The Post. (Brule, Okla. Terr.), Vol. 1, No. 50, Ed. 1 Friday, May 18, 1906 Page: 1 of 12
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THE
POST.
VOL. I. BRULE, WOODWARD CO., O. T. (SEE DATE INSIDE)
NO. .*>0.
In the Quiet Evening.
There are times when life Is somethin*
.... more than eat und drink, and sleep;
'v lien the surface shows no ripple, though
the stream is swift and deep;
'' hen the good that's in the worst of ua
has taken us in tow
And hin? fanned love's fading embers till
.... thpy flash again and glow;
W nen we feel there’s something in us has
escaped the madding crowd—
Y\ lien it’s quiet in the evening and the
clock ticks loud.
W hen the grate fire’s crimson afterglow is
graying into gloom,
w hen there’s none but she and you wlth-
11 oozy little room;
Y\ hen the cat upon the hearth rug yawns
aritl drifts again to dreams.
I ien how very like the heaven we have
,„i loanied to long for seems
I hat delightful little chamber with the
magic charm endowed—
*' lien it s quiet in the evening and the
clock ticks loud.
Xoi a word to break the stillness, yet
there s music in the air—
Music born of softest silence, music sweet
and low and rare;
I‘or the one who sits beside you is your
sweetheart, and you know
ha i she loves you, for she wed you manv
patient years ago;
And her love songs, born of silence, make
brave, and great, and proud.
V\ lion it s quiet in the evening and the
clock ticks loud.
—New York Times.
TWO ANSWEFS
BY JEFFERSON WILSON L
(Copyright, 1905, by Pally Story Pub, Co.)
Tu 6sd&y
Dear Billie:—Your letter of June
2tith reached me ages ago at St.
Petersburg, but I have been so very
bufiy that I have had no time for re-
ply.
It is very good of you, I am sure,
to think of me.
So you are settled in your quiet,
married life. Requiescat in pace.
What a rover I have become! Now
here, now there. The Wandering Jew
is a veritable stay-at-home in compari-
son with my peregrinations, and I
marvel now how I was ever content
in the monotonous rut in which I
lived when I loved you. That was be-
fore I knew anything of life or of men,
and when you vowed you loved me
and would love me always, and
l believed you, how my very credulity
must have bored you. Gullibility is
so very unattractive—so very gauche.
You were indeed self-sacrificing to
give me so much of your time and so
many of your kisses. The contact of
your lips, the warmth of your caresses
and the electric bond that united us
constituted my heaven and I could
not tell you how deeply I loved you,
nor could I make sacrifices enough
for you. How very bourgeois. You
were very patient to tolerate me so
long as you did. But then, first love
is always foolishly sincere, and its
very honesty and depth bring their
own reward—desertion.
I see myself as I was then—half-
formed—undeveloped. And how lone-
. ome I used to be. What fool things
I did and said and believed. And
when you left me without one mo-
ment’s warning, I wanted to throw
away this life—to speed it to unknown
worlds. How cruel. I know now that
life is full of interest, ever changing,
ever new scenes. I have run the
gamut of all known emotions, and out
of the conflict has ome power.
Knowledge, experience, contrast—
what a trinity of power. How splen-
did to have the world at one’s feet—
to chose where one was once a suppli-
cant.. This freedom, ’tls glorious.
What power has a woman o’er the
whole world after she has awakened.
I thank you, dear Billie, for having
Wakened me.
Trrnv it ig ^ uneXpected that hap-
W? anu toji .yiait tet become a. part
of my life again. My cher ami, you
are too late. Much too late. I have
something more interesting to do just
now, besides the husband of another
woman can never attract me.
Tis strange how many things come
to a man after he is married. You
have gained your ambition—you have
married wealth and position and yet
you say your heart aches, you sigh
for love and that memories of happier
days haunt you. I will turn counsel-
lor-marvelous the change in me, is
if. not?
Hearts are but encumbrances to be
l*icr discover deceit an&* treachery.
There are other things I wish to say
to you, but I cannot. These love
memories strangle all other thoughts
—my eyes burn and refuse to perform
their duty—my hands are as ice, and
I must sit here a prey to mockeries
of the past.
You are a man—it is given to you
to forget. A woman never forgets.
I thank you for the great honor you
have tendered me. May God bless
you, and may you love and marry a
woman who can love you as you de-
serve to be loved.
Yours most sincerely.
BETTINA PERCIVAL.
“Dear Billie:”
cast aside when ambition beckons. Do
not allow your heart any hearing.
As for love. What is love? Mean-
ingless signs relegated to femmes des
chambres and valets. For people of
knowledge, love does not exist.
As for memories, pooh, they are
but the nightmares of a disordered
brain. Take a tonic.
We learn all these things after the
disenchantment of reality has come.
You were amused, and for two
years—so you told me—what more
Memories refuse to be silenced.
vince myself that I could grant you
the wish of your heart, but I cannot.
Did I know less of love—its possi-
bilities and its disappointments, I
might accept your offer and become
your wife.
