MARRYING IN CHICAGO.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2380, 18 November 1881, Page 3

MARRYING IN CHICAGO.

Penelope Stiggins lived in Boston. Her father had gained great riches by selling codfish. He had formerly been a professor at Harvard, but went into mercantile lira that he might amass wealth and build a telescope so powerful that his theory of the sun’s spots would be proven true and his enemies humbled. When the money was secured ha had forgotten about the telescope. Penelope was his only child, and she loved her father dearly, kissing him fondly every evening after ho had come from the store and changed his clothes. She was not partial to codfish.

One day Penelope wag seated alone in her boudoir (Boston for room) reading a treatise on horizontal cleavage in red eandstone, when Olytemneatra Quirk came in. The two girls chatted for a while on the progress of rationalism in Europe. “ Have you seen that dashing Mr West from Chicago recently, Pen ?” asked Olytemnestra, suddenly changing the subject of conversation.

A bright flush mantled the girl’s brow as she said softly, “I am going to marry him.” Hot a word was spoken for at least a second. Then Miss Quirk said, “ Why do you marry this man f”

“Let me tell you," replied Penelope, “ You know I am cultured—too much so, perhaps. When, therefore, Mr West invited me, soon after his arrival in Boston, to attend one of the Wednesday organ concerts, I consented, little knowing what awaited me. “ When the first piece was over (I remember it was the ‘ Tannhauser' overture), I sat quite still, the tears rained down my face, but no words would come. Then it was I knew in an instant how perfectly sympathetic were my companion and myself. If he had at that moment uttered one of the commonplace or conventional criticisms one hears so often, I should have hated him for ever. But ha did not; ho only said very quietly, after I had recovered myself a little, ‘ I am so thank, ful that you heard it first with me,’ and I replied, ' If only it might last for ever.’ ” * # *

Two weeks later the marriage took place, and Penelope is now a resident of Chicago. The wild, free life of the Q-olden West suits her exactly, and on Monday afternoons when she is hanging out the clothes, and the southwest breeze hums merrily through the clothes pins in her month, and careens her eyeglasses to leeward, she thinks of the Wagner concert, and says softly to herself, “ After all, I can still tread on the cat’s tail when the feeling of loneliness comes over me,”—p'Ohicsgo Tribune. ”3