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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/14855-h.zip b/14855-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c5bcde8 --- /dev/null +++ b/14855-h.zip diff --git a/14855-h/14855-h.htm b/14855-h/14855-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a2a723d --- /dev/null +++ b/14855-h/14855-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1619 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?> +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Few Short Sketches, by Douglass Sherley. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-indent: 1em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Few Short Sketches, by Douglass Sherley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Few Short Sketches + +Author: Douglass Sherley + +Release Date: February 1, 2005 [EBook #14855] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FEW SHORT SKETCHES *** + + + + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<div style="margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 25%;"> +<h1 style="text-align: left;">A Few</h1> +<h1 style="text-align: left;">Short Sketches</h1> +<h1 style="text-align: left;">By Douglass Sherley</h1> +<br /> +<br /> +<h1 style="text-align: right;">Printed by</h1> +<h1 style="text-align: right;">John P. Morton & Co.</h1> +<h1 style="text-align: right;">Louisville, Kentucky, U.S.A.</h1> +<br /> +<br /> +<h2>MDCCCXCIII</h2> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p class="center"> +COPYRIGHTED BY DOUGLASS SHERLEY,<br /> +1892<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p class="center">[<i>Transcriber's Note: unusual spellings have been retained as in the original.</i>]</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> + +<h2>THOSE RUSSIAN VIOLETS</h2> + +<h3>TO</h3> +<h3>LADY VIOLET</h3> + + + + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2><a name="I" id="I" />I</h2> + +<p><a name="THOSE_RUSSIAN_VIOLETS" id="THOSE_RUSSIAN_VIOLETS" /></p> +<h3>THOSE RUSSIAN VIOLETS</h3> + + +<p>There had been a brilliant reception at the +house of Mrs. Adrian Colburn in honor of her +guest—a most attractive young woman—from +the East. The hours were brief, from five to +seven. I had gone late and left early, but while +there had made an engagement with Miss Caddington +for the large ball to be given that night +by the Boltons.</p> + +<p>Miss Caddington was a <i>debutante</i>. She had +been educated abroad, but had not lost either +love of country or naturalness of manner. During +the short but fiercely gay season from October +to Christmas she had made many friends, +and found that two or three lovers were hard +to handle with much credit to herself or any +real happiness to them.</p> + +<p>She was not painfully conscientious, nor was +she an intentional trifler; therefore she was good +at that social game of lead on and hold off.</p> + +<p>"Call at nine," she said, "and I will be ready."</p> + +<p>But she was not ready at nine. The room +where I waited was most inviting. There were +several low couches laden with slumber-robes +and soft, downy pillows, all at sweet enmity with +insomnia. The ornaments were few but pleasing +to the eye. Art and her hand-maiden, Good +Taste, had decorated the walls. But there was +a table, best of all, covered with good books, and +before it, drawn in place, an easy-chair. An +exquisite china lamp, with yellow shade, shed +all the light that was needed. Everywhere there +were feminine signs—touches that were delightful +and unmistakable.</p> + +<p>From somewhere there came a rich oriental +odor. It intoxicated me with its subtle perfume. +I picked up "After-Dinner Stories" (Balzac), then +a translation from Alfred de Musset, an old +novel by Wilkie Collins, "The Guilty River;" +but still that mysterious perfume pervaded my +senses and unfitted me for the otherwise tempting +feast spread before me. I looked at the +clock; it was nine thirty. I turned again to the +table, and carelessly reached out for a pair of +dainty, pale tan-colored gloves. Then I seized +them eagerly and brushed them against my face; +I had found the odor. The gloves were perfumed. +They had been worn for the first time +to the reception, and had been thrown there into +a plate of costly percelain, to await her ladyship's +pleasure and do further and final service +at the ball. They bore the imprint of her dainty +fingers, and they were hardly cold from the +touch and the warmth of her pretty white +hands. They seemed, as they rested there, like +something human; and if they had reached out +toward me, or even spoken a word of explanation +regarding their highly perfumed selves, I +should indeed have been delighted, but neither +surprised nor dismayed.</p> + +<p>But while the gloves did not speak, did not +move, something else made mute appeal. Tossed +into that same beautiful plate, hidden at first by +the gloves, was a bunch, a very small bunch of +Russian violets. Evidently they had been worn +to the reception, and while I was wondering if +she would wear them to the ball I heard a light +step, the rustle of silken skirts, and I knew that +my wait was ended.</p> + +<p>She looked resplendent in evening dress, and +swept toward me with the grace, the charm, +the ease of a woman of many seasons instead of +one hardly half finished.</p> + +<p>"Here are your gloves," I said. She quickly +drew them on and made them fast with almost a +single movement.</p> + +<p>"And your Russian violets," I added. She +looked at them hesitatingly, but slightly shrugged +her shoulders, that were bare and gleamed +in the half glow of lamp and fire like moonlight +on silvered meadow, and, turning, looked up at +me and said:</p> + +<p>"I am ready at last; pray pardon my long +delay."</p> + +<p>While we were driving to the ball I asked her +about the perfumed gloves with an odor like +sandal-wood or like ottar of roses. She said +they had been sent her from Paris, but they +were in all the shops, were pleasant, but not +rare. She said nothing about the violets, nor +did I mention them again. Yielding to an impulse, +I had before we left the house thrust +them into my waistcoat pocket when she had +turned to take up the flowing silk of her train.</p> + +<p>All the evening I could catch the odor of +those Russian violets that had been lightly +worn, indifferently cast aside, and smothered by +those artificial creatures, the perfumed gloves, +for they were jealous of the natural fragrance +and would have killed it if they could.</p> + +<p>All the evening I found myself nervously +looking about for Russian violets, but there +were none to be seen. Miss Bolton wore violets, +but not the deep, dark, wide and sad-eyed violet +known as the Russian.</p> + +<p>We had a curious talk, driving home, about +the responsibility of human action—hardly the +kind of conversation for "after the ball." Miss +Caddington astonished me by saying that she +considered it useless to strive against the current +of that which is called "Destiny;" that it +was better to yield gracefully than to awkwardly, +unsuccessfully struggle against the tide. +I was deeply interested, and asked her what she +meant, what association of ideas had produced +the speech.</p> + +<p>"For instance," she said, "if a man who fancies +himself in love with me deliberately dictates +a certain course of action which I do not +care to follow, and grows angry with me, and +finally breaks with me altogether, I certainly +do not in any way feel responsible for any of +his subsequent movements. Am I right?"</p> + +<p>In parting with her, and in answer to her +question, I made, as we so often make in reply +to real questions, a foolish answer:</p> + +<p>"I will tell you on New Year's night."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I drove to the club. I was aglow with my +enjoyment of the evening, and wanted to talk +it over with some congenial fellow. I found +John Hardisty, a man that I had known for +many years, and who always seemed to enjoy +my rambling accounts—even of a ball.</p> + +<p>Hardisty was a quiet man, keenly observant +of people, but himself free almost entirely from +observation. In the financial world he held a +clerical but valuable position; in the social +world, being a gentleman and a club man, he +was invited everywhere; and, being very punctilious +about his calls and social obligations, he +was always invited again. People in recounting +those who had been at balls, dinners, and +the like, always named the guests, then added, +"And Hardisty, I believe." No one was ever +very sure. He had no intimate friends and +no enemies—he was not noticed enough to inspire +dislike. But he was a man of positive +opinion, which he generally kept to himself. +He had settled convictions, which he never +used to unsettle others. I had known him in +his old home, Virginia; so perhaps he felt more +friendly toward me and talked more freely with +me.</p> + +<p>He was a man of a fine sentiment and a sensitive +nature. He ought to have been a poet instead +of a clerical expert. He was intensely +fond of flowers, but never wore them. He used +to say that it was heresy for a man to wear a +flower, and sacrilege for a woman to let them +die on her breast.</p> + +<p>When I told him about those Russian violets +he seemed interested, but, when I finished, astonished +and grieved me by yawning in my face +and calmly stating that he considered the story +trivial, far-fetched, and, in short, stupid.</p> + +<p>"There is," he said, "only one thing for us +to do—have a drink and go to bed—for the club +closes in ten minutes." He ordered a small +bottle of wine, something I had never seen him +drink, and talked in a light, nonsensical strain, +for him a most unusual thing. In telling the +story I had drawn out the little bunch of +Russian violets and placed them on the table. +They were very much wilted, but the odor +seemed stronger and sweeter than ever. When +we parted for the night I forgot the violets. The +next day, the twenty-ninth of December, I did +not see John Hardisty, although he was at his +office and in the club that night, and insisted on +paying his account for December and his dues +to April first. December thirtieth he was at his +office, where he remained until nearly midnight. +He went to his room, which was near the club, +and was found by his servant, early the next +morning, the last of the old year, dead. He +was lying on the bed, dressed and at full length. +His right hand clenched a pistol with one empty +barrel; gently closed in his left hand they found +a little bunch of faded violets—that was all.