of inherited pride in his | “That's where I tone as he added: live.” “But, George. you don’t mean," she insisted curiously; “you don't mean that your mother told y nice worms? Surely not! v mother did,” he asserted, and then, with a little caution, modified the assertion. “My mother just the samo as did.” “How was that?” And his replyr so unexpected by his questioper, sent a thrill of coming triumph through her. v mother called my father a worm! “What?" “She did,” sald George. “She called him & worm over and over.” “What?" “And If he's a worm,” George went on stoutly, “well, I guess he's nice, isn't he? So there got to be plenty e worms if pe's on “George!" “She calls him a worm most every little while these days,” sald George, expanding, and he added, in cold blood: “I like him a great deal better than what I do her.” You do?” “She hit him this morning,” George thought fit to mention upon this. “What?" “With a clo'se brush” he sald, dropping Into detail. “She hit him on the back of the head with the wooden part of it, and he sald, ‘O-oh!" “Just in fun wasn't it?" “No, she wasn't; she was mad, and sald she was goin' to take me with her and go back to my gram'paw’s. I won't go with her. She's mad all the time these days." * ¥ Xk ELLA stared, her lips parted, and she wished him to continue, but remembered her upbringing and tried to be a lady. “Georgle,” she said severely, “you shouldn't tell such things. Don't you know better than to speak in this way of what happens between your poor papa and your mother?” The effect upon George was noth- ing, for even at eight years of agé a child is able to understand what in- terests an adult listener, and chil- dren deeply enjoy being Interesting. In response to her admonition he sald simply: “Yesterday she threw a glass o water at him and cut him where Kis ear is. It made & big mark on him!" “Georgle! I'm afrald you're telling me a dreadful, dreadful story!" Bella safd, though it may not be denled that In company with this suspicion there arrived a premonitory symptom of disappointment. “Why, I saw your papa yesterday evening myself, and there wasn’'t any mark or anything | 1atoh, came in, and loocked attentively at her excavations. ' I guess she u there are | wy woi | “It took him a good while. but he g lit fixed up so's it didn't show much | Then he r over wher it was” “on: m; “What for couldn’t stop Guestion | he him to have more money, and he says What good would | that do, bec; «d only throw it around.” And she's) mad at William, b mor ‘worm.” when I think poor o K his E assumed of mi He wife put on to cover up.” pompous, bu is probzbl coup his to cov has a re her he hit her” Of course. he | “What 1 now and | “He dia. toc corge informed her, is her ut the movies odding, his large eyes as honest as ntlemen he doesn’t approve they were earnest. “She said she was (of. but one can hardly 1 hih Ehns goin' to see my gram'paw and she ! sidering the 1 lea left me at home. but my papa catched her at the pitcher show with Mr. Grumbaugh." W Mr. eorge repeated ing everything made her come 1 she hit mbaugh.” | with the air of expla amply. my papa home, and he hit h too!” “Before you? exclaimed, hor- rified Sure!” George said. and ked upon her with some i Las “They do it all before me. when they had their big fight He would have continued willingly but at this point he was interrupted. Across the s door opened, and out of it Mrs. Sullender, leading a five-y 1 girl by the hand. She wlled loudly. though in a carefully | sweet and musical tone: Jaw-aurge! Oh, Jaw awr-g Georg shouted, Mrs. Sullender nodded smilingly at Bella and called: “Georgie, you thing! ago to come indoors and P with | poor, dear little Natalie? She's been | waiting and waiting so patiently.” George looked morose, but began to | move in the desired direction. “I'm| comin’" he muttered, and was so gross as to add, under his death, “Dog-gone Yo However, he went acruss the street. | And then Mrs: Sullender, benevolently | leading the two children by the hand, | nodded again to Bella with a sweet- | ness that was evident even at a dis tance, and re-entered the house, tak- | ing George and the tiny Natalie with hen Bella remained upon her Knees, staring violently at the “Sullender home,” but her thoughts were