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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: Belford's Magazine, Volume II, No. 8, January, 1889 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: March 18, 2010 [EBook #31684] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BELFORD'S *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Dan Horwood, and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></div> +<h1><span class='smcap'>Belford’s Magazine.</span></h1> +<p class='center'>Vol. II. <span style='display:inline-block; margin:auto 8em;'>January, 1889.</span> No. 8.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='WICKED_LEGISLATION' id='WICKED_LEGISLATION'></a> +<h2><i>WICKED LEGISLATION.</i></h2> +</div> +<p>The patience with which mankind submits to the demands of +tyrants has been the wonder of each succeeding age, and heroes are +made of those who break one yoke only to bow with servility to a +greater. The Roman soldier, returning from wars in which his +valor had won wealth and empire for his rulers, was easily content +to become first a tenant, and then a serf, upon the very lands he +had tilled as owner before his voluntary exile as his country’s +defender, kissing the hand that oppressed, so long as it dispensed, +as charity, a portion of his tithes and rentals in sports and food. +And now, after ages of wonder and criticism, the soldiers of our +nineteenth-century civilization outvie their Roman prototypes in +submitting to exactions and injustice of which Nero was incapable +either of imagining or executing, bowing subserviently to the more +ingenious tyrant of an advanced civilization, if but his hand drop +farthings of pensions in return for talents of extortion. It may not +be that the soldiers and citizens of America shall become so thoroughly +debauched and degraded, nor that the consequences of their +revolt shall be a burning capitol and a terrified monopolist; but if +these evils are to be averted, it will be only because fearless hands +tear the mask from our modern Neros, and tireless arms hold up to +popular view the naked picture of national disgrace.</p> +<p>Twenty-eight years ago the first step had been taken towards the +final overthrow of the objective form of human slavery. There were, +even in those days, cranks who were dreaming of new harmonies +in the songs of liberty; and when tyranny opposed force to the +righteous demands of constitutional government, ploughshares +rusted in the neglected fields, workshops looked to alien lands for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +toilers, while patriots answered the bugle-call, and a nation was +freed from an eating cancer. But what was the return for such +sacrifices? Surely, if ever were soldiers entitled to fair and full +reward, it was those who responded to the repeated call of Lincoln +for aid in suppressing the most gigantic rebellion of history—not +in the form of driblets of charity, doled with cunning arts to secure +their submission to extortions, not offered as a bribe to unblushing +perjury and denied to honest suffering, but simple and exact justice, +involving a full performance of national obligation in return for +the stipulated discharge of the duty of citizenship. The simple +statement of facts of history will serve to expose the methods of +those who pose as <i>par excellence</i> the soldiers’ friends and the defenders +of national faith.</p> +<p>The soldiers who enlisted in the war of the rebellion were promised +by the government, in addition to varying bounties, a stipulated +sum of money per month. It requires no argument to prove that +the faith of the government was as much pledged to the citizen +who risked his life, as to him who merely risked a portion of his +wealth in a secured loan to the government. But the record +shows that the pay of the former was reduced by nearly sixty per +cent, while the returns of the latter were doubled, trebled, and +quadrupled; that in many cases government obligations were closed +by the erection of a cheap cast-iron tablet over a dead hero, while +the descendants of bondholders were guarded in an undisturbed +enjoyment of the fruits of their ancestors’ greed. For, after the +armies were in the field, the same legislative enactment that reduced +the value of the soldier’s pay increased that of the creditor’s bond, +by providing that the money of the soldier should be rapidly depreciated +in value, while the interest upon bonds should be payable in +coin; and then, after the war was over, another and more valuable +bond was prepared, that should relieve the favored creditor of all +fear of losing his hold upon the treasury by the payment of his +debt. That the purpose of the lawmakers was deliberate, was exposed +in a speech by Senator Sherman, who was Chairman of the +Finance Committee of the Senate while the soldiers in the trenches +were being robbed in the interest of the creditors at home. In reviewing +the financial policy of his party during the war, Mr. Sherman +said, in a speech in the Senate, July 14th, 1868 [Footnote: Congressional Record, page 4044]:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“It was, then, our policy during the war, to depreciate the value of +United States notes, so that they would come into the Treasury more freely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +for our bonds. Why, sir, we did a very natural thing for us to do, we +increased the amount to $300,000,000, then to $450,000,000, and we took +away the important privilege of converting them into bonds on the ground +that, while this privilege remained, the people would not subscribe for the +bonds, and the notes would not be converted; that the right a man might +exercise at any time, he would not exercise at all.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>No page of our national history contains a more damning record +of injustice than this. Mr. Sherman recognizes and admits that the +notes, as issued and paid to the soldiers and producers of the country, +were fundable at the holder’s option in a government interest-bearing +bond. He confesses to the foreknowledge that in nullifying this +right the value of the notes would be decreased and to that extent +the soldiers’ pay be diminished. No organ of public opinion raised +the cry of breaking the plighted faith of the nation. The soldier +had no organ then; but years after the wrong had been perpetrated, +there appeared in Spaulding’s “History of the Currency” the +naïve statement, “It never seemed quite right to take away this +important privilege while the notes were outstanding with this endorsement +upon them.” By a law, passed against the protests of +the wisest and most patriotic members of the popular branch of +Congress, it had been provided that these government notes, so +soon to be further depreciated in value, should be a full legal tender +to the nation’s defenders, but only rags in the hands of the fortunate +holder of interest-bearing obligations of the government, upon +which they were based, and into which they were fundable at the +option of the holder. In one of his reports while Secretary of the +Treasury, Hon. Hugh McCulloch showed that fully thirty per cent +of the cost of supplies furnished the government was due to the +depreciation of the currency, the initial step in such depreciation +being the placing of the words “Except duties on imports and +interest on the public debt” in the law and upon the back of the +notes. But, having provided that one class of the government +creditors should be secured against the evil effects of a depreciated +currency, those friends of the soldiers and defenders of the nation’s +honor proceeded to a systematic course of depreciation of the currency, +while the soldiers were too busy fighting, and the citizens too +earnest in their support of the government, to criticize its acts. +During the war the sentiment was carefully inculcated, that opposition +to the Republican party or its acts was disloyalty to the government, +copperheadism, treason; and protests against any of its +legislation were answered with an epithet. It so happened that very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +little contemporary criticism was indulged in, from a wholesome fear +of social or business ostracism, or the frowning portals of Fort +Lafayette.</p> +<p>But from the very commencement of the war there had been +felt at Washington a strong controlling influence emanating from +the money centres. The issue of the demand notes of the government +during the first year had furnished a portion of the revenues +required, and had served to recall the teachings of the earlier statesmen +and the demonstrations of history—that paper money bottomed +on taxes would prove a great blessing to the people, and a just +exercise of governmental functions. This was only too evident to +those controlling financial operations at the great money centres. +The nation was alive to the necessities of the government; the people +answered the calls for troops with such promptness as to block +the channels of transportation, often drilling in camp, without arms, +awaiting production from the constantly running armories. Those +camps represented the people. From them all eyes were bound to +the source of supply of the munitions of war; in them all hearts +burned for the time for action, even though that meant danger and +death. There were other camps from which gray-eyed greed +looked with far different motives. The issue of their own promissory +notes, based upon a possibility of substituting confidence for +coin, had proven in the past of vast profit to the note-issuers of the +great money centres. The exercise of that power by the government +would inevitably destroy one great source of their profits, and +transfer it to the people. Sixty millions of the people’s own notes, +circulating among them as money, withstanding the effect of the +suspension of specie payments by both the banks and the national +Treasury, was a forceful object-lesson to all classes. To the people, +it brought a strong ray of hope to brighten the darkness of the war +cloud. To some among the metropolitan bankers who in after +years prated so loudly of their patriotism and financial sagacity, it +brought to view only the danger of curtailed profits. The government +Treasury was empty; troops in the field were unpaid and uncomplaining; +merchants furnishing supplies, seriously embarrassed +for the lack of money in the channels of trade. The sixty millions of +demand notes were absorbed by the nation’s commerce like a summer +storm on parched soil. Under such circumstances, at the urgent +request of the Secretary of the Treasury, the Ways and Means +Committee of the House of Representatives framed a bill authorizing +the issue of one hundred and fifty millions of bonds, and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +same amount of Treasury notes, the latter to be a full legal tender, +and fundable in an interest-bearing bond at the option of the holder. +The contest between the popular branch of the government and the +Senate, upon this measure, forms one of the most interesting and +instructive lessons of the financial legislation of the nation. In the +Senate, a bitter and determined opposition to the legal-tender clause +was developed. The associated banks of New York had adopted a +resolution that the Treasury notes of the government should only +be received by the different banks from their customers as “a +special deposit to be paid in kind;” and it was one of the lessons of +the war, that notices containing the announcement above quoted +remained posted in the New York banks until a high premium on +those very notes, over the dishonored greenbacks, caused a shrewd +depositor to demand of the bank his deposits in kind. The demand +was settled by a delivery of greenbacks, which were a full legal tender +for the purpose, and the notices suddenly disappeared. The +compromise effected between the two Houses resulted in the issue of +the emasculated greenback, and it also led the way to the establishment +of the National Banking system, and the issue of the promissory +notes of the banks to be used as money.</p> +<p>Much of the force of all criticism of the system so devised has +been weakened by the fact that the attack has been aimed at the +banks themselves, and not against one special feature of the system. +In explanation, though not in excuse for this, should be stated the +fact that every issue of the annual finance report of the government +contained the special pleadings of the comptrollers of the currency, +concealing some facts, misstating others, and creating thereby the +impression that they were endeavoring to win the favor of the +banking institutions. Added to this were the efforts of those controlling +the national bank in the great money centres to secure a +permanency of the note-issuing feature of their system, after a very +general public sentiment against it had been aroused, and even after +its evil effects had been felt by smaller banks located among, and +supported more directly by, the producing classes. But now, when +the discussion is removed from the arena of politics, when the volume +of the bank-note system is rapidly disappearing, and when many +of the best and strongest banks are seeking to be relieved from the +burden of note-issuance, it is opportune to discuss calmly and without +prejudice the wisdom of the original acts and their effects upon the +country.</p> +<p>It has been claimed that by the organization of the national banks +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +the government was enabled to dispose of its bonds and aided in +carrying on the war. Do the facts warrant the claim? All national +bank notes have been redeemable solely in Treasury notes. They do +not possess the legal-tender qualification equal to the Treasury note, +and cannot therefore be considered any better than the currency +in which they are alone redeemable, and in comparison with which +they have less uses. These are truths that were just as palpable +twenty-five years ago as to-day. It follows that the issue of the bank +notes did not furnish any better form of currency than that which +came directly from the government to the people. Every dollar of +such notes issued contributed just as much towards an inflation of +the currency as the issue of an equal amount of Treasury notes. +With these facts in mind, a review of the organization of the banks +and their issue of notes will reveal the effect of such acts.</p> +<p>In 1864 the notes of the government had been depreciated to such +an extent that coin was quoted at a premium ranging from 80 per +cent to 150 per cent. The record of a single bank organized and +issuing notes under such circumstances is illustrative of the whole +system.</p> +<p>Take a bank with one hundred thousand dollars to invest in +government bonds as a basis for its issuance of currency. The +bonds were bought with the depreciated Treasury notes. Deposited +with the Comptroller of the Currency at Washington, the bank received +ninety thousand dollars of notes to issue as money. It also +received six thousand dollars in coin as one year’s advance interest +upon its deposited bonds, under the law of March 17, 1884. This +coin, not being available for use as money, was sold or converted +into Treasury notes at a ratio of from two to two and a half for one. +The bank, therefore, had received, as a working cash capital, a sum +in excess of the money invested in its bonds. The transaction stands +as follows:</p> +<table summary=''> +<tr><td class='text'>Invested in bonds</td><td> </td><td class='number'>$100,000</td></tr> +<tr><td class='text'>Received notes to issue</td><td colspan='2' class='number'>$90,000 </td></tr> +<tr><td class='text'>Received coin equal to, say</td><td colspan='2' class='number'>12,000--102,000</td></tr> +<tr><td class='text'>Bank gains by transaction</td><td> </td><td class='number total'>$2,000</td></tr> +</table> +<p>From this it will appear that the bank has the use, as currency, of +more than the amount of its bonds, while the government is to pay, +in addition, six per cent per annum on the full amount of bonds so +long as the relations thus created continue. Surely no argument is +needed to prove that, if the government had issued the $90,000 in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +the form of Treasury notes, and had paid out the interest money for +its current obligations, there would have been no greater inflation of +the currency, a more uniform currency would have been maintained, +and a saving effected of the entire amount of interest paid on bonds +held for security of national bank notes, which at this date would +amount to a sum nearly representing the total bonded debt of the +country.</p> +<p>But there remains a still more serious charge to be made against +this system. Defended as a war measure by which the banks were +to aid the government in conquering the rebellion, the fact remains +that at the date of Lee’s surrender only about $100,000,000 of bonds +had been accepted by the banks, even though they received a bonus +for the act. But, after the war had closed, and the government was +with one hand contracting the volume of its own circulating notes +by funding them into interest-bearing bonds, the banks were +allowed to inflate the currency by the further issue of over $200,000,000 +of their notes. Time may produce a sophist cunning enough +to devise an adequate defence or apology for such legislation. His +work will only be saved from public indignation and rebuke when +a continued series of outrages shall have dulled the national intelligence +and destroyed the national honor.</p> +<p>But there came a time when the policy of the government was +radically changed. The soldiers had conquered a peace,—or thought +they had,—and, as they marched in review before their commander-in-chief, +had been paid off in crisp notes of the government—legal +tender to the soldier, but not to the bondholder; the time for +government to pay the soldiers had ceased; the national banks had +been allowed to show their patriotism and their willingness to aid +the government overthrow a rebellion already conquered, by the +issuance of their notes to add to an inflated and depreciated +currency; the soldiers had returned to the arts of peace, and had +taken their places as producers of the nation’s wealth and taxpayers +to the national Treasury. Then Mr. Sherman, with his brother +patriots and statesmen, discovered that the country (meaning, of +course, the bondholders) was suffering under the evils of a depreciated +currency. Their tender consciences had never suffered a +twinge while the soldiers were receiving from the government a +currency depreciated in value as the result of its own acts. But +when the soldier became the taxpayer, and from his toil was to be +obliged to pay the bondholder, then the patriotic hearts of Mr. +Sherman and his co-conspirators in the dominant political party +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +trembled at the thought of a soldier being allowed to discharge his +obligations in the same kind of money he had received for his services. +As a recipient of the government dole, paper money, purposely +depreciated, was quite sufficient. From the citizen by the +product of whose toil a bonded interest-bearing debt was to be paid, +“honest money” was to be demanded. It required no argument +to convince the government creditor that this was a step in his +interest, and public clamor was hushed with the catchwords of +“honest money” and “national honor,” while driblets of pensions +were allowed to trickle from rivers of revenue. The Nero of Rome +had been excelled by his Christian successor, and the dumb submission +of ancient slaves became manly independence in contrast +with modern stupidity.</p> +<p>By the passage of the so-called “Credit-strengthening Act,” in +March, 1869, it was provided that all bonds of the government, +except in cases where the law authorizing the issue of any such +obligation has expressly provided that the same may be paid in +lawful money, or other currency than gold and silver, should be +payable in coin. This act was denounced by both Morton and +Stevens, as a fraud upon the people, in that it made a new contract +for the benefit of the bondholder. The injustice of the act could +have been determined upon the plainest principles of equity: if +the bonds were payable in coin, there was no need for its passage; +if they were not so payable, there could be no excuse for it. If +there existed a doubt sufficiently strong to require such an act, it +was clearly an injustice to ignore the rights of the many in the +interests of the few. But the men who had not scrupled to send +rag-money to the soldiers in the trenches, and coin to the plotters +in the rear, had no consciences to be troubled. They had dared to +pay to the soldiers the money of the nation, and then rob them of +two-thirds of it under color of law, and now needed only to search +for methods, not for excuses. Political exigencies must be guarded +against. The public must be hoodwinked, the soldier element placated +with pension doles.</p> +<p>The first essential was to stifle public discussion. Some fool-friends +of the money power had introduced and pressed the bill +early in 1868. There were still a few Representatives in Congress +who had not bowed the knee to Baal, and they raised a vigorous +protest against the iniquitous proposal. Discussion then might be +fatal to both the scheme and the party, and Simon Cameron supplemented +an already inodorous career by warning the Senate that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +this bill would seriously injure the Republican party, and that it +should be laid aside until the excitement of a political campaign had +subsided, and it could be discussed with the calmness with which +we should view all great financial questions.</p> +<p>Here was the art of the demagogue, blinding the eyes of the +people with sophistry and false pretences in order to secure by indirection +that which could not be obtained by fair discussion. A +Presidential election was approaching. An honest Chief Executive +had rebelled against the attempt to nullify the results of the war by +converting the Southern States into conquered <a name='TC_1'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'territores'">territories</span>, in order +that party supremacy should be secured, even at the expense of +national unity and harmony. Any discussion of a proposition to +burden the victorious soldier with greater debt, in the interest of a +class of stay-at-homes, would have caused vigorous protests from the +men whose aid was necessary for party success. Thaddeus Stevens +had announced that if he thought “that the Republican party +would vote to pay, in coin, bonds that were payable in greenbacks, +thus making a new contract for the benefit of the bondholders, he +would vote for Frank Blair, even if a worse man than Horatio Seymour +was at the head of the ticket.” Oliver P. Morton, the war-Governor +of Indiana, had been equally vigorous in his language; +and practical politicians foresaw that even Pennsylvania and Indiana +might be lost to the Republican party with these men arrayed +against it. Therefore the cunning proposal to postpone this discussion +“until after the excitement of a Presidential election was over, +and we could discuss this with the calmness with which we should +view all great financial questions.” The hint was taken, the contest +of 1868 was fought under a seeming <a name='TC_2'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'acquiesence'">acquiescence</span> in the views of +Stevens and Morton; the dear people were hoodwinked with catch-phrases +coined to deceive, and a new lease of power was secured by +false pretence. But when the excitement of the election had passed, +and there was no longer any danger of “injuring the Republican +party,” all discussion was stifled; and the first act signed by the +newly elected President was that which had been laid aside for that +season of “calmness with which we should view all great financial +questions.”</p> +<p>The next step in the conspiracy was a logical sequence to all that +had preceded. Having secured coin payment of interest and principal +of all bonds, it was now in order to still further increase the +value of the one and to perpetuate the payment of the other. To +this end, silver was demonetized by a trick in the revision of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +Statutes, reducing the volume of coin one-half, and decreasing the +probability of rapid bond payments. Then the volume of the paper +currency was contracted by a systematic course of substituting interest-bearing +bonds for non-interest-bearing currency, and the first +chapter of financial blunders and crimes of the Wall Street servants +ended in a panic, revealing, in its first wild terror, the disgraceful +connection of high public officials with the worst elements of stock-jobbery.</p> +<p>It is possible that a direct proposition in 1865, to double the +amount of the public debt as a free gift to the creditor-class, might +have caused such a clamor as would have forever driven from power +its authors, and have silenced the claims of modern Republicans that +they were the sole friends of the soldier, and defenders of national +honor. But the financial legislation of the Republican party has +done more and worse than this. Its every act has been in the +interest of a favored class, and a direct and flagrant robbery of the +producing masses. It has won the support of corporate monopoly +by blind submission to its demands, and, with brazen audacity, +sought and obtained the co-operation of the survivors of the army +by doling out pensions and promises. And yet, with a record that +would have crimsoned the cheek of a Nero or Caligula, its leaders +are posing as critics of honest statesmen, and the only friends and +defenders of the soldier and laborer. The leaders of its earlier +and better days have been ostracised and silenced in party councils, +while audacious demagogues have used its places of trust as a means +of casting anchors to windward for personal profit. Its party conventions +are controlled by notorious lobbyists and railroad attorneys, +and the agricultural population appealed to for support. +Truly the world is governed more by prejudice than by reason, and +American politics of the present day offer but slight rewards to +manliness or patriotism.</p> +<p class='author'><span class='smcap'>Clinton Furbish.</span></p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='THE_HONOR_OF_AN_ELECTION' id='THE_HONOR_OF_AN_ELECTION'></a> +<h2><i>THE HONOR OF AN ELECTION.</i></h2> +</div> +<p class='center'>(<span class='smcap'>President Cleveland’s Defeat, 1888.</span>)</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><span class='indent7'> </span>Whose is the honor? Once again<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>The million-drifted shower is spent<br /> +Of votes that into power have whirled two men:—<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>One man, defeated; one, made President.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span><br /> +<span class='indent7'> </span>Whose is the honor? His who wins<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>The people’s wreath of favor, cast<br /> +At venture?—Lo, his thraldom just begins!—<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Or is it his who, losing, yet stands fast?<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>The first takes power, in mockery grave<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Of freedom—made, by writ unsigned,<br /> +The people’s servant, whom a few enslave.<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>The other is master of an honest mind.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>From venomed spite that stung and ceased,<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>From slander’s petty craft set free,<br /> +This man—the bonds of formal power released—<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Moves higher, dowered with large integrity.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>Though stabs of cynic hypocrites<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>And festering malice of false friends<br /> +Have won their noisome way, unmoved he fits<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>His patriot purpose still to lofty ends.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>Whose is the honor? Freemen—yours,<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Who found him faithful to the right,<br /> +Clean-handed, true, yet turned him from your doors<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>And bartered daybreak for corruption’s night?<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>Weak-shouldered nation, that endures<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>So painfully an upright sway,<br /> +Four little years, then yields to lies and lures,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>And slips back into greed’s familiar way!<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>For now the light bank-note outweighs<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>The ballot of the unbought mind;<br /> +And all the air is filled with falsehood’s praise—<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Shams, for sham victory artfully designed.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>Is theirs the honor, then, who roared<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Against our leader’s wise-laid plan,<br /> +Yet now have seized his plan, his flag, his sword,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>And stolen all of him—except the man?<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent6'> </span>No! His the honor, for he keeps<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>His manhood firm, intact, unsoiled<br /> +By base deceit.—Not dead, the nation sleeps:<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Pray Heaven it waken ere it be despoiled!</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p class='author'><span class='smcap'>George Parsons Lathrop</span>.</p> +<p><span class='smcap'>November</span>, 1888.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +<a name='ANDYS_GIFT' id='ANDYS_GIFT'></a> +<h2><i>ANDY’S GIFT.</i></h2> +</div> +<p class='center'>HOW HE GOT IN AND HOW HE WAS GOTTEN OUT.</p> +<p class='center'><i>An Episode of Any Day.</i></p> +<h3>I.</h3> +<p>“Well, Age <i>is</i> beautiful!”</p> +<p>“Then <i>she</i> is a joy forever!”</p> +<p>“Wonderful staying power for a filly of her age, anyhow!”</p> +<p>From a typical, if not very remarkable, group of alleged men of +the world, surrounding the quaint and capacious punch-bowl at a +brilliant society event, came this small-shot of repartee. None of +the speakers had been very long out of their teens; all of them were +familiar ingredients of that cream-nougat compound, called society.</p> +<p>Mr. de Silva Street was of the harmless blonde and immaculate +linen type. He was invited everywhere for his present boots, and +well-received for his expectant bonds; his sole and responsible ancestor +having “fought in his corner” with success, in more than +one of the market battles for the belt.