</p> + +<p>Not a line, not a scrap of paper to tell the +story. His private letters had been burned—their +ashes were heaped upon the hearth. There +were no written instructions of any kind. There +were no mementoes, no keepsakes. Yes, there +was a little Bible on the candle-stand at the head +of his bed, but it was closed. On the fly-leaf, +written in the trembling hand of an old woman, +was his name, the word "mother," and the date +of a New Year time in old Virginia when he was +a boy.</p> + +<p>There was money, more than enough to cause +quarrel and heart-burnings among a few distant +relatives in another State, but there was absolutely +no record of why he had with his own +hand torn aside the veil which hangs between +life and death.</p> + +<p>When the others were not there I slipped into +his room and reverently unclosed his fingers +and read the story written there—written over +and above those Russian violets which she had +worn—for they were the same. There they remained.</p> + +<p>On the lid of his casket we placed a single +wreath of Russian violets. But all the strength +and all the sweetness came from those dim violets +faded, but not dead, shut within the icy cold +of his lifeless palm.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Miss Caddington and many of those who had +known him went to the New Year reception the +next night and chattered and danced and danced +and chattered. They spoke lightly of the dead +man; how much he was worth; the cut of his +dress suit; the quiet simplicity of his funeral; +the refusal of one minister to read the office for +the dead, and the charity of another—the one +who did.</p> + +<p>And then—they forgot him.</p> + +<p>That New Year's night I sat in my study and +thought of the woman who had worn those +Russian violets, and asked me if she were right +in her ideas about responsibility for human +action.</p> + +<p>Nowadays I frequently see her—she is always +charming; sometimes brilliant. Once I said to +her:</p> + +<p>"I have an answer for your question about +responsibility."</p> + +<p>"About responsibility?" she said, inquiringly; +then quickly added: "Oh, yes; that nonsense +we talked coming home from the Bolton ball. +Never mind your answer, I am sure it is a good +one, and perhaps clever, but it is hardly worth +while going back so far and for so little. Do +you think so? Are you going to the Athletic +Club german next week? No? I am sorry, for, +as you are one of the few men who do not dance, +I always miss a chat with you."</p> + +<p>Miss Caddington goes everywhere. Her +gowns are exquisite and her flowers are always +beautiful and rare, because out of season. But +neither in season nor out of season does she ever +wear a bunch—no matter how small—of those +Russian violets.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><a name="FIVE_RED_POPPIES" id="FIVE_RED_POPPIES" /></p><h2>FIVE RED POPPIES</h2> + +<h3>TO</h3> +<h3>LADY VIOLET AGAIN</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>II</h2> + +<h3>FIVE RED POPPIES</h3> + + +<p>They hung their heads in a florist's window. +The people of the town did not buy them, for +they wanted roses—yellow, white or crimson. +But I, a lover, passing that way, did covet them +for a woman that I knew, and straightway +bought them.</p> + +<p>As I placed those poppies in a box, on a bed +of green moss, I heard them chuckle together, +with some surprise and much glee. "What a +kind fool he is," said the first poppy, "to buy me, +and take me away from those disagreeable roses, +and other hateful blossoms in that damp, musty +window."</p> + +<p>"I heard," said the second poppy, "one sweet +lily of the valley whisper to the others of its +simple kind that we would die where we were +unnoticed, undesired by any one—how little it +knew!"</p> + +<p>"How cool and green this bed of moss," cried +the third poppy; "it is a most excellent place to +die upon. I am willing, I am happy."</p> + +<p>"Nay," said the fourth poppy, "you may die +on her breast if you will. She may take you up +and put you into a jar of clear water. She may +watch you slowly open your sleepy dark eye. +She may lean over you; then let your passionate +breath but touch her on the white brow, and she +may tenderly thrust you into her whiter bosom, +and quickly yield herself, and you, to an all-powerful +forgetfulness. She may twine me into +her dark hair, and I will calm the throb of her +blue-veined temples, and bring upon her a sleep +and a forgetting."</p> + +<p>The fifth poppy trembled with joyful expectation, +but said not a word.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Toward the close of the next day I went to +her, the woman that I knew, to whom I had sent +the poppies.</p> + +<p>I trod the stairway softly, oh, so softly, that +led to her door. Shadows from out of the unlighted +hall danced about me, and the sounds of +music—harp music—pleased me with a strain of +remembered chords.</p> + +<p>She rose to greet me with provoking but delecious +languor. She gave me the tips of her rosy +fingers. Her lips moved as if in speech, but no +words reached me; she barely smiled. In a priceless +vase near the open window they held their +heads in high disdain—those four red poppies +who had gleefully chuckled and chatted together +on the yesterday; but the fifth and silent poppy +drooped upon her breast. I turned to go; she +did not stay me; I stole to the door. "Take us +away with you," cried those four garrulous poppies; +"we are willing to die, and at once if need +be, but not here in her hateful presence. Take +us away." But the poppy on her breast only +drooped and drooped the more and said not a +word.</p> + +<p>I opened the door. The shadows had fled—the +hall was a blaze of light. The music had +ceased—only the noise of street below broke the +silence. "If thus you let me go, I will not return +again," I said.</p> + +<p>The woman did not speak, neither did she stir. +But the poppy on her breast with drooping head +uplifted softly cried, "Go, quickly go, and—forget!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I went down the broad stairway between a row +of bright lights—a dazzling mockery—I went out +into the night. I passed by a certain garden +where red poppies grew. I leaned over the low +wall. I buried my hot face among them. I +crushed them in my hands and stained my temples +with their quivering blooms. But all to no +purpose; they did not, could not bring forgetfulness. +I am thinking always of that woman, of +those four red poppies, and of that one red poppy +which drooped on her breast that night and said +to me, "Go, quickly go, and—forget."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_NEW_CURE_FOR_HEART_BREAK" id="THE_NEW_CURE_FOR_HEART_BREAK" />THE NEW CURE FOR HEART-BREAK</h2> + +<h3>TO</h3> +<h3>LITTLE MISS PREVIOUS</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><a name="III" id="III" /></p><h2>III</h2> + +<h3>THE NEW CURE FOR HEART-BREAK</h3> + +<h4>A CHRISTMAS GIFT STORY</h4> + + +<p class="right"> +Hat Mark.<br /> +Shaving Papers.<br /> +Embroidered Slippers.<br /> +Onyx Cuff Buttons.<br /> +Inkstand from Italy.<br /> +Her Picture—in Silver Frame.<br /> +Scarf-pin with Pearl and Diamonds.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<p>It was Christmas eve, several years ago. We +had dined together at the Cafe de la Paix, near +the Grand Opera-house, Paris. The dinner was +good, the wine excellent; but George Addison +was best of all.</p> + +<p>I have never known why he should have told +me that night of his "Cure for Heart-break."</p> + +<p>Was it the grouse?</p> + +<p>Was it the Burgundy?</p> + +<p>Was it some strange influence?</p> + +<p>George Addison is the man who first came to +the front in the literary world as the careful and +successful editor of that now valuable book, +"The Poets and Poetry of the South." A fresh +edition—about the eleventh—is promised for the +New Year.</p> + +<p>But he fairly leaped into fame, and its unusual +companion, large wealth, when he gave ungrudgingly +to his anxious and generous public that +curious little hand-book, "The Perfected Letter +Writer."</p> + +<p>Young ladies who live in the country buy it +clandestinely, and eagerly read it privately, +secretly, in their own quiet bed-chambers during +the silent watches of the night. When occasion +demands they boldly make extracts therefrom, +which they awkwardly project into their labored +notes and epistles of much length and less grace.</p> + +<p>Even women of fashion have been known to +buy it—and use it, not wisely, but freely.</p> + +<p>There are men, too, who consult its pages reverently, +frequently, and oftentimes, I must add, +with most disastrous results. It is, as is well +known, a valuable but dangerous manual.</p> + +<p>Therefore the name of George Addison is a +household word, although he is mentioned as the +editor of "Poets and Poetry of the South," and +never as the author of "The Perfected Letter +Writer"—a book which is seldom discussed. But +nothing, until now, has been known of his "New +Cure for Heart-break." If he had lived a few +years longer, and could have found time from the +more heavy duties of his busy life, he doubtless +would have turned to some use the practical +workings of his wonderful cure. But Death, +with that old fondness for a shining mark, has +seen fit to remove him from this, the scene of +his earthly labors (See rural sheet obituary +notice).</p> + +<p>In the early career of George Addison, when +he was obscure and desperately poor, he met +her—that inevitable she—Florence Barlowe.</p> + +<p>She had three irresistible charms. She was +very young; she was very pretty—and, most +charming of all, she was very silly. Time +could steal away—and doubtless did—the youth. +Time could ravage—and surely must have—her +beauty. But nothing could—and nothing did—mar +the uninterrupted splendor of her foolishness. +She was born a fool, lived a fool, and undoubtedly +must have died—if dead—the death of +a glorious and triumphant fool.</p> + +<p>George Addison was from the first attentive. +But he was shy in those days, and knew not how, +in words, to frame the love that filled his heart +and rose like a lump in his throat whenever he +saw her pretty face and heard her soft voice. +She was a fool, it is true, but she was like so +many fools of her kind, full of a subtle craft +which acts like the tempting bait on the hook +that catches the unwary fish.