sometimes, like Hecla, in the ages, ice-surrounded. She has her
trials, this woman, but her trials never kill her. The rending of the
earth, earthy, is never fatal. She recovers. With her, good digestion
ever waits on appetite, though an occasional appetite be faulty.

And one day Grant Harlson left the town, his face turned cityward. The
country boy--this later young man of the summer--was no more. To fill
his place among the mass of bipeds who conduct the affairs of the world
so badly and so blunderingly, was but one added to the throng of
strugglers in one of men's great permanent encampments.




CHAPTER XIV.

A RUGGED LOST SHEEP.

The journal of Marie Bashkirtseff is a great revelation of the hopes
and imaginings and sufferings of a girl just entering that period of
life when woman's world begins. Many upon two continents have been
affected by the depths and sadness of it, yet it is but a primer, the
mere record of a kindergarten experience, in comparison with what would
be the picture showing as plainly a heart of some man of the city. Did
you ever read the diary, unearthed after his death, and printed in part
but recently, of Ellsworth, the young Zouave colonel, who was slain in
Alexandria, and avenged on the moment, at the very beginning of the
great civil war? That is a diary worth the reading. There is told the
story of not alone vain hopes and ungratified ambitions, but of an
empty stomach and dizzy head to supplement the mental agony and make