</p> +<p>Mr. Wetherly Gage had glory enough with very young belles and +tenacious marriageable possibilities, in being society editor of <i>Our +Planet</i>; while Mr. Trotter Upton had owned more horses and +been more of a boon to sharp traders than any man of his years in +the metropolis. A brief young man, with ruddy, if adolescent, +moustache apparently essaying the ascent of a nose turned up in +sympathetic hue, his red hair was cut in aggressive erectile fashion, +which emphasized the <i>soubriquet</i> of “Indian Summer,” given him +by the present unconscious subject of the critical trilogy.</p> +<p>“But remember, Trotter, she is my pet partner,” simpered Mr. +Street at the shapely back disappearing down the hallway; and he +caressed where his blond moustache was to be.</p> +<p>“And might have been of your—mother’s,” added Mr. Gage, +with the lonesome titter that illustrated all of his acidulous jokelets.</p> +<p>“Remember she is a lady, and a guest of your host besides,” +chimed in a tall, dark man, as he joined the group. The voice was +perfectly quiet; but there seemed discomforting magnetism in the +glance he rested on one after the other, as he filled a glass and +raised it to handsome, but firm-set lips.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></div> +<p>The three typical beaux of an abnormal civilization shifted position +uneasily. Trotter Upton pulled down his cuffs, and laboriously +admired the horse-shoe and snaffle ornamenting their buttons, as +he answered:</p> +<p>“Sorry we shocked you, Van. Forgot it was your lecture season! +But I’ll taut the curb on the boys, so socket your whip, old fel!”</p> +<p>“If your tact kept pace with your slang, Upton, what a success +you’d be!” Van Morris answered, carelessly. “’Tis a real pity you +let the stable monopolize so much of the time that would make you +an ornament to society.” Then he set down his unfinished glass, +sauntered into the hall, and approached the subject of discussion.</p> +<p>Miss Rose Wood was scarcely a beauty; nor was she the youngest +belle of that ball by perhaps fifteen seasons of German cotillion. +But she had tact to her manicured finger-tips, delicate acid on her +tongue’s tip, and that dangerous erudition, a brief biography of +every girl in the set, was handily stored in her capacious memory. +She had, moreover, a staunch following of gilt-plated youths +who, being really afraid of her, made her a belle as a sort of social +Peter’s pence.</p> +<p>Miss Wood had just finished a rapid “glide,” when she came +under fire of the punch-room light-fighters; but, though Mr. Upton +had once judged her “a trifle touched in the wind,” her complexion +and her tasteful drapery had come equally smooth out of that trying +ordeal. Even that critic finished with a nod towards her as their +mentor moved away:</p> +<p>“She <i>does</i> keep her pace well! Hasn’t turned a hair.” And he +was right in the fact so peculiarly stated; for it was less the warmth +of the dancing-room than of her partner’s urgence, that brought +Miss Rose Wood into the hall, for what Mr. Upton called “a +breather.”</p> +<p>The visible members of the Wood family were two, Miss Rose and +her father, Colonel Westchester Wood. “The Colonel” was an +equally familiar figure at the clubs and on the quarter-stretch; nor +was he chary of acceptance of the cards to dinners, balls, and opera-boxes, +which his daughter’s facile management brought to the twain +in showers. He had a certain military air, and a nebulous military +history; boasted of his Virginia-Kentucky origin, and more than +hinted at his Blue Grass stock-farm. Late at night, he would +mistily mention “My regiment at Shiloh, sah!” But, as he was reputed +even more expert with the pistol than most knew him to be +with cards, geography and chronology were never insisted on in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +detail. But the Colonel was undisputed possessor of a thirst, marvellous +in its depth and continuity; and he had also a cast-iron head +that turned the flanks of the most direct assaults of alcohol, and +scattered them to flaunt the red flag on his pendulous nose, or to +skirmish over his scrupulously shaven cheeks.</p> +<p>Of the invisible members of “the Colonel’s” household, fleecy +rumors only pervaded society at intervals. The social Stanleys and +Livingstons who had essayed the sources of the Wood family stream +in its dark continent of brown-faced brick, on a quiet avenue, sent +back vague stories of a lovely and patient invalid, and a more lovely +and equally patient young girl, mother and sister to Miss Rose. +There was a misty legend sometimes floating around the clubs, that +“the Colonel,” after the method of Cleopatra, had dissolved his +wife’s fortune in a posset, and swallowed it years before. But +again the reputation of a dead shot cramped curiosity.</p> +<p>And a similar mist sometimes pervaded five o’clock teas and reunions +<i>chez la modiste</i>, to the effect that the younger sister was but +as a Midianite to the elder, while the mother was dying of neglect. +But as neither subject of this gossip was in society, the mist never +condensed into direction.</p> +<p>Society found Miss Rose Wood a peculiarly useful and pleasant +person; and it took her—as “the Colonel” took many of his pleasures—on +trust.</p> +<h3>II.</h3> +<p>The ball was a crowded one; but was, perhaps, the most brilliant +and select of that season, combining a Christmas-eve festivity with +the <i>début</i> party of the acknowledged beauty and prize-heiress of the +entire set.</p> +<p>Blanche Allmand had been finally finishing abroad for some years, +after having won her blue-ribboned diploma from Mde. de Cancanière, +on Murray Hill. Rumors of her perfections of face and form +and character had come across the seas, in those thousand-and-one +letters, for which a fostering government makes postal unions. And +ever mingled with these rumors, came praises of those thousand-and-one +accomplishments, which society is equally apt to admire as to +envy, even while it does not appreciate.</p> +<p>But what most inspired with noble ambition the gilded youth of +that particular <i>coterie</i>, was the universally accepted fact that old +Jack Allmand was master of the warmest fortune that any papa +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +thereabouts might add to the blessing he bestowed upon his son-in-law.</p> +<p>And, like Jeptha of old, he “had one fair daughter and no more.” +A widower—not only “warm,” but very safe—he had weathered all +the shoals and quicksands of “the street,” and had brought his +golden argosy safe into the port of investment. Then he had retired +from business, which theretofore had engrossed his whole heart +and soul, and lavished both upon the fair young girl, to bring whom +from final finishing at the <i>Sacre Cœur</i>, he had just made himself so +hideously sea-sick.</p> +<p>It was very late in the season when the delayed return of the +pair was announced, with numerous adjectives, in the society columns; +but Mr. Allmand’s impatience to expose his golden fleece to +the expectant Jasons would brook no delay. Blanche was allowed +scarcely time to unpack her many trunks; to exhibit her goodly +share of the <i>chefs d’œuvres</i> of Pengat and Worth to the admiring +elect; and to receive gushing embraces, only measured by their +envy, when the <i>début</i> ball was announced for Christmas-eve.</p> +<p>His best Christmas gift had come to the doting father; and what +more fitting season to show his joy and pride in it, and to have their +little world share both?</p> +<p>When Blanche, backed by Miss Rose Wood, had hinted that it +was rather an unusual occasion, he had promptly settled that by +declaring that she was a peculiarly unusual sort of girl. So the +invitations went forth; the Allmand mansion was first turned inside +out, and then illuminated, and flower-hidden for the <i>début</i> ball.</p> +<p>That it would be <i>the</i> affair of the season none doubted. Already, +many a paternal pocket had twinged responsive to extra appeals +from marketable daughters; and as to beaux, they had responded +<i>nem. con.</i>, when bidden to the event promising so much in present +feast, and which might possibly so tend to prevent future famine. +For already the clubs had discounted the chances of one favorite +or another for winning the marital prize of the year.</p> +<p>Foremost among those who had hastened to welcome Blanche +back to her new home was Miss Rose Wood. She had the mysterious +knack of “coming out” gracefully with every fresh set; of perfectly +adapting herself to its fads, and especially to its beaux. Set +might come and set might go, but she came out forever; and some +nameless tact implied to every <i>débutante</i>, what Micawber forced +upon Copperfield with the brutality of words, that she was the +“friend of her youth.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></div> +<p>So, already, Miss Wood was prime favorite and prime minister at +the home-court of the confiding Blanche, who, spite of brave heart +and strong will of her own, fluttered not unnaturally in the unwonted +buzz and glare of her new life. But most particularly had +Rose Wood warned her against the flirts and “unsafe men” of their +set; including, of course, Vanderbilt Morris and her present partner +of the ball in the ranks of both.</p> +<p>That partner, Andrew Browne, was avowedly the best <i>parti</i> of +the entire set. Handsome, fun-loving, and well-cultivated, he was +that <i>rara avis</i> among society beaux, a thorough gentlemen by instinct; +but he was lazily given to self-indulgence, and had the +prime weakness of being utterly incapable of saying “no,” to man +or woman. The intimate friend and room-mate of Van Morris for +many years, Browne had never lost a sort of reverence for the superior +force and decision of the other’s character; and, though but a +few years his junior, in all serious social matters he literally sat at +his feet.</p> +<p>And Morris had always grown restive when Miss Rose Wood made +one of her “dead sets” at Andy’s face and fortune; for a far-away +experience of his own, in that quarter, had taught him how small +an objection to that maiden would be a fortune with the man whom +she blessed with her affection.</p> +<p>“And <i>that</i> brand of the wine of the heart,” he had once cautioned +Andy, “does not improve with age.”</p> +<p>Doubtful of that young gentleman’s confident response, that “<i>he</i> +was not to be caught with chaff,” Van still kept watch and ward. +So, leaving the elegant book-room of the elegant avenue mansion—converted, +for the nonce, into an elegant bar-room for Mr. Trotter +Upton and his friends—Morris sauntered through knots of pretty +women and of pretty vacuous-looking men, resting on seats half-hidden +in potted plants, and approached the pair interesting him +most.</p> +<p>Neither glowed with delight at his advent, although Andy seemed +only to be rattling off common-places, in peculiarly voluble style. +Morris asked for the next waltz; Miss Wood glanced shyly up at her +companion, dropped her eyes demurely, and believed she would rest +until the <i>cotillon</i>. Then, after a few more small necessaries of +social life about the beauty of the girls, the heat of the rooms, and +the elegance of the flowers, she permitted Andy to drift easily +towards the door that opened on the dim-lit coolness of the conservatory.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></div> +<p>As they turned away, Rose Wood sent one sharp glance of her +gray eyes glinting into Morris’s; then hers fell, and even he could +find only bare common-place in her words:</p> +<p>“So many little dangers, you know, Mr. Morris—at a ball. One +cannot be <i>too</i> prudent.”</p> +<p>He did not answer; but the look that followed her graceful figure +had very little of flattery in it.</p> +<p>“Curse that <i>Chambertin</i>!” he muttered in his moustache. “I +warned him against the second pint at dinner. Andy <i>couldn’t</i> be +fool enough, though,” he added, with a shrug, and moved slowly +towards the dancing-room.</p> +<p>The critical group, still around the big punch-bowl, looked after +him curiously.</p> +<p>“<i>He’s</i> not soft on the old girl, is he?” queried Mr. de Silva Street.</p> +<p>“Never!” chuckled Mr. Wetherly Gage. “Morris is too well up +in Bible lore to marry his grandmother!”</p> +<p>“And he don’t have to,” put in Mr. Trotter Upton, with a sage +wink. “I’d back Van against the field to win the Allmand purse, +hands down, if he’d only enter. But he <i>won’t</i>; so you’re safe, +Silvey, if you’ve got the go in you. But Lord! Van’s too smart +to carry weight for age! Why, you may land me over the tail-board, +if the woman that hitches <i>him</i> double won’t have to throw him +down and sit on him, Rarey fashion!”</p> +<p>And the speaker, remarking <i>sotto voce</i>, that here was luck to the +winner, drained his glass with a smack, set it down, and lounged +into the smoking-room. There he lazily lit one of Mr. Allmand’s +full-flavored Havanas, and thoughtfully stored his breast pocket with +several more.</p> +<h3>III.</h3> +<p>Meanwhile, the horsey pundit’s offered odds seemed not so +wisely laid.</p> +<p>In the great room a crowded waltz was in progress; and Morris +saw Blanche Allmand standing on the opposite edge of the whirling +circle. Her head and her dainty slipper were keeping time to the +softly accented music; while a comical expression—half anger, half +mischief—emphasized the nothing she was saying to her companion.</p> +<p>Van caught her eye and, adept that he was in the social signal-service, +took in the situation at a glance. He slightly raised his +eyebrows and barely moved his lips; she assented with the smallest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +of nods and a happy flush; and, a moment later, he had edged +around the masses of bumping humanity and offered his arm.</p> +<p>“My waltz, I believe,” he said, with the ease of the heir-apparent +of Ananias. “I was unlucky enough, in losing the first turn, not +to grudge Major Bouncey the rest.”</p> +<p>“You deserve to lose the whole for coming late,” the girl +answered, drawing her arm from her partner’s with that pretty reluctance +which makes society’s stage-business seem born in woman. +“It was just too good of Major Bouncey to take your place and save +my being a wall-flower.” And, not pausing for that gallant soldier’s +labored disclaimer, the graceful pair glided away to the graceful +time of ‘La Gitana’ waltz.</p> +<p>“Horrid bore, that Bouncey,” Blanche panted in the first pause. +“Don’t stop near him! He does all his dancing on my insteps; +and I dare not stop for fear of his still more dreadful spooning.”</p> +<p>“You would not have <i>me</i> blame him? A better balanced brain +might well lose its poise, with <i>such</i> temptation!” And the man +looked down on her with very eloquent eyes.</p> +<p>There was a pause. Then Van Morris bent his head, and the +eyes still more strongly emphasized the words:</p> +<p>“Blanche, do you know how dangerously lovely you are?”</p> +<p>The girl’s frank eyes dropped beneath the strong light in his; +but there was not a shade of consciousness in the soft laugh that +prefaced her reply:</p> +<p>“Ah! I’ve a cheval-glass and this is my first ball. So I suppose +I know how ‘dangerous’ I am! Then, too, that awful Bouncey +called me a lily of the valley!”</p> +<p>“It is the purest flower made by God’s hand,” were Morris’s +simple words; but the vibrant tone came from deeper than the lips, +now close pressed together.</p> +<p>“But I <i>know</i> I’m not,” Blanche retorted, merrily, “for <i>they</i> drink +only dew, and I am quite wild for Regent’s punch!”</p> +<p>They were at the refreshment room, now nearly deserted. Once +more the man’s eyes grew darker and deeper, as they met the girl’s +frank blue ones.</p> +<p>“And yet, not purer,” he said, unheeding the interruption, +“than the heart you, little girl, will soon give to some——”</p> +<p>He stopped abruptly; but the eyes added more than the words +left unsaid.</p> +<p>Again Blanche dropped her eyes quickly; but her color never +heightened, nor did the soft laces nestling over the graceful bust +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +move at all quicker than the waltz might warrant. Van’s face still +bent over her with earnest expression, as she sipped the glass of +punch he handed her; but neither spoke until they had crossed the +corridor and passed another door into the conservatory.</p> +<h3>IV.</h3> +<p>The soft, warm air, heavy with the breath of the “Grand Duke” +and of orange blossoms; the tremulous half-light from colored +lamps hung amid the leaves; the dead stillness of the place, broken +only by the plash of the fountain falling back into its moss-covered +basin, all contrasted deliciously with the hot, dusty atmosphere and +giddy buzzing under the flaring gas-jets left behind.</p> +<p>They strolled slowly down the gravelled walk, between rows of +huge tubs, moist and flower-laden with the products of almost every +clime. Here gleamed the glossy leaves of the Southern <i>grandiflora</i>; +the rare wax plant crept along the wall beyond, its pink, starry +blooms gleaming delicately among the thick, artificial-seeming +leaves; while, as though in honor of the happily-timed birthnight +of the fair young mistress of all, a gorgeous century plant had +opened its bud in a glory of form and color, magnificent as rare.</p> +<p>“Blanche, do you remember how long I have known you?” +Morris asked, suddenly breaking the silence. “Ever since you +were like <i>this</i>; a close, callow bud, giving but vague promise of the +glorious flowering of your womanhood! I watched the opening of +every petal of your mind and tried to peer through them into the +heart of the flower. But they sent you away; and now your return +dazzles me with the brilliance and beauty of the full bloom. This +was the past—<i>this</i> is the present!”</p> +<p>And reaching up, the man suddenly snapped off the glowing blossom +from the cactus and held it before the girl, close to the pale +camellia bud he had plucked before.</p> +<p>She raised her beautiful face, crowned with its halo-like glory of +hair, full to him; and the expression it took was graver and more +womanly than before. But still no agitation reflected in the candid +eyes that looked steadily into his, and the voice, more softly pitched, +had no tremor in it, as she answered:</p> +<p>“<i>Please</i> think of me, then, as the child you used to know; never +as the <i>débutante</i> who must be fed, <i>à la</i> Bouncey, on the sweets of +sentiment.”</p> +<p>“Take sentiment—I mean the higher sentiment, that lifts us +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +sometimes above our baser worldly nature—out of life, and it is not +worth the living,” Morris said earnestly. “That man could not +understand it any more than he could understand you!”</p> +<p>“Perhaps you are right,” she answered, quietly. “<i>We</i> are too +old friends to talk society at each other; and you are <i>so</i> different +from him.”</p> +<p>Perhaps Morris was luckier for not replying.</p> +<p>It may be that the Destiny, which, we are told, shapes our ends, +did not leave his so rough-hewn as it might have.</p> +<p>He himself could scarcely have told what thoughts were framing +themselves in his mind; what words had almost formed themselves +on his tongue. There are moments in life, when we live at the +rate of hours; and Van Morris was certainly going the pace, mentally, +for those ten seconds of silence, before the echo of the girl’s +voice ceased vibrating on his ear. He was vaguely conscious, some +ten seconds later still, that rarely had a calm, well-posed man of the +world found himself quite so dizzy, from combined effects of a quick +waltz, a flower-laden atmosphere, and a rounded arm pressing only +restfully upon his own.</p> +<p>Suddenly that pressure grew sharp and decided. They stopped +abruptly at a sharp turn of the walk.</p> +<p>On a somewhat too small rustic seat, under the fruit-laden boughs +of an orange tree, and comfortably screened thereby from the gleam +of the tinted lantern, sat Miss Rose Wood and Mr. Andrew Browne.</p> +<p>Their two heads were rather close together; their two hands were +suspiciously distant, as though by sudden movement; and the lady’s +fan had fallen at her feet, most <i>à propos</i> to the crunch of the gravel, +under approaching feet.</p> +<p>But only Blanche—less preoccupied with her thoughts than her +companion—had caught the words, “Dismiss carriage—escort +home,” before Miss Wood’s fan had happened to drop at her feet.</p> +<p>What there might be in those words to drop the color out of rosy +cheeks, or to clench white little teeth hard together, it might well +puzzle one to guess. But the face that had not changed under the +strong music of Van Morris’s voice, now grew deadly white an instant; +then flooded again with surging rush of color.</p> +<p>But very quickly, though with perfect self-possession, Miss Wood +had risen and advanced one step, to arrange Blanche’s lace, with +the words:</p> +<p>“Your <i>berthé</i> is loose, darling!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span></div> +<p>Then, as she inserted the harmless, unnecessary pin, she whispered +in the shell-like ear:</p> +<p>“<i>Don’t</i> scold me, loved one! Indeed, I was <i>not</i> flirting. I only +came out here to keep him from the—<i>champagne punch!</i>”</p> +<p>Blanche made no reply to this whispered confidence; nor did she +seem especially grateful for the grace done to her toilette. She never +so much as glanced at Andy Browne. He, also, had risen, after +picking up the dropped fan, with not effortless grace; and now +stood smiling, with rather meaningless, if measureless, good nature +upon the invaders.</p> +<p>And Van Morris was all pose and <i>savoir faire</i> once more. He +might have been examining Blanche on her progress in algebra, for +all the consciousness in his manner as he complimented Miss Wood +on her peculiarly deft management of that dangerous weapon, the +pin. But there was no little annoyance in the whispered aside to +his friend:</p> +<p>“Don’t drink any more to-night, Andy. <i>Don’t!</i>”</p> +<p>“All right, Van; I promise,” responded the other, with the most +beaming of smiles. “Tell you the truth, don’t think I need it. +Heat of the room, you know—”</p> +<p>“And the second pint of <i>Chambertin</i> at dinner,” finished Morris, +as Miss Wood—the toilette and <i>her</i> confidence both completed—slipped +her perfectly gloved hand into Andy’s arm again.</p> +<p>Precisely, then, three sharp notes of the cornet cut through the +stillness under the flowers. It was followed by the indescribable +sound, made only by the rush of many female trains towards one +spot. Like the chronicled war-horse, Andy shook his mane at the +first note; Miss Wood nodded beamingly over her shoulder at the +second; and the pair were hastening off by the time the third died +away.</p> +<p>Blanche showed no disposition to take the vacated seat.</p> +<p>“The German is forming,” she said, “and I am engaged to that +colt-like Mr. Upton.”</p> +<p>Only at the door of the conservatory she paused.</p> +<p>“Does Mr. Browne ever drink too much wine?” she asked abruptly.</p> +<p>Van never hesitated one second. He lied loyally. “Why, <i>never</i>, +of course,” he deprecated, in the most natural tone. “With rare +exceptions. But what deucedly sharp eyes she has,” he added, +mentally, as Mr. Upton informed them that “the bell had tapped,” +and took Blanche off.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span></div> +<p>Almost at the same moment, a waiter rushed by with a wine-cooler +and glasses; and he heard the pompous butler direct:</p> +<p>“Set it by Mr. Browne’s chair. He leads in <i>ler curtillyun!</i>”</p> +<p>Morris half started to countermand the order. Then he reconsidered +and leaned against the doorway.</p> +<p>“He can’t mean to drink it, after his promise to me,” he thought. +“Anyway, he might get something worse. Besides, I am not his +guardian; and,” he added very slowly, a strange smile hovering +about his lips, “I can scarcely keep my own head to-night.”</p> +<p>Somehow he, best dancer in town as he was, had no partner to-night. +The sight before him had no novelty; and Mr. Trotter Upton’s +vivacious prancing somewhat irritated him, in spite of the +amusement at himself he felt at the sensation.</p> +<p>“Didn’t think I was so far gone as to be jealous of Trotter,” he +muttered.</p> +<p>Then he slipped into the hat-room and was quickly capped and +cloaked for that precious boon to the bored, the exit <i>sans adieu</i>.</p> +<h3>V.</h3> +<p>It was a raw, searching Christmas morning into which Van Morris +stepped, as he softly closed the door of the Allmand mansion and +turned up his fur collar against “a nipping and an eager air.”</p> +<p>Even in that fashionable section the streets already showed somewhat +of the bustle of the busy to-morrow. Belated caterers’ carts +spun by; early butchers’ and milk-wagons rumbled along, making +their best speed towards distant patrons. Here and there, gleams +from gas-lit windows slanted athwart the frosty darkness, punctuated +by ever-recurrent flaring of street lamps. Not infrequent groups of +muffled men—some jovial with reminiscent scenes of pleasure left +behind, and some hilarious from what they brought along with +them—passed him, as he strode rapidly along the echoing flags, too +intent on his own thoughts to notice any of them.</p> +<p>Suddenly, from beneath one of the gloom punctuators opposite, a +woman’s voice cut the air sharply:</p> +<p>“<i>Please</i> let me pass!”</p> +<p>Morris, alert in a second, had crossed the street and joined the +group of four intuitively, before he knew it himself. Three young +men, whose evening dress told that they were of society, and whose +unsteady hold of their own legs, that they had had just a little too +much of it, barred the way of a young girl. Tall, slight, and with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +a mass of blonde hair escaping from the rough shawl she drew closer +about her head as she shrank back, there was something showing +through her womanly terror that spoke convincingly the gentlewoman. +The trio chuckled inanely, making elaborate bows; and +the girl shivered as she shrank further into the shadow, and repeated +piteously:</p> +<p>“Do, <i>please</i>, let me pass! <i>won’t</i> you?”</p> +<p>“Certainly they will,” Van answered, stepping up on the pavement +and taking her in at a glance. “Am I not right, gentlemen?” +he added urbanely to the unsteady trio.</p> +<p>“Not by a damned sight!”</p> +<p>“Who the devil are you?” were the prompt and simultaneous rejoinders.</p> +<p>“That doesn’t matter,” Van answered quietly; “but you are +obstructing the public streets and frightening this evident stranger.”</p> +<p>“We don’t know any stranger at two o’clock in the morning,” +was the illogical rejoinder of the third youth, who clung to the lamp-post.</p> +<p>“What about it, anyway?” said the stoutest of the three, advancing +towards Morris. “Do <i>you</i> know her?”</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> evidently do not,” Van replied; then he turned to the +girl with the deference he would scarce have used to the leader of +his set. “If you will take my arm, I will see you safely to the +nearest policeman.”</p> +<p>The girl hesitated and shrunk back a second; then, with that +instinctive trust which—fortunately, perhaps—is peculiarly feminine, +slipped her red, ungloved little hand into his arm.</p> +<p>The leader of the trio staggered a step nearer. “You’re a nice +masher,” he said thickly; “but if it’s a row you’re looking for, +you can find one pretty quick!”</p> +<p>Morris glanced at the man with genuine pity.</p> +<p>“You look as though you might be a gentlemen when you are +sober,” he said. “<i>I</i> am not looking for a row; and if you boys +make one, you’ll only be more ashamed of yourselves on Christmas +day than you should be already. And now I wish to pass.”</p> +<p>“I’ll give you a pass,” the other answered; and, with a lurch, he +fronted Morris and put up his hands in most approved fighting +form. At the same moment, the girl—with the inopportune logic +of all girls in such cases—clung heavily to Morris’s arm and cried +piteously:</p> +<p>“Oh, no! You mustn’t! Not for me!” and, as she did so the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +man lunged a vicious blow with his right hand, full at Morris’s +face.</p> +<p>But, though like J. Fitz-James, “taught abroad his arms to +wield,” Van Morris had likewise used his legs to wrestle in England, +and had moreover seen <i>la savatte</i> in France. With a quick turn of +his head, the blow passed heavily, but harmlessly, by his cheek. +At the same instant his foot shot swiftly out, close to the ground, +and with a sharp sweep from right to left, cut his opponent’s heels +from under him, as a sickle cuts weeds, sprawling him backwards +upon the pavement.</p> +<p>Drawing the girl swiftly through the breach thus made, Morris +placed her behind him and turned to face the men again. They +made no rush, as he had expected; so he spoke quickly:</p> +<p>“You’d better pick up your friend and be off. You don’t look +like boys who would care to sleep in the station,” he said, “and +here comes the patrol wagon.”</p> +<p>They needed no second warning, nor stood upon the order of +their going. The downed man was on his feet; and it was devil +take the hind-most to the first corner. For the rumbling of heavy +wheels and the clang of heavy hoofs upon the Belgian blocks were +drawing nearer.</p> +<p>To Van’s relief, for he hated a scene, it proved to be only a “night-liner” +cab, though with rattle enough for a field battery; but to his +tipsy antagonists it had more terror than a park of Parrot guns.</p> +<p>“Can I do anything more for you?” he asked the girl; then suddenly: +“You’re not the sort to be out alone at this hour of the +night. Are you in trouble?”</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed I am!” she answered, with a sob; again illogical, +and breaking down when the danger was over. “What <i>must</i> you +think of me? But mother was suddenly <i>so</i> ill, and father and sister +were at a ball, and the servants slipped away, too. I dared not wait, +so I ran out alone to fetch Doctor Mordant. <i>Please</i> believe me, +for—”</p> +<p>“Hello, Cab!” broke in Van. “Certainly I believe you,” he +answered the girl, as the cab pulled up with that eager jerk of the +driver’s elbows, eloquent of fare scented afar off. “I’ll go with you +for Doctor Mordant, and then see you home.”</p> +<p>“Why, is that <i>you</i>, Mr. Morris?” cried Cabby, with a salute of +his whip <i>à la militaire;</i> but he muttered to himself, “Well, I +<i>never</i>!” as he jumped from the box and held the door wide.</p> +<p>“That’s enough, Murphy,” Van said shortly. “Now, jump in, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +Miss, and I’ll—” But the girl shrank back, and drew the shawl +closer round her face. “No, I won’t either. Pardon my thoughtlessness; +for it isn’t exactly the hour to be driving alone with a +fellow, I know. But you can trust Murphy perfectly. Dennis, +drive this lady to Dr. Mordant’s and then home again, just as fast +as your team can carry her!” And he half lifted the girl into the +carriage.</p> +<p>“That I will, Mr. Van,” Murphy replied cheerily, as he clambered +to his seat.