</p> + +<p>So she made him a present—it was of her own +handiwork. Each Christmas tide she repeated +the process; each year enriching the hook with +a more tempting offer. It took her seven years +to graduate in presents from a hat mark to a +scarf-pin of little diamonds and a big rare pearl; +but somehow there was a hitch and a halt within +the heart of George Addison.</p> + +<p>He never said the word. He just loved her, +and waited. She grew desperate. She startled +him by instituting a quarrel, which was not very +much of a quarrel, for it takes two, I have +always understood, to make one—in all senses +of the word. He did not quite understand, and +told her so. She wept in his presence, and forbade +him the house. She made her father +threaten his life, which was now almost a burden. +He still did not understand; so he did—from +her standpoint the worst thing possible—nothing. +While she was impatiently waiting at +home for a reconciliation and a proposal—which +never came—he was dumbfounded with grief, and +employed his time, tearfully of course, selecting +all of her favorite poems—for she was fond of a +certain kind of poetry. Then it was that the +idea of "Poets and Poetry of the South" came +upon him. The popularity of the book was +assured in advance, because he selected only +those poems that he thought would please Florence +Barlowe—and her taste was average—so is +the taste, I am told, of the general public.</p> + +<p>About a year after their rupture his compilation +volume appeared, and was an instantaneous +success. The approach of Christmas made him +painfully realize their estrangement. Finally he +awakened to a full knowledge of the situation. +A slow anger started up within him and gradually +swept over him like a tidal wave.</p> + +<p>It was Christmas eve.</p> + +<p>He lighted his lamp—his quarters were still +poor and very cheerless. He unlocked a drawer +which contained his few treasures, and there +they were—the seven gifts entire from the fair +hand of pretty Florence Barlowe. There was +also a little packet of letters, notes, and invitations +from the same hand.</p> + +<p>"She never really cared for me," he said, as +he tenderly drew them out from their place one +by one. "I want a love-cure," he added, "I +must have one, for I must be done with this, and +forever."</p> + +<p>Now, gentle reader, do not censure him, this +George Addison, lover, for he straightway sent +them back to her? No, not that—but this: He +deliberately—although it gave him a pang—arranged +to dispose of them all as Christmas +gifts to his friends and relatives. It was after +this fashion: The hat-mark, G.A., done in violent +yellow, on a glaring bit of blue satin, was +hard to dispose of; but he finally thought of a +little nephew—the incarnation of a small devil—so +he wrote a note to the mother, inclosing the +hat-mark, with this explanation: "G.A., you +must readily see, stands for 'Good Always.' +What could be more appropriate for your darling +child?"</p> + +<p>The shaving papers, like Joseph's coat of many +colors, he sent to Uncle Hezekiah, an old family +servant, who delighted in them, even until the +hour of his happy death, unused, for who ever +heard of using beautiful shaving papers!</p> + +<p>The embroidered slippers, which had made +up a trifle small, were mailed with much glee to +a distant relative in Texas on a cattle ranch, +where slippers were unnecessary—but Addison +did not consider himself responsible for that—for +he had discovered from personal experience +that the less sensible the gift the more often it +is given.</p> + +<p>The onyx cuff buttons were well worn, and +had rendered excellent service, although they +were not good to look upon. Yet, Jennings, the +chiropodist, had taken a fancy to them long +ago, so he concluded to let him have them on +the one condition that they must not be worn +to the house of the Hon. Junius Barlowe, where +it was his custom to go on the third Sunday of +every month, and never to the Addison house, +which he visited on the second Thursday of each +month.</p> + +<p>The inkstand from Italy was large in promise, +but poor in fulfillment—the place for ink was +infinitesimally small. George tried to use it +once when he had three important thoughts to +transmit. He wrote out two of them, but the +third thought had to go dry. There was a much +decayed gentleman of the old school who lived +across the street from the Addisons. It had +been the custom of George Addison's grandfather, +and father also, to always send this individual +some useful gift on Christmas Day; therefore +the inkstand from Italy was sent over the +next morning. It failed to give what might be +termed complete satisfaction, but the old neighbor +had not been satisfied for a small matter of +fifty years. Therefore George held himself, and +he was perfectly right, blameless.</p> + +<p>It was easy enough to slip the picture of a +pretty Dancer, who, in that long ago day, was +all the rage among the young men about town—into +the silver frame, heart-shape, but what +could he do with her picture? It was much +prior to the time of the cigarette craze and cigarette +pictures—so he could not send it to one +of those at that time uncreated establishments, +to be copied and sent broadcast. He was something +of an artist. He cleverly tinted the thing +another color—made her eyes blue instead of +brown, and changed her golden sunlit wealth of +hair into a darker, if not richer shade. It was a +full-length picture. Her trim figure was shown +to advantage. Her slender white hands were +clasped above her bosom, and there was a look +of heavenly resignation on her serenely beautiful +brow. He cruelly sent it to the editor of +"Godey's Ladies' Magazine," and it was blazoned +forth as a fashion plate, much enlarged +and with many frills, in the following February +number of that then valuable and highly fashionable +periodical. In return he received their +check for five dollars, drawn upon a National +Bank of Philadelphia, and with a note stating +that while the customary price was two dollars +and fifty cents they felt constrained to send him +a sum commensurate with the merits of the +fancy picture which he had kindly forwarded +them, and that they would be pleased to hear +from him again, which they never did—nor +their check either; for, while he was too poor to +have kept it, yet he was too proud to cash it. +I am told that it hangs in a Boston museum, +framed with a rare collection of postage stamps—one +of his many gifts to that edifying institution +while yet alive.</p> + +<p>Her final gift, the scarf-pin, with the big pearl +and little diamonds, met with some mysterious +disposition. In telling me the story in the +French cafe, he hesitated, spoke vaguely, and +finally refused to state just what he had done +with the pin. He may have dropped the pearl, +like Cleopatra, in a goblet of ruby wine and +drained the contents with the dissolved jewel +for dredges and for luck, and he may have +given the pretty little diamonds to news boys or +small negroes wandering haphazard about the +highways of his town. Anyhow, this much is +sure, it was given away—that much he made +clear.</p> + +<p>When he fell upon the letters with an idea of +burning them—which I believe is more general +than the returning of them—he fortunately bethought +himself of publishing them—just as +they were. And lo! then was born his "Perfected +Letter Writer," which enabled him to +leave a bequest of many thousand dollars to +Harvard College, where he was educated, and +also a certain sum of money to be discreetly +distributed each year among the deserving and +bashful young men of Boston, between the ages +of eighteen and twenty-three, to be used by +them in making Christmas gifts to worthy +young women of their choice.</p> + +<p>As might have been expected, that clause of +his will was successfully contested, on account +of its vagueness, by his brother and sister, who +morally, if not legally, cheated the "Bashful +Young Men of Boston" out of a unique and +much deserved, much needed inheritance. This +cure for heart-break must be a severe but effectual +one. When I met George Addison in Paris, +then an old man, he was as rosy as a ripe apple, +and just as mellow. He was gracious, kindly, +and had learned well the difficult art of growing +old with grace, and without noise. He dated +his success, his happiness too, from the moment +he made the resolution to trample on his feelings +and rid himself in that novel method of +every tangible vestige of that past, which he +got rid of by gift, not burial. Therefore, he had +no ghostly visitors—no useless regrets.</p> + +<p>Florence Barlowe, with malice toward all and +charity to none, devoted her outward self to +good works of the conventional kind. She had +several offers, but she never married, and she +never forgave George Addison for his failure to +speak for that which he might have had for the +asking. Pride, not love, was the ruler of her +heart—if she had one.</p> + +<p>To those who have this Christmas tide the +heart-ache, and the heart-break of love gone +another way, let them try this new cure, and +remember the happy, successful life, and the +ripe old age, full of years and honor, of dear old +George Addison, who wrote "The Poets and +Poetry of the South" and "Perfected Letter +Writer."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LITTLE_BLIND_MAID" id="THE_LITTLE_BLIND_MAID" />THE LITTLE BLIND MAID</h2> + +<h3>TO</h3> +<h3>LADY CHARLOTTE</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV" />IV</h2> + +<h3>THE LITTLE BLIND MAID</h3> + + +<p>Overlooking a big smoky city which lies below, +and a wide and winding river which runs +beyond, there is a large building on the top of a +hill which is dedicated to education. But it was +built for the comfort and the pleasure of a certain +rich man and his family.</p> + +<p>Shortly after its occupation the owner died, +leaving a large fortune, a young widow and three +daughters.</p> + +<p>During the long period of mourning, which +was strictly observed but only partially felt by +the widow, there came to live in the big house an +attractive man of about five and thirty, who had +been both friend and partner of the merchant +prince. He had been given entire charge of the +large estate, and he gave to it and the family most +of his time. His habits were excellent, but his +tastes were convivial, and his little bachelor dinners +the desire of his acquaintances and the +delight of his friends. His apartments were entirely +separate from the family, but he spent most +of his unengaged evenings in their quiet little +circle. The children called him uncle, the mother +called him Basil, and the people who knew them +looked upon him as one related, and spoke no +gossip concerning them.