cen- tered upon her husband. “Just walt till he gets home!" she thought. But she saved her triumph until after dinner, when he bad made him- self comfortable upon the lounge in their tiny “living room” and seemed to be in good content with his briar pipe. 2 “I had a caller aftér you left this morning,” she informed him sunnily. “Who was 1t?" Mr. George M. Sullende: “So? That's odd.” said Sperry. “T saw him starting downtown in his car just before I did. How did he happen to come back here?" “He didn’t. This was Mr. George M. Sullender, junior.” “Who's that?" “Their little boy,” said Bella. “You've seen him playing in their yard with the little sister.” “Oh, yes. Did his mother send him over on an errand?" * ok oK K «\70. He came to see If I'd found any ‘nice worms,' " Bella sald, and added in a carefully casual tone, but with a flashing little glance from | the corner of her eye: “He said some | worms must be nice, because Mis. Sullender 1s In the habit of calling Mr. Sullender a worm, and Georgle thinks his father is nice.” Young Mr. Sperry took his pipe from his mouth and looked at his wife incredulously. “What did you say about Mrs. Sul- lender's calling—" naughty | Didn't 1 tell you half an hour | dear little and cor “What . Bell The Sulle talking you she sald. "It fers was curious. It was like having the front of their house taken off, the way a curtain roils up at the th - and | shows vou one of those sordid Rus- an plays, for instance. There was the whole, sickening ual life of | that dreadful family bare before me—the contin pettr bickerings. that every hour or so grow into bitter quarrels. with blows and epithets. And then, when other people are | there, as we were last night, the as- suavity: nd sumption « sweetness posities. Oh, what u tion it is. Will It me almost 0Ty yYou were wWrong about them—as you're rather likely to be in sh jud nents, you poor dear? 3ella, who terary” some- ti delivered herself of this speech with admirable dramatic quality, especially when she made her terse little realistic picture of the daily life of the Sullenders, but there was just a shade of happy hypocrisy and | covert triumph in the final sentence, and she even thought fit to add a lit- tle more on the point. “How strange it is to th that only last night we w rouing ahbout it!" she exc e And that 1 said we'd not need to wait a month to prove that T was right. Huvre it is only the next and it's proved |4 was a thousand times righter than 1T wa perhaps yow'll enlighten me—" he began. But she complied so willingly that she didn't let him finish his request. She gave him Georgie's revelation in detail, emphasizing and coloring it | somewhat with her own interpreta- tions of many things necessarily only suggested by the child’s meager vo- cabulary. and she was naturally a Jittle indignant when at first her hus- band declined to admit his defeat. Why, it's simply not believable he said. “Thase peopie could'nt se what they seemed to be last night and bo so depraved! They were gen- ulnely affectionate in the tone th used with each other, and they- “Good gracious!” Bella cried. you think I'm making this up?” “No; of course not he returned “But the child may have Do hasily. made it up.” - “About his own father and mother?” “Oh, T know; but some children are the most wonderful little story-tell- ers. They tell absolutely Inexplicable lles and hardly know why them- selve * ¥ X % Bella looked at him moment! T at this, pittingly. B these people laid out before me in the poor little child's prattle—a whole, realistic novel, complete and consistent. And I'd like to know how you account for a child of seven or elght being able to compose such a thing; and on the spur of the mo- ment, too! When children make up ‘em up about There was all the sordid daily life of | in the right. extraordinary and absurd things, not | about the sordid tragedies of ever: domestic life. Do you actually s child le up what he m: certainly does seem pecu- And terrible. t want to ge ed don’t want to come fnto sorhood and get involved 1 Bossiping We must be hing abcut this, Bella.” d away from him thought “I suppose so. though, of course, these people aren’t friends of ours—hardly acquaintanc: No. But that's all the more rea- son for our not appearing