</p> +<p>The girl stretched out two cold, red little hands, and clasped his +fur-gloved one frankly.</p> +<p>“Oh! thank you a thousand times,” she said. “I <i>knew</i> you were +a gentleman at the first word to those cowards; but I never dreamed +you were Mr. Van Morris. I’ve heard sister speak of you <i>so</i> often!”</p> +<p>“<i>Your</i> sister?” Van stared at the cheaply-clad night wanderer, +as though <i>he</i> had had too much Regent’s punch.</p> +<p>“Yes, sister Rose—Rose Wood,” she said, with the confidence of +acquaintance. “I’m her sister, you know—Blanche.”</p> +<p>“Blanche? Your name is Blanche? I cannot tell you how +happy I am to have chanced along just now, Miss Wood;” and Van +bared his head in the cutting night wind to the blanket-shawled +girl in the night-liner, as he would not have done at high noon to a +duchess in her chariot. “But I’m wasting your time from your +mother; so good-morning; and may your Christmas be happier +than its eve.”</p> +<p>“Good-by! And oh, <i>how</i> I thank you!” the girl said, again +extending her hand over the cab door. “I’ll tell Rose, and <i>she</i> +shall thank you, better than I can!”</p> +<p>“Good-night! But don’t trouble <i>her</i>,” Van said, releasing the +girl’s hand. “One minute, Murphy,” he added aside to the driver; +“here’s your Christmas-gift!”</p> +<p>A bright gold piece glinted in the dirty fur glove, in which Dennis +Murphy looked to find a shilling under the next gas-lamp.</p> +<p>“Blanche! and the same golden hair, too!” Van muttered to +himself, as the cab rocked and ricketted down the street. “Well, +I suppose that is what the poet means by ‘the magic of a name’!” +and he suddenly recalled that he was still standing bareheaded in +the blast. “And Rose Wood’s sister looks like that! Well, verily +one half the world does <i>not</i> know how the other half lives!”</p> +<p>Then he turned and strode rapidly homeward; pulling hard, as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +he thought many strange thoughts, on the dead cigar between his +lips.</p> +<p>Once in his own parlor, Van Morris walked straight to the mirror +over the mantel, and looked long and steadily at himself. Then he +tossed Mr. Allmand’s half-smoked cigar contemptuously into the +grate, lit one he selected carefully from the carved stand near, and +threw himself into a smoking-chair before the ruddy glow of coals.</p> +<p>“I must be getting old,” he soliloquized. “I didn’t use to get +bored so easily by these things. Either balls are not what they were, +or <i>I</i> am not. Now, ‘there’s no place like home!’ Not much of a +box to call home, either!” And he glanced round the really +elegant apartment in half-disgust. “There’s <i>something</i> lacking! +Andy’s the best fellow in the world, but he’s so wanting in order. +Poor old boy! Wonder if he <i>will</i> drink anything more? I surely +must blow him up to-morrow morning. How deucedly sharp <i>she</i> +is!” and he smiled to himself. “She saw through Rose Wood’s +game at a glance. Wonder if she saw through <i>me</i>?”</p> +<p>He looked steadily into the glowing coals, as though castles were +building there. Once or twice his lips moved soundlessly; and +suddenly he reached over to the escritoire near by, and taking an +oval case from it, opened it, and gazed long and earnestly at the +picture in it. The face was the average one of a young girl, with +stiff plaits of hair stiffly tossed over the shoulder, in futile chase +after grace; but the wide blue eyes were a glory of purity and +trust, and they were the eyes of Blanche Allmand.</p> +<p>Then he rose abruptly, walked to the sideboard, and filled a glass +with water. Then he placed carefully in it the cactus flower and +camelia bud, which had never left his hand since he plucked them +in the conservatory. As he did so, Morris’ face grew serious, and +looked down wistfully into the fire.</p> +<p>When he raised his eyes they were full of hopeful light, and they +rested long and steadily upon the flowers.</p> +<p>“Yes! It <i>is</i> better!” he exclaimed aloud, as though continuing +a train of thought. “Some of <i>that</i> family bloom only once in a +century. I cannot look for miracles, and many a hand may reach +for <i>my</i> flower. Yes, to-morrow shall settle it! The Italian was +even more philosopher than poet when he said, ‘<i>Amare e no essere +amato e tiempo perduto</i>’!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span></div> +<h3>VI.</h3> +<p>When Mr. Andrew Browne tumbled into the cosy parlor of that +bachelor’s box at 4 <span class='smcaplc'>A.M.</span> on Christmas morning, he was by all odds +the happiest man of his acquaintance, even if he knew himself, +which was more than doubtful.</p> +<p>He slammed the door, slung his fur-lined overcoat across the sofa, +turned up the gas until it whistled merrily, and poked the fire until +it roared again. Then he hunted the boot-jack, and drew off one +boot; changed his mind, and flung himself into the smoking-chair, +and stretched booted and unbooted foot to the blaze. Thus posed, +he trolled out, “<i>Il segreto per esser felice</i>,” in a rich baritone; only +interrupting his <i>tempo</i> to spit out superfluous ends, bitten from his +cigar, in the effort to phrase neatly and smoke at the same time.</p> +<p>“Why the deuce don’t you get to bed?” growled Van Morris +from the next room. He was aroused from dreams of Blanche Allmand, +music, diamond solitaires, and orange-blossoms, mixed into +one sweet confusion. “Stop your row, can’t you? and go to bed!”</p> +<p>“You go to bed yo’sef!” responded the illogical Andy, rising, not +too steadily, on his one boot, and throwing wide the folding-door. +“Who wants to go to bed? <i>I</i> sha’n’t.”</p> +<p>“You’re an idiot!” muttered Mr. Morris; and he turned his +face to the wall.</p> +<p>“Guess am an idiot,” responded Andy, blandly. “But I ain’t +tight,—only happy! I’m the happiest idiot—<i>Il segreto per +ess</i>—Say, Van! I’m so <i>devilish</i> happy, ol’ boy!”</p> +<p>Morris turned over with a groan, and pulled the covering over +his head. The strong, small word he uttered as he did so is not to +be found in the church service. But Andy was not to be snubbed +in that style. He stepped forward; attempted to sit on the bed’s +edge; miscalculated his momentum, and succeeded in landing +plump on the centre of his friend’s person.</p> +<p>“Confound you!” gasped the latter, breathless. “You’re as +drunk as—as a fool!”</p> +<p>“No, I ain’t,” chuckled Andy, imperturbably happy. Then he +laughed till the bed shook; composing himself suddenly into +gravity, with a fierce snort—“No, I ain’t: you’re sober!”</p> +<p>“And when <i>she</i> asked, I said you never drank,” reproached the +irate and still gasping Morris. “I <i>lied</i> for you!”</p> +<p>“Tha’s nothing. I’ll lie for you; lie for you to-morrow—see’f +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +I don’t! Say, Van, ol’ boy, I ain’t tight; only happy—<i>so</i> happy! +Van! <i>Van!</i>” and he shook the pretended sleeper heavily. “I’m +goin’ to reform! I’m goin’ to be married!”</p> +<p>“<i>What? Rose Wood?</i>”</p> +<p>Van Morris sat bolt upright in bed now. The tone of voice in +which he invoked Miss Wood might have brought response from +that wise virgin, disrobing for triumphant rest full ten blocks away.</p> +<p>But he found it vain to argue with Andy’s mixed Burgundy +and champagne punch. Contradiction but made him insist more +strongly that he <i>was</i> engaged to the old campaigner, whom Morris +had so manœuvred to outflank. Finally, in a miscellaneous outfit +of evening pants, night-gown, and smoking-cap, he succeeded in +getting the jubilant groom <i>in futuro</i> into bed, where he still +hummed at the much-sought secret of happiness, until he collapsed +with a sudden snore, and slept like the Swiss.</p> +<p>Then Morris walked the floor rapidly, wrapped in thought and a +cloud of fragrant cigar-smoke. Then he threw himself once more +into the smoking-chair, and gazed long and earnestly into the +coals, a heavy frown resting on his face. Suddenly it cleared off; +the sunshine of a broad smile took its place; and Van tossed the +end of his cigar exultingly into the fire. Then he rose and stretched +himself like a veritable son of Anak, when</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“Stalwart they court the rapture of the fight.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“I have it, by George!” he cried. “I’ll get the poor fellow out of +this box, if the old girl did induce him to pop, and accepted him +out of hand! Andy! I say, Andy, wake up!” and he ran into his +chum’s room, dragged him out of bed, and had him at the fire, +before he was well awake.</p> +<p>Mr. Andrew Browne was no longer in a mood even approaching +the jubilant. He had utterly forgotten the secret <i>per esser felice</i>, +during his two hours’ nap. He confessed to a consuming desire for +Congress-water, and made use of improper words upon finding only +empty bottles, aggravating in reminiscence of it, in the carved +ebony sideboard.</p> +<p>Finally he sat down, with his head in his hands, and told his +story dismally enough.</p> +<p>Miss Rose Wood’s carriage had been dismissed, as per programme. +Andy had led the German with her, and a bottle of champagne at +his side. He had walked home with her; had told her—in what +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +wild words he knew not—that he loved her; and had been, as Van +had surmised, “accepted out of hand.”</p> +<p>“And, Van, I’m bound, as a man of honor, to marry her!” +finished the now thoroughly dejected <i>fiancé</i>. “Yes, I know what +you’d say; it <i>is</i> a pretty rum thing to do; but then she mustn’t +suffer for my cursed folly!”</p> +<p>“Suffer? Rose Wood <i>suffer</i> for missing fire one time more?”</p> +<p>Surprise struggled with contempt in the exclamation Morris shot +out by impulse.</p> +<p>“But, if she loves me well enough to engage—” Andy began, +rather faintly; but his mentor cut him short.</p> +<p>“Love the d—<i>deuce!</i>” he retorted. “Why, she’s a beggar and +a husband-trap!”</p> +<p>“But her family? What will <i>they</i> think?” pleaded Andy, but +with very little soul in the plea.</p> +<p>“Poor little Blanche!” muttered Morris, half to himself. “Bah! +the girl <i>has</i> no heart!”</p> +<p>“Blanche?” echoed Van, in a dazed sort of way. “Why, you +don’t suppose Blanche will know it! I never thought of <i>her!</i>” and +he rose feebly, and stood shivering in his ghostly attire.</p> +<p>“Why, of course, Rose Wood couldn’t keep such great news. +Why, man, you’re the capital prize in the matrimonial lottery; but +hang me if Miss Wood shan’t draw another blank this time!”</p> +<p>There was a compound of deadly nausea and effortful dignity in +the elbows Mr. Andrew Browne leaned upon the mantel, which +hinted volumes for what his face might have said, had it been +visible through the fingers latticed over it.</p> +<p>“I am a gentleman,” he half gasped. “It <i>may</i> be a trap; but +I’ll keep my word, and—<i>marry</i> her, unless—unless, Van, you get +me out of it!”</p> +<p>“Go to bed, you spoon!” laughed his friend. “I have the +whole plan cut and dried. I’ll teach you your lesson as soon as you +sleep yourself sober.”</p> +<p>Morris stood many minutes by the bedside of his quickly-sleeping +friend; but, when he turned into the parlor again, his face was +pale and stern.</p> +<p>“The way of the world, always,” he said aloud. “One inanely +eager, another stupidly backward. ‘Fools rush in where angels +fear to tread!’ Poor boy! he’d give as much to-morrow to unsay +his words as I would to have spoken those I nearly said last night!”</p> +<p>The chill gray dawn outside was wrestling at the windows for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +entrance with the sickly glaring gas-light within. Morris drew aside +the heavy curtains and pressed his forehead against the frost-laced +pane. Long he looked out into the gray haze with eyes that saw +nothing beyond his own thoughts. Then he turned to the fire +again. The gray ash was hiding the glow of the spent coals. +Then he took up the glass once more and looked earnestly at the +contrasted flowers it held. He replaced it almost tenderly, and +walked slowly to his own room.</p> +<p>“Yes, I know <i>myself</i>,” he said; “I think I know <i>her</i>. I’ll +hesitate no longer; some fool may ‘rush in.’ To-morrow shall +settle it. The tough old Scotchman was right:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>‘He either fears his fate too much,<br /> +<span class='indent3'> </span>Or his deserts are small,<br /> +That dares not put it to the touch<br /> +<span class='indent3'> </span>To gain or lose it all!’”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<h3>VII.</h3> +<p>That same afternoon, at two o’clock, Mr. Vanderbilt Morris’s +stylish dog-cart, drawn by his high-spirited bays, drew up at Miss +Rose Wood’s domicile. Holding the reins sat Mr. Andrew Browne, +beaming as though <i>Chambertin</i> had never been pressed from the +grape; seemingly as fresh as though headache had never slipped +with the rest out of Pandora’s box.</p> +<p>But it may have been only seemingly; for, faultlessly attired +from scarf-pin to glove tips, Andy was still a trifle more uneasy +than the dancing of his restless team might warrant in so noted a +whip as he. A queer expression swept over his handsome face from +time to time; and, as he came to a halt, he glanced furtively over +his shoulder, as though fearing something in pursuit.</p> +<p>“Ask Miss Rose if she will drive with me,” he said hurriedly to +the servant. “Say I can’t get down to come in; the horses are too +fresh.”</p> +<p>Then the off-horse danced a polka in space, responsive to deft +tickling with the whip.</p> +<p>Miss Wood did not stand upon ceremony, nor upon the order of +her going, but went at once to get her wraps.</p> +<p>“Better late than never,” she said to herself, as she dived into a +drawer and upset her mouchoir case in search for a particular handkerchief. +“I really couldn’t comprehend his absence and silence +all day—but, poor boy! he’s <i>so</i> young!” And then Miss Rose, as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +she tied a becoming cardinal bow under her chin, hummed two +bars of “The Wedding March” through the pins in her mouth.</p> +<p>Two minutes later saw her seated on the high box beside her +future lord <i>in posse</i>; the bays plunging like mad and Andy swinging +to the reins as if for life. For, before she could speak one +word—and for no reason to her apparent—he had let the limber +lash drop stingingly across their backs.</p> +<p>Very keen was the winter wind that swept by her tingling ears; +and Miss Wood raised her seal-skin muff and hid her modest blushes +from it. For that gentle virgin had ever a familiar demon at her +elbow. His name was Experience; and now he whispered to her: +“A red nose never reflects sentiment!”</p> +<p>“And <i>he</i> is so particular how one looks,” Miss Rose whispered +back to the familiar; and her tip-tilted feature sought deeper protection +in the furs.</p> +<p>At length, when well off the paved streets, the mad rush of the +brutes cooled down to a swinging trot—ten miles an hour; Browne’s +tense arms relaxed a trifle; and he drew a long, deep breath—whether +of relief, or anxiety, no listener could have guessed. But he +kept his eyes still rooted to that off-horse’s right ear as though +destiny herself sat upon its tip.</p> +<p>Then, for the first time, he spoke; and he spoke with unpunctuated +rapidity, in a hard, mechanical tone, as though he were a +bad model of Edison’s latest triumph, and some tyro hand was +grinding at the cylinder.</p> +<p>“Miss Rose,” he began, “we are old friends—never so old; but +I can never sufficiently regret—last night!”</p> +<p>He felt, rather than saw, the muff come sharply down and the +face turn full to him; regardless now of the biting wind.</p> +<p>“No! don’t interrupt me,” he went on, straight at the off-horse’s +right ear. “I <i>know</i> your goodness of heart; <i>know</i> how it pained +you; but you could have done nothing else but—<i>refuse me!</i>”</p> +<p>Miss Rose Wood’s mouth opened quickly; but a providential +gutter jolted her nearly from the seat; and the wind drove her first +word back into her throat like a sob.</p> +<p>The inexorable machine beside her ground on relentless.</p> +<p>“Yes, I understand what you would say: that you refused me +<i>firmly</i> and <i>finally</i> because I—<i>deserved it!</i>” Had Andy Browne’s +soul really been the tin-foil of the phonograph, it could not have +shown more utter disregard of moral responsibility. “You knew +I was under the influence of wine; that I would never have dared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +to address you had I been myself! I repeat, I deserve my—<i>decisive +rejection!</i> It was proper and just in you to say ‘<i>No!</i>’”</p> +<p>Woman’s will conquered for one brief second. Spite of wind +and spite of him, Miss Wood began:</p> +<p>“‘<i>No?</i>’ I—”</p> +<p>“Yes, ‘<i>no!</i>’” broke in the relentless machinery. It ground on +implacable, though great beads stood on Andy’s brow from sheer +terror lest he run down before the end. “<i>No!</i> as firmly, as +emphatically as you said it to me last night. Indeed, I honor you +the more for flatly refusing the man who, in forgetting his self-respect, +forgot his respect—<i>for you!</i> But, Miss Rose, while I +pledge you my honor never, <i>never</i> to speak to you again <i>of love</i>, I +may still be—<i>your friend!</i>”</p> +<p>The bays were bowling down the street again by this time; when +another <i>kismet</i>, in small and ugly canine form, flew at their heads +with yelp and snarl. Rearing with one impulse, the spirited pair +lunged forward and flew past the now twinkling lamps in a wild +gallop. Andy pulled them down at last; their swinging trot replacing +the dangerous rush. The Wood mansion was almost in sight; +but the Ancient Mariner was a tyro to Andy Browne in the way he +fixed that off-horse’s right ear with stony stare.</p> +<p>He might have looked round in perfect safety. The lithe figure +by him sat gracefully erect. The face a trifle pale; the lips set +tight against each other, with the blood pressed out of them, were +not unnatural in that cutting wind. The eyes, fixed straight ahead, +as his own, gleamed gray and cold; only a half-closing of the lids, +once or twice, hiding an ugly light reflecting through them from +the busy brain behind. But Andy never turned once until he +brought up the bays stock still and leaped down to offer his hand +to the lady at her own door.</p> +<p>She took it, naturally; springing to the ground as lightly as any +<i>débutante</i> of the season. Not one trace of annoyance, even, showed +on that best educated face.</p> +<p>“Andy, we <i>are</i> old friends,” she said, offering her hand frankly.</p> +<p>He took it mechanically, with a dazed soft of feeling that he must +be even a bigger fool than he felt himself.</p> +<p>“Real friends,” Miss Wood went on, pleasantly, “and I’ll prove +it to you now. <i>You</i> have acted like a man of honor to me; <i>I</i> will +betray one little confidence, and make two people happy!”</p> +<p>The man still stood dumb; and his eye furtively wandered to the +pawing off-horse, as if to take <i>his</i> confidence as to what it meant. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +The woman’s next words came slowly, and she smiled; a strange +smile the lips alone made, but in which the glinting gray eyes took +no share.</p> +<p>“For Van Morris is your best friend, after all. He will remember +that I told him, last night, ‘One cannot be too careful’!”</p> +<p>She rose on tiptoe, whispered three words, and was gone before +he could frame one in reply.</p> +<p>Once more those ill-used bays got the whip fiercely; and they +turned the corner so short that Mr. Trotter Upton looked over his +shoulder with a grin, and remarked to the blaze-faced companion in +his sulky shafts:</p> +<p>“Nine hundred dollars’ worth of horse risked with nine dollars’ +worth of man! Van Morris better drive his own stock. G’long!”</p> +<h3>VIII.</h3> +<p>It was two o’clock when Mr. Andrew Browne had ridden forth to +recapture his plighted troth.</p> +<p>The shades of Christmas evening had now wrapped the city completely, +and the gilt clock upon his parlor mantel now pointed to +six. Still he had not returned; and still Van Morris’s eagerness to +test the issue of his own tactics was too keen to let him leave their +rooms. He had even resisted the temptations of a gossip at the +club, and was smoking his fifth cigar—a thought-amused smile +wreathing his lips—when the chime of six startled him suddenly to +his feet.</p> +<p>“How time flies!” he exclaimed. “And we are to dine at the +Allmand’s at seven.”</p> +<p>He tossed away his cigar, turned into his own apartment, and +made an unusually careful toilet. Then he looked into Browne’s +still vacant room once more.</p> +<p>“Where <i>can</i> he be?” he muttered. “By George! he must have +bungled fearfully if he did not pull through. He certainly had his +lesson by heart! But <i>she</i> must not be kept waiting,” and his face +softened greatly, and the deep, strong light came back into his +eyes. “How ceaselessly that old verse comes back to me! And +now ‘to put it to the test’ myself.”</p> +<p>He turned to his escritoire, and took a small Russia case from the +drawer; then to the mantel, and carefully shook the dampness from +the two flowers he had placed there that morning. Putting case +and flowers carefully in his vest pocket, Van paused at the door, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +gave a long, sweeping glance—with a sort of farewell in it—to the +rooms; then shut himself outside, still repeating <i>sotto voce</i>,</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“He either fears his fate too much,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Or his deserts are small.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Metropolitan Christmas was abroad in the streets. Young and +old, grandsire and maiden, beggar and parvenu jostled one another +on the pavements. Rough men, laden with loosely-wrapped, brown-papered +packages, strode happily homeward; wan women skurried +along leading eager children from unwonted shopping for dainties; +carriages rolled by, with the gas-light glimpsing on occupants in +evening dress, driven Christmas dinnerward.</p> +<p>Van Morris recked little of all this, as he strode rapidly over the +very spot where his coolness had saved an ugly misadventure twelve +hours before. His brain was going faster than his body; one goal +only had he in view; one refrain ever sounded in his memory: +“To gain, or lose, it all!”</p> +<p>A quick turn of the corner, and he stood at the door he had +quietly escaped from during the ball. The servant replied to his +inquiry that Miss Blanche was in the library; and thither he +turned, with the freedom of long intimacy.</p> +<p>Only the warm glow of fire-light filled the room; there was a +rustle, as of a retreating silk dress. There was also a man’s figure, +backed by the fire, with that not infrequent expression all over it +that tells he would really be at his ease if he only knew how.</p> +<p>“Why, Andy! And in your driving suit!”</p> +<p>“Van, dearest old boy,” cried the other, irrelevantly, “congratulate +me! I’m the luckiest dog alive!”</p> +<p>“With all my heart,” Van answered, shaking the proffered hand +heartily. “I was sure it would come out all right.”</p> +<p>“You were?” Andy fairly beamed. “She said so!”</p> +<p>“What? <i>she</i> said so? Did Rose Wood expect you to break off, +then?”</p> +<p>“No, no! Not <i>that</i>. She said she knew you’d be glad of the +match.”</p> +<p>“Glad of—the match!” Van stared at his friend, with growing +suspicion in his mind.</p> +<p>“Yes, you dear old Van! I’m engaged, and just the happiest +of—”</p> +<p>“<i>Engaged?</i>” and Van seized Andy by the shoulders with both +hands.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></div> +<p>“Yes, all fixed! And Rose Wood is just the dearest, best girl +after all! I’d never have known happiness but for her!”</p> +<p>Van Morris turned the speaker full to the firelight, and stared +hard in his face.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t have believed it, Andy,” he said, contemptuously. +“You have come <i>here</i> drunk again!”</p> +<p>“No, indeed! I have pledged my word to <i>her</i> never to touch a +drop!” protested Andy, with <a name='TC_3'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'imperturable'">imperturbable</span> good nature. “And, +Van, <i>she has accepted me</i>.”</p> +<p>“<i>She?</i>”</p> +<p>“Yes. Rose said, ‘Morris has his heart set on the match;’ I +went straight on that hint, and Blanche Allmand will be Mrs. Andrew +Browne next Easter.”</p> +<p>Morris answered no word.</p> +<p>With a deep, hard breath, he turned abruptly, strode to the +alcove window, and peered through the curtains into the black +night beyond. A great surge of regret swept over him that shook +the strong man with pain pitiful to see. He pressed his forehead +against the cold glass; and the contrast, so strong, to the hope with +which he had looked out thus at the gray dawn, sickened him with +its weight. There was a boom in his ears, as of the distant surf; +and his brain mechanically groped after a lost refrain, finding only +the fragment: “To lose it all! <i>lose it all!</i>”</p> +<p>But heart-sickness, like sea-sickness, is never mortal, and it has +the inestimable call over the latter of being far less tenacious. And +Van Morris was mentally as healthy as he was physically sound. He +made a strong effort of a strong will; and turned to face his friend +and his—fate. In his hand he held a wilted camellia bud and a +crushed cactus flower.</p> +<p>Moving quickly to the fire, he tossed them on the glowing coals; +watching as they curled, shrivelled, and disappeared in the heat’s +maw. Then he moved quietly to the window and looked into the +night once more.</p> +<p>Wholly wrapped up in his new-found joy, Andy Browne saw nothing +odd in his friend’s manner or actions. He moved softly about +the room, and once more hummed, “<i>Il segreto per esser felice</i>;” +very low and very tenderly this time.</p> +<p>Suddenly the rustle of silk again sounded on Morris’s ear.</p> +<p>He turned quickly, and looked long, but steadily, into the beautiful +face. It was very quiet and gentle; glorified by the deeper +content in the eyes and the modest flush upon the cheek. His face, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +too, was very quiet; but it was pale and grave. His manner was +gentle; but he retained the little hand Blanche held out to him, in +fingers that were steadier than her own.</p> +<p>“I reminded you last night,” he said, very gravely, “how long +we had been friends, Blanche. It is meet, then, that I should be +the first to wish you that perfect happiness which only a pure girl’s +heart may know.”</p> +<p>Then, without a pause, he turned to Andy, and placed the little +Russia case in his hand. As it opened, the eye of a dazzling solitaire +flashed from its satin pillow.</p> +<p>“Andy, old friend,” he added, “Rose Wood told you only the +truth. I <i>had</i> set my heart on Blanche’s happiness; and only this +morning I got that for her engagement ring. Put it on her finger +with the feeling that Van Morris loves you both—better than a +nature like Rose Wood’s can ever comprehend.”</p> +<p class='author'><span class='smcap'>T. C. De Leon.</span></p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='FROM_THE_WINDOWS_OF_A_GREAT_LIBRARY' id='FROM_THE_WINDOWS_OF_A_GREAT_LIBRARY'></a> +<h2><i>FROM THE WINDOWS OF A GREAT LIBRARY.</i></h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“The dead alive and busy.”—<span class='smcap'>Henry Vaughan</span>.<br /> +<br /> +Without, wind-lifted, lo! a little rose<br /> +(From the great Summer’s heart its life-blood flows),<br /> +For some fond spirit to reach and kiss and bless,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Climbs to the casement, brings the joyous wraith<br /> +Of the sun’s quick world, without, of joyousness<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Into this still world of enchanted breath.<br /> +And, far away, behold the dust arise,<br /> +From streets white-hot, into the sunny skies!<br /> +The city murmurs: in the sunshine beats,<br /> +Through all its giant veins of throbbing streets,<br /> +The heart of Business, on whose sweltering brow<br /> +The dew shall sleep to-night (forgotten now).<br /> +There rush the many, toiling as but one;<br /> +There swarm the living myriads in the sun;<br /> +There all the mighty troubled day is loud<br /> +(Business, the god whose voice is of the crowd).<br /> +And, far above the sea-horizon blue,<br /> +Like sea-birds, sails are hovering into view.<br /> +There move the living; here the dead that move:<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Within the book-world rests the noiseless lever<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>That moves the noisy, throngèd world forever.<br /> +Below the living move, the dead above.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p class='author'><span class='smcap'>John James Piatt</span>.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +<a name='GOING_GOING_GONE' id='GOING_GOING_GONE'></a> +<h2>“<i>GOING, GOING, GONE.</i>”</h2> +</div> +<h3>I.</h3> +<p>“Take it to Rumble. He will give you twice as much on it as +any other pawnbroker.”</p> +<p>The speaker was a seedy actor, and the person he addressed was +also a follower of the histrionic muses. The latter held before him +an ulster which he surveyed with a rueful countenance.</p> +<p>It was not the thought of having to go to the pawnbroker’s that +made him rueful, for he would have parted with a watch, if he had +possessed one, with indifference; but the wind that whistled without +and the snow that beat against the window-pane made him +shiver at the thought of surrendering his ulster. However, he had +to do it. Both he and his friend were without money, and it was +New Year’s eve, which they did not mean to let pass without a little +jollification. Therefore they had drawn lots to determine which +should hypothecate his overcoat in order to raise funds. The victim +was preparing to go to the sacrifice.</p> +<p>“Yes,” continued his friend, “take it to Rumble. He is the +Prince of Pawnbrokers. Last week I took a set of gold shirt studs +to him. He asked me at what I valued them. I named a slightly +larger sum than I paid for them, and the old man gave me fully +what they cost me.”</p> +<p>“Let us go at once to Rumble’s,” said the other, seizing his hat, +and the two sallied forth into the night and the storm.</p> +<p>Down the street they went before the wind-driven snow. Fortunately +they did not have far to go.</p> +<p>When they opened the door of Rumble’s shop, the old pawnbroker +looked up in surprise. The tempest seemed to have blown his visitors +in. The windows rattled; the lights flared; fantastic garments, +made in the style of by-gone centuries, swayed to and fro where +they hung, as though the shapes that might have worn them +haunted the place; a set of armor, that stood in one corner, clanked +as though the spirit of some dead paladin had entered it and was +striving to stalk forth and do battle with the demons of the storm; +while the gust that had occasioned all this commotion in the little +shop went careering through the rooms at the rear, causing papers +to fly, doors to slam, and a sweet voice to exclaim:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></div> +<p>“Why, father, what is the matter?”