</p> + +<p>But one fine day that little fellow—always +young—who is said to have wings and a quiver +full of arrows, came into the house. He kissed +the mother, a woman of forty and with attractions +more than passing pleasant; he touched the +heart of the eldest daughter, Rose, eighteen years +of age, and he took the bandage off of his own +eyes and put it over the head of Basil, who +straightway thought he loved the daughter, who +was a woman of no beauty, little intelligence and +less amiability. Being blind with the bandage of +the boy Love, he could not see that the mother +had centered her full blown affections upon him. +Therefore it came to pass that the mother and +daughter were rivals. He, being a man, did not +understand; they, being women, did. When he +asked for the hand of her daughter he could +not comprehend not only why she should make +denial, but why she stormed, wept bitter tears, +filled his startled ears with unreasonable reproaches, +and upbraided him as an ingrate and +a man without feeling.</p> + +<p>Her opposition made him believe in his love +for Rose, but shortly the beauty and the charm +of Grace, the second daughter, about sixteen, +dissipated that belief, although he had pledged +himself with word and ring to Rose.</p> + +<p>Grace, mortified by the rivalry between her +mother and sister, and conscious of a growing +passion for the man who had, unintentionally, +crept into the lives of three women in one +household bound by the closest ties of blood, +fled the place, and went down the broad river to +a little town, where she found quiet and friendly +shelter in the home of a relative. It was a +curious place, very old, and in the heart of evergreens. +There was a young girl, Lydia, who +was much older, had loved, and knew that priceless +art of bringing comfort to those who were +loving either wisely or too well. Letters, books, +and gifts came from Basil bearing one burden—his +love for Grace. The mother, more jealous +of Rose than of Grace, consented to his marriage +with either, and fell into a state of despondency +which made quick and mysterious inroads +upon her hitherto excellent health.</p> + +<p>When Grace, being called home by the alarming +state of her mother's health, parted with +Lydia, she said:</p> + +<p>"My duty is clear; I can not be the rival of +my mother and Rose. I love him, but I must +give him up." And so she did, although the +engagement between Rose and Basil was broken +and never renewed.</p> + +<p>Rumor said cruel things about Basil: that he +had wasted their beautiful estate and enriched +himself out of their many possessions. Anyhow, +they left their mansion on the hill-top, and +it was sold to an institution of learning, and the +grounds were divided and subdivided into lots. +The mother never recovered. After an illness +of several years she died suddenly at some winter +resort, with the old name of Basil on her lips +that formed the word and then were forever +still. Rose and Grace could look upon those +familiar features and behold the trace of beauty +which time and disease had tenderly spared. +But Mary, the third daughter, blind from her +birth, could only feel the face of her beloved +and kiss the lips that could no longer speak her +name. Blind! and without a mother, even if +she had been foolish for her years, and had, in +an hour of human weakness, yielded to a love +which was useless, out of the question, unnatural. +She was twelve, yet the little blind maid +was old enough to know her loss, to feel her +sorrow.</p> + +<p>Rose, cold, selfish, unsympathetic, lamenting +the loss of a lover whom she had no power to +hold more than the death of her mother, feeling +no love for the sister who had made for her sake +a useless sacrifice, was not a desirable companion +for the little blind sister.</p> + +<p>Grace, upon whom the care of the child had +fallen these latter years, and who had been faithful +and loving to her charge, had begun to put +worldly things from her, and when that long-expected +but sudden death came upon them, she +resolved, after much meditation and prayer, to +enter some holy order and lead a life dedicated +to the Master.</p> + +<p>Clad in the robes of a Carmelite nun, she may +have been too unmindful of the little blind one +who had clung to her and plead with her not to +leave her alone with Rose. For after all, what +is raiment even if it be fine, aye, purple and +fine linen; what is food, even if it be dainty +like the ambrosia of the Gods; what is warmth, +what is comfort, what are all these things if the +heart be cold, naked and hungry? Grace had +provided for her bodily comforts, but she had +failed to fill her own place left vacant with some +heart that would be kind and loving to Mary, +blind and helpless.</p> + +<p>After Grace entered the Carmelite Convent, +which was many miles away from their old home, +Rose and Mary returned to the big smoky city, +and were swallowed up in the multitude of people +who exist in buildings and houses, where +men and women huddle together and have, as +they had, a certain amount of comfort, but lose +their identity, and are finally swept away into +that great stagnant pool of obscurity where existence +in great cities goes on and on without +either ebb or flow.</p> + +<p>The little blind maid was lonely and sick at +heart. The noise and the cry of the street smote +her to the earth. The people in the house where +they lived, were as kind as they knew how to be; +but how little they knew about kindness, and +nothing about peace and quiet. She felt that +she was a burden to Rose, and she knew that +Rose could never be any thing to her. Those +poor, sightless eyes shed tears of homesickness +for Grace, and she was sorely oppressed with the +desire to be with her again and feel the touch of +those cool, quiet hands against her face and over +her eyelids that so often burned with pain, and +to hear that voice, which was never loud and +harsh. But what could she do? This is what +she did: With her own hand, unaided, she wrote +a letter to the Pope at Rome, and gave it with a +piece of silver to an honest house-maid, who carried +it to her priest for proper direction, which +he wrote upon it, marveling much when he read +her earnest words of entreaty, begging the Pope +to please send back her Sister Grace from the +convent, because she was a little girl, "blind, +helpless and very lonely."</p> + +<p>The Pope may be infallible, but he is surely +human, for when he read the simple words +sprawled out upon a sheet of paper, blistered +with the tears of the little blind maid crying out +from across the seas her appeal for the return of +her sister from those convent walls, he was +moved to a compassion which was not only +priestly, but very human. He bestirred himself +in her behalf. He wrote letters to the convent +of those Carmelite nuns. He made earnest inquiry +about Grace, and finally, after many days +of weary, heart-sick waiting, a letter came to the +parish priest for little Mary. It was written by +the Pope himself, and brought to the blind girl +in far-off America the greeting and the blessing +of the great Roman Pontiff. He told her in +kindly words that she had asked what he was +powerless to grant; that he could not drive out +her sister from the shelter of those holy walls +which she had so wisely chosen, and where she +devoutly wished to remain, and therein peacefully, +prayerfully end her days, but that he could +send her there to the arms of that sister; that he +could and would gladly give her dispensation +from the duties and the obligations of the holy +order; that she might do, as no other had ever +done, live among the Carmelites and yet not be +a Carmelite. "Go," he wrote, "little blind maid, +and have quickly gratified the wish of your +heart. No holy vows, no robes of the order need +be yours. Your sister can not come to you, but +you may go to her, and live where you may daily +hear the sound of her voice and often feel the +touch of her loving hands, which have been consecrated +to holy service. God for some wise +purpose hath made you blind, but He has put it +into my heart, His servant, to do this thing for +you. In the name of the Father and the Son +and the Holy Ghost. Amen."</p> + +<p>So she went among them, this little blind +maid, and the nuns of that Carmelite convent +called her the "Blessing of the Pope," and they +loved her the more because her name was Mary.</p> + +<p>Grace, now free from the passionate desires +which had driven her there, made prayers for +Basil as a good sister makes supplication for her +favorite brother, and she found favor not only in +the sight of those about her, but in the eyes of +the Lord. The old pain in her conscience about +the little blind sister left out in the world had +been removed, and she secretly and openly rejoiced +in the companionship of Mary.</p> + +<p>Basil and Rose lived in the big city of smoke +and commerce, but no unkindly chance brought +them together. She led that life which suited +her best. She followed out her own selfish desires, +which were not many, and easy to gratify. +She made no friends, and was not lonely; because +she had never known the sweet and the joy of +real companionship.</p> + +<p>He (Basil) lived at the club. They spoke of +him as being well preserved, whatever that +means. He was popular, went to good dinners, +and frequently gave them, yet—ah! that little +word yet! Yet he sometimes made pause in the +social round, and alone, by his own fireside, +caught the sound of a voice which he had not +heard for years, and the fleeting glimpse of a +woman's face which he had fondly loved. Had +loved? Yes, still loved. Then the vision of convent +walls, a Carmelite cloister, a sister kneeling +at the shrine of the Blessed Virgin praying for +him, and by her side, feeling her way to the altar +rail, Mary, the little blind maid, repeating a fervent +amen to her sister's petition; then—darkness +about him, cold ashes on the hearth, and in +his heart a shiver of regret and a feeling of unworthiness.