Stranger than Fiction.
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��STRANGER THAN FICTION.
By Henrietta E. Page.
��" O the lon.^ and dreary winter ! O the cold and cruel winter ! Ever thicker, thicker, thicker Froze the ice on lake and river,"
I threw down the book with a yawn, albeit it was my favorite Longfellow, and gazed out upon the " cruel winter " with weary, lacklustre eyes. I was weary of life, weary of snow, and oh,
��saw him a year ago, on board the steamer for Florence, where the doctors had sent him as a last resort, with his keeper, or as he was called, his attendant. He was then a poor wreck, sunk of cheek, and wild of eye ; haggard and sal- low. I expected he would return in his coffin or in chains, a raving maniac. Well, just picture my astonishment, when,
��so weary of racking my brains for new ^^ ^ ^^^^ ^^^^.^^ ^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^ Street, and origmal plots for my stones, and, m ^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^ ^.^^^^ ^ ^^^^ the fact, quite in the mood to do any fool- - . , , t , r
��ish, not to say suicidal act. But just to show what trivial things \vill some- times avert terrible catastrophes, I will here announce, that I, Jack Lawrence, author and editor, owe my invaluable hfe to the gambols of a fly, a poor lit- tle winter fly, which had crept into ex- istence in spite of cold, hunger, and un- toward circumstances. I sat and watched him till, — By George ! there's the letter carrier and he 's got a bulky letter for me, too. With new life coursing through my veins, I grasped the package, and sat down to devour the contents. I will now give them to you, my readers :
J^LORENCE, December 25, 1883. Dear Jack :
I know you will open wide those
��personification of health, a model of manly strength, and an Adonis of mas- culine beauty. I noticed a strange like- ness to Winn, and for that reason, I suppose my stare of admiration was prolonged far beyond the Umits of true pohteness. I was upon the point of passing, when he stopped, and held out his hand.
" Harold Whitney? Are you going to pass an old friend in that st}4e? "
" Winn Stemley ! " T gasped, in blank amazement.
" Yes, old fellow, Winn Stemley, alive and hearty, and never better x»leased than now to meet so true, so tried a friend. Are you at leisure ? If so come in. I want to have a long ch>vt with you, and introduce you to my board-
��lazy eyes of yours when you read the ing mistress, who is nothing, i^ she is
above, for it's hardly more than six not a beauty."
weeks since I spent the evening in your I said I was at leisure, and nothing
cosy sanctum ; at which time I had no would please me better than a chat
more idea I should be where I am, than with him ; so taking his latch-key from
that I should be making discoveries in his pocket, he nimbly ran up th^ flight
the Lunar regions ; but it is all owing to of steps near which we had met, and we
Winn Stemley — of course you remem- entered. He went quickly to the hat
��ber him, showing me the picture of a woman — but there, I will not forestall my story.
You remember my telling you how almost broken-hearted I was when I
��rack, and opening a little box in the side, exclaimed :
" She 's out."
" Who 's out? " I queried,
" My boarding mistress. She keeps
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