</p> +<p>“Nothing, my dear, it is only the wind,” answered the old man, +as he advanced to receive his visitors.</p> +<p>The one with whom he was acquainted nodded familiarly to the +pawnbroker, while he of the rueful countenance pulled off his ulster +and threw it on the counter, saying:</p> +<p>“How much will you give me on that?”</p> +<p>Rumble, who was a large man, rather fleshy and slow of movement, +started toward the back of the shop with a lazy roll, like a +ship under half sail. He made a tack around the end of the counter +and hove to behind it, opposite the men who had just come in. He +pulled his spectacles down from the top of his bald head, where they +had been resting, drew the coat toward him, looked at it for an +instant, then raised his eyes till they met those of his customer.</p> +<p>“How much do you think it is worth?” he said, uttering the +words slowly and casting a commiserating glance at the thinly-clad +form of the man before him.</p> +<p>“I paid twenty dollars for it,” said the young man. “It is worth +ten dollars, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes!” returned the pawnbroker. “Shall I loan you ten +dollars on it?”</p> +<p>“If you please,” answered his customer, whose face brightened +when he heard the pawnbroker’s words. He had thought he might +get five dollars on the ulster. The prospect of getting ten made +him feel like a man of affluence.</p> +<p>The pawnbroker opened a book and began to fill the blanks in +one of the many printed slips it contained. One of the blanks he +filled with his customer’s name, James Teague. That was his real +name, not the one by which he was known to the stage and to fame. +That was far more aristocratical.</p> +<p>As Rumble handed Teague the ticket and the ten dollars, he took +a stealthy survey of his slender and poorly-clad form, then glanced +toward the window on which great flakes of snow were constantly +beating, driven against it by the wind that howled fiendishly as it +went through the street, playing havoc with shutters and making +the swinging sign-boards creak uncannily.</p> +<p>“Mr. Dixon,” said the pawnbroker, turning to Teague’s companion, +“will not you and your friend wait awhile until the storm +slackens? It is pleasanter here by the fire than it is outside.”</p> +<p>His visitors agreed with him and accepted his invitation. They +seated themselves beside the stove which stood in the center of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +room, and from which, through little plates of isinglass, shone +cheerful light from a bed of fiery coals. Both leaned back in their +chairs; both turned the palms of their hands toward the stove, to +receive the grateful heat; and when the old pawnbroker joined +them, smiling genially as he sank into his great arm-chair, which +seemed to have been made expressly for his capacious form, the same +thought came to both of his guests. To this thought Dixon gave +expression.</p> +<p>“Mr. Rumble,” he asked, “how happened it that you became a +pawnbroker?”</p> +<p>“Well, I might say that it was by chance,” replied Rumble. “I +was not bred to the business.”</p> +<p>“I thought not,” answered Dixon, as he and his friend exchanged +knowing glances.</p> +<p>“I was a weaver by trade,” continued Rumble, “and until two +years ago worked at that calling in England, where I was born. +But I made little money at it, and when an aunt, at her death, left +me five hundred pounds, I decided to come to this country and go +into a new business.”</p> +<p>“But what put it into your head to choose that of a pawnbroker?” +asked Dixon.</p> +<p>“Because everybody told me that larger profits were made in it +than in any other. You see I am getting on in years, and I have a +daughter for whom I must provide. When I die I want to leave +her enough to make her comfortable.”</p> +<p>The street door was opened and for a moment the room was made +decidedly uncomfortable by a cold blast accompanied by driving +snow. Again the windows rattled, the armor clanked, and the +hanging suits swung and shook their armless sleeves in the air.</p> +<p>A tall, slight young man, clad in well-worn black clothes, stood by +the door. Although his beardless pale face was the face of youth, +it was not free from the marks of care, and in his large lustrous +dark eyes there was a yearning look that spoke, as plainly as words, +of desires unfulfilled.</p> +<p>Dixon and Teague exchanged glances which as much as said, +“here’s another customer for the pawnbroker.”</p> +<p>“Is Miss Rumble in?” said the newcomer in a hesitating manner, +as he turned toward the old pawnbroker.</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t have her out on such a night, would you, Mr. +Maxwell?” said Rumble, laughing. “She is in the sitting-room,” +he added, pointing to the rear; “go right in.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></div> +<p>But Maxwell did not go right in. He knocked lightly at the +door, which in a moment was opened by a young woman, whose +girlish face and willowy figure presented a vision of loveliness to +those in the outer room.</p> +<p>As Maxwell disappeared in the sitting-room, Dixon and his friend +again exchanged glances which showed that they had changed their +opinion in regard to the newcomer’s relations with the pawnbroker.</p> +<p>“Well,” asked Teague, “have the profits in this business met +your expectations?”</p> +<p>“I have not been in it long enough to tell, for I have not had an +auction,” replied Rumble. “In one respect, however, I have been +disappointed. Very few articles on which I have loaned money have +been redeemed. I don’t understand it.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps you are too liberal with your customers,” said Dixon.</p> +<p>“You would not have me be mean with them, would you?” +answered Rumble. “Why, you know they must be in very straitened +circumstances to come to me. If I took advantage of people’s +poverty, I would expect that after their death all the old women +who have pawned their shawls with me would send their ghosts back +to haunt me.”</p> +<p>“Well, I never thought of that,” murmured Dixon. “If their +ghosts do come back what very lively times some pawnbrokers must +have!”</p> +<p>“But if your customers do not redeem their goods, how do you +expect to get your money back?” asked Teague.</p> +<p>“From auctions,” replied the pawnbroker.</p> +<p>“Oh!” was Teague’s response.</p> +<p>“You should have a good auctioneer,” said Dixon.</p> +<p>“The goods will bring a fair return,” replied Rumble quietly.</p> +<p>Although it was apparent that the pawnbroker had begun to mistrust +his methods of doing business, it was also evident that he had +great faith in auctions. He had attended auctions in his time and +had bid on articles, only to see them go beyond the length of his +modest purse. Now, he said to himself, the auctioneer would be on +his side. The bidding would go up and up and up, and every bid +would bring just so much more money into his pocket. Altogether +he was well satisfied.</p> +<p>The faces of his guests showed that they at once admired and +pitied the old man. They admired his generosity and his faith in +human nature, and wished that other pawnbrokers with whom they +had dealt had been like him; they pitied him, for they knew that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +he would have a rude awakening from his dream when the hammer +of the auctioneer knocked down his goods and his hopes of getting +back the money he had loaned on them.</p> +<p>“It is time we were going,” said Dixon, at last, as his eyes fell on +a tall hall clock that stood in a corner, quietly marking the flight of +time.</p> +<p>“Well, then let us go,” answered Teague, as he cast a dismal +look at the windows, against which the snow was still driven in +volleys by the wind that howled as loudly as ever.</p> +<p>It was the pawnbroker’s turn to pity his visitors.</p> +<p>“I am afraid you will take cold going from this warm room out +into the storm,” he said to Teague. “Let me lend you an overcoat. +You see I have more here than I have any use for,” he added +jocosely.</p> +<p>“Oh, I could not think of letting you lend me one!” exclaimed +Teague, blushing probably for the first time in his life.</p> +<p>Dixon laughed quietly as he enjoyed his friend’s confusion, while +the pawnbroker looked among his stock for a coat that would fit +Teague. Presently he advanced with one which he held out with +both hands, as he said:</p> +<p>“Let me help you put it on.”</p> +<p>Teague protested.</p> +<p>“Why, you can bring it back to-morrow when you come this +way,” added Rumble.</p> +<p>“But how do you know I will bring it back?” said Teague. “I +am a stranger to you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, your friend is good surety for you,” replied the pawnbroker. +“He is one of my few customers who have redeemed their +pledges.”</p> +<p>A thundering blast struck the house. The wind beat at the windows +as though it meant to smash them.</p> +<p>The sound of the tempest persuaded Teague to accept the pawnbroker’s +offer. Without another word he caught the edge of either +sleeve with his fingers and put his arms out behind, while Rumble +put the overcoat on him. His arms, however, never found the ends +of its capacious sleeves. It was almost large enough for a man of +twice Teague’s size. Dixon had a fit of laughter at his friend’s +expense, and even the pawnbroker could not forbear a smile.</p> +<p>“It is rather large for you, isn’t it?” said Rumble. “Let us try +another.” And then he added: “Why, your own fits you best, of +course.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span></div> +<p>Then seizing Teague’s ulster, which still lay on his counter, he +threw it over its owner’s shoulders, and bade the two men a hearty +good-night as they went forth into the storm.</p> +<p>When he had succeeded in closing the door in the face of the +tempest, he turned the key in the lock, and then, with a shiver, returned +to the fire. As he stood before the stove he smiled and +seemed to be chuckling over the thought that he had made Teague +wear his own coat. His face wore a happy look. He had a clear +conscience. He knew that he was a philanthropist in a small way, +and had helped many a poor soul when the light of hope was burning +dimly. But he took no credit to himself for this. The opportunity +of doing a little good had come in his way, and he had not let it +pass; that was all. Besides, as he often said, he expected to make +money in his business. He simply conducted it on more liberal +principles than most pawnbrokers. When he went into it he was +told that a large proportion of pawnbrokers’ customers never redeemed +their pledges, and that by advancing on goods pawned only +a small percentage of their value, a great deal of money was made +in the sale of unredeemed articles. He thought, therefore, that it +was only just to loan on whatever was brought to him nearly as much +money as he deemed it would bring at auction. To do anything +less would, in his opinion, have been to cheat his customers. Besides, +if he loaned more money on goods, in proportion to their +value, than other pawnbrokers, his return in interest was also +greater when the goods were redeemed. This was the peculiar +principle on which he did business, and it is needless to say that he +did a very large business, much to the disgust of all other pawnbrokers +having shops in his neighborhood.</p> +<p>It was not strange, therefore, that, as he stood before the fire on +that New Year’s eve, the face of old John Rumble wore a contented +smile. The knowledge of having done good brings content, if it +brings nothing else; and the pawnbroker knew that he had done +well by his customers, and he thought, also, that his customers had +done well by him, as he surveyed his full shelves.</p> +<p>While he stood there musing, the door of the sitting-room was +opened and his daughter appeared.</p> +<p>“Come, father,” said the girl. “If you don’t hurry you will not +have the punch ready by midnight.”</p> +<p>The old man’s face assumed an anxious expression, and he started +with a roll for the sitting-room.</p> +<p>Not to have the punch ready to drink in the New Year at the stroke +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +of midnight, would indeed be a calamity. He had never failed to +welcome the New Year with a brimming cup. His father had done +so before him, his daughter had done so with him, and he hoped +his grandchildren would do so after him.</p> +<p>“Bring the punch-bowl, Fanny,” he said, as he went to a cupboard +and took out a big black bottle.</p> +<p>His daughter brought him an old-fashioned blue china bowl and hot +water, and while he made the punch, Maxwell told him of his plans +for the coming year, about which he had been talking with Fanny.</p> +<p>Arthur Maxwell, who was a civil-engineer, had been followed by +ill-fortune for some time. Indeed, he made Rumble’s acquaintance +in a purely business way; but he called it good fortune that had led +him to the pawnbroker’s door, for otherwise he would not have +known Fanny. And now fortune seemed really to smile on him. +He had secured a position with a railroad company, and was going +to Colorado as an assistant of its chief engineer, who had charge +of the construction of a railway there.</p> +<p>And then, hesitating, he told the old man that Fanny had promised +to be his wife as soon as he could provide a home for her.</p> +<p>The pleasure which Rumble had expressed, as Maxwell told of his +good fortune, was a little dashed by this last bit of information. Of +course he had expected that his daughter would leave him sometime, +and he had not been blind to the fact that Maxwell had +gained a place in her affections; nevertheless, he was not quite prepared +for this news, and it left a shadow on his kindly face.</p> +<p>“But, father,” said Fanny, advancing quickly, and placing her +arm about his neck and her head on his shoulder, “Arthur and I +hope that we shall all be together. He may return to New York; +but if we have a home in the West you might live with us there.”</p> +<p>It was a loving, tender look which Rumble gave his daughter as +she uttered these words.</p> +<p>At that moment the clock began to strike, horns were heard in +the street, bells were rung, and in a lull in the storm the musical +notes of a chime fell on their ears.</p> +<p>Rumble filled the cups, and then, raising his, he said:</p> +<p>“Here’s to the New Year, and here’s to your success, Arthur, +and to Fanny’s happiness.”</p> +<p>And while the clock was still striking, the three drank in the New +Year.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></div> +<h3>II.</h3> +<p>That year, however, was not a fortunate one for Rumble. His +little fund had dwindled. He had, as he thought, barely enough to +conduct his business to the time when he could legally have an +auction. But how was he to do this and pay his rent? That problem +troubled him. It was finally solved by the consent of his landlord, in +consideration of a high rate of interest, to wait for his rent until +Rumble had his auction. When this arrangement was made, the +pawnbroker, who had been gloomy for some time, again wore a +cheerful look. His daughter had advised him to pay his rent and +curtail his business for the time being; but that, he said, would +never do; and when he had tided over the crisis in his affairs, he +went on distributing his money among the people who brought him +their old clothes and their all but worthless jewellery.</p> +<p>From time to time pawnbrokers called on him and tried to persuade +him that his method of doing business was a mistake; that +it was not only hurting their business, but was ruining himself. +Rumble was not convinced. If his way of doing business took from +the profits of other pawnbrokers, they were only meeting with +justice, he said; they had made money enough out of the poor; he +meant to treat his customers better. He admitted that he might +not get his money back from some of his investments, but then the +auction would make it all right; what he lost in one way he would +get back in another. He looked to the auction as to a sort of Day +of Judgment, when there would be a grand evening of accounts.</p> +<p>At last the great day came—the day of the auction. Rumble was +full of the importance of the event, and had donned his best clothes +in honor of the occasion. He had advertised the auction in several +newspapers, and he expected a large attendance. He was somewhat +disappointed when, a little while before the time set for the sale, it +began to rain; but he hoped for the best.</p> +<p>When the auctioneer rapped on his desk and announced that he +was about to open the sale, there were not more than a dozen people +in the room. Among them Rumble recognized several pawnbrokers, +and the others looked as though they might belong to the same +guild. He wondered why they were there. Had they come to bid—to +bid at his auction, on goods on which he had loaned more money +than they would have loaned? He did not understand it.</p> +<p>When the sale began Rumble took a seat near the auctioneer and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +watched the proceedings. He soon understood why the pawnbrokers +were there. The prices obtained were absurdly small. There was +very little competition, and the sale had not gone far before it +dawned on Rumble’s mind that the pawnbrokers had a tacit understanding +that they would not bid against one another, but would +divide the stock among them.</p> +<p>The poor old man’s heart sank, and great beads of perspiration +appeared on his brow, as lot after lot went for almost nothing. All +his worldly possessions were melting away before his eyes, and he +had not the power to put out his hand and save them. Was he +dreaming? No, for he could hear the auctioneer’s voice, loud and +clear, crying:</p> +<p>“Going—going—gone!”</p> +<p>He turned his head and saw his daughter standing in the sitting-room, +near the open doorway, with her eyes fixed upon him. Her +face was white, white as the ’kerchief about her neck. She understood +it all. Yes, it was all too real.</p> +<p>“Going—going—gone!”</p> +<p>Again those terrible words rang like a knell in his ears, and every +time he heard them he knew that he was a poorer man; he knew +that more of his little stock had gone at a sacrifice.</p> +<p>At last he scarcely heeded the words of the auctioneer, but sat +staring before him like one spell-bound. The buzz of conversation +about him seemed like a sound coming from afar, like the roll of +waves on the seashore; and through it all, at intervals, like the faint +note of a bell warning seamen of danger, came those words telling +of his own wreck:</p> +<p>“Going—going—gone!”</p> +<p>When the auction was over Fanny went to her father’s side. He +was apparently dazed. She helped him to rise. He leaned heavily +upon her as she led him into the sitting-room, where he sank back +into a chair, and did not utter a word for a long time. At last, +when he found voice, he said:</p> +<p>“Going—going—gone! It’s all gone, Fanny, all gone! We are +ruined!”</p> +<p>The sale on which Rumble had built so many hopes, realized but +little more than enough to pay the rent he owed. He did not have +money enough to continue his business, and a few days after the +auction his pawnshop was closed.</p> +<p>In the meantime, to add to their distress, Fanny had received a +letter from Arthur Maxwell, informing her that the railroad company +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +with which he had found employment had failed, owing him +several hundred dollars—all his savings. He wrote that there was a +prospect that a labor-saving invention of his would be put in use in +one of the mines. This was the only gleam of hope in the letter. +Fanny answered it, giving Arthur an account of the misfortune +which had befallen her father. Although she gave him the number +of the new lodging into which they moved when her father’s +shop was closed, she received no reply. She had hoped soon to have +some cheering word from him, but none came. She could not understand +his silence. This, in addition to her other troubles, +seemed more than she could bear.</p> +<p>Since the auction Rumble had not been a well man. His nerves +at that time had received a shock from which he had not recovered.</p> +<p>Between nursing her father, and earning what little she could +by sewing, Fanny had a hard time. The pittance she got for +her work did not go far toward meeting their expenses. Rumble +had given up his shop in the early autumn, and the little money he +had saved from the wreck had disappeared when winter set in. At +last it became necessary to pawn some of their household goods. +Fanny would not let her father go the pawnbroker’s, but went herself. +When she returned, and showed him the little money she +had obtained on the articles she had pledged, he said:</p> +<p>“Why, I would have given twice as much.”</p> +<p>“Yes, father,” answered Fanny, “but all pawnbrokers are not +like you.”</p> +<p>“No, no,” muttered the old man. “If they were they would be +poor like me.”</p> +<p>Although Rumble was not able to work, he was always talking of +what he would do when he felt a little stronger. He worried continually +because he was dependent upon his daughter, and every +time she went to the pawnbroker’s he had a fit of melancholy.</p> +<p>At last, just before Christmas, he became seriously ill. The +doctor, whom Fanny called in, said he had brain fever, and gave +her little hope of his recovery. His mind wandered, and seemed to +go back to the auction, of which he spoke almost constantly. Many +times he repeated the words of the auctioneer, that had made such +a deep impression on him: “Going—going—gone!”</p> +<p>It was a gloomy Christmas for Fanny, and when New Year’s eve +came she was still watching by the bedside of her father, whose +fever had reached its crisis.</p> +<p>Her thoughts went back to another New Year’s eve, when Arthur +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +Maxwell had told her of his plans for the future. And it had been +so long since she had heard from him!</p> +<p>She had to get some medicine which the doctor had ordered, and +while her father slept, asking an acquaintance who lodged on the +same floor to watch over him, she went out, taking with her a gold +locket which she meant to pawn.</p> +<p>Although she knew that a pawnbroker had opened a shop where +her father had kept his, she had never gone to it. But something +seemed to lead her there that evening. When she reached the +place her heart almost failed her; but, summoning courage, she +entered the shop, and presented the locket to the pawnbroker. +While he was examining it two men entered. The pawnbroker’s +clerk waited on them. She seemed to feel their eyes on her.</p> +<p>When she gave the pawnbroker her name, he said:</p> +<p>“Rumble? Frances Rumble? Why, a young man was here +to-day inquiring for Mr. Rumble, and some time ago the carrier +brought two letters here for you. I could not tell him where you +lived, and he took them away.”</p> +<p>Fanny’s heart beat wildly. She was sure that the letters were +from Arthur, and that it was he who had inquired for her father.</p> +<p>“Is this Miss Rumble?” said one of the men who had followed +her into the shop.</p> +<p>She turned and recognized Dixon. The person with him was +Teague. Dixon had just pawned a watch, and had remarked that +he wished Rumble still kept the shop.</p> +<p>When Fanny told them of her father’s illness and of his misfortune, +Dixon and Teague insisted on going home with her, meaning +to lend assistance in some way.</p> +<p>When they reached Fanny’s humble lodging, and followed her +into her father’s room, they found Maxwell at Rumble’s bedside.</p> +<p>A cry of joy escaped Fanny as her lover folded her in his arms. +She soon learned from him that he had never received the letter in +which she wrote him about her father’s trouble and their removal +from the old shop. It had missed him while he was moving about +in the West. And then he told her of the success of his invention.</p> +<p>Rumble, whose mind was lucid for the moment, said:</p> +<p>“You will be happy at last, Fanny. Arthur has come for you.”</p> +<p>“And you, too, will be happy with us, father,” replied Fanny, +taking his hands in hers.</p> +<p>The old man smiled faintly, and rolled his head to and fro on his +pillow, as if he thought differently.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></div> +<p>The clock began to strike; it was midnight, and the New Year +was at hand. The sound of bells came to their ears, and a distant +chime was heard.</p> +<p>Rumble’s mind once more began to wander; again he talked +about the auction; again he muttered the words that had troubled +him so much:</p> +<p>“Going—going—gone!”</p> +<p>They were his last words. The old man’s life went out with the +old year.</p> +<p class='author'><span class='smcap'>Albert Roland Haven</span>.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='THE_ROOT_OF_THE_SPOILS_SYSTEM' id='THE_ROOT_OF_THE_SPOILS_SYSTEM'></a> +<h2><i>THE ROOT OF THE SPOILS SYSTEM.</i></h2> +</div> +<p>What is known as the spoils system of politics, in a measure +common to all times and all forms of government, seems to have +reached its highest development in our Republic. This fact justifies +the suspicion that something in our form of administration is +favorable to such development; and whether we regard the spoils +system as praiseworthy or reprehensible, it will be instructive to inquire +why it has prevailed in this country as among no other free +people.</p> +<p>Most persons who deplore the spoils system urge as one of its +greatest evils that it substitutes for the discussion of principles a +mere scramble for office; that it teaches men to value the material +prizes incident to government above political truth. Such reasoners +have strangely mistaken cause for effect. The rarity of ideas in +our political discussions is not an effect, but the immediate cause of +the spoils system; and behind both, as the direct cause of the latter +and the remote cause of the former, lies the difficulty of expressing +the popular will in legislative enactment. In other words, we have +substituted the pursuit of place for the discussion of principles, +because the relations of the people to the law-making body are not +sufficiently close.</p> +<p>No reader of this periodical needs to be reminded that when our +present constitution was written the mass of freemen had not, as +now, come to believe that a constitutional government should include +a legislature promptly obedient to the popular will; a ministry dependent +upon the support of a majority in the popular branch of the +law-making body; and an executive powerless to interfere in legislation. +It was natural, then, that our forefathers, imperfectly acquainted +with this modern device of free peoples, should have believed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +that they had secured the prompt and certain efficacy of the +popular will in government by placing no restriction as to national +elections upon the wide suffrage already prevailing in most of the +States, and providing that the chief magistrate and both branches +of the national legislature should be elective and chosen for short +terms. They could not foresee that in course of time a constitutional +monarch would come to have less power than the executive +head of the Republic; that an hereditary House of Lords less often +than an elective Senate would dare to cross the will of the popular +legislative body; that the popular branch of the legislature in a constitutional +monarchy would, in effect, change at will the administrative +head of the government, while in the new Republic premiers +would retain power despite the adverse verdict of the people as expressed +in legislative majorities; and, finally, that the enfranchised +portion of a people dwelling under a constitutional monarchy would +determine at the ballot-box every great question arising in their +politics, and drive from power all men who should dissent from the +popular decision, while the whole people of the Republic might be +balked not only of their will in matters upon which they had distinctly +made up their minds, but even of bringing questions thus +potentially decided to the practical test of the ballot-box, and of +introducing other important issues into the realm of popular discussion.</p> +<p>The difficulty of procuring from the people of the United States +an unequivocal decision upon any political question, and of expressing +that decision in legislative enactment, is familiar to every student +of our history. The questions that occupy Congress now are in +large part the same that were debated there forty years ago, save +that the issue of slavery and the extreme States’ rights theory have +disappeared. But even in these cases the exceptions prove the rule; +for it is grimly significant of our legislative immobility that the two +great questions of a century should finally have been settled by the +sword. If the people declared for anything at the general election +of 1884, they may be supposed to have declared for a revision of the +tariff, since the platform of principles adopted by each great party +at its National Convention affirmed the necessity of such revision; +yet Congress not only failed to legislate for that object, but actually +at one time refused to discuss a measure designed to meet the issue +in question, and at another stopped in the midst of such legislation +to test the popular will upon the very same matter. Furthermore, +while it will be assumed by most persons that whatever the significance +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +of the election four years ago, the contest just ended sets the +seal of disapproval upon the recent effort of the House of Representatives +to revise the tariff; yet we hear already that the LI. +Congress can hardly escape some such legislation as has just been +attempted. The truth is, that the election of 1884, as all our elections, +was in the main a struggle for spoils. The question at issue +was not tariff revision or any other great economic idea, but which +party should administer during the next four years the great patronage +of the Federal Government. In the contest of November +last the people for the first time in twenty years had a living issue +presented, but so unused were they to the discussion of economic +principles that it may be questioned whether the verdict just delivered +with so much apparent emphasis was really the expression +of a well-ascertained public opinion. It is worthy of note, too, that +believers in the spoils system of politics are already taunting the +vanquished with the folly of presenting a political idea to the American +people, and prophesying a more rigid exclusion of principles +from politics in all time to come.