</p> + +<p>In that Carmelite convent this is the prayer +each night of little Mary, blind, but happy: +"God, give my dear sister Rose more kindness +and sweetness. God, keep my good and beautiful +sister Grace, and may God please send a big, +strong angel to help my Uncle Basil make a good +fight. Give him faith, and afterwhile a mansion +and a crown in that pretty land where little +Mary will not be blind, and where she will not +only hear the songs of the angels, but see their +shining faces. God, make me good and keep me +true. Amen."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_PRIEST_AND_THE_WOMAN" id="THE_PRIEST_AND_THE_WOMAN" />THE PRIEST AND THE WOMAN</h2> + +<h3>TO</h3> +<h3>A NUN WITHOUT CLOISTER</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V" />V</h2> + +<h3> THE PRIEST AND THE WOMAN</h3> + + +<p>Near the doorway of a house in a narrow +street, where Death had lodged yesterday night, +stood a Priest. A woman, passing by, knelt at +his feet, passionately kissed the hem of his robe, +and hurried on, beneath an Arch, into a Garden +where there were many flowers and a Shrine to +the Blessed Virgin.</p> + +<p>The Priest did not move. But a flush of unwonted +color rose into his white face and made +it crimson with shame.</p> + +<p>"After all these years," he sighed.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Ave Maria! Ave Maria!" wailed the voice of +the woman in the Garden where there were +many flowers, before the Shrine of the Blessed +Virgin.</p> + +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Few Short Sketches, by Douglass Sherley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FEW SHORT SKETCHES *** + +***** This file should be named 14855-h.htm or 14855-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/8/5/14855/ + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Few Short Sketches + +Author: Douglass Sherley + +Release Date: February 1, 2005 [EBook #14855] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FEW SHORT SKETCHES *** + + + + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: unusual spellings have been retained as in the +original.] + + + +A Few +Short Sketches +By Douglass Sherley + + +Printed by +John P. Morton & Co. +Louisville, Kentucky, U.S.A. + + +MDCCCXCIII + + + + +COPYRIGHTED BY DOUGLASS SHERLEY, +1892 + + + + + +THOSE RUSSIAN VIOLETS + +TO +LADY VIOLET + + + + + +I + +THOSE RUSSIAN VIOLETS + + +There had been a brilliant reception at the house of Mrs. Adrian Colburn +in honor of her guest--a most attractive young woman--from the East. The +hours were brief, from five to seven. I had gone late and left early, but +while there had made an engagement with Miss Caddington for the large ball +to be given that night by the Boltons. + +Miss Caddington was a _debutante_. She had been educated abroad, but had +not lost either love of country or naturalness of manner. During the short +but fiercely gay season from October to Christmas she had made many +friends, and found that two or three lovers were hard to handle with much +credit to herself or any real happiness to them. + +She was not painfully conscientious, nor was she an intentional trifler; +therefore she was good at that social game of lead on and hold off. + +"Call at nine," she said, "and I will be ready." + +But she was not ready at nine. The room where I waited was most inviting. +There were several low couches laden with slumber-robes and soft, downy +pillows, all at sweet enmity with insomnia. The ornaments were few but +pleasing to the eye. Art and her hand-maiden, Good Taste, had decorated +the walls. But there was a table, best of all, covered with good books, +and before it, drawn in place, an easy-chair. An exquisite china lamp, +with yellow shade, shed all the light that was needed. Everywhere there +were feminine signs--touches that were delightful and unmistakable. + +From somewhere there came a rich oriental odor. It intoxicated me with its +subtle perfume. I picked up "After-Dinner Stories" (Balzac), then a +translation from Alfred de Musset, an old novel by Wilkie Collins, "The +Guilty River;" but still that mysterious perfume pervaded my senses and +unfitted me for the otherwise tempting feast spread before me. I looked at +the clock; it was nine thirty. I turned again to the table, and carelessly +reached out for a pair of dainty, pale tan-colored gloves. Then I seized +them eagerly and brushed them against my face; I had found the odor. The +gloves were perfumed. They had been worn for the first time to the +reception, and had been thrown there into a plate of costly percelain, to +await her ladyship's pleasure and do further and final service at the +ball. They bore the imprint of her dainty fingers, and they were hardly +cold from the touch and the warmth of her pretty white hands. They +seemed, as they rested there, like something human; and if they had +reached out toward me, or even spoken a word of explanation regarding +their highly perfumed selves, I should indeed have been delighted, but +neither surprised nor dismayed. + +But while the gloves did not speak, did not move, something else made mute +appeal. Tossed into that same beautiful plate, hidden at first by the +gloves, was a bunch, a very small bunch of Russian violets. Evidently they +had been worn to the reception, and while I was wondering if she would +wear them to the ball I heard a light step, the rustle of silken skirts, +and I knew that my wait was ended. + +She looked resplendent in evening dress, and swept toward me with the +grace, the charm, the ease of a woman of many seasons instead of one +hardly half finished. + +"Here are your gloves," I said. She quickly drew them on and made them +fast with almost a single movement. + +"And your Russian violets," I added. She looked at them hesitatingly, but +slightly shrugged her shoulders, that were bare and gleamed in the half +glow of lamp and fire like moonlight on silvered meadow, and, turning, +looked up at me and said: + +"I am ready at last; pray pardon my long delay." + +While we were driving to the ball I asked her about the perfumed gloves +with an odor like sandal-wood or like ottar of roses. She said they had +been sent her from Paris, but they were in all the shops, were pleasant, +but not rare. She said nothing about the violets, nor did I mention them +again. Yielding to an impulse, I had before we left the house thrust them +into my waistcoat pocket when she had turned to take up the flowing silk +of her train. + +All the evening I could catch the odor of those Russian violets that had +been lightly worn, indifferently cast aside, and smothered by those +artificial creatures, the perfumed gloves, for they were jealous of the +natural fragrance and would have killed it if they could. + +All the evening I found myself nervously looking about for Russian +violets, but there were none to be seen. Miss Bolton wore violets, but not +the deep, dark, wide and sad-eyed violet known as the Russian. + +We had a curious talk, driving home, about the responsibility of human +action--hardly the kind of conversation for "after the ball." Miss +Caddington astonished me by saying that she considered it useless to +strive against the current of that which is called "Destiny;" that it was +better to yield gracefully than to awkwardly, unsuccessfully struggle +against the tide. I was deeply interested, and asked her what she meant, +what association of ideas had produced the speech. + +"For instance," she said, "if a man who fancies himself in love with me +deliberately dictates a certain course of action which I do not care to +follow, and grows angry with me, and finally breaks with me altogether, I +certainly do not in any way feel responsible for any of his subsequent +movements. Am I right?" + +In parting with her, and in answer to her question, I made, as we so often +make in reply to real questions, a foolish answer: + +"I will tell you on New Year's night." + + * * * * * + +I drove to the club. I was aglow with my enjoyment of the evening, and +wanted to talk it over with some congenial fellow. I found John Hardisty, +a man that I had known for many years, and who always seemed to enjoy my +rambling accounts--even of a ball. + +Hardisty was a quiet man, keenly observant of people, but himself free +almost entirely from observation. In the financial world he held a +clerical but valuable position; in the social world, being a gentleman and +a club man, he was invited everywhere; and, being very punctilious about +his calls and social obligations, he was always invited again. People in +recounting those who had been at balls, dinners, and the like, always +named the guests, then added, "And Hardisty, I believe." No one was ever +very sure. He had no intimate friends and no enemies--he was not noticed +enough to inspire dislike. But he was a man of positive opinion, which he +generally kept to himself. He had settled convictions, which he never used +to unsettle others. I had known him in his old home, Virginia; so perhaps +he felt more friendly toward me and talked more freely with me. + +He was a man of a fine sentiment and a sensitive nature. He ought to have +been a poet instead of a clerical expert. He was intensely fond of +flowers, but never wore them. He used to say that it was heresy for a man +to wear a flower, and sacrilege for a woman to let them die on her breast. + +When I told him about those Russian violets he seemed interested, but, +when I finished, astonished and grieved me by yawning in my face and +calmly stating that he considered the story trivial, far-fetched, and, in +short, stupid. + +"There is," he said, "only one thing for us to do--have a drink and go to +bed--for the club closes in ten minutes." He ordered a small bottle of +wine, something I had never seen him drink, and talked in a light, +nonsensical strain, for him a most unusual thing. In telling the story I +had drawn out the little bunch of Russian violets and placed them on the +table. They were very much wilted, but the odor seemed stronger and +sweeter than ever. When we parted for the night I forgot the violets. The +next day, the twenty-ninth of December, I did not see John Hardisty, +although he was at his office and in the club that night, and insisted on +paying his account for December and his dues to April first. December +thirtieth he was at his office, where he remained until nearly midnight. +He went to his room, which was near the club, and was found by his +servant, early the next morning, the last of the old year, dead. He was +lying on the bed, dressed and at full length. His right hand clenched a +pistol with one empty barrel; gently closed in his left hand they found a +little