to be in- terested In their troubles. We'll cer- tanly 1 not to say anything about this, won't we, Bel Jh, 1 suppose so.” she returned Since the people are really though, I don't sup- eve about one fully. u careful not | By Booth Tarkington with an expreselon that showed the injury. | “I'd hardly have expected you'd | :all me that,” be sald. “At least, not 50 s00n After our wedding trip!” “Well, I might have expected you wouldn’t be accusing me of gossiping harmfully,” she retorted; “not quite o0 soon.” Young Mr. Sperry rose again. “Do you think that's as bad as using the epithet ‘small’ to your hus. band “‘Epithet'?" she echoed. charge me with using ‘epithet'?” “Well, but didn’t you “I think I'll ask you to excuse me!" Bella said, with an aspect of nobility in suffering. And she proudly betook | herself from the room It was a tiff. Next day they were | | as polite to each other as if they had | Jjust been introduced, and this eera- montal formality was maintained be- | tween them until the third evening | |after its installation, when a calam- | ity caused them to abandon it. After | a stately dinner in | “You their hundred | square feet of dining room, Bella had | gone out into the twilight to refresh | her strips of fris with fair water | from the garden hose, and Willlam | | reclined upon his lounge, solitary | with a gloomy pipe. Unexpectedly, he | | was summoned. Bella looked in upon | | him from the door and spoke hastily. | erley Plac “We'd be so glad— tered " Bella flut- | no, no,” Mrs. Sullender mur- |tory laugh. “I'm afrald iv's rather— lttle community where people are bound to be thrown together a great deal. Don't you think it's a great “pit)‘. Mrs. Sperry?” “Oh, naturally,” Bella acqulesce s, indeed.” knew you would. Of course, it's | thoughtlessness. Most of the people who live there are so young. | But we heard a really dreadful story only vesterday. It came from a very voung married couple, and my hus- band and 1 were so Sorry to hear | they'd started out by telling such dreadful things about their neigh- |bors. Don't you think it's most un- | | wise, Mrs. Sperry?” | just T is a rather remarkable fact that | the man who wrote ome. Sweet Home.” never had a home | of his own. during his last forty | vear John Howard Payne of a wanderer all of b | somewhat | fe, without | OUR FAMOUS SONGS Home, Sweet Home: Mra. Sullender's volce, wholly ur rufficd, ‘and as indomitably tender ever, gave no intimation that spoke with a pecullar slgnificance but William Sperry was profound! alarmed, and, with a sympathy th held no triumph in it he knew that Bella was In a similar or worse cor dition. es,” Bella murmured, “of- ¢ course I do.” * x ox % «] KNEW you would feel tiat wi sald Mrs. Sullender soothing “It's unwise because gossip trav s0. It nearly always goes strals back to the people it's about. In fa I don't belleve I ever knew of ¢ single case where it didn't. T you, Mrs. Sperry?” —I don't—that is, well, n-n Bella stammered. “No. It's so unwise!” Mre. Sulle der insisted, with a little murmur o tender laughter. Then she took arm of her solemn and s band and they turned to ward the gate, but paused meant to tell you, Mrs. Sperry. “Yes?" “That dear little boy Georgie—the 1ittle boy you were chatting with the other morning when T cal to play with my litle giri—you re 4 him “Uh—Mr. and Mrs. Sullender,” she |member, Mrs. EperryT™ said. “Uh—" And as hastily with- | ¥ Bella gasped drew. “I thought you made such frience Perturbed, he rose and went out to | With him to know you the little veranda, where, with a slightly nervous hospitality, Bella was now offering chairs to Mrs. | gent George M. Sullender and her husband. | Mrs. Sullender smilingly and in her | ? angelic volce declined the offer. eorgle Goble,” sald Mra S “Oh, no/ she sald. “We came in |lender. “He was Goble our chauf a moment to admire vour lovely irises | feur's little boy. They lived over o at closer range. We're just passing ‘H rage and had quite a df L MR on our way to some friends in Wav- ‘“m* of 1t, poor things! The wiis finally persuaded Goble to move another to where ghe chauffeurs’ pa. lttle boy h mured caressingly. “We've only a | moment. I'm so sorry you disturbed |terdav. Good your husband. We're just going over |Mr. Sperry. for bridge. 