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diff --git a/14855.txt b/14855.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9034188 --- /dev/null +++ b/14855.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1198 @@ +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 + +*** 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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