</p> +<p>Such difficulties have beset us throughout all our history. Let +men wince as they would under galling injustice and false economics, +they could not work their will upon the body whose duty it is +to express in legislation the political desires of the people. A mocking +fate seemed to balk the accomplishment of our most earnest +purposes, and men whose interests were adverse to the public good +constantly took it upon themselves to declare that the people had +not spoken upon whatever vital question was uppermost, or that +their words had meant something other than they seemed to mean. +The result of all this was what we see. A self-governing people +must have some sort of political activity, and since it was early discovered +that the discussion of principles was little better than a vain +occupation, the pursuit of place soon became almost the sole object +of political organization. If it was almost impossible to carry a +question from the stage of popular discussion to that of legislative +enactment, it was a very simple matter to elect presidents and congressmen +who should see to a proper distribution of places. Since +men could not accomplish the rational object of political endeavor, +they strove for what was easily attainable. If they could not make +the laws they could at least fill the offices. Then came the easy +descent to Avernus. Politics having become a mere struggle for +place, public affairs were left more and more in the hands of men +who found such work congenial, and the mass of the people, to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +whom the hope of office is but a shadowy illusion, became less and +less interested in a struggle that held for most voters neither the +promise of gain nor the incentive of high purpose. The spoils system +having thus been established, the causes that bred it were in +their turn intensified by its reaction, and the evil round was complete. +To make matters worse, the struggle for wealth, stimulated +by the marvellous richness of a part of the country, claimed the +attention of thousands to the exclusion of politics, and those who +would naturally have led in affairs of State adopted the evil philosophy +that it is cheaper to be robbed by professional politicians than +to neglect private business for the sake of public duty.</p> +<p>Having sought thus to trace the steps by which our form of administration +has begotten the spoils system, let us endeavor to prove +the conclusion by another process of reasoning. Were our government +a parliamentary system, such as exists among the free peoples +of the Old World, we should have a legislature promptly responsive +to movements of the popular will, a ministry sitting in one or the +other house of Congress, and dependent for continuance in power +upon the support of a majority in the Lower House, and an executive +disarmed in whole or in part of the power to negative legislative +enactments. The result would be to concentrate interest not +as now upon the election of a president whose chief function is to +distribute places, and whose part in legislation is almost purely +negative, but upon the choice of the legislative body whose majority +should determine the political complexion of the president’s advisers +and the general policy of the administration. At each general +election for members of the Lower House the issue would be +some well-defined question then under hot discussion, and in most +instances Congress would have been dissolved for the express purpose +of taking the sense of the people upon the matter at issue. Public +interest in political discussion would return, because great principles, +such as have an important bearing upon the lives of all men, +would be under debate, and the mass of voters would have such an +incentive to activity as the shadowy hope of place could never furnish. +The knowledge that the popular will would find prompt expression +through the law-making power would render it impossible +for the people to be turned from their purpose by the jugglery of +place-hunters.</p> +<p>With a whole people interested in political discussion no conceivable +abuse of patronage could balk them of their will, and the +spoils system would disappear because the factitious importance of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +office-holders and office-seekers, favored by the defects of our present +form of administration, could no longer obscure the vastly greater +question of the public weal. This change in the popular attitude +toward politics would be sufficient of itself to seal the doom of the +spoils system; but if other influences were needed they would be +found in the new relations of the ministry to the legislature and the +people, since a cabinet bound to take the initiative in great lines of +policy and required to give an account of itself to a hostile minority +in Congress would have little time and less stomach for the nice +apportionment of political rewards to partizan deserts. Finally, +should we adopt the principle of a ministry dependent upon the +support of a majority in the Lower House, the possibility of two +changes of administration within a single year would make the +spoils system, as we now have it, unendurable and unworkable. +Indeed, it may be questioned whether a rigid application of the +spoils system by the administration coming into office in March +1889 would not place the evils of that system in a peculiarly glaring +light, when it is remembered that a very large number of those +who would be asked to make places for party workers unversed in +the routine of public office have exercised their official functions for +barely four years, and but recently acquired the skill so necessary to +the efficient transaction of business.</p> +<p>The attentive reader will have noted that it has been argued, first +that the spoils system is the natural and inevitable outcome of the +rigidity that seems unseparable from our form of administration; +and second, that such a system, in its grossest development, is +almost impossible under a parliamentary government. The latter +line of argument has been taken less for its own sake than for the +purpose of strengthening the conclusions reached by the former; +and the writer would not be understood as insisting that to eliminate +the spoils system we must adopt exactly such a parliamentary form +as now exists among the free peoples of Europe. Any system that +should make it easy to ascertain the popular will, and should insure +the prompt and certain expression of that will in legislation, would +accomplish the object of substituting principles for spoils in our +politics. To suggest a plausible plan for grafting upon our system +this far more democratic scheme of administration would be a +stupendous work, calling for the highest exercise of trained political +sagacity; but it is not difficult to indicate some of the things that +need not be done. It is not necessary that the president should be +reduced to any such mere figure-head as is the monarch in the half-dozen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +parliamentary governments of Europe. Perhaps the principle +of a ministry sitting in the houses of Congress might be omitted; +and it is not clear that the president’s veto would have to be altogether +sacrificed. It is not positive, indeed, that a formal amendment +of the constitution would be necessary to obtain the essentials +of the reform under consideration. We have amended the spirit of +the constitution in one highly important feature without changing +the letter of that instrument. Perhaps the nearest way to the object +in view lies through a more intimate relation between the cabinet +and the committees of the Lower House.</p> +<p>Finally, the consideration presents itself that if the conclusions +reached here are correct, those persons who have sought by statutory +restriction and appeals to public conscience to abolish the spoils +system have not employed the wholesome policy of attacking +the evil at its source. They seem to be mowing rather than uprooting +the weeds. Doubtless our political garden has been tidied, +but the roots of the evil growth and the aptitudes of the soil remain. +The reform system, as applied to the great body of minor +clerical offices, will probably prevail from now on; but we can +scarcely hope that the broad spirit of civil service reform can reign +in this land until the people shall have made themselves immediate +masters of the legislative power.</p> +<p class='author'><span class='smcap'>Edward V. Vallandigham.</span></p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='UNCLE_SCIPIO' id='UNCLE_SCIPIO'></a> +<h2><i>UNCLE SCIPIO.</i></h2> +</div> +<p>Once more the wizard of the Christmas-time lifts his wand in our +homes, brightening young eyes that look forward, dimming old +ones that look backward. Thou hast prisms of hope for the young; +prisms of tears for the old, but shining always in our souls with a +light all thine own. We hail thee, lovely spirit of this matchless +festival!</p> +<p>Would that words could paint to you a picture which I carry in +my heart! I see it through a light brilliant, yet tender, that Christmas +morning long ago in the old Georgia home. Those were dark +days of war which I remember, and the shadow of death had already +fallen on our house: but there was one day in the year when we did +not feel its chill. What shadows can withstand the light of the +Christmas fire in the heart of a child?</p> +<p>We had grown to be pretty thorough Bohemians, my little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +brother and I, in those war days, and were ready to take any stray +bit of sport, asking no questions whatever for conscience’ sake. But +the outlook was rather bad for us, one dreary December. The holidays +were very near, and we saw no preparations for rendering the +big dining-room royal with holly and cedar, as usual, for King Cole’s +reception. We had already ceased to press our grievances in the +“big house,” for we felt, through a child’s instinct, that we were +standing in the presence of griefs greater than our own.</p> +<p>We began to fear that Santa Claus had been killed in the war, or +that maybe he would not care to come to us now since the fire had +grown so small in the huge fire-place, where it used to roar and flash +around the back-log, until the polished floor was flooded in light, +and the candelabra’s lights shone cold and pale as stars through a +conflagration. Even the crimson rugs and hangings, that used to +brighten up the dark old floor and furniture, had disappeared, one +by one, to be transformed into haversacks and warm garments for +our poor boys at the front, whose hearts were stouter and courage +more lasting than their regimentals. And so, we thought, poor +little infants! that perhaps our deity would desert the altars on +which the fires burned so low, and would go, with all his wonderful +store, to the happy children away in the North. There, we were +told, the cities blazed with light and merriment for weeks before +his coming; there the snow sometimes fell whole days at a time, +until it lay like a white carpet along the streets, where children +could walk without fear, and which never echoed to the tramp of +foes; for there the heavy booming cannon never sounded to drown +the chiming bells, and blanch the children’s laughing lips with +terror. Why, we argued, should he not go there instead of driving +his reindeer across bloody fields and deserted highways, to bring +gifts to two poor little children? Truly we would have been comfortless +in that sad time but for one old standby, who had never yet +failed us. Dear old Uncle Scipio—his ebony face shines in the +light of memory as it used to shine in the light of the kitchen fire. +To him we turned in our trouble. We did not know all his worth +then, but we knew him for the sympathizer in all our childish +griefs. Oh, those preposterous old stories he used to tell us! but +they could raise the sheeted dead then in every corner of the old +kitchen, as we sat in awed silence on his knee, and watched the +supper fire die out.</p> +<p>And not to us only, was Uncle Scipio the stay and comfort in +those dark days, but to our mother also. He had been the guardian, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +playmate, and tyrant of two eager boys, my brothers, through +infancy, and through the sunny college days, when, with the school +boy’s profanation of the classics, they had stumbled on the story of +his great prototype, and laughingly called him “Scipio Africanus.” +Through tear-dimmed spectacles he watched them march away, +two boy soldiers, with no premonition of misfortune on their faces, +and minds full of great Shakespearian thoughts of “all the pomp +and circumstance of glorious war.” And last of all, he stood by my +father’s stirrup when he mounted to ride on his last journey, and +took his final orders concerning us.</p> +<p>About this time, I remember, there was quite a disturbance +among the negroes; some were for following in the wake of the +first Union troops that should pass, as the only sure means of gaining +their promised freedom. These, we knew, had been trying to +persuade Uncle Scipio to join them. To us this was a thing too preposterous +to think of; but I think that mother and grandmother +really had some doubts on the subject. So one day the latter asked +him what he should do if the opportunity should be offered him to +go. I was balancing on the rockers of her chair at the time, and I +shall never forget the look he gave her in reply.</p> +<p>“I can’t go, ole missus,” he said, shaking his gray head, as he +rose from emptying an armful of lightwood knots into the wood +box, and dusted the splinters from his sleeve. “I can’t go, nohow, +and leave young missus and de chillun in dese yere times. Mars +Ben he done die, and lef’ me to take care o’ dese yere darlins o’ +hisen, and no kind o’ proclamation, dis side de Jordan o’ def, gwine +to free ole Scipio from dat charge.”</p> +<p>“But don’t you want to be free if the rest are?”</p> +<p>“Yes, ole missus, but ef de Lord mean to bring freedom to dis +ole nigger, he kin fin’ him here. Ef He mean to fetch our people +dry shod tru dis Red Sea o’ blood, outen de house o’ bondage, den +when I hears de soun’ o’ dem timbrels, and de dancin’, an’ de shoutin’, +I praise Him too; but I don’t tink He gwine to be angry kase one +ole man love his home so much ’til he got to stay behind and weep +wid dem in de house where de eldest born am slain.”</p> +<p>And faithfully he kept his promise to the slain. But see! I +began to tell you the story of that memorable Christmas-time, and +am letting the shadows of the intervening years crowd between me +and the Yule-log. Avaunt! ye ghosts of bitter days of want, of +hatred and contention; the spirit of peace and good-will exorcise +ye from the hearth of Christmas memories!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span></div> +<p>I was going to tell you how Uncle Scipio undertook to save us +from despair in that terrible time.</p> +<p>We, the much abused community of infants, had submitted with +tolerable fortitude to taking our rye substitute for coffee, sweetened +with sorghum, and similar hardships; but now, as the holidays +approached, and we saw no signs of festivity, we began to feel great +apprehensions.</p> +<p>We resolved to confide our fears to Scipio.</p> +<p>“Do you think,” I asked him one evening, as we sat in our usual +evening attitudes before the fire, “that old ‘Santy’ will forget us +this year because it is so cold and dark, and because everybody is so +sad, and?—”</p> +<p>Here my griefs overcame utterance: I could say no more.</p> +<p>“Now, Lawd o’ messy!” cried the dear old creature, taking a +closer look at my tearful face. “What dat yer sayin’, chile? Ole +Santy Claus forgit yer, honey? What make yer tink he gwine to +forgit yer? Well, well! You’s a funny little chile, sho’—yer makes +me laugh ’til I cries; sho’ yer do.”</p> +<p>I noticed that he did take off his “specs” and wipe them with his +yellow bandana, but I didn’t see anything to laugh at. He gazed +sadly enough, I thought, into the embers for awhile, and smoothed +my hair in a thoughtful way. Then an inspiration seized him; he +saw his way through the dilemma. He straightened himself in his +chair, and readjusted his glittering ornaments across his nose. He +assumed the air which all the country ’round knew as the precursor +of something oracular, for he was “not ’zactly a preacher, no sah! +but sort of a ’zorter ’mongst de breren.”</p> +<p>“Now, my dear little chillun,” he began, “I dunno who tuk an’ +turned in an’ put dat funny notion in yer heads ’bout ole Santa +Claus forgitten yer, but pay ’tickler extension to what I’se gwine +to say to yer. You mustn’t go to kalklatin’ on none o’ dem high-falutin’ +tings what he used to fotch here fo’ de wah sot in, fur de +times is mighty hard, and de ole feller’ll have to run de blockade +to git yere t’all—sho’ he will. But ef you sez you’ll be powerful +good til’ dat time, an’ don’t go to pesterin’ yer ma ’bout it, I’ll +promise yer dat he aint gwine to forgit yer altogedder.”</p> +<p>This was surely consolation; but it required all our faith in Uncle +Scipio to keep our courage alive until the great day. It drew near +and nearer, and still we saw no unusual stir in the house, and our +hearts began to sink a little. At last it wanted but one day, and I +shall never forget that Christmas eve.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span></div> +<p>Uncle Scipio was very much preoccupied, and could not be disturbed +by any means, that day; so we betook ourselves to the society +of our elders. But there matters were worse. There was little of +privation and bad news that we had not become pretty familiar +with by this time, and war, I remember, seemed to me the normal +condition of things. But it soon became clear to me that something +a little worse than usual was apprehended that day.</p> +<p>There were whispered conversations going on above our heads, +but we caught enough of it to know that a piece of terrible news +had arrived. A party of refugees had passed through our town in +the early morning. They were a company of fragile women and +children, with a few faithful negroes, fleeing from their homes as +from a pestilence. They told us that a large company of Yankees +had made their appearance a few miles above us, and if they followed +the most direct route to the railroad, would, in all probability, +reach us that night or the following day. Our little town being on +the line of the railroad, rarely escaped the military visitations. +Besides, it was at this time the depository of a great deal of cotton, +which it was feared might be the occasion of its being burned.</p> +<p>I have heard mother say that this day before Christmas there +were just three able-bodied men in the town—the hospital doctor, +the miller, and the conscript officer; not a very formidable defence +against a hostile invasion. But I suppose those two lonely women, +my mother and grandmother, must have looked for help in this +extremity, towards the everlasting hills where the twelve legions of +angels lay encamped, for they bore their anxiety like Spartans.</p> +<p>The day dragged through, however, and the last sun rays showed +us no blue coats on the western road towards which aching eyes had +turned through the heavy hours. Things began to look a little +more hopeful. We began to feel that reaction from anxiety which +is almost sure to come when the candles are lighted.</p> +<p>We sat close together in the sitting-room, and took our very frugal +supper there in quite a hysterical sort of cheerfulness.</p> +<p>The day had passed without disaster, and we had been told that +in case the “Yankees” should make their appearance during the +night, and our garrison of three be obliged to evacuate the town, +the village church-bell would be rung to apprize the citizens of the +situation.</p> +<p>No, we felt sure the enemy <i>could</i> not come on Christmas eve. +We even ventured to hang up our stockings in the accustomed place.</p> +<p>We knelt, my brother and I, by dear old grandmother’s knee, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +said our prayers to Him who, she told us, knew what it was to spend +His first Christmas days here under the shadow of the sword, and +would not that one of His little ones should perish. Then tossed +by hope and fear, we slept.</p> +<p>It was a notable fact, but one which escaped comment in the +general anxiety of that night, that Uncle Scipio had not appeared +as usual, after his out-of-door tasks were finished. It had gone +pretty hard with us all not to be able to confide everything to this +faithful old friend; but the strictest injunctions had been laid upon +us to keep the whole matter a secret from the negroes, for many +reasons. So he knew nothing, and went about his tasks all day, +singing his most dirge-like tunes, which meant some pleasant preoccupation +of mind. We had learned that. We knew soon after +what it was that occupied his heart and head that day.</p> +<p>I do not know how long we had slept in our trundle bed, but I +know I had travelled in my dreams over many leagues of fairy land, +walking under endless avenues of lighted Christmas trees, when +suddenly, I thought, from some unseen source, the deep tones of a +bell struck discord on the radiant air. It seemed so out of place +in that enchanted region; and at the sound all the lights on the +trees flickered and went out, and we were lost in the dark. Louder +and nearer the bell still sounded; and then we awoke and our hearts +stood still with terror.</p> +<p>We knew it was the village church-bell, proclaiming its story to +the sleeping town. The enemy were upon us, and our Christmas +fires would be the light of blazing homes. Oh, such awakening +after such dreams! So eloquent was every face, of horrible certainty, +that scarcely a word was spoken. It was only about midnight, +but I was dressed by trembling hands—mother had not been +undressed at all. And then we waited—for what? We could not +have told precisely. But after a little the bell ceased to ring, and +then we listened for the tramp of horses and the quick Northern +voices speaking words of command to the men. We had heard it +before, and knew the sound well. Once before I had awakened +from sleep and seen the distorted shadows of horsemen chase one +another across the strip of moonlight just over my bed, and looked +from my window to see the moonlight glittering on the sabres and +gun barrels of an armed host surrounding our house. That is not +a sight to be forgotten, let me tell you, children who are born and +reared in the lap of peace and plenty.</p> +<p>For quite a while—it seemed ages to me—we sat in silence looking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +at one another. But though the lights twinkled in all the neighboring +windows, telling of other anxious watchers, no unusual sound +disturbed the air.</p> +<p>What could it mean? Surprise began to succeed to alarm. It +occurred to some one to call up Uncle Scipio, and get him to investigate. +But it was wonder on top of wonder—he was not to be +found; neither had his bed been disturbed during the night. Had +he deserted us and gone over to the enemy, then? No, we could +not really doubt him, even yet; but his absence was too significant; +there must be some plot hatching somewhere in the dark.</p> +<p>There was nothing for us to do but wait. But we had not to +wait much longer; for presently in walked the absentee, clothed in +his most majestic air, but a little non-plussed to see us all up and +dressed.</p> +<p>“Oh, Scipio! where have you been?” we exclaimed indignantly. +“How could you leave us at such a time and the town full of soldiers? +Which way are they coming? What shall we do?”</p> +<p>“Well, I clar,” he answered, in a bewildered sort of way, “dis +yere proceedin’ clean tops my cotton! Is you all clar outen yer +minds, or what’s de matter wid yer? I aint seed nary a Yankee dis +night, and I jes bin way up to de Mef’dis chache, ringing de Christmas +chimes fur to cheer you up a little. Did’n ole Scip tell you, +honeys, dat dis was gwine to be de boss Christmas? And he done +kep his word. I met ole Santy out yonder, sittin’ on de pump and +he sez he’s comin’ here soon’s iver he kin; so you better git to bed +’mejitly, ef not sooner; ef you don’t he’ll be here and ketch you +‘Christmas gif’ fust, sho’ he will.”</p> +<p>And so this was the end of it all. The dear old soul had taken it +into his funny old head to give us a surprise and ring the Christmas +chimes as in the old times.</p> +<p>Well, we tried to soften the blow, when we told him what a blunder +he had made; but we knew it would be a long time ere he would +recover from his chagrin. He had long been a terror to the idle +young darkies about town, and they were only too glad to get something +to use against him. Of course there was general indignation +among the citizens when they learned that they had suffered a false +alarm; but when they considered the beautiful motive that prompted +the action, the tide of reproach was turned aside, and it all ended +in a general laugh at Uncle Scipio’s expense.</p> +<p>It still wanted several hours till day, when our fears were relieved +by his appearance, and we went to bed again.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></div> +<p>With the first streak of light, however, we were up with bare +feet and frowzy heads to find Uncle Scipio’s promise had not failed +us. The Christmas saint had been upon our hearthstone and left +his footprints there. The stockings were as fantastically distended +as ever in the palmiest times.</p> +<p>I suppose the children of the present day would not covet the +wonderful objects that we hauled forth from heel and toe. Yet I +have spent many Christmas holidays amid the gayeties of the +metropolis since then, and its richest gifts wax poor when I remember +that morning. What did it matter to us that both toys and +confections bore the stamp of home manufacture—little wooden +dolls, like Chinese deities, carved out of wood by Uncle Scipio’s jack +knife—strange people baked in sweet bread with coffee grains for +eyes? What did it matter that the war cloud hovered around us; +that to-morrow might renew the scenes of yesterday? We were +happy in our treasures. We know, now, what the charm was that +made them precious, for we know that</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“The painted vellum hallows not the prayer,<br /> +Nor ivory and gold the crucifix.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Ah! that will ever be the day of days to me. And with it are +enshrined in fadeless green, the names of many whose eyes have +long been closed upon the wars and joys of this earth. Not the +least dear among these will ever be old Scipio, who loved us better +than his own freedom; who stood by us in the day of trial, and +was faithful till death to the charge of a master who could never +return to take account of his stewardship.</p> +<p>He was grandiloquent, insisted on spectacles, though he generally +read the hymns upside down; wore a collar on Sundays that would +put our modern dudes to naught; but he was a prophet, for all that, +and saw farther than most men into the future.</p> +<p>We trust he has honor now in his own country; while in our +hearts his memory will yearly ring the chimes of Christmas bells.</p> +<p class='author'><span class='smcap'>Celine McCay</span>.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='THE_RESULT' id='THE_RESULT'></a> +<h2><i>THE RESULT.</i></h2> +</div> +<p class='center'>(November 6th, 1888.)</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>We have no longer Uncle Sam,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Nor yet our Yankee-doodle;<br /> +The first is but an Uncle Sham,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>The last is Yankee-boodle.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p class='author'><span class='smcap'>James McCarroll</span>.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +<a name='SILK_CULTURE' id='SILK_CULTURE'></a> +<h2><i>SILK CULTURE.</i></h2> +</div> +<p>“There are so many persons thirsting for information,” I says +to Mrs. Wrigglesniff, “let’s tell them all about it.” It was always +my way to stir in something useful with what was agreeable; and +here was an opportunity, while pursuing an avocation that was at +once pleasant and lucrative, to bring forward at the same time, an +illustration of those great economic and philosophic principles, that +lie at the foundation of all government and are the ground-work of +the social fabric. The tariff, although an intricate subject, I felt +was one that could be elucidated by simple exemplification in practical +life; and so I opened up to her one day, by remarking upon +the great importance of fostering our “infant industries.” That +most efficient mother was nursing the baby at the time. The baby +was four weeks old, weighed sixteen pounds, and could partake of +more nourishment at nature’s fountain, than any two ordinary pair +of twins.</p> +<p>“Infant industry! here’s one now,” observed Mrs. W., gazing +with maternal fondness upon the lusty native American in her lap, +who was tugging away with a zeal quite amazing.</p> +<p>You should first understand, however, that Mrs. W. is a superior +woman “as has got intellect into her,” as her uncle John Fetherly +Brown was wont to say. Her father’s second cousin was a half-brother +to Noah Webster, and she has, therefore, inherited some of +the qualities of that distinguished philosopher. I proposed the +subject to her one day, in a genial sort of a way, and she said, “W.,” +says she, “You’re a fool! Silk indeed!” She always calls me “W.,” +as the whole of it makes it too long, and being a practical woman, +she is aware that life is short. I could not help admiring the +promptness with which Mrs. W. arrived at her conclusions; and as +she is a most excellent judge of human nature, I changed the subject, +not wishing to exasperate her.</p> +<p>The way it came about was this. I had read all about it in the +papers and books and things, and was thinking over it one day and +all of a sudden I spoke up, and says I:</p> +<p>“Mrs. W., let’s have worms.”</p> +<p>She looked at me just that way for a minute, I thought there was +going to be a funeral. So I said, says I, “We can get the eggs from +Washington for nothing; then we can have the stands in the attic, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +and there’s the osage-orange hedge, that does nothing in the world +but keep the boys from stealing apples, and we have no apples to +steal; the children can feed them, so that the total cost will be +nothing. We can sell the cocoons at $1.50 a pound; and suppose +we raise five hundred pounds only the first season; there’s $750, +which is absolutely clear profit, the whole of it. We can then buy +a carriage, and we will give a ball, and ‘ye shall walk in silk attire.’”</p> +<p>Mrs. W. turned up her nose. In using that expression, I do not +mean that she actually inverted that feature of her countenance, +but the expression of her face indicated the idea which usually finds +utterance in the word ‘Rats.’ At this point I took occasion to explain +to Mrs. W. the relations of this most beautiful and fascinating +industry to the principles of political economy. My amiable lady +had frequently said it was all “bosh;” that to try to raise silk in this +country was mere gammon. I explained to her that her position, +as a philosophical proposition, would be true, were it not for the +fostering care of a paternal government, which had inaugurated the +American system of protection. That this great principle of protection +was the source of our national wealth, that the tariff on silk +was sixty per cent, and——</p> +<p>“Tariff!” inquired Mrs. W., “what is tariff?”