Stories by Foreign Authors

-restrained power was awakened. He had reached a crisis in life: the future lay before him,-the future, the future! What was it to be? He was twenty-four years old, and could turn hi

this uncertainty into clear vision; and after a long

he continued, after

angels, which are neither man nor woman; but angelic girls, whom he didn't know, and who didn't know him. The truth was, he didn't know anybody to whom he could give his heart, but longed, with a certain twenty-four-year p

ething practical, thought upon a little picnic that was to be held in the evening; but the same dream returned and overpowere

there it moved, to him unknown, and veiled and hidden as at a masquerade. What a treasure might not that easy virgin foot carry! What a fancy might there not be moving

well-bred, of good family, could any one vouch that for her sake he was not giving up HER, the beau-ideal, the expected, whose po

to everybody there is but one drawing, and

sure as life had recently appeared to him, so misty, uncertain, and painful it now appeared. For the second time he stroked his forehead

m. He shut his eyes to keep out the dust, grasping at random for the paper, which he caught. At the same moment the whirlwind ceased, and the sky was again clear. This appeared to him ominous; the scrap of paper had certainly a meaning to him,

e was written "beloved," and a little below it seemed as if there had bee

If it had been gek, I could have understood it, although it were inc

fter a while, and seated himself to write a long, glowing lov

by acting to me as mail-carrier through the window, let

as my chosen, as my-." "Yes, now what more shall I add?" he asked himself. "Ay, as my-'geb'-!" he added, with an outburst of merry humor, that just completed the whole sentimental outburst. He went to the window and threw the paper out; it alighted with a slow quivering. He was al

mself, with a certain quiet humor, and yet impressed by