1 suppose you know most With that, followed by somew of the people in Waverley Place? [feecble good- ts from both “No, T don’t think I know any. Sperrya. she pas the ka “Well, of course, we don't think {t | With her husband nent lat compares to Highland Place,” Mrs. |disappeared in the clean dusk «f Sullender sald with a little depreca- | “Highland Place” Then Bella turned to her trou well, gossipy.” | Willtam. “Oh,” Bella sald. “Ts it” . P | “I'm afraid so” the gentle man- Pl ' |nefed lady returned. “of l‘nur,g" K after all that's a great pity, too, in such a new ireally let us down pretty easy *0 the young wifa de “Did you say ‘us'? he answered. “I | 1e us down about as easy as we ¢l have expected.” “Bella Instantly ars threw herself ir she eried. band that won't thi when we're forty ar promise me 3a get us in trouble And Willlam promised, and weuld Copyright, 1922, Reprodaction prohibited and all rights reserved. There’s no place ltke home There's to place like home! An extle from tendor dezzles tn vain 0. give me my lowly thatched cottage ags Th that came at Give me them, aud the peace of mind, Ar.r pose it matters whether we say any- |any settled place which he might ¢ than all! thing or not.” home. The events in his career are | " e i ome, b sweet, eweet home Sh, but it does.” he insisted. and.l few and of no great intere Fereis mojipin e home: then, something in her tone having |was born in New York city ir There's o place lke home! caueht his attention, he inguired:|and was educated at Union College. e ou haven't A anything to any- | which afterward erected an elaborate | | one about it, have you, Bella?" “What?" “You haven't repeated what the child told you, have you? “Oh, no,” she said lightly: “not to any one that would have any personal interest in it.” any one gateway to his memory. For thir vears after leaving college he was | dramatic author and actor. both in| | New York and Europe, especially in |London. 1In 1841 he was appointed American consul to Tunis, Africa | where he died in 1852, after a service | | the earth men instinetively turn t I{h.\u‘. and the sentiment expr about it in Payne's immorta song will alwavs stand out as the most sacred thing to the human soul When the shadows of night fall weary footsteps to the one place « “Oh, my™ Willlam exclalmed. dis-|of eleven vears {ed home, be that a cottage or a mayed. “Who'd you tell?” While the life of John Howard | palace Nobody that has the slightest in- | Payne. perhaps. seemed to him a| Perhaps the unfortunate w torest in the Sullenders,” Bella re- | failure. still it was 5o rich in one &ift {once had a home and lost It is plied, with cold dignit, Nobody | to the world that his name restsiabove all others, who estecr that cares the slightest thing about |among the immortals in American | gacredness with keenest vears them.” [1etters today. The world has reaped | Nothing clse In life can take its | | “Well, then, what in the world dia |!ts richest harvests of music and|Even a palace splendor cannot ey | literature out of the wrecks of great, |isfy the soul's longing for its ow b unhappy lives. | fireside. The world has mnothing ! Why, to pass the time, I suppose,” Bella said. a little offended. “Cousin Ethel dropped in for a while this aft- ernoon, and the whole thing was so extraordinary I just sketched it to What are you making such & “I'm he protested feebly. “But even if the thing’s true we Hon't {want to get tha name of people that |sossip about their 2 Will, please?” 1 hope 1t won't get back to lenders.” Such horrible people as that, what aifference would It make?" Bella de- | manded smpatiently. “And how could it get back? Cousin Fthel doesn't move in Sullenler circles—not pre- cisely!” ‘o, but her close friend, Mrs. How- ard Pecbles, 1s the aunt of Mrs. Frank Deems, and Frank Deems is Sullen- der's business partne “Oh, a reaitor. is he tcily. William returned to the lounge, but did not recline. Instead he sat down and took his head In his hands “I do wish you hadn’t talked about 1" he said. " Bella sald, * kK % TELLA was sensitive; therefore she began to be angry. “Do you think it's very intelligent,” she asked, “to imply that I don’t know enough not to make nelghborhood trouble? You may not recall that only last night you were sure. that you were right and 1 was wrong about what sort of people these Sullenders are. Already, the very next day, you've had to confess that you were utterly mistaken, and that your wife is wholly 1 suppose you may feel a little depressed about that and want to change the question to some- thing else and claim I'm in the wrong about that. But don’t you think it's a little bit childish of you, Will? Don't you think that the way you're taking your defeat is just a little bit—small?