</p> +<p>“Tariff, my dear,” said I, “I am surprised. I had supposed +that such an intellect as yours would have familiarized itself with +the great economic questions of the day.” But I did not wish to +be too severe with her, as I remembered that the sphere of woman +did not bring her into contact with these rugged issues that are the +theme of philosophers and statesmen; so I explained briefly, but +still kindly:</p> +<p>“My dear, a tariff is a tax paid by the importer.”</p> +<p>To this she made the very singular reply: “But how is taxing a +people going to make them rich, and be the source of national +wealth? I know when tax day comes around, you are always +groaning and saying that it keeps your nose flat on the grindstone, +to raise money enough to pay your taxes.” I told her she still failed +to see the point, as she was referring to mere state taxes, while I, +upon a higher plane, was viewing the comprehensive bearings of +national institutions.</p> +<p>“W.,” she said, “you don’t know <a name='TC_4'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'anymore'">any more</span> about it than Horace +Greeley did.” Such a reference to the great apostle of American +protection, I confess, shocked me; but I suppressed my feelings in +consideration of her sex.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span></div> +<p>I have said that Mrs. W. is a woman of intellect; but she has no +enthusiasm. With me it is different. I am all enthusiasm and no—I +was about to say no intellect; but I mean no such intellect as +has Mrs. W.</p> +<p>So she says: “That’s the way you’re always doing, W.; going into +something you don’t know anything about, throwing away your +money; and that’s about all you’re fit for.”</p> +<p>“But, my love!” I exclaimed, “there’s no chance to lose money +in silk worms. You get them for nothing, feed them for nothing; +and how is it possible to lose money on them, with the tariff at +sixty per cent ad valorem?”</p> +<p>“W.,” she interrupted, “when you talk Latin to me, please explain +yourself.”</p> +<p>Some people have thought that there was an asperity in Mrs. W.’s +nature, that occasionally found expression in words, but it is not +so. She is of most amiable disposition, and I never knew her to—if +I may coin a word—to asperse. I, therefore, said that in the +tariff laws, duties were levied upon the value of articles, as stated +in the importer’s invoice.</p> +<p>“But,” said she, “won’t the importers value too low?”</p> +<p>“Oh, my dear,” I said, “that would be dishonest, and importers +are never dishonest; indeed it is upon the virtue and integrity of +the people that the welfare of our institutions depends.” As I was +about to expand upon this theme, my wife checked me with the +remark that we would take the American eagle and the rest of it, +at another time, but just now we would hear about the silk worms. +I told her I had made all necessary arrangements, and would that +day write to the “Department” at Washington, and secure the +necessary supply of eggs to commence a flourishing business. I did +so and in due time I received from the capital of the nation, a nice +little wooden box, and inside of that another little tin box, and inside +of that were the eggs. They were about as big as pin’s heads +and it looked as though there were millions, but I don’t suppose +there were that many.</p> +<p>I exhibited them with pride to the partner of my bosom, exclaiming, +“Such is the fostering care of a paternal government, it raises +these eggs at vast expense, and bestows them liberally upon those +who ask.” I then explained to Mrs. W. how it was that our glorious +republic nursed those infant industries that were so delicate +they could not stand alone; supporting them with great assiduity, +inasmuch as they could not support themselves. I showed her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +how employment was thus furnished to thousands of persons, who +would otherwise be idle, or engaged in some other occupation that +was able to take care of itself; of course, therefore, making wages +lower. I contrasted the condition of the American laborer, with +that of the European serf, trodden under the iron heel of despotism, +at ten cents a day, and satisfied her that the laboring man in the +United States was the best paid, and therefore the happiest and +most contented being on earth, owing to the fact of a protective +tariff, ever since 1789.</p> +<p>“W.,” exclaimed that angelic creature, “why is it, then, that +the workingmen are always striking and marching around town +with brass bands? First shoemakers, then carpenters and railroad +men, and stone-masons, and iron-molders, and hod-carriers—all +wanting higher wages. Where does the happiness and content come +in? I heard you say, yourself, the other day, that the disorganized +system of labor was such in this country, that it was degenerating +into socialism and anarchy and was ruining every branch of business.”</p> +<p>I hated to do it, but I crushed her with the reply: “Ah! my +dear, that is begging the question.”</p> +<p>But that sweet creature, unruffled as a summer sea, preserved an +equanimity that astounded me, as she said: “Why is it, W., that +whenever a woman corners a man in argument, he simply ends the +discussion by telling her she is ‘begging the question?’” Seeing +that she did not exactly catch the drift of my logic, I adroitly +turned the subject to silk-worms again, and how we should proceed +in our enterprise.</p> +<p>“Now,” said I to Mrs. W., “I will procure the necessary lumber, +at usual market rates, and make a stand on which to lay the +frames.”</p> +<p>She observed: “You know, W., you never made anything in +your life and can’t do it. Go up to the carpenter and he will do +what you want for fifty cents, and you can’t buy the lumber for +that.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. W.,” I replied, “I scorn your words. I propose that this +undertaking shall be absolutely inexpensive, except, perhaps, the +outlay for the raw material.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” she observed, “try it.” My! what a head that +woman has. I took a book that had a picture of the stand I wanted, +and took the dimensions carefully down; went to the lumber yard, +selected the pieces, and they cost only $1.25; went home, measured, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +planned, and figured, and found that I had ordered the upright +cut the length of the cross pieces, and <i>vice-versa</i>, so that the whole +was useless. My disposition, however, is to take cheerful views of +things, and I explained to Mrs. W. that I could still use the stuff for +pickets on the front fence, some of which were missing. Mrs. W. +quietly observed: “How are you going to use four-foot pickets on a +six-foot fence?”</p> +<p>When I purchased the second lot I was very careful to proceed +deliberately. I am a good deal of a carpenter, if things would only +come out square when finished: but they never will. When I saw +a board, somehow the saw runs off to one side, and when I try to +nail it to the other board, the two won’t fit; and by the time I get +around to the fourth side, one end of the concern is up in the air, +and I have to sit on it to keep it down. I have often gazed with +admiration on a real carpenter, to see him run his saw along, +straight as a string and true as a die, and then put the pieces all +together and have them fit, nice as a cotton hat. This is true +genius.</p> +<p>Sensible of the danger and liability to mistake in putting the +pieces together, I told Mrs. W., who was superintending the operation, +that we would not use nails, but screws, so that in case of +error—and all human judgment is fallible—we could take the screws +out and take the pieces apart, which could not be done with nails. +Mrs. W. conceded the suggestion to be a valuable one. So we went +to work, she kindly lending her assistance. I measured all the +pieces, got them the exact length, and for the greater certainty, +stood them up on the floor to see if they would all fit. They certainly +seemed to do so, as far as mortal vision could determine. As +all this required a great deal of deliberation, a great deal of measuring, +a great deal of sawing, some chiselling, etc., the hour of sunset +was approaching when I had put in the last screw, and triumphantly +called Mrs. W. from her afternoon nap to witness the success of +my mechanical endeavors. I stood the blamed thing up on its four +legs, and three of ’em were on the floor, and the fourth wasn’t. It +was impossible for me to discover the defect in my workmanship. I +could make any three of the legs stand on the floor, but the fourth +could not be prevailed upon for any consideration. The cross-pieces, +which should have been horizontal, and which, to that end, +had been measured with mathematical precision, slanted up on one +side and slanted down on the other. I was in despair, until Mrs. +W. brought her intellect to bear upon my difficulties; when it appeared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +that three of the uprights were four feet six inches high, +and the fourth was four feet seven inches. How it happened no +one could explain.</p> +<p>“Now, W.,” says Mrs. W., “send for the carpenter.” I did +so. He came—a rough, totally uncultured man. He could barely +write his name and his clothes were principally suspenders. But +that uneducated man just took these pieces of wood, and knocked +them here, and knocked them there, and, by aid of some disreputable +shingle nails, in twenty minutes had as neat looking a stand +made as ever you saw come out of a cabinet maker’s shop. I was +abashed and paid him twenty-five cents. Mrs. W. said nothing, +but smiled.</p> +<p>We had some frames, about two feet square, covered with brown +paper. These we placed on the stand and spread out the eggs. I +was a little uneasy about what kind of a hen to get to hatch them, +as I could find nothing in the books on the subject; but Mrs. W. +called me my usual pet name, and said that the first warm day was +all the hen needed. Wonderful woman that! Just as she predicted! +In a few days the brown paper was covered with little +dark specks in a state of agitation. Mrs. W. spoke of them <a name='TC_5'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'contemptously'">contemptuously</span> +as “nasty black worms.”</p> +<p>They grew at a prodigious rate. I explained to the children that +all they had to do was to go down to the osage-orange hedge, cut +off the twigs and branches, and feed them to the worms; that in +a few weeks the product would be ready for market, and if the +Mills bill didn’t interfere with protection to American industry, +the profits would be large, and should be equally divided between +themselves and their mother. The children were highly elated and +were soon discussing what should be the color of the carriage horses. +One wanted black, the other blue; and the excitement ran so high +that parental intervention became necessary and some spanking ensued. +The next morning our early dreams were disturbed by fearful +outcries from the direction of the front fence. The smallest of +the children had tumbled head first into the osage-orange hedge, +and could not get out. Anyone who knows the infernal, brutal intensity +with which the thorns of the osage-orange sting, can understand +the predicament of that child. We extracted her in a fearfully +lacerated condition. She was punctured all over. Having +read in a book entitled “Three Thousand Valuable Receipts, for +Twenty-five Cents,” that ammonia was good for stings, I applied ammonia +liberally to that bleeding child, until she became absolutely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +frantic. Her screams attracted Mrs. W. to the scene, and she exclaimed:</p> +<p>“Have you no more sense than to put ammonia on raw flesh like +that?” I pointed to the “Three Thousand Valuable Receipts, for +Twenty-five Cents,” which she immediately picked up and threw out +of the window. The child ultimately recovered, but from that day +abhorred silk culture in all its branches. Still the industry went +on. The children were so stung by the thorns that the work devolved +on me, and it was a task most fearful. There is a poison in +the thorn of the osage-orange that not only makes the pain exquisite, +but swells one up as though he had been stung all over by bees, +or had chronic dropsy. My hands and arms were puffed up, and +my face looked as though I had been in a prize-fight. As I observed +to Mrs. W., however, these were minor difficulties, and we +could put up with them in consideration of the large profits which +would ensue. One day one of the servants—they are always going +around and turning things up side down—left one of the frames on +the floor, and all the worms, to the number of several hundred, +scattered themselves profusely about the house, and without any +reference to the comfort or convenience of the family. If you +opened the flour barrel, there was a silk worm. They pervaded the +sugar and crawled into the cream. You found them in bed and the +mash was awful. How many were trodden into the parlor carpet can +never be known. This, too, was but an episode; and as the worms +grew in size and began to spin their cocoons, the process was quite +interesting, and even Mrs. W. overcame her repugnance to the +crawling little wretches.</p> +<p>I was startled one day, as I was feeding my silk-worms, who were +consuming the osage-orange leaves at the rate of a bushel a day, +making two bushels of litter, to hear Mrs. W. abruptly ask:</p> +<p>“W., what is a consumer?” The unexpectedness of the interrogation +found me at fault for a moment; but reflecting a little while +and looking at the silk-worms, I concluded the best way to put it +was: “A consumer, my dear, is—well, a consumer in this country +is one who consumes.” Thinking that no exception could be taken +to such a definition, I was triumphant.</p> +<p>“W.,” said that pertinacious person, “you don’t hang together +well, if any. You said the other day that this tariff thing was for +the benefit of the producer, etc.”</p> +<p>“My dear,” I replied, “I seize the occasion. ‘My foot is on my +native heath, and my name is McGregor.’ When our industries +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +were in their infancy, it was found impossible to compete with +foreign productions. Labor was so cheap abroad that they could +undersell us in our own markets. We had laid the foundation of +a broad, comprehensive manufacturing interest; we had taken men +from agricultural and other pursuits, where they earned a livelihood, +and put them in new and strange employments, about which +they knew nothing, where they expected to earn more than a livelihood. +But this could not be done on account of prices. So government +imposed high duties, and the producer sold his articles for +a higher price. In this way he was benefited and enabled to make +money. The tariff added just so much to the price of the article +sold, and the producer was happy.”</p> +<p>“But who paid this extra price?” queried Mrs. W.</p> +<p>“Well,” I replied, “it is a principle of political economy, I +believe, that all taxes are paid ultimately by the consumer, so that +in a case of this kind—”</p> +<p>“The consumer is the American people,” interrupted Mrs. W.</p> +<p>“My dear,” I cried, “once more I am compelled to observe, you +are begging the question.”</p> +<p>“Mendicant again,” was her arch reply, and a cry from the nursery +ended the discussion.</p> +<p>In about six weeks we had the cocoons. Of course, during that +time the house was littered with dirt, dried leaves, and all sorts of +unclean things; and if you ran about the premises in the dark, +barefooted, you were sure to step on an osage-orange twig; and I am +satisfied, from the amount of squalling done, that if the season had +lasted six months most of the children would have been exterminated.</p> +<p>I corresponded with some concern in one of the eastern cities, +stating that I had a large amount of fine cocoons, and wanting to +know what they would pay. I observed to Mrs. W. that I was confident +of receiving a reply to the effect that I should ship the +cocoons, draw at sight for five hundred dollars, leaving the balance +to be paid as per account sales.</p> +<p>The reply was, to send on half-a-pound as a sample, and they +would see if they could take them. When we came to weigh out +half-a-pound, both Mrs. W. and I were appalled. It took about two +bushels—nearly, if not quite, half of the entire crop. However, +they were sent, and Mrs. W. snickered as she did up the package.</p> +<p>In the course of several weeks I received a specimen, say about +a skein, of the most beautiful silk I had ever beheld, with an order +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +to forward the balance of the cocoons per Adams Express, which I +did at the expense of one dollar. Waited several months for acknowledgement +of receipt, wrote various letters, the postage on +which was two cents each. As considerable time elapsed while we +were “waiting for the returns,” and as I was determined that Mrs. +W. should understand this great subject of the tariff, as I knew she +could if she gave her mind to it, I proceeded to eviscerate the whole +matter. Said I, “When a tariff is laid upon a manufactured article, +it enables the manufacturer in this country to pay his workmen +higher wages.”</p> +<p>“And does he always do it?” said Mrs. W.</p> +<p>“Always,” I replied. “Statistics show that when the tariff on +iron was increased twenty per cent the manufacturers of iron immediately +raised the wages of all their employés twenty per cent.”</p> +<p>“I see,” said that clear-headed woman, “what excellent persons +these iron men are. They do not hire their men for as little as +they can, but pay them more than they want.”</p> +<p>“Exactly so,” I replied; “the general rule I admit to be that a +man pays as little as he can for labor; but under the protective +system, the tariff increases the price of the manufactured article, +so that the manufacturer is enabled to sell his goods for that higher +price, and the workman thus gets the benefit of it.”</p> +<p>This argument seemed to have great weight with her, as it gave +her new light on things, for she said it was contrary to experience; +but I explained to her that unless some flaw could be found in the +syllogism, the conclusion was irresistible, all experience to the contrary +notwithstanding. I then showed her how entirely disinterested +the manufacturers were; that all their efforts were solely for +the benefit of the workmen; that, personally, the tariff made no +difference to them; that they never besought Congress to lay high +tariffs; that no one ever knew of the iron men, or the sugar men, +or the copper men, besieging the legislators at Washington to +impose duties upon articles they made; that it was the workmen +who always did it.</p> +<p>I do not know exactly how long it was that we waited to receive +our fortune from those cocoons, but one day a postal card came to +hand from the parties to whom I had sent my wealth, stating that +they had received so many cocoons they could not tell which mine +were. Inasmuch as mine were the only ones that had ever been +shipped from the town wherein I reside, it occurred to me that this +remark might be considered in the nature of a joke. Then there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +followed another voluminous correspondence. I appealed to Adams +Express Company, who said they would send out a “tracer”; I did +not like to betray my ignorance by showing that I did not know +what a tracer was, but, frankly, I should not have known one had +I met it on the street. But with the infinite knowledge of affairs +that Mrs. W. has, that remarkable woman signified to me that a +tracer was something that goes up and down and to and fro upon +the face of the earth, like a roaring lion, seeking something, and +not generally finding it. It is an immense consolation, however, +to railroad men and others; for it appears that after a “tracer” +has been “sent out,” nothing more can, by any possibility, be done +by anybody. Whether or not the tracer had anything to do with +the final result I never knew. But about six months after I had +transmitted my cocoons to that large silk manufacturing house that +paid such large wages to American workmen for the purpose of fostering +American industry, I received a note sending a balance-sheet, +and enclosing a check for eighty-eight cents.</p> +<p>When I received this portentous paper, I observed to Mrs. W.: +“My dear, how much do you suppose we got for our cocoons?” +“About seventy-five cents,” was the reply. The mind that woman +has for detail is simply wonderful.</p> +<p>The check I have had framed, and hung up in the parlor, but +when I balanced the books, I still found the profit large, thus:</p> +<table summary='' style='border-collapse:collapse;'> +<col style='border-right:thin solid black;' /><col style='border-right:thin solid black;' /><col style='border-right:4px double black;' /><col style='border-right:thin solid black;' /><col style='border-right:thin solid black;' /> +<tr><th style='border-right-style:hidden; border-bottom:4px double black'><span class='smcap'>Dr.</span></th><th colspan='4' style='border-right-style:hidden; text-align:center; border-bottom:4px double black;'><i>W. in Acc’t with Silk Worms.</i></th><th style='border-bottom:4px double black'><span class='smcap'>Cr.</span></th></tr> +<tr><td class='text' style='text-align:center; padding-right:0;'>1887.</td> <td> </td><td> </td><td class='text' style='text-align:center; padding-right:0;'>1888.</td><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td class='text'>Jan. 1,</td> <td class='text'>Cash p’d lumber</td> <td class='number'>$2 00</td><td class='text'>Feb.</td><td class='text'>By acc’t sales</td><td class='number'>$0 88</td></tr> +<tr><td class='text'> </td> <td class='text'>Cash p’d carpenter</td><td class='number'>25</td> <td rowspan='7'> </td><td class='text'>By amt. experience gained</td><td class='number'>500 00</td></tr> +<tr><td class='text'>Sept. 1,</td><td class='text'>Cash p’d express</td> <td class='number'>50</td><td rowspan='5'> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td class='text'>Nov.</td> <td class='text'>Cash p’d express</td> <td class='number'>1 00</td><td rowspan='4'></td></tr> +<tr><td class='text' style='text-align:center; padding-right:0;'>1888.</td> <td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td class='text'>Feb.</td> <td class='text'>Cash p’d postage</td> <td class='number'>20</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td> <td class='text' style='text-align:center; padding-right:0;'>Profit</td> <td class='number'>496 93</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td><td class='number total'>$500 88</td><td> </td><td class='number total'>$500 88</td></tr> +</table> +<p class='author'><span class='smcap'>D. Thew Wright.</span></p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='IS_MARRIAGE_A_FAILURE' id='IS_MARRIAGE_A_FAILURE'></a> +<h2><i>IS MARRIAGE A FAILURE?</i></h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>How like the ague is this boon<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Of matrimonial strife!<br /> +The fever ends in one short moon,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>The chill runs on through life.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +<a name='EDITORIAL_DEPARTMENT' id='EDITORIAL_DEPARTMENT'></a> +<h2><i>EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT.</i></h2> +</div> +<h3>THE COMMUNISM OF CAPITAL.</h3> +<p>The President in his late and last message to Congress calls attention, in +his incisive and felicitous style, to a condition of our people that must strike +all intelligent minds with alarm. The corner-stone in the foundation of +communism is that agency of the government which makes of the sovereign +power that legal process which controls all private affairs for the good of +the people. In popular phrase, it upholds the paternal form which enters +every man’s house and regulates by law all his transactions. This is the +foundation, while the holding of property in common is rather a consequence +than a cause. If there are no rights pertaining to the citizen but +those derived from government, to give practical effect to the scheme all +property owned by the government must be held in its care in common by +its dependents.</p> +<p>Heretofore this theory has been advocated by the poor and oppressed, +and stoutly resisted by the rich. We are treated to a reversal of position +in the parties, and the rich are practically pressing the scheme upon the +poor.</p> +<p>Jefferson, the father of modern democracy, taught that the government, +a mere form of expression, in the way of rule, by the people, who held the +sovereignty was only a trust of power, instituted for the sole purpose of +keeping the peace between the citizens. To use a popular phrase, it was +nothing but the intervention of the constable.</p> +<p>Our central government, not being built altogether upon this broad yet +simple proposition, opened in its mixed nature the door to communism found +in the paternal form. Indeed, it would have been entirely divested of the +Jeffersonian theory had it not been for the necessity under which the +framers found themselves of conciliating the States, that then jealously +fought every proposition looking to a deprivation of their sovereign rights. +All that we so happily gained then came from a regard to the several +States and not to any thought of popular rights.</p> +<p>This fact gave us a Constitution under which, we have managed to live, +comparatively prosperous, for a century. Had it been otherwise, our Constitution +would have gone to pieces in the first twenty-five years of its existence. +A constitution is a legal recognition of certain general rules of +conduct that are ever the same under all circumstances. Legislation is the +adaptation of those rules to individual cases; and as these vary and change +with continuously new conditions, a fixed application in a constitution is +impossible. For this restriction, as far as it goes, we have to thank the +States and not the sagacity of the fathers.</p> +<p>The Constitution was scarcely enacted before the communism of a paternal +form began to manifest itself. The Federal party was of this sort. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +sneered at and fought the sovereignty of the people, and found its governing +element in a class that was supposed to hold in itself the intelligence +and virtue of the people. It has departed and been done to death, not by +the people, who failed to comprehend or feel the situation, but by the same +cause that created the Constitution,—and that was the jealous opposition of +the States to a centralization of power at Washington.</p> +<p>After the death of the Federal party the Whig organization was formed, +on the same line and for the same purpose as those of its Federal predecessor. +Henry Clay, its author, an eloquent but ignorant man, formulated +his American system, that was a small affair in the beginning, but had +deadly seeds of evil in its composition. Mr. Clay saw the necessity for +manufactures in the United States; and as capital necessary to their existence +in private hands could not be obtained, he proposed that the government +should intervene through a misuse of the taxing power and supply the +want. It was a modest want at first. “Let us aid these infant industries,” +he said, “until they are strong enough to stand alone, and then the +government may withdraw and leave competition to regulate prices.” It +was a plausible but insidious proposition.</p> +<p>This was fought bitterly by the South, not altogether from a high ground +of principle, although the argument was made that the government at +Washington had no such power under the Constitution, but the main motive +was self-interest. The South was an agricultural region, and found in +cotton, rice, sugar, and tobacco staples that had their better, indeed their +only, market in Europe, and saw no sense in trammelling it with laws to +benefit Eastern capital. The American system was having a rough time +and bidding fair to die out, when the sectional issue between the North and +South culminated in war, and driving not only the South but the democracy +from the government, left the paternal party in power.</p> +<p>This organization was made up mainly of Whigs. The abrupt dissolution +of that party threw in the newly formed Republican organization the +majority that from the first until now has governed its movements. How +patriotic a party founded on property is, we learn from its first act after +securing control of Congress. In the terrible war that followed secession, +the greatest of dangers that threatened success was in European interference. +Common sense, to say nothing of patriotism, dictated that Congress +should at least abstain from measures likely to offend the governments +abroad, if it did not do all in its power to conciliate. Greed recognized no +such duty. Almost the first measure of any importance introduced and +passed to a law was the Morrill tariff, that slapped the greatest war powers +of Europe in the face. Under pretence of raising a war revenue, they +made a deadly attack on resource from that source, for they well knew that +as they increased the duties they lessened the income.</p> +<p>The panic and distress that followed this measure in all the markets of +the world can well account for the deadly hostility to our government felt +abroad. Small wonder that while arms were furnished the South in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +greatest abundance, cruisers were fitted out in English ports to prey upon +our helpless commerce. The greater danger of official recognition was +only averted by the stubborn stand taken by Great Britain; and as it was, +we now know that had the South been able to continue the war ninety +days longer that intervention would have come. A French army, sent +there for that purpose, would have invaded our lands from Mexico, +while the fleets of allied France and England would have dissipated our so-called +blockade, lifted the Confederacy’s financial credit to par, and we +would have been called on to make terms of peace at Philadelphia.</p> +<p>All this gathered evil was shattered at Nashville by the gallant Thomas +and his noble Army of the Cumberland, when he not only defeated the +fifty thousand veterans under Hood, but annihilated an army.</p> +<p>This was the birth of the communism of wealth that is to govern our +country for the next four years. Of course it is absurd to charge nearly a +half of our people with corrupt motives and unpatriotic conduct. We +have no such intent. We are only striving to show that the success of the +Republican policy is fatal to the Republic. This party, as we have said, is +in no sense a political organization. It is a great combination of private +interests that seek to use the government to further their own selfish ends. +Governments through all the ages have been the deadly enemies of the +people they governed. Ours, controlled by the Republican party, makes no +exception to the rule. The gigantic trusts, or combinations, are eating the +substance out of honest toil, and back of them stands the awful shadow of +a powerful organization making those trusts possible, and doing to the +people precisely the cruel wrong it was created to prevent. Palaces multiply +as hovels increase; and while millionaires are common, the million sink +back to that hopeless poverty of destitution that has the name of freedom, +as a mockery to their serfdom.