bunch of faded violets--that was all. + +Not a line, not a scrap of paper to tell the story. His private letters +had been burned--their ashes were heaped upon the hearth. There were no +written instructions of any kind. There were no mementoes, no keepsakes. +Yes, there was a little Bible on the candle-stand at the head of his bed, +but it was closed. On the fly-leaf, written in the trembling hand of an +old woman, was his name, the word "mother," and the date of a New Year +time in old Virginia when he was a boy. + +There was money, more than enough to cause quarrel and heart-burnings +among a few distant relatives in another State, but there was absolutely +no record of why he had with his own hand torn aside the veil which hangs +between life and death. + +When the others were not there I slipped into his room and reverently +unclosed his fingers and read the story written there--written over and +above those Russian violets which she had worn--for they were the same. +There they remained. + +On the lid of his casket we placed a single wreath of Russian violets. But +all the strength and all the sweetness came from those dim violets faded, +but not dead, shut within the icy cold of his lifeless palm. + + * * * * * + +Miss Caddington and many of those who had known him went to the New Year +reception the next night and chattered and danced and danced and +chattered. They spoke lightly of the dead man; how much he was worth; the +cut of his dress suit; the quiet simplicity of his funeral; the refusal of +one minister to read the office for the dead, and the charity of +another--the one who did. + +And then--they forgot him. + +That New Year's night I sat in my study and thought of the woman who had +worn those Russian violets, and asked me if she were right in her ideas +about responsibility for human action. + +Nowadays I frequently see her--she is always charming; sometimes +brilliant. Once I said to her: + +"I have an answer for your question about responsibility." + +"About responsibility?" she said, inquiringly; then quickly added: "Oh, +yes; that nonsense we talked coming home from the Bolton ball. Never mind +your answer, I am sure it is a good one, and perhaps clever, but it is +hardly worth while going back so far and for so little. Do you think so? +Are you going to the Athletic Club german next week? No? I am sorry, for, +as you are one of the few men who do not dance, I always miss a chat with +you." + +Miss Caddington goes everywhere. Her gowns are exquisite and her flowers +are always beautiful and rare, because out of season. But neither in +season nor out of season does she ever wear a bunch--no matter how +small--of those Russian violets. + + + + +FIVE RED POPPIES + +TO LADY VIOLET AGAIN + + + + +II + +FIVE RED POPPIES + + +They hung their heads in a florist's window. The people of the town did +not buy them, for they wanted roses--yellow, white or crimson. But I, a +lover, passing that way, did covet them for a woman that I knew, and +straightway bought them. + +As I placed those poppies in a box, on a bed of green moss, I heard them +chuckle together, with some surprise and much glee. "What a kind fool he +is," said the first poppy, "to buy me, and take me away from those +disagreeable roses, and other hateful blossoms in that damp, musty +window." + +"I heard," said the second poppy, "one sweet lily of the valley whisper to +the others of its simple kind that we would die where we were unnoticed, +undesired by any one--how little it knew!" + +"How cool and green this bed of moss," cried the third poppy; "it is a +most excellent place to die upon. I am willing, I am happy." + +"Nay," said the fourth poppy, "you may die on her breast if you will. She +may take you up and put you into a jar of clear water. She may watch you +slowly open your sleepy dark eye. She may lean over you; then let your +passionate breath but touch her on the white brow, and she may tenderly +thrust you into her whiter bosom, and quickly yield herself, and you, to +an all-powerful forgetfulness. She may twine me into her dark hair, and I +will calm the throb of her blue-veined temples, and bring upon her a sleep +and a forgetting." + +The fifth poppy trembled with joyful expectation, but said not a word. + + * * * * * + +Toward the close of the next day I went to her, the woman that I knew, to +whom I had sent the poppies. + +I trod the stairway softly, oh, so softly, that led to her door. Shadows +from out of the unlighted hall danced about me, and the sounds of +music--harp music--pleased me with a strain of remembered chords. + +She rose to greet me with provoking but delecious languor. She gave me the +tips of her rosy fingers. Her lips moved as if in speech, but no words +reached me; she barely smiled. In a priceless vase near the open window +they held their heads in high disdain--those four red poppies who had +gleefully chuckled and chatted together on the yesterday; but the fifth +and silent poppy drooped upon her breast. I turned to go; she did not stay +me; I stole to the door. "Take us away with you," cried those four +garrulous poppies; "we are willing to die, and at once if need be, but not +here in her hateful presence. Take us away." But the poppy on her breast +only drooped and drooped the more and said not a word. + +I opened the door. The shadows had fled--the hall was a blaze of light. +The music had ceased--only the noise of street below broke the silence. +"If thus you let me go, I will not return again," I said. + +The woman did not speak, neither did she stir. But the poppy on her breast +with drooping head uplifted softly cried, "Go, quickly go, and--forget!" + + * * * * * + +I went down the broad stairway between a row of bright lights--a dazzling +mockery--I went out into the night. I passed by a certain garden where red +poppies grew. I leaned over the low wall. I buried my hot face among them. +I crushed them in my hands and stained my temples with their quivering +blooms. But all to no purpose; they did not, could not bring +forgetfulness. I am thinking always of that woman, of those four red +poppies, and of that one red poppy which drooped on her breast that night +and said to me, "Go, quickly go, and--forget." + + + + +THE NEW CURE FOR HEART-BREAK + +TO LITTLE MISS PREVIOUS + + + + +III + +THE NEW CURE FOR HEART-BREAK + +A CHRISTMAS GIFT STORY + + + Hat Mark. + Shaving Papers. + Embroidered Slippers. + Onyx Cuff Buttons. + Inkstand from Italy. + Her Picture--in Silver Frame. + Scarf-pin with Pearl and Diamonds. + +It was Christmas eve, several years ago. We had dined together at the Cafe +de la Paix, near the Grand Opera-house, Paris. The dinner was good, the +wine excellent; but George Addison was best of all. + +I have never known why he should have told me that night of his "Cure for +Heart-break." + +Was it the grouse? + +Was it the Burgundy? + +Was it some strange influence? + +George Addison is the man who first came to the front in the literary +world as the careful and successful editor of that now valuable book, "The +Poets and Poetry of the South." A fresh edition--about the eleventh--is +promised for the New Year. + +But he fairly leaped into fame, and its unusual companion, large wealth, +when he gave ungrudgingly to his anxious and generous public that curious +little hand-book, "The Perfected Letter Writer." + +Young ladies who live in the country buy it clandestinely, and eagerly +read it privately, secretly, in their own quiet bed-chambers during the +silent watches of the night. When occasion demands they boldly make +extracts therefrom, which they awkwardly project into their labored notes +and epistles of much length and less grace. + +Even women of fashion have been known to buy it--and use it, not wisely, +but freely. + +There are men, too, who consult its pages reverently, frequently, and +oftentimes, I must add, with most disastrous results. It is, as is well +known, a valuable but dangerous manual. + +Therefore the name of George Addison is a household word, although he is +mentioned as the editor of "Poets and Poetry of the South," and never as +the author of "The Perfected Letter Writer"--a book which is seldom +discussed. But nothing, until now, has been known of his "New Cure for +Heart-break." If he had lived a few years longer, and could have found +time from the more heavy duties of his busy life, he doubtless would have +turned to some use the practical workings of his wonderful cure. But +Death, with that old fondness for a shining mark, has seen fit to remove +him from this, the scene of his earthly labors (See rural sheet obituary +notice). + +In the early career of George Addison, when he was obscure and desperately +poor, he met her--that inevitable she--Florence Barlowe. + +She had three irresistible charms. She was very young; she was very +pretty--and, most charming of all, she was very silly. Time could steal +away--and doubtless did--the youth. Time could ravage--and surely must +have--her beauty. But nothing could--and nothing did--mar the +uninterrupted splendor of her foolishness. She was born a fool, lived a +fool, and undoubtedly must have died--if dead--the death of a glorious and +triumphant fool. + +George Addison was from the first attentive. But he was shy in those days, +and knew not how, in words, to frame the love that filled his heart and +rose like a lump in his throat whenever he saw her pretty face and heard +her soft voice. She was a fool, it is true, but she was like so many fools +of her kind, full of a subtle craft which acts like the tempting bait on +the hook that catches the unwary fish. + +So she made him a present--it was of her own handiwork. Each Christmas +tide she repeated the process; each year enriching the hook with a more +tempting offer. It took her seven years to graduate in presents from a hat +mark to a scarf-pin of little diamonds and a big rare pearl; but somehow +there was a hitch and a halt within the heart of George Addison. + +He never said the word. He just loved her, and waited. She grew desperate. +She startled him by instituting a quarrel, which was not very much of a +quarrel, for it takes two, I have always understood, to make one--in all +senses of the word. He did not quite understand, and told her so. She wept +in his presence, and forbade him the house. She made her father threaten +his life, which was now almost a burden. He still did not understand; so +he did--from her standpoint the worst thing possible--nothing. While she +was impatiently waiting at home