™ He was hurt, and looked up at.her After a silent exile of thirty vears the body of John Howard Payne was | brought back to this country through | the philanthropic efforts of W. w. | Corcoran of this city, and burled here in Oak Hill cemetery. The occasion | became one of world-wide interest, for his song had found a place in the hearts of the people of every land. The body arrived in this country amid impressive ceremonies, and per- | i " She slghed impatientl |haps no American, dead o alive, ever | GTRANGE Storles are sometim:s [ Ive told you Cousin Ethel nasn't the | yeturned to his native shores under | told of the wonderful thines i s e o these|such honorcd circumstances. Now | have fallen in rainstorme. O« .;“':{‘ e er re- | ihere stands beside that grave & ally it is frogs, again it is s = = 4 v pure whit bie, : A el If she dossu't; 011 be ihe |SiTucture of mure while ATDIefof Blood, or some mineral such 3 which was built by thousands of | gyop 2% 28 PR : iaddine e lotaty Corrtiltion: Kis| kb del e o0 ELIUREREL Shore NBIUBEREY, < S dation for these stories, and iny surmounted by a life-size bust of the poet, and underneath is lettered this epitaph: John Howard Pasne Author of *Home, Sweet Home Born June 9, 1792—Died April 9, 1852. Bure, when they gentle spirit fled To realms above the dome, With outstretched arms, God's angels said, Welcone to Heaven's home, sweet home. d* ok ok K OHN HOWARD PAYNE'S books are hardly known today, but his ‘one song is sung around the world. Its composition was another evidence of | how great poems come to the world through inspiration. It is said that when he wrote the song, a part of the play “Clarl,” he was sorely dis- couraged, lonely and poor. He felt!| every line. In his soul was a longing for the one thing he did not have—a home. The moment was an inspired one and out of his own poverty, lone- liness and misfortune came the song which has soothed the souls of mil- 1ions all over the world. - The song went through several!| changes and adaptations, but the form given below Is the original as sung by Miss M. Free in Payne's operatic play, “Clari, the Maid of Milan," in 1823. HOME, SWEET HOME. | ‘Mid plessures and palaces though we may | roam, Be it ever so humble, there's mo place like home; A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there, ‘Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home, homs, sweet, sweet home! offer which can ever appre . take its pla And the man who wrote “Home, Sweet Home" was one of the homeless unfortunates, and doubtless his very misfortune 1s wh gave the world its truest and swee' est SOng. Sulphur Rains. gation furnishes an exy the phenomena At Bordeaux for many vesrs 0 April and May. so-called “rains of sulphur” have been noticed, w1 the carth becomes spotted with « seem to be patches of sulphur br down by the rain. This phen was not iong ago the subj scientific investigation, and shown that the supposed sulphi really the vellow pollen of a of pine, large forests of whicl « south and southwest f Borloa The rains referred to occur : time of the flowering of the pins pollen of which must be carr 3 a great helght in the air. “Dead Nebulae.” HERE has been photographod most singular ohject in the stellation Taurus, the appearar which suggests the term nebula” It is a long, strags mass, which seems to shut out stars behind it. All round it but within appe stars are strewn thickly, its boundaries very few it is suggested that these ide of it. At one point the . bright nebula. which ually fades out. The feebler tions of the nebula would suggest that a large nebula ¢ here, but that the major portion of] it is dead or non-luminous. In some| places the dark object is manifestty darker than the starless parts of th sky around it