</p> +<h3>THE INFAMY OF IT.</h3> +<p>For years past it has become more and more patent to the people of the +United States that the ballot has come to be a commercial affair, and instead +of serving its original purpose of a process through which to express +the popular will, represents only the money expended in its use. For a +long time it was abused through stuffing, false counts, repeating, and +switching tickets. In the late Presidential election we seemed to have +passed from that stage to open and shameless bribery.</p> +<p>This is simply appalling to those who love their country and believe in +our great Republic. The old system of roguery that attacked the integrity +of the ballot was that of a few low villains, who could be met by an improved +box and other stringent, legalized guards that would make the vile practices +difficult, and punishment easily secured. But this open purchase of +votes indicates a poison in the spring head itself, and a consent found in +the apathy of the public.</p> +<p>What good would be the Australian system, that seeks to shield the secret +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +ballot, where the official agents themselves would of course be corrupt and +purchasable? Under this system the voter entering a stall by himself +finds an official to give him such ticket as he may demand. What will be +the good of this when that agent can be purchased? We really simply +give the corruption into the hands of the corruptionists through the very +enactment called in to protect us.</p> +<p>Our unhappy condition is recognized. There is not a man, woman, or +child in our country possessed of any brain but knows that Benjamin +Harrison was elected President by open, wholesale bribery. Mr. Foster +advertised this in his well-known circulars wherein he called for funds, +and quoted Senator Plumb as saying that the manufacturers ought to be +squeezed. And why should they be squeezed?—because, he said, they are +the sole beneficiaries of the one measure at issue in the canvass. This was +followed by Senator Ingalls’ famous advice to the delegate at the Chicago +convention, which said, “Nominate some such fellow as Phelps, who can +tap Wall Street.” This was followed by the Dudley circular directing the +purchase of “floaters in blocks of five or more,” and assuring those dishonest +agents that the funds would not be wanting to close the purchase.</p> +<p>Under this exhibit of evidence the fact cannot be denied; but to make it +conclusive, the New York <i>World</i> has gathered from all parts of the country +clear, unmistakable proof of wide-spread, clearly planned, and openly executed +purchase of voters.</p> +<p>The chair of the Chief Executive has followed the seats of Senators to +the market, and that highest gift of the citizen has been sold to the highest +bidder. The great political fabric of the fathers, built from woful expenditure +of patriotic effort and blood, is honeycombed with rot, and remains, +a mere sham, to shame us before the world.</p> +<p>Of course we are not so silly as to attach blame only to one party. The +difference between the two lies in the fact that the one had more money +than the other, and a stronger motive for its use. The Republicans being +a “combine” of property interests, depending upon the government to +make those interests profitable, were impelled to exertion far beyond the +Democrats, who were struggling for the power only that a possession of the +government brings. But we are forced to remember that the votes purchased +came from the Democratic party. Said a prominent Democrat of +Indiana to the writer of this: “We had enough money to purchase the +State had we known the nature of the market, and possessed agents upon +whom we could rely. The agents of our opponents were preachers, deacons, +elders, class-leaders, and teachers in Sunday-schools, and could be relied +on to use their swag as directed. Our fellows put our money in their +pockets, and left the voting to care for itself. And then, again, while we +were on the lookout for repeaters, pipe-layers, and ballot-box stuffers, +they were in open market purchasing votes. We learned the nature of the +business when too late to meet it, had we even had the means to make our +knowledge available.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span></div> +<p>No doubt this gentleman told the truth. The sums subscribed, that +counted in the millions, came from men not only of means, but of high +social positions, who, not being altogether idiots, well knew the purpose for +which their ample means were assessed. That able and honorable gentleman, +Judge Gresham, whose well-known courage and integrity rendered +him unavailable as a candidate for the Presidency at Chicago, points +openly to these respectable corruptionists as the real wrong doers. It is +more than probable that such may escape the penitentiary, and it is poor +comfort to know that when such die lamented, their souls, in the great +hereafter, will have to be searched for with a microscope.</p> +<p>The pretence offered for such assessments is too thin to cover the corrupt +design. Says a prominent editor of the political criminals:</p> +<p>“The legitimate expenses of a national political canvass have come to +be enormous. There is a great educational work to be done; a vast literature +to be created and circulated; an army of speakers to be brought into +the field; various organizations to be made and mobilized; machinery to +be perfected for getting out the full vote; safeguards to be provided against +fraud: all the immense enginery for persuading and marshalling at every +fighting point the last score among six million voters.”</p> +<p>The comments upon this made by the New York <i>Evening Post</i> are so to +the point, and conclusive, that we quote them in full. The <i>Post</i> says:</p> +<p>“Well, now, this being so, why did Wanamaker and Quay, when they +had finished their noble work, burn their books and accounts? Missionary, +tract, and Bible societies for mutual improvement and for aid to home +study, lyceums and lecturing associations, not to speak of charitable and +philanthropic associations, do not, after six months of unusual activity, +commit all their papers, vouchers, and books of accounts to the flames. +No such thing is ever thought of in Wanamaker’s Bethel Sunday-school. +Why, then, was it done by the Advisory Committee? Religious and educational +organizations, such as the Advisory Committee seems to have been, +on the contrary, when they have raised a large sum of money and spent it +in worthy ways are usually eager to preserve and spread the record of it, +that others coming after them may be encouraged to do likewise. In +fact, the more one reflects on the Wanamaker-Quay holocaust, the more +mysterious it seems.”</p> +<p>This election of a chief magistrate, that shook the great republic from +centre to circumference, was but a continuation of the corrupt system that +began some years since, and is known to the public as that of “addition, +division, and silence.”</p> +<p>This condition of the polls is no menace to our government. That +period is gone. It is a loss of all. The ballot is the foundation corner-stone +of the entire political fabric. Its passage to the hands of corrupt +dealers is simply ruin. We may not realize this, but we do realize the contempt +into which it has fallen. When the new President swings along +Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol to be inaugurated, upon the side of his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +carriage should be printed what history with its cold, unbiased fingers will +put to record:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><span class='smcap'>“Bo’t for Two Millions of Dollars.”</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<h3>THE PULPIT CULT.</h3> +<p>In the days of our Saviour the rich man of Jerusalem would, on a Sabbath +morning, bathe and anoint his body, and putting on fine linen and wearing-apparel, +move in a dignified fashion to the synagogue, feeling that he +was serving God by making God respectable in the eyes of men.</p> +<p>The proneness of poor human nature to lose in the mere form that for +which the form was created to serve is the same throughout the world, and +through all the ages, evolution to the contrary notwithstanding. As our +physical being is, and has been, and will ever be about the same, our +spiritual suffers little change. When Adam and Eve, leaving the garden +of Eden, encountered the typhoid fever, that dread disease had the same +symptoms, made the same progress to death or recovery, that puzzles the +physicians to-day. That horrible but curious growth we call cancer was +the same six thousand years ago that it is in this nineteenth century. The +sicknesses of the soul are the same in all climes and in the presence of all +creeds.</p> +<p>Said a witty ordained infidel who preached the salvation of unbelief +many years at London, on visiting a business men’s prayer meeting: “Our +merchants may not be Jews in their dealings, but they are certainly +Hebrews in their prayers.”</p> +<p>The form has survived the substance. We have retained the customs and +phraseology, while losing the meaning. As the rich men of Jerusalem who on +the Sabbath thronged the Temple and were solemnly earnest in their prayers, +returned to their cheating the day after, so we give unto God one-seventh part +of our time and devote the rest to the practices of Satan. We are full +of wrath and disgust at the Sunday-school cashier who appropriates the +money of other people and, unable longer to conceal his thefts, flees to +Canada. This is unjust. The poor man was not less pious than his president +or his directors who neglected their duties and in many cases shared +in the luxury. His crime was not in what he did, but in being caught at +it before he could carry out his intent to replace the funds from his successful +speculations. He saw in the leaders of his little congregation in the +Lord, millionaires who had made all they possessed through fraud, and why +should he, with the best intentions, not accumulate a modest competence +through the same means? He heard nothing to the contrary from the +pulpit. The eloquent divine told, in winning words, of the righteousness +of right and the sinfulness of sin, but the illustrations were all, or nearly +all, two thousand years old, and the words were the words of Isaiah and +the prophets. To denounce the sins of to-day in “the vulgar tongue” +would be to offend the millionaires of the congregation and lessen the salary +of the worthy divine.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span></div> +<p>The late Chief Justice Chase once startled the writer of this by saying: +“The wicked men are not in the penitentiary, they are in the churches. +The criminals we convict are not wicked, they are simply weak—weak in +character and weak in intellect. The men from whom society suffers are +the cold, selfish, calculating creatures who not only keep clear of the courts +but seek the churches, and deceive others as they deceive themselves and +hope to deceive the Almighty.”</p> +<p>Sin is never so dangerous as when it gets to be respectable. The sanction +of law, whether it gets to be such through custom or legal enactment, so +nearly resembles the order of God that we accept it as such, and if it +furthers our selfish greed we take it gladly.</p> +<p>The moral code, like that of municipal law, is made up of a few simple +rules, easily understood, and the trouble comes in on the practice of the +one and the application of the other. That church is divine which subordinates +the rule to the practice, and has works as well as faith to testify +to its commission. That is the true religion which leaves the sanctuary with +the believer, and is with him at all hours, eats at his table, sleeps in his bed, +and accompanies him to his labor. It never leaves him alone.</p> +<p>How we have separated the two, the precept from practice, this pulpit +cult bears evidence. The high-toned infidel and lofty agnostic sneer +at the humble Catholic who, in deepest contrition, confesses his sins to his +spiritual adviser and goes forth relieved, probably to fall again. How +much better it is to attend divine worship one day in seven, put on a grave +countenance, and listen to eloquent discourses, more eloquent prayers, and +heavenly music, and then go out with no thought of religion until the next +Sunday returns for a like performance!</p> +<p>Two thirds of what comes under the head of moral conduct in one is pure +selfishness. A man may be honest in his dealing, honorable in his conduct, +a good citizen, a loving husband, and an affectionate father, and yet be +without kindness, charity, faith, hope—in a word, all that brought Christ +upon earth in His mission of peace.</p> +<p>One summer and autumn we lived at a mountain resort on the line of a +great railroad. We saw, day after day, long lines of cattle-cars crowded +with their living freight in a three-hundred-mile pull of intensest agony. +The poor beasts were jammed against each other, unable to lie down,—to +get under the hoofs of the others was death,—fighting, hungry, in the last +stages of thirst, panting with tongues protruded, and their beautiful eyes +staring with that expression of wild despair which the scent of blood brings +to them, they rolled on to their far-off slaughter-houses with moans that +were heart-breaking.</p> +<p>It was our fortune that same autumn to meet one of the cattle-merchants +at church. He was there with his family. A stout, middle-aged man of +eminent respectability, he was a church-member, and looked up to as a +model citizen. We saw him listening to the eloquent sermon, and wondered +if there were not a low, deep undertone of agony running through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +the discourse. When the prayers were offered up he knelt humbly, and +covered his face with his hands. Did they shut out the wild, despairing +eyes of those suffering beasts?</p> +<p>Yet how amazed would that estimable citizen have been had his minister +said to him: “You are railroading your soul to hell. Every moan of those +tortured animals goes up to God for record. You are freighting disease to +great cities, and the fevers and death are yet to be answered for by you—wretched +sinner!”</p> +<p>There is not a fashionable church in any city of our land that has not +within gunshot of its door great masses of starving, sinful, poverty-stricken +humanity. Crowded into tenement-houses, from the damp cellars to the +hot garrets, they make one wonder, not that they die, but that they +live. No eloquent discourse on the righteousness of right and the sinfulness +of sin; no well-balanced sentences of prayers, sent up on perfumed air +to our heavenly Father; no deep-toned thunder set to music in hymns, ever +reach their ears, or could, if they did, carry consolation to the sorrowful, or +curing to the sick. And yet, from marble pulpits to velvet-cushioned pews, +the work goes on.</p> +<p>We beg pardon: it does not go on. The well-meaning divines complain +of non-attendance. They are startled by the fact that not one-tenth of our +population of sixty millions are really attending church-members. What +can be done to popularize the pulpit? There is but one way, and that is +to make the people desire to attend. Time was when the great truths of +Christianity were new to the human race. The multitudes were eager to +hear of the revelation, and the Church sent out its missionaries to preach +and teach mankind. So far as a knowledge of these truths is concerned, +the civilized people have been taught. There is not a criminal in jail to-day +but knows more theology than St. Paul. The people are weary of this everlasting +thrash of theological chaff. The civilized world is fairly saturated +with preaching, which has come to be stale, flat, and in every sense unprofitable.</p> +<p>Instead of asking the people to come to the church, let the church go to +the people. This is the secret of the sneers attending the Catholic faith. +There is, with it, very little preaching, but a great deal of practice. Its orphan +asylums, its homes for the aged poor, its hospitals, to say nothing of its +great body of devoted priests and holy sisters of charity, tell why it is that +its temples are thronged, and its conversions almost miraculous.</p> +<p>It is a grave error to suppose that true religion is to be advanced through +the intellect. It makes its appeal to the heart. If it is not a refuge to the +woful wayfarers of earth, it is nothing. If the sorrowful may not find +comfort; they who are in pain, patience and hope; if the poor may not get +sympathy and aid, and the dying consolation, it is of doubtful good.</p> +<p>As for the preaching, all that we can say is, that when one produces +evidence and proceeds to argue, he admits a doubt that neither evidence +nor argument is of avail. God’s truths call for no evidence. If they are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +not self-evident, no process of poor human reason can make them visible. +An argument in behalf of such is a confession and a defeat. The man who +undertakes to prove that the sun shines is insane and a bore.</p> +<p>The pulpit work of worthy divines who think aloud upon their legs +has lost its attraction in losing its novelty. They imitate the late Henry +Ward Beecher. And these immediate divines are filling their churches as +merely platform-lecturers indulging in certain mental gymnastics that +glitter and glisten like a winter’s sun on fields of ice. It is all brilliant and +amusing to a few, but it is not religion.</p> +<h3>A BEAUTIFUL LIFE.</h3> +<p>“Died at New York, 28th of November, 1888, Mrs. Eleanor Boyle Sherman.”</p> +<p>The above simple announcement of a sad event was read through more +tears than usually fall to the lot of one whose unassuming, quiet life was +passed in the privacy of a purely domestic existence. This not because +she was the wife of a noted officer, nor the daughter of one of Ohio’s most +famous statesmen, but for the excellence of her character and the Christian +spirit of her retired career, that made her life one long, continuous deed of +goodness. If ever an angel walked on earth administering to the sorrows +and sickness of those about her, that angel was Mrs. Sherman. Inheriting +much of her great father’s fine intellect, she added a heart full to overflowing +with the sweetest sympathy for affliction in others. Self-sacrifice was +to her a second nature. She not only carried in patient humility the cares +imposed upon her by our Saviour, but cheerfully took up the woful burdens +of those whose failing spirits left them fainting on their way. Her +exalted social position was no bar to the poor, downtrodden, and oppressed. +Her hand like her heart was ever open.</p> +<p>The heroism of private life is little noted among us. Acting out great +deeds of self-sacrifice in the silent, unseen walks of domestic existence, it +lacks the sustaining plaudits of a thoughtless public, and has no incentive +to effort other than that found in the conscious presence of an approving +God, and no hope of recompense beyond the promised approval of the +hereafter when our heavenly Father shall say, “Well done, thou good +and faithful servant.”</p> +<p>No man, however exalted his position may be, or distinguished his services, +is ever followed to his tomb by more real mourners than one carriage +can convey. The crape-canopied hearse, the nodding plumes of woe, the +wailing music of the hired bands, the long procession of slow-moving coaches, +the tramp of hundreds, tell only of human vanity: we make our show of +sorrow. One vehicle only holds hearts breaking in an agony of grief—hearts +that know nothing in their woe of the dear one’s greatness; know +only that he has gone from their household that his presence had made so +happy. In his death the dear walls of that home were shattered, the fire +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +upon the hearth is dead, and the hard world darkened down to desolation’s +nakedness. Could all who were favored in knowing this beautiful character, +and blessed by her very presence, been called to form the funeral +cortege, real heart-felt grief would have lived along the entire procession, +and sobs, not strains of mournful music, would have broken on the ear. +And in this procession would have been found not only the rich and well-born, +clad in costly silks and furs, who had received from this gracious lady +the divine influences of the Christian spirit, but the thinly clad poor, the +dependent orphans, and helpless age. It is such a procession that does not +disperse and disappear at the cemetery, but follows in prayer the mourned-for +spirit to its home in heaven.</p> +<p>It is not for us to invade the sacred privacy of this lovely life. We owe +an apology to her blessed memory for even this mention of her name. We +know how she shrank from such while among us, and it is only as a +duty to the living that we venture on this tribute to her excellence.</p> +<p>What we feel, and what must be felt by all, a pagan poet imbued +unknowingly with the truest Christian impulses has sung in immortal +verse:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><span class='indent26'> </span>“But thou art fled,<br /> +Like some frail exhalation which the dawn<br /> +Robes in its golden beams;—ah, thou hast fled!<br /> +The brave, the gentle, and the beautiful,<br /> +The child of grace and genius! Heartless things<br /> +Are done and said i’ the world, and many worms<br /> +And beasts and men live on, and mighty earth,<br /> +From sea and mountain, city and wilderness,<br /> +In vesper low or joyous orison,<br /> +Lifts still its solemn voice:—but thou art fled—<br /> +Thou canst no longer know or love the shapes<br /> +Of this phantasmal scene, who have to thee<br /> +Been purest ministers, who are, alas!<br /> +Now thou art not!<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent7'> </span>* * * * *<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent26'> </span>“Art and eloquence,<br /> +And all the shows of the world, are frail and vain<br /> +To weep a loss that turns their lights to shade.<br /> +It is a woe ‘too deep for tears’ when all<br /> +Is reft at once, when some surpassing Spirit,<br /> +Whose light adorned the world around it, leaves<br /> +Those who remain behind, not sobs nor groans,<br /> +The passionate tumult of a clinging hope,<br /> +But pale despair and cold tranquillity—<br /> +Nature’s vast frame, the web of human things,<br /> +Birth and the grave, that are not as they were.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>As a low, sweet echo to the music of those words, we add a tribute to the +memory of this noble woman from the gifted pen of Helen Grace Smith:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>Ah! Death hath passed us by—hath passed us near;<br /> +The swift, keen arrow cutting the light air,<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>And falling where she stood<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>In perfect motherhood,<br /> +With silver crown of years upon her hair.<br /> +<br /> +The many years—the glorious full years,<br /> +All shining with her charity and truth—<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>How tenderly we trace<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Their silent work of grace,<br /> +Fulfilling the sweet promise of her youth!<br /> +<br /> +A life complete, yet lived not all in sun,<br /> +But following sometimes through shadowed ways,<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Where sorrow and distress<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Cried loud that she might bless<br /> +With her pure light the darkness of their days.<br /> +<br /> +Resplendent mission, beautiful as his<br /> +Who fought for her in fighting for his land—<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Who heard the loud acclaim<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>That gave his honored name<br /> +To live wherever deeds of heroes stand.<br /> +<br /> +And she, the wife, the mother—ah! her tears<br /> +Fell for the wounded sufferers and the dead—<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Fell for the poor bereaved,<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>The helpless ones who grieved<br /> +Where ruin and despair lay thickly spread.<br /> +<br /> +Now peace—God’s peace—is brooding o’er the land,<br /> +And peacefully she sleeps, her life-work done.<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>We would not break that sleep,<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>That rest so calm, so deep,<br /> +That sweet reward by faithful service won.<br /> +<br /> +Only we kneel, as often she hath knelt,<br /> +Where Heaven’s love lights up the quiet aisle,<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>And, praying as she prayed,<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Our sorrow is allayed—<br /> +Our grieving changed to gladness in God’s smile.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +<a name='THE_PASSING_SHOW' id='THE_PASSING_SHOW'></a> +<h2><i>THE PASSING SHOW.</i></h2> +</div> +<p>The political season is over, and popular fancy lightly turns to thoughts +of the drama. New York’s gay winter festivities are opening, and the +theatres are nightly crowded with appreciative audiences. It would be +strange indeed if, with upwards of twenty-five comfortable resorts for +popular amusement in the metropolis, and a weekly change of attractions +drawn from the best American and European sources, the most fastidious +taste should fail to be pleased.</p> +<p>Probably the most successful of this year’s dramatic ventures is “The +Yeomen of the Guard” at the Casino. The managers of that theatre have +been wise to replace their variety-shows with this excellent comic opera. +It steadily holds its own in spite of the critics, and after a three-months’ +run continues as popular as ever. Mr. Aronson says it may remain at the +Casino until the end of April. Gilbert and Sullivan’s productions are +always new, always attractive. Each has a character of its own, yet no +one could fail to detect the humor of Gilbert and the merry melodies of +Sullivan in them all. If one may venture to compare their beauties, we +should say that “Pinafore” excelled in vivacity—that peculiar sprightliness +which the French call <i>verve</i>; “The Pirates” in humor; “Patience” and +“Iolanthe” in satire—the one of a social craze, the other of political +flunkeyism; and “The Yeomen of the Guard” in quaintness. The patter +songs of the first are lacking in the last, hence its airs are not so dinned +into one’s ears by the whistling youth of every street-corner, but the music +is of a distinctly higher order. It is unfortunate that there is no change +of scenery between the two acts. The dingy background of the Tower is +not relieved by brilliance of costume, and the eye of the ordinary theatre-goer, +accustomed to look for altered scenic effects, is disappointed at the +repetition, only relieved by moonlight in the second act.</p> +<p>Some of the incidents of the play resemble “Don Cæsar de Bazan,” and +are similarly worked out. Colonel Fairfax, imprisoned as a sorcerer, +marries a young ballad-singer, who receives a hundred crowns, with the +assurance that within an hour she will be a widow through her husband’s +execution. He escapes, and is disguised as one of the Yeomen of the Guard, +with whom, in spite of her vows, the young girl falls in love. A pardon +for Fairfax arrives, his identity is established, the singer learns that the +man she loves is already her husband, and all ends happily. In this transmutation +of character, from the imprisoned sorcerer to one of the prison-keepers, +we recognize the topsyturvydom of Gilbert, which is the distinguishing +mark of his genius, from the Bab Ballads all through his later +productions. In catchwords the present opera is lacking, and in the puns +which never failed to draw out the “ohs” of the audience. But there is +the same genial undercurrent of innocent humor which for years has +amused the whole English-speaking public, and for which Mr. Gilbert +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +deserves the lasting gratitude of a world too much given to life-sadness +and mental worry. If “a merry heart doeth good like a medicine,” it is +safe to say that the prescriptions of this most ingenious dramatic author +have effected more widespread good than those of the most celebrated +followers of Æsculapius.</p> +<p>It is especially to its music that the operetta owes its success. In this +production Sullivan has excelled his former efforts. The first chorus is +very fine, and in orchestration Sir Arthur shows himself to be without a +rival. Its pure melodies form a valuable addition to English music, and +mark the growth of a new school of which he is the leader. The influence +of Wagner is clearly seen in some of its majestic marches, but the English +composer escapes the metaphysical and unintelligible harmonies of the +German school. Sir Arthur has evidently aimed at producing a more +classical composition than any of his previous works, and he has done this +perhaps at some slight sacrifice of immediate popularity. The jingle of +“Pinafore” and “The Pirates” is replaced by a more sober style, which is +likely to produce a lasting impression on English music.</p> +<p>Mary Anderson captured the town, as usual, on her return from England +early in November. Palmer’s theatre was so crowded that it was difficult +to get a seat even four weeks in advance, and the audiences were so enthusiastic +that their enthusiasm constituted quite an interruption to the play. +She chose “The Winter’s Tale” as her opening piece, taking the parts both +of Hermione the queen and of her daughter Perdita. Miss Anderson is +the first actress who has ever dared to so interpret the play. She tried it +at the London Lyceum, to the horror of the critics, but it proved a great +success. The resemblance between Hermione and her daughter, which +Shakespeare insists on so strongly, gave Miss Anderson the idea of trying +both parts. This plan had the additional advantage, that the leading lady +is not suppressed by being cut out of the act in which Hermione does not +appear. Her studies abroad have undoubtedly improved “Our Mary.” +The coldness and statuesqueness with which she has been reproached could +not now be discovered by the most adverse critic. She is more womanly, +softer, less angular, and more graceful. The programme at Palmer’s +should have been varied so as to give the public opportunity to see her in +the old <i>rôles</i> that used to charm all beholders. One must not forget the +exquisite scenery with which this piece has been set. It was used at the +Lyceum, and, although it has been considerably cut down to fit the smaller +stage of Palmer’s theatre, it is one of the best settings ever seen in this +country.