for a reconciliation and a proposal--which +never came--he was dumbfounded with grief, and employed his time, +tearfully of course, selecting all of her favorite poems--for she was fond +of a certain kind of poetry. Then it was that the idea of "Poets and +Poetry of the South" came upon him. The popularity of the book was assured +in advance, because he selected only those poems that he thought would +please Florence Barlowe--and her taste was average--so is the taste, I am +told, of the general public. + +About a year after their rupture his compilation volume appeared, and was +an instantaneous success. The approach of Christmas made him painfully +realize their estrangement. Finally he awakened to a full knowledge of the +situation. A slow anger started up within him and gradually swept over him +like a tidal wave. + +It was Christmas eve. + +He lighted his lamp--his quarters were still poor and very cheerless. He +unlocked a drawer which contained his few treasures, and there they +were--the seven gifts entire from the fair hand of pretty Florence +Barlowe. There was also a little packet of letters, notes, and invitations +from the same hand. + +"She never really cared for me," he said, as he tenderly drew them out +from their place one by one. "I want a love-cure," he added, "I must have +one, for I must be done with this, and forever." + +Now, gentle reader, do not censure him, this George Addison, lover, for he +straightway sent them back to her? No, not that--but this: He +deliberately--although it gave him a pang--arranged to dispose of them all +as Christmas gifts to his friends and relatives. It was after this +fashion: The hat-mark, G.A., done in violent yellow, on a glaring bit of +blue satin, was hard to dispose of; but he finally thought of a little +nephew--the incarnation of a small devil--so he wrote a note to the +mother, inclosing the hat-mark, with this explanation: "G.A., you must +readily see, stands for 'Good Always.' What could be more appropriate for +your darling child?" + +The shaving papers, like Joseph's coat of many colors, he sent to Uncle +Hezekiah, an old family servant, who delighted in them, even until the +hour of his happy death, unused, for who ever heard of using beautiful +shaving papers! + +The embroidered slippers, which had made up a trifle small, were mailed +with much glee to a distant relative in Texas on a cattle ranch, where +slippers were unnecessary--but Addison did not consider himself +responsible for that--for he had discovered from personal experience that +the less sensible the gift the more often it is given. + +The onyx cuff buttons were well worn, and had rendered excellent service, +although they were not good to look upon. Yet, Jennings, the chiropodist, +had taken a fancy to them long ago, so he concluded to let him have them +on the one condition that they must not be worn to the house of the Hon. +Junius Barlowe, where it was his custom to go on the third Sunday of every +month, and never to the Addison house, which he visited on the second +Thursday of each month. + +The inkstand from Italy was large in promise, but poor in fulfillment--the +place for ink was infinitesimally small. George tried to use it once when +he had three important thoughts to transmit. He wrote out two of them, but +the third thought had to go dry. There was a much decayed gentleman of the +old school who lived across the street from the Addisons. It had been the +custom of George Addison's grandfather, and father also, to always send +this individual some useful gift on Christmas Day; therefore the inkstand +from Italy was sent over the next morning. It failed to give what might be +termed complete satisfaction, but the old neighbor had not been satisfied +for a small matter of fifty years. Therefore George held himself, and he +was perfectly right, blameless. + +It was easy enough to slip the picture of a pretty Dancer, who, in that +long ago day, was all the rage among the young men about town--into the +silver frame, heart-shape, but what could he do with her picture? It was +much prior to the time of the cigarette craze and cigarette pictures--so +he could not send it to one of those at that time uncreated +establishments, to be copied and sent broadcast. He was something of an +artist. He cleverly tinted the thing another color--made her eyes blue +instead of brown, and changed her golden sunlit wealth of hair into a +darker, if not richer shade. It was a full-length picture. Her trim figure +was shown to advantage. Her slender white hands were clasped above her +bosom, and there was a look of heavenly resignation on her serenely +beautiful brow. He cruelly sent it to the editor of "Godey's Ladies' +Magazine," and it was blazoned forth as a fashion plate, much enlarged and +with many frills, in the following February number of that then valuable +and highly fashionable periodical. In return he received their check for +five dollars, drawn upon a National Bank of Philadelphia, and with a note +stating that while the customary price was two dollars and fifty cents +they felt constrained to send him a sum commensurate with the merits of +the fancy picture which he had kindly forwarded them, and that they would +be pleased to hear from him again, which they never did--nor their check +either; for, while he was too poor to have kept it, yet he was too proud +to cash it. I am told that it hangs in a Boston museum, framed with a rare +collection of postage stamps--one of his many gifts to that edifying +institution while yet alive. + +Her final gift, the scarf-pin, with the big pearl and little diamonds, met +with some mysterious disposition. In telling me the story in the French +cafe, he hesitated, spoke vaguely, and finally refused to state just what +he had done with the pin. He may have dropped the pearl, like Cleopatra, +in a goblet of ruby wine and drained the contents with the dissolved jewel +for dredges and for luck, and he may have given the pretty little +diamonds to news boys or small negroes wandering haphazard about the +highways of his town. Anyhow, this much is sure, it was given away--that +much he made clear. + +When he fell upon the letters with an idea of burning them--which I +believe is more general than the returning of them--he fortunately +bethought himself of publishing them--just as they were. And lo! then was +born his "Perfected Letter Writer," which enabled him to leave a bequest +of many thousand dollars to Harvard College, where he was educated, and +also a certain sum of money to be discreetly distributed each year among +the deserving and bashful young men of Boston, between the ages of +eighteen and twenty-three, to be used by them in making Christmas gifts to +worthy young women of their choice. + +As might have been expected, that clause of his will was successfully +contested, on account of its vagueness, by his brother and sister, who +morally, if not legally, cheated the "Bashful Young Men of Boston" out of +a unique and much deserved, much needed inheritance. This cure for +heart-break must be a severe but effectual one. When I met George Addison +in Paris, then an old man, he was as rosy as a ripe apple, and just as +mellow. He was gracious, kindly, and had learned well the difficult art of +growing old with grace, and without noise. He dated his success, his +happiness too, from the moment he made the resolution to trample on his +feelings and rid himself in that novel method of every tangible vestige of +that past, which he got rid of by gift, not burial. Therefore, he had no +ghostly visitors--no useless regrets. + +Florence Barlowe, with malice toward all and charity to none, devoted her +outward self to good works of the conventional kind. She had several +offers, but she never married, and she never forgave George Addison for +his failure to speak for that which he might have had for the asking. +Pride, not love, was the ruler of her heart--if she had one. + +To those who have this Christmas tide the heart-ache, and the heart-break +of love gone another way, let them try this new cure, and remember the +happy, successful life, and the ripe old age, full of years and honor, of +dear old George Addison, who wrote "The Poets and Poetry of the South" and +"Perfected Letter Writer." + + + + +THE LITTLE BLIND MAID + +TO LADY CHARLOTTE + + + + +IV + +THE LITTLE BLIND MAID + + +Overlooking a big smoky city which lies below, and a wide and winding +river which runs beyond, there is a large building on the top of a hill +which is dedicated to education. But it was built for the comfort and the +pleasure of a certain rich man and his family. + +Shortly after its occupation the owner died, leaving a large fortune, a +young widow and three daughters. + +During the long period of mourning, which was strictly observed but only +partially felt by the widow, there came to live in the big house an +attractive man of about five and thirty, who had been both friend and +partner of the merchant prince. He had been given entire charge of the +large estate, and he gave to it and the family most of his time. His +habits were excellent, but his tastes were convivial, and his little +bachelor dinners the desire of his acquaintances and the delight of his +friends. His apartments were entirely separate from the family, but he +spent most of his unengaged evenings in their quiet little circle. The +children called him uncle, the mother called him Basil, and the people who +knew them looked upon him as one related, and spoke no gossip concerning +them. + +But one fine day that little fellow--always young--who is said to have +wings and a quiver full of arrows, came into the house. He kissed the +mother, a woman of forty and with attractions more than passing pleasant; +he touched the heart of the eldest daughter, Rose, eighteen years of age, +and he took the bandage off of his own eyes and put it over the head of +Basil, who straightway thought he loved the daughter, who was a woman of +no beauty, little intelligence and less amiability. Being blind with the +bandage of the boy Love, he could not see that the mother had centered her +full blown affections upon him. Therefore it came to pass that the mother +and daughter were rivals. He, being a man, did not understand; they, being +women, did. When he asked for the hand of her daughter he could not +comprehend not only why she should make denial, but why she stormed, wept +bitter tears, filled his startled ears with unreasonable reproaches, and +upbraided him as an ingrate and