“Wife.” How sweet sounds the
word. Time was when I would have
bartered my soul for the tiny hoop of
gold the few words of a priest entitled
oman to wear. How I loved In
se days, and I experienced those
'eiquisite emotions revealed only to
those who can love but once.
The memory of that love is upon me
now. I dash away the tears that arise
unbidden to my eyes. Tears, ah, dear-
est of friends, how scalding are the
tears born of love unrequited. Memo-
ries refuse to be silenced, and some
thoughts are wounds that can never
heal. Go where I will, do what I will,
his face is ever before me, and even
though he married another, my
thoughts are all of him.
I tell you this, because I know that
you will understand. I feel that you
love me and are sincere in your wish
to try to make me happy. Would that
you could, but ’tis so long since I
Gold in the World.
Of the $r»,600,000,000, of gold in the
world, the United States possesses
$1,300,000,000. or nearly onefourth.
Count Bvni says ihar fie k;»c- h!3
’■vife just as much as ever—au;l prob-
ably that’s true.
The Hungarian diet may be di:>
solved, but it is not digested. Vivo
Kossuth and goulash!
It is certainly appropriate that ?,
man named Avis should be giving
illustrated talks on bird life.
It is feared that the thief who stole
a church bell will return now some
dark night and steal the pulpit Bible.
*’ ----- --^--- ----- ---- l, 1UV1 TJ ~ ----» --- ------ A.
can you ask? Amusement comes not have been happy, that I have forgot
back again, and old toys, even though ! the word’s meaning.
The world considers me a flirt—a
It was a boy that choked on candy
in Ohio. No girl ever choked on can-
dy, though she eats ;t ten to the boy's
pound.
It is said that the American eagle
is dying out. We have noticed that
every one we ever saw had grown
quite bald.
Beauty is multiplied as it Is dis-
played. Every pretty gfrl is a beauti-
ful pattern which every other girl
tries to copy.
they be regilded, show their dents
here and there. So let the old toys
remain In tho dust heap of departed
yesterdays.
Then trot along, Billie, dear; enjoy
all the happiness and comforts mar-
riage has brought you. Stray not
back again o’er the days of old—days
of lost illusions, days when we dared
be sincere; days before the refine-
ment of advanced civilization caused
us to wound and wound and wound.
One is so foolish to remember. The
opening of closed eyes may have
caused pain at the time of the opera-
tion, but when the vision becomes
clearer and the brain can analyze and
contrast, we thank God for having
made the operation necessary and we
can forget or remember, just as we
choose.
I have chosen forgetfulness. Do
you likewise. Do not let remorse
bother you. I had to learn and you
were a very proficient teacher. I
have long since written finis to our
chapter, and the school books have
been sold to a second-hand dealer in
experience.
I am in excellent health, thank you.
Every moment of life reveals new
joys. I am never ennui.
Yours very truly.
.BETTINA.
Tuesday.
Dear Jack:—Days and nights have
l sat here alone endeavoring to con-
coquette. I care not, but I could not
bear the thought of your joining in
that opinion, so I have opened the
wound and now' night and day shall
I pay an added penalty.
In those days of love, I imagined that,
a great love would attract and hold
a great love. But I have learned the
sa^i lesson of life. Love tarries just
so long as there are sweeter depths
to discover, newer delights to enjoy.
Pardon me, dear friend, for my candor,
but I can but speak of love as I found
it.
Lord Byron knew' the heart of
woman. Read what he says:
“Alas, the love of woman! It is known
To be a lovely and a fearful thing;
For all of theirs upon that die is
thrown,
And if ’tis lost, life hath no more to
bring
To them but mockeries of the past
alone.
“They are right; for man so oft un-
just.
Is always so to woman; one sole
bond
Awaits them, treachery is all their
trust.”
I am capable of but one love. For
your sake I wish it were otherwise. I
know what it is to love and to long
for a loved one—to stretch out one’s
arms and to clasp thin air. But bet-
ter thin air than the bodv of flesh.
Turks and Servians continue to kill
each other, but if the innocent by-
stander’s good luck abides there will
be no fuss made.
It Is stated that a “oaby of two
years was a witness in a New York
divorce case.” May have been mere-
ly .in exhibit, however.
Murder will out. and a woman is no
less a woman-, though she mimics the
infernal masculine. Dr. Mary Walker
declines to state her age.
Considering the number of “I's” in
Hug Edward’s speech from the throne
he uninitiated must be amazed to
learn that he didn’t write it.
The pig, it appears, is the center
point of Servian politics. This is an
improvement upon making the whole-
hog grafter the center point.
A citizen of Topsham, Mo., has just
died at the ripe age of 100 years. One
hundred years in Maine is worth—
how many cycles of Cathay?
The dancing masters arc trying to
take one step forward ty abolishing
!be “two-step.”
Prince Louis of Battenburg has
been visiting Niagara, but sold no
lace while there.
What a relief it must be to China to
know that there will be no more prize
fighting In her backyard!
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Forster, William. The Post. (Brule, Okla. Terr.), Vol. 1, No. 50, Ed. 1 Friday, May 18, 1906, newspaper, May 18, 1906; Brule, Oklahoma Territory. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc941676/m1/1/?q=%22United+States%22: accessed July 17, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.