74 



THE AMERICAN BEE-KEEPER. 



March 



O'N'E TJTTLE T^CTJR "ERt "DAT. 



The ■v\i'ii5.1e I sleeping lay 



One liltle hour pre clay, 

 Befoi'e my ■window on the tree 

 X swalU-w 8ang this song to mo, 



One little hour ere day. 



Kcw listen to my lay, 



Thy lover I betray. 

 The while I sing this song to theo 

 Another maiden kisseth he, 



^fm little hour ere day. 



Oh, nje, no further say! 



Ah, hush, no more betray I 

 Fly, swallow, from my sill away. 

 Ah, love and faith, a dream are they 



One little hour ere day. 



— Eduard Moerike. 



CHOLLY'S STORY. 



It was too warm an evening, even fol 

 a smoking concert, Cliolly said as h« 

 came out of his room, attired all in 

 white, looking a perfect picture of man- 

 ly beauty. Cholly was a blond specimen 

 of the male sex, blue eyed, golden hair- 

 ed, a stalwart representative of tha 

 Saxon type. He was 27, well placed as 

 regards this world's wealth and position. 

 Life to him — thanks to old Egerton 

 Bailey, his late father — was a pleasant 

 pastime, the world a charmed play 

 place, where girls worshiped him and 

 men voted hira a trump. So much for 

 Cholly, debonair, kind hearted and 

 handsome, who had traveled the world 

 over, making friends wherever he went. 



Cholly's prediction that it was too 

 warm even for a smoking concert on this 

 particular evening was verified by the 

 slim attendance there on his arrival. 

 Only eight men out of the 30 expected 

 found their way to the usual rendezvous. 

 By general agreement the music was 

 banished, coats discarded, negligee atti- 

 tudes assumed, and the eight men 

 amused themselves by relating anecdotes 

 and personal experiences. 



"By thev.ay, Cholly, " at last a friend 

 said to the blond Adonis, who, sprawled 

 on a sofa, was listening quietly to the 

 conversation, "you're very silent to- 

 night. You've just arrived from the 

 west too. Come, haven't you some blood 

 curdling tale to tell us of western atroc- 

 ities, cowboy 'breaks' or Coxey out- 

 rages? These fellows' stories are stale. 

 We require something spicy to stir us up 



a nignt lUie tiTis. " 



"Well. I did have an adventure, but 

 its recital won't be spicy, Tracy. I don't 

 think it will be the style you care for." 



"Out with it! Out with it!" seven 

 voices simultaneously exclaimed. "Is it 

 a Christian Endeavor story, Cholly?" 

 asked Tracy. "You do look awful sol- 

 emn. " 



"No; it's a Sunday school talk," said 

 Andy ViG:irs, a very young man with a 

 new mustache and a drawl. 



"All right," said Cholly quietly; "if 

 you fellows don't be quiet, I won't tell 

 it." 



"Go on, Cholly. Don't mind the 

 calves, " grunted old Major Poole. "Tell 

 us your story, man." 



"It will interest you, major. Doubt- 

 less you remen)ber the Donovans of 

 Limerick — i -etty Kate, they called one 

 of tliem. I met them in Dublin." 



"Do I lensember her? May me eyes 

 fall out of me head if I ever see her 

 likes agaiu^ — eyes like violets, hair like 

 ink and a skin like peaches and cream. 

 And a fi;:,'ger ! God bless you, boys, she 

 had a figger like a goddess. She could 

 ride cress country like a bird. Never 

 saw such a rider before nor since. But, 

 Clanlly, me boy, I thought you were 

 'gone' ir» that direction. Oh, the pair 

 you'd have m^e!" 



Cholly blushed scarlet ; the company 

 exchanged glances. "Seems to me," 

 said Andy Vicars, "that the major's 

 telling this story. Go on, Cholly; hold 

 the platform." So Cholly cleared his- 

 throat, as Andy said afterward he seem- 

 ed mightily upset by the major's re- 

 marks, wiped the perspiration from his 

 flushed face and began : 



"Yen tee, fellows, my story will have 

 to con8i>st of two parts, the introduction 

 and the-sequel. It begins in Ireland four 

 years ago and ends in Canada four days 

 ago. It was in Dublin tiiat I first met 

 Miss Kale Donovan of Limerick. She 

 was a stunner, as the major says, the 

 best cross country rider I ever saw. She 

 was poor as »• church mouse and proud 

 as Lucifer. She was an orphan ; had been 

 brought up by her uncle, old Peter Don- 

 ovan. He had three daughters of his 

 own, but none of them could hold a 

 caiiule to Miss Kate herself. From what 

 I saw during the time I was in Dublin 

 I don't think the trio cared much for 

 pretty Kate ; they were jealous of her 



