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+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.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[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
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