a man without feeling. + +Her opposition made him believe in his love for Rose, but shortly the +beauty and the charm of Grace, the second daughter, about sixteen, +dissipated that belief, although he had pledged himself with word and ring +to Rose. + +Grace, mortified by the rivalry between her mother and sister, and +conscious of a growing passion for the man who had, unintentionally, crept +into the lives of three women in one household bound by the closest ties +of blood, fled the place, and went down the broad river to a little town, +where she found quiet and friendly shelter in the home of a relative. It +was a curious place, very old, and in the heart of evergreens. There was a +young girl, Lydia, who was much older, had loved, and knew that priceless +art of bringing comfort to those who were loving either wisely or too +well. Letters, books, and gifts came from Basil bearing one burden--his +love for Grace. The mother, more jealous of Rose than of Grace, consented +to his marriage with either, and fell into a state of despondency which +made quick and mysterious inroads upon her hitherto excellent health. + +When Grace, being called home by the alarming state of her mother's +health, parted with Lydia, she said: + +"My duty is clear; I can not be the rival of my mother and Rose. I love +him, but I must give him up." And so she did, although the engagement +between Rose and Basil was broken and never renewed. + +Rumor said cruel things about Basil: that he had wasted their beautiful +estate and enriched himself out of their many possessions. Anyhow, they +left their mansion on the hill-top, and it was sold to an institution of +learning, and the grounds were divided and subdivided into lots. The +mother never recovered. After an illness of several years she died +suddenly at some winter resort, with the old name of Basil on her lips +that formed the word and then were forever still. Rose and Grace could +look upon those familiar features and behold the trace of beauty which +time and disease had tenderly spared. But Mary, the third daughter, blind +from her birth, could only feel the face of her beloved and kiss the lips +that could no longer speak her name. Blind! and without a mother, even if +she had been foolish for her years, and had, in an hour of human weakness, +yielded to a love which was useless, out of the question, unnatural. She +was twelve, yet the little blind maid was old enough to know her loss, to +feel her sorrow. + +Rose, cold, selfish, unsympathetic, lamenting the loss of a lover whom she +had no power to hold more than the death of her mother, feeling no love +for the sister who had made for her sake a useless sacrifice, was not a +desirable companion for the little blind sister. + +Grace, upon whom the care of the child had fallen these latter years, and +who had been faithful and loving to her charge, had begun to put worldly +things from her, and when that long-expected but sudden death came upon +them, she resolved, after much meditation and prayer, to enter some holy +order and lead a life dedicated to the Master. + +Clad in the robes of a Carmelite nun, she may have been too unmindful of +the little blind one who had clung to her and plead with her not to leave +her alone with Rose. For after all, what is raiment even if it be fine, +aye, purple and fine linen; what is food, even if it be dainty like the +ambrosia of the Gods; what is warmth, what is comfort, what are all these +things if the heart be cold, naked and hungry? Grace had provided for her +bodily comforts, but she had failed to fill her own place left vacant with +some heart that would be kind and loving to Mary, blind and helpless. + +After Grace entered the Carmelite Convent, which was many miles away from +their old home, Rose and Mary returned to the big smoky city, and were +swallowed up in the multitude of people who exist in buildings and houses, +where men and women huddle together and have, as they had, a certain +amount of comfort, but lose their identity, and are finally swept away +into that great stagnant pool of obscurity where existence in great cities +goes on and on without either ebb or flow. + +The little blind maid was lonely and sick at heart. The noise and the cry +of the street smote her to the earth. The people in the house where they +lived, were as kind as they knew how to be; but how little they knew about +kindness, and nothing about peace and quiet. She felt that she was a +burden to Rose, and she knew that Rose could never be any thing to her. +Those poor, sightless eyes shed tears of homesickness for Grace, and she +was sorely oppressed with the desire to be with her again and feel the +touch of those cool, quiet hands against her face and over her eyelids +that so often burned with pain, and to hear that voice, which was never +loud and harsh. But what could she do? This is what she did: With her own +hand, unaided, she wrote a letter to the Pope at Rome, and gave it with a +piece of silver to an honest house-maid, who carried it to her priest for +proper direction, which he wrote upon it, marveling much when he read her +earnest words of entreaty, begging the Pope to please send back her Sister +Grace from the convent, because she was a little girl, "blind, helpless +and very lonely." + +The Pope may be infallible, but he is surely human, for when he read the +simple words sprawled out upon a sheet of paper, blistered with the tears +of the little blind maid crying out from across the seas her appeal for +the return of her sister from those convent walls, he was moved to a +compassion which was not only priestly, but very human. He bestirred +himself in her behalf. He wrote letters to the convent of those Carmelite +nuns. He made earnest inquiry about Grace, and finally, after many days of +weary, heart-sick waiting, a letter came to the parish priest for little +Mary. It was written by the Pope himself, and brought to the blind girl in +far-off America the greeting and the blessing of the great Roman Pontiff. +He told her in kindly words that she had asked what he was powerless to +grant; that he could not drive out her sister from the shelter of those +holy walls which she had so wisely chosen, and where she devoutly wished +to remain, and therein peacefully, prayerfully end her days, but that he +could send her there to the arms of that sister; that he could and would +gladly give her dispensation from the duties and the obligations of the +holy order; that she might do, as no other had ever done, live among the +Carmelites and yet not be a Carmelite. "Go," he wrote, "little blind maid, +and have quickly gratified the wish of your heart. No holy vows, no robes +of the order need be yours. Your sister can not come to you, but you may +go to her, and live where you may daily hear the sound of her voice and +often feel the touch of her loving hands, which have been consecrated to +holy service. God for some wise purpose hath made you blind, but He has +put it into my heart, His servant, to do this thing for you. In the name +of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen." + +So she went among them, this little blind maid, and the nuns of that +Carmelite convent called her the "Blessing of the Pope," and they loved +her the more because her name was Mary. + +Grace, now free from the passionate desires which had driven her there, +made prayers for Basil as a good sister makes supplication for her +favorite brother, and she found favor not only in the sight of those about +her, but in the eyes of the Lord. The old pain in her conscience about the +little blind sister left out in the world had been removed, and she +secretly and openly rejoiced in the companionship of Mary. + +Basil and Rose lived in the big city of smoke and commerce, but no +unkindly chance brought them together. She led that life which suited her +best. She followed out her own selfish desires, which were not many, and +easy to gratify. She made no friends, and was not lonely; because she had +never known the sweet and the joy of real companionship. + +He (Basil) lived at the club. They spoke of him as being well preserved, +whatever that means. He was popular, went to good dinners, and frequently +gave them, yet--ah! that little word yet! Yet he sometimes made pause in +the social round, and alone, by his own fireside, caught the sound of a +voice which he had not heard for years, and the fleeting glimpse of a +woman's face which he had fondly loved. Had loved? Yes, still loved. Then +the vision of convent walls, a Carmelite cloister, a sister kneeling at +the shrine of the Blessed Virgin praying for him, and by her side, feeling +her way to the altar rail, Mary, the little blind maid, repeating a +fervent amen to her sister's petition; then--darkness about him, cold +ashes on the hearth, and in his heart a shiver of regret and a feeling of +unworthiness. + +In that Carmelite convent this is the prayer each night of little Mary, +blind, but happy: "God, give my dear sister Rose more kindness and +sweetness. God, keep my good and beautiful sister Grace, and may God +please send a big, strong angel to help my Uncle Basil make a good fight. +Give him faith, and afterwhile a mansion and a crown in that pretty land +where little Mary will not be blind, and where she will not only hear the +songs of the angels, but see their shining faces. God, make me good and +keep me true. Amen." + + + + +THE PRIEST AND THE WOMAN + +TO A NUN WITHOUT CLOISTER + + + + +V + +THE PRIEST AND THE WOMAN + + +Near the doorway of a house in a narrow street, where Death had lodged +yesterday night, stood a Priest. A woman, passing by, knelt at his feet, +passionately kissed the hem of his robe, and hurried on, beneath an Arch, +into a Garden where there were many flowers and a Shrine to the Blessed +Virgin. + +The Priest did not move. But a flush of unwonted color rose into his white +face and made it crimson with shame. + +"After all these years," he sighed. + + * * * * * + +"Ave Maria! Ave Maria!" wailed the voice of the woman in the Garden where +there were many flowers, before the Shrine of the Blessed Virgin. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Few Short Sketches, by Douglass Sherley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FEW SHORT SKETCHES *** + +***** This file should be named 14855.txt or 14855.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/8/5/14855/ + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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