</p> +<p>Edwin Booth and Lawrence Barrett have been doing fairly with their +Shakespearean revivals at the Fifth Avenue. There is no truth in the +report that any difference has occurred between them. They will appear +together at the Broadway Theatre next season, with better support, it is to +be hoped, than they have recently had. Miss Mina Gale, who plays the +leading female parts, however, is a promising young actress.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span></div> +<p>Agnes Booth has scored a great triumph as Mrs. Seabrook in “Captain +Swift” at the Madison Square. For painstaking attention to detail, nicety +of intonation, and powerful expression, Agnes Booth is in the front rank of +leading ladies. We have seen her in many society dramas, and in each she +has shown a charming appreciation of all the requirements. At the Madison +Square, with its cosey stage, the visitor forgets that he is one of the audience, +and feels almost like an intruder upon a scene in a private drawing-room. +The situations in “Captain Swift” are striking. The hero, an +illegitimate son of Mrs. Seabrook, goes away in his youth to Australia, +cracks a bank, and returns after many years, unconsciously to become a +rival to the legitimate son for the affections of his cousin. The mother +discovers his identity, and discloses it to him in order to prevent the ill-starred +marriage. The mingled expression of shame, suffering, and maternal +love in Agnes Booth’s face during this scene is one not soon to be +forgotten. The audience remains spellbound for a moment, then a burst +of enthusiastic applause crowns her effort. In the original play, as written +by Mr. Haddon Chambers, the hero, being followed by an Australian detective, +commits suicide. As altered for the American stage—by Mr. Boucicault, +it is said,—Captain Swift, to relieve the Seabrook family from embarrassment, +gives himself up to the officers of justice. In either case the +<i>morale</i> of the play—the portrayal of an absconding bank-burglar and horse-thief +as polished, brave, generous, gentle—is to be regretted, as every +apotheosis of vice should be. Mr. Barrymore, as Captain Swift, exhibits +some capital acting, and Annie Russell makes a very graceful Mabel +Seabrook.</p> +<p>Mrs. Burnett’s dramatization of her well-known story, “Little Lord +Fauntleroy,” is attracting large crowds at the Broadway Theatre. It is +peculiar in that it depends entirely for its success on the acting of a child, +or rather children, Elsie Leslie and Tommy Russell alternating in the title +<i>rôle</i>. This arrangement has been adopted because the part is so long that +it would be too fatiguing for a young child to play it night after night. Both +the children show a delightful unconsciousness in the recitation of their +lines, but Tommy’s natural boyishness fits the character rather better than +Elsie’s assumed character, although her gracefulness charms the audience. +The motive of the play, as in the story, is the love of a boy for his mother; +and this makes it a great attraction for the ladies.</p> +<p>A pretty play is “Sweet Lavender” at the Lyceum. Its plot is simple. +A young lawyer falls in love with his housekeeper’s gentle little daughter, +but family pride prevents their union until, by the opportune failure of a +bank, his fortunes are reduced to a level with hers. Its clever details and +quiet humor make it well worth seeing. Pinero, the author, is a playwright +skilled in the mechanical arrangement of his situations, and everything +runs smoothly. Miss Louise Dillon as Lavender, fits the part exactly.</p> +<p>Thompson and Ryer’s play of “The Two Sisters” at Niblo’s made many +friends, in spite of its somewhat threadbare theme. There was the typical +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +dissolute young man who seduces one of the sisters, and the benevolent +hotel-keeper who befriends and marries the other. The villain murders +his father, is arrested, and dies, while the betrayed girl is given a home by +her sister’s husband. Some good singing is scattered throughout the play.</p> +<p>A similar drama, full of love and murder, was “The Fugitive,” by Tom +Craven, which had a very brief run at the Windsor.</p> +<p>Vivacious Nelly Farren and the London Gaiety Company, which recently +held the boards of the Standard Theatre in “Monte Christo, jr.,” gave New +Yorkers an enlivening taste of English burlesque. The play is nothing, +the dancing everything.</p> +<p>The German opera season is well under way. The Metropolitan Opera +House opened with “The Huguenots,” which was followed by “William +Tell” and “Fidelio.” Herr Anton Seidl, with his unrivalled orchestra, +makes these productions of the great German and Italian composers a +yearly treat to lovers of music, which is looked forward to with eagerness +and parted from with regret.</p> +<p>“The Old Homestead” holds its own at the Academy of Music; the +“Brass Monkey” at the Bijou has had a longer run than it deserves; +Clara Morris has been appearing in Brooklyn; Louis James and Marie +Wainwright are beginning their New York engagement. “She” was +pronounced a great success in Boston, over $1600 being taken in at one +performance. Mr. Boucicault is conducting his Madison Square theatre-school +of acting with patience and confidence, although the results thus +far are not very promising. Of the eighty pupils, the men are awkward +and the women lack talent. However, as Mr. Boucicault said, if but +three or even one out of the eighty should come to dramatic eminence, it +would be well worth all the trouble.</p> +<p>Our German fellow-citizens are to be congratulated on the opening of +Mr. Amberg’s new theatre in Fifteenth Street. The location is central, the +house is well built, the company good, and the repertory includes drama, +comedy, farce, and comic opera.</p> +<p>There have not been many dramatic events abroad this season. The +new Shaftesbury Theatre in London is possessed of such a wonderful fire-proof +curtain that a few weeks ago the audience had to be dismissed +because they could not raise it. “Captain Swift” proved a great success, +financially, at the Haymarket, and “Nadjy” is attracting crowds at the +Avenue Theatre. At Terry’s, “Dream Faces,” a one-act play, and “The +Policeman,” a three-act farce, had good houses. Grace Hawthorne has +just had to pay a hundred pounds to the owners of some lions. She was +seeking to produce an English version of “Theodora,” and engaged a den +of lions twelve months in advance of the time she wanted them. She +demurred to paying for the animals that she had not used, but the case +went against her. On the Continent there is not much doing. P. A. +Morin, the dean of Holland’s dramatists and actors, recently celebrated +the fiftieth anniversary of his first appearance, his golden jubilee, at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +Amsterdam. It is announced that Patti will sing in “Romeo and Juliet,” +at the Grand Opera House, Paris, giving three performances for one thousand +dollars each.</p> +<p>More attention than usual is being paid just now to the development of +musical taste on both sides of the water. Mr. Walter Damrosch has been +lecturing in New York on Symphony. The Liederkranz and the Symphony +Society have been giving enjoyable concerts; and Herr Moriz Rosenthal, +the pianist, has met with a success that has only been rivalled in late years +by Joseffy.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='REVIEWS' id='REVIEWS'></a> +<h2><i>REVIEWS.</i></h2> +</div> +<p>When the late George Butler, quite regardless of fact, and for the fun +of the thing, telegraphed from Long Branch to Dion Boucicault at New +York, that Billy Florence and Jack Raymond had been saved from a watery +grave by a huge Newfoundland, Boucicault responded, “God is good to +the Irish.” This sentence, so often quoted, passed, without its point, +among the masses. What Dion caught on the nib of his pen and wired +to the world was the fact that these two famous comedians, with their +English names, were Irish by birth, instincts, and blunders. The people +that present to the earth the only race that has wit for its national trait +never had two more striking illustrations of the fact than in these stage +delineators of genius. Raymond is in his grave, and the inevitable dust of +forgetfulness is gathering upon his tomb. But Florence, so kindly known +throughout the land as Billy Florence, is yet alive, and very much alive. +The evidence of this fact is before us in a book entitled <i>Florence Fables</i> +(Belford, Clarke & Co.). Those so-called fables are not fables, but fiction +without morals, but full of interest, which is much better, and come to +the reader <a name='TC_6'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'in'">in the</span> shape of love-stories, odd adventures, and strange incidents +at home and in foreign lands.</p> +<p>The book is sure of a wide sale, for the multitudes that have seen +Florence in his merry performances, and learned to love as well as enjoy +this finished comedian behind the footlights, will be curious to learn how +he appears as an author. But they “who come to scoff” will hold on to +enjoy. The name is enough to attract; the book itself is sufficiently charming +to entrance the reader.</p> +<p>In the last issue of <span class='smcap'>Belford’s</span> we gave a specimen of the humor: to find +the pathos and the true love the reader must consult the volume.</p> +<p class='padtop'><cite>Divided Lives</cite>, a novel, by Edgar Fawcett (Belford, Clarke & Co.).—There +is no more charming writer of English fiction than Edgar Fawcett, +and the volume before us is one of his best. He builds upon the English +method, animated by the French motive, and deepens the shallow affection +of the first to the unfathomable depths of human passion to be found in +the last. His dramatic ability holds one to the interest of his book whether +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +it has plot or not. Of course he has his faults. His characters are known +to us mostly by name, labelled, as it were, and he will at any time sacrifice +one or a dozen to work up a dramatic effect. Then he has affectations, +not precisely of style, but of phraseology, that irritate; and he cannot resist +putting smart speeches into the mouths of everybody. Here is an example:</p> +<p>“Indeed, no,” Angela replied, “there never was a more devoted friend +than Alva is. To leave her charming home, and all her gay town life, for +weeks, just that she may be near me! It is something to vibrate through +one’s entire lifetime.”</p> +<p>This is said by a little girl to her lover, and the lover responds:</p> +<p>“It teaches me a lesson. What is easier than to misjudge our fellow-creatures, +and how wantonly we’re forever doing it! We are all like a lot +of mountebanks behind an illuminated sheet. The uncouth shadows we +cast there are the world’s misrepresentation of us.”</p> +<p>As these young people were desperately in love with each other, but then +just engaged, this sort of talk, however clever, is as much out of place and +jarring on one as would be the murder scene from Macbeth.</p> +<p>Edgar Fawcett is given to a delineation of social life in New York. This +is a wide and varied field, and the author makes it intensely interesting. +We have called attention, however, to the fact that he is not altogether +correct. The English motive, of turning the interest upon social caste, is +not true when applied to our mixed condition. We have no aristocratic +class, as recognized in England; and the assumption of such in real life is +too ludicrous and unreal for the purpose of the novelist. Mere wealth without +culture, and culture without wealth, contend in a mixed condition with +each other, without supplying the interest to be found in earnest endeavor +to overcome unjust distinctions and power. When Mr. Fawcett does deal +with a class he is not always just. In his <i>Miriam Balestier</i>, published in +the November number of <span class='smcap'>Belford’s</span>, by far the most artistically beautiful +work from the pen of our author, he by implication attacks an entire +profession that has held through generations not only the admiration but +love of the public. There is absolutely nothing in the vocation of an actor +that either degrades or demoralizes. On the contrary, there is much to +elevate and refine—the work sustained by art found in painting and +music, the thought and feelings of the poets; and while this is meant to +amuse, the stage has been the most potent factor in not only furthering +civilization and culture in the masses, but awaking in the hearts of the +many the loftiest patriotism known to humanity. It has awakened a +deeper feeling for the home, a firmer trust in the law of right, and a +stronger faith in virtue than aught else of human origin. That taints, +stains, and abuses have attached is no fault of the drama. One could +as well attack the bar or the pulpit because a few unworthy members +have disgraced themselves, as to hold the stage responsible for the recognized +evils that have fastened themselves to a part. That we have senseless +burlesques and lascivious exhibits of nakedness at a majority of our +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +theatres is the fault of the patrons, not the stage. The manager, like +any other dealer in commercial wares, caters to the taste of his customers, +and the stage is no more responsible for their productions than the street +is for the wretched street-walker.</p> +<p>So long as citizens take their wives and children to witness the shameless +productions, so long will the managers produce them, and when remonstrated +with, shrug their shoulders, and ask, “Well, what would you?” +The pulpit denounces the drama, but leaves untouched their congregations +in their patronage of its abuse. The great city of New York, for +example, lately entertained a convocation of Protestant clergymen, met to +consider the sad fact that they were preaching to empty churches, and to +devise means through which to awaken the religious conscience of the +multitude. They went to their meetings along streets where every other +house was a saloon, where the beastly American practice of “treating” +makes each a door to ruin; and they passed corners where the walls were +aflame with pictured advertisements of naked legs, bare bosoms, and faces +fairly enamelled with sin. One reads their debates with amazement. +Their clerical minds were troubled with what? The doings of “papists,” +as Catholics were designated.</p> +<p>Our pen has carried us from our author. Of course Mr. Fawcett will +say—and say with truth—that his strictures were aimed at the abuse +and not the legitimate use of the drama. But his fault was that he +does not make this clear, and by intimation he leaves himself open to +the charge.</p> +<p>Aside from this, his work is a work of genius; and his story of the +little girl who struggled with such vain endeavor against her environment +will live among the noblest productions of fiction given us.</p> +<p class='padtop'><cite>The Professor’s Sister</cite>, by Julian Hawthorne (Belford, Clarke & Co.).—This +is the most successful work of a successful novelist, and holds the +reader entranced from the first page till nearly the last. We say reader, +but not all readers. Mr. Hawthorne is as peculiar in his work as his eminent +father was, with a more select audience. He is at home in the wild, +weird production of humanity, touched and marked by a spiritualism that +is far above and beyond the average readers of romance. If it calls for +as much culture, in its way, to enjoy a work of art as its creation called +for in the artist, Mr. Hawthorne’s fictions demand the same tastes and +thought the author indulges in. The little girl who craves love-stories, or +the traveller upon the cars who picks up a book to lose in its pages the +wearisome sense of travel, will scarcely select the <i>Professor’s Sister</i>, and if +he or she does, will wonder what in the name of Heaven it is all about.</p> +<p>There is another class, however, that will read with avidity and interest +every page of this book, and this class grows wider in our midst every day. +One meets at every turn a man or woman who will tell, in a matter-of-fact +way generally, that is positively comical, of some experience he or she has +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +had with spooks. This, not the old-fashioned experience with ghosts. All +that has long since been relegated to the half-forgotten limbo of superstitious +things. One hears of communions with the dead, told off as one +would tell of any ordinary occurrence common to our daily life. This is +the natural reaction of the human mind against the scientific materialism +of the day, that seeks to poison and destroy all religious faith. Religion is +as necessary to health of mind as pure air is to that of body, and when +deprived of either, we struggle for loop-holes of light and breath with +instinctive desperation. Shut out the light of heaven from the soul, be it +in library or laboratory, and one sickens and resists.</p> +<p>Mr. Hawthorne wisely lays the scene of his story in Germany. The +rarefied condition of the German mind is recognized the world over, and +through the everlasting smoke of philosophers’ and students’ pipes one is +prepared for all sorts of fantastic shapes moving through the mist. The +author opens with a talk on occult subjects that sounds like voices heard in +a fog-bank. With the reader thus prepared, he plunges him into a drama +where substantial men and women mingle with spirits, and the strange +story does overcome us like a summer’s cloud, without our special wonder.</p> +<p>We have said the story holds one spellbound till near the end. The +<i>dénoûment</i> is not good. “Calling spirits from the vasty deep” is much +easier than disposing of them after they come. To give a satisfactory +explanation of the mystery, and to exorcise the spirit back to rest, make no +easy task, and Mr. Hawthorne is not to blame for finding it difficult.</p> +<p>We cannot drop the book without calling attention to the author’s happy +use of English, in depicting character. Here is a specimen:</p> +<p>“Madame Hertrugge was white, red, and black. Her skin was white, her +cheeks and lips red, her hair, eyes, and eyebrows black. Her mouth was +beautifully formed, and firm, with a firm chin. Her eyes were rather full, +imperious, and ardent. She was overflowing with vitality. The hand which +she extended to one in greeting was soft but strong, with long fingers. She +was dressed in black, as became her recent widowhood; but she had not the +air of mourning much. She was sensuous, voluptuous, but there was strength +behind the voluptuousness. You received from her a powerful impression of +sex. Every line of her, every movement, every look, was woman. And she +made you feel that she valued you just so far as you were man. You might +be as nearly Caliban as a man can be, but if you were a man she would consider +you. You might court her successfully with a horsewhip, but if she felt +the master in you, and were convinced that you were captivated by her, she +would accept you. It was ludicrous to think of the senile old merchant having +married such a creature. In fact, marriage, viewed in connection with this +woman, seemed an absurdity. There was nothing holy about her, nothing +reserved, nothing sacred. I don’t mean that she was not ladylike, as the +phrase is. She knew the society catechism, and practised it to a nicety, but +like a clever actress, rather than by instinct or sympathy. It was obvious that +she didn’t value respectability and propriety the snap of her white fingers, +save as a means to an end; and if she were in the company <a name='TC_7'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'of'">of one</span> whom she trusted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +intimately, she would laugh those popular virtues to scorn with her warm, +insolent breath. As it was, all the forms and ceremonies in the world could +not disguise her. Her very dress suggested rather than concealed what was +beneath it. She was a naked goddess—a pagan goddess—and there was no +help for it. She made you realize how powerless our nice institutions are in +the presence of a genuine, rank human temperament.</p> +<p>“And be it here observed that I am here writing of her as a temperament, +and nothing more. I knew nothing of her former life and experience. I had +no reason to think that her conduct has ever been less than unexceptionable. +But the facts about her were insignificant compared with her latent possibilities. +Circumstances might hitherto have been adverse to her development; but +opportunity—rosy, golden, audacious opportunity—was all she needed. She +certainly bore no signs of satiety; she had nothing of the <i>blasé</i> air. She was +thirsty for life, and she would appreciate every draught of it. She was impatient +to begin. And, contemplating her abounding, triumphant, delicious +well-being, it seemed as if she might maintain the high-tide of enjoyment +until she was a hundred. It really inclined one to paganism to look at her.”</p> +<p class='padtop'><cite>What Dreams May Come</cite>, by Frank Lin (Belford, Clarke & Co.).—This +is a cleverly constructed story of English life by an American pen, and the +average reader is kept in doubt as to the sex of the author. There is a +clear, incisive style of the masculine sort on one page that indicates the +man; there is a treatment of female wearing apparel on another that gives +proof of the feminine. With us there is one feature that solves the doubt. +The pages abound in convictions. Now the female mind, as a general +thing, is not given to doubt. When a woman believes anything she believes +it, and her faith is as firm as the solid rock. She stands “on hardpan,” +to use a phrase common to the Pacific slope. Although the book is +built on dreams, the theory of heredity it is written to promulgate is no +dream in the mind of this fair author. We have called attention to the +fact that the use of the novel to illustrate some doctrine, philosophical or +religious, is really an abuse. One takes up such form of fiction to be +amused, and one feels put upon and abused to find it an essay more or less +learned on life and things. If a little information can be injected in the +story unbeknownst, like the parson’s liquor told of by President Lincoln, +well and good; but it is rarely done successfully. If philosophy is indulged +in, one quickly detects the bald head and wrinkled brow; if it is religion, +the cloven hoof or wicked tail of Satan betrays the author.</p> +<p>When it was once proposed by a staff officer to drive an obnoxious guest +from headquarters by a liberal use of burnt brimstone, General Sherman +said, “That is high strategy in its way, but it is not war.” “When one +goes a turkey-hunting one does not care to be killed by bears,” said an old +hunter; and when a seeker after amusement, to be found in a love-story, +opens what purports to be a novel, it is shocking to find it a learned treatise +on some abstruse subject.</p> +<p>The book before us is another illustration of this defect. It opens with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +an exquisite picture of Constantinople a hundred years since. In this prologue +some wicked conduct is rather hinted at than told. After this the +story opens and moves on pleasantly enough, until the fact is developed +that the hero and heroine are reproductions of the sinful grandfather and +grandmother long since lost to the census-taker of the British empire. +What was evil in the ancestors is an innocent love in the descendants; and +the fair author exhibits considerable power by preserving the sanity of +her characters, to say nothing of that of the reader, in the complications +and situations that follow.</p> +<p>The book is of interest to us, not so much for what it accomplishes, as +the promise of better things. It exhibits all the qualities necessary to a +successful writer of fiction. There is a keen appreciation of character, a +love of nature, and a clear, incisive style that make a combination which +if properly directed insures success.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='THE_PASSING_OF_THE_YEAR' id='THE_PASSING_OF_THE_YEAR'></a> +<h2><i>THE PASSING OF THE YEAR.</i></h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>Like some triumphal Orient pageantry<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Beheld afar in slow and stately march,<br /> +Glittering with gold and crimson blazonry,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Till lost at length through many a dusky arch—<br /> +I saw the day’s last clustering spears of light<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Enter the cloudy portals of the night.<br /> +<br /> +The wind, whose brazen clarions had blown<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Imperious fanfarons before the sun<br /> +All the brief winter afternoon, died down,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>And in the hush of twilight, one by one,<br /> +Like maidens leaning from high balconies,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>The early stars looked forth with lustrous eyes.<br /> +<br /> +Then came the moon like a deserted queen,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>In blanchèd weed and pensive loneliness;<br /> +Not as she rises in midsummer green,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Hailed by a festal world in gala dress,<br /> +With thin sweet incense swung from buds and leaves,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>And strident minstrelsy of August eves;<br /> +<br /> +But treading in cold calm the frozen plain,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>With bare white feet and argent torch aloft,<br /> +Unheralded through all her drear domain,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Save where the cricket sang in sheltered croft,<br /> +And, faintly heard in fitful monotone,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>A solitary owl made shuddering moan.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p class='author'><span class='smcap'>Charles Lotin Hildreth</span>.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +<a name='THE_LIONS_SHARE' id='THE_LIONS_SHARE'></a> +<h2>THE LION’S SHARE.</h2> +</div> +<p class='center'><span class='smcap'>By Mrs. Clark Waring</span>.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER I.<br /> +<span style='font-size:0.9em;'>SUKEY IN THE MEADOW.</span></h3> +<p>“Where’s that cow?”</p> +<p>The speaker was old Farmer Creecy. He was coming up the back steps, +and his words were addressed to his wife, who was manipulating an archaic +churn on the back porch.</p> +<p>“What cow?” sharply retorted Mrs. Creecy, startled out of all knowledge +of four-footed beasts by the unexpectedness of the question.</p> +<p>“<i>What cow!</i> Look here, now, Alvirey, have you got any sense at all? +How many cows have we got? Can’t you count that far? Don’t you know +how many?”</p> +<p>Alvirey did. Looking like a sheep being led to the slaughter, and feeling +worse than two sheep under such circumstances, she hung her head low, +and answered, meekly:</p> +<p>“One cow.”</p> +<p>“Then I ask you, again, where is that cow?”</p> +<p>“And why do you ask me that, Jacob Creecy? You know as well as I +do where she is. She’s down in the meadow.”</p> +<p>“And where’s Mell?”</p> +<p>“Down there, too. They ain’t nobody else to keep Sukey out the corn.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t, hey? Ha! ha! ha! That’s all you know about it! Where does +you keep your senses, anyhow, Alvirey? Out o’ doors? Because, I ain’t +never had the good luck to find any of ’em at home, yet, as often as I’ve +called! This very minute there’s somebody else down in the meadow long +side o’ Mell.”</p> +<p>“Why, who, Jacob? Who can it be?”</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t guess in a month o’ Sundays, Alvirey. Not you! +Guessing to the point ain’t in your line. It’s that chap what’s staying +over at the Guv’ner’s, who looks like he had the title-deeds of the American +continent stuffed loose in his vest-pocket.”</p> +<p>“You don’t say so! Lor’! Jacob, what does he want down there with +Mell?”</p> +<p>“What does he want? If you had a single grain of sense, Alvirey, +you’d know without any telling. He wants to make a fool of her! That’s +what a man generally has in view when he runs after a woman. But, I am +a thinking, that chap won’t make no fool out of Mell, for Mell’s got a long +head, like her old daddy, and a tongue of learning to back it! Just you +keep on a saying nothing. You never missed getting things into a mess +yet, as I knows on, ’cept when you let ’em alone. I’ll shut down on him +right away, and then I’ll be <i>blarsted</i> if Mell can’t take care of herself! +Don’t be nowise uneasy, Alvirey. Mell takes after her old dad.”</p> +<p>Alvirey did not return immediately to her churning. She craned her +neck and got on her tiptoes, and gazed curiously after her husband as his +stout figure rolled heavily to the edge of the breezy woodland, and thence +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +beyond to the newly cleared grounds, and onward still to that narrow path +among the pines, whose turf-margined and daisy-dotted track was a covert +way to the meadow. Presently, through its mazy windings and the medium +of a hazy summer atmosphere, Mr. Creecy came in sight of a youthful +Jersey, sedately cropping some tender blades of grass on the enticing borderland +of a promising cornfield, and a young girl not far away seated on an +old stump in a shady nook under a clump of trees. Her costume consisted +principally of an airy muslin frock, nebulous in figure, and falling about +her in simple folds, and a white sun-bonnet, which was a bonnet and something +more—to be explicit, an artistic elaboration of tucks and puffs and +piled-on embroideries, beneath which peeped forth a face as prodigal of +blooming sweets as a basket heaped with spring flowers.</p> +<p>At her feet lounged in careless fashion a young man. He was lithe and +straight, and had that striking cast of countenance which catches the observant +eye on first sight. This look of distinction, which in him was as +marked in form as in feature, has been called, not inaptly, thoroughbredness. +A self-made man never has it. All that a man may do will not put +it upon himself, but his son possesses it as an heritage.</p> +<p>Looking upon such persons, we know intuitively that they have always +had the best of everything, beginning from their cradle, the best of <i>its</i> kind.</p> +<p>Not always strong, these thoroughbred faces are generally attractive. +The one before us possesses both strength and beauty. We may consider +it foremost among his first-rate advantages.</p> +<p>Seeing this huge monster of humanity bearing down upon them, slow-wabbling, +like a proboscidian mammal, fast-puffing, like a steam locomotive, +the young man lifted himself to a sitting posture, and without any suspicion +as to the true state of the case, remarked to his companion:</p> +<p>“Here comes a doughty old customer, upon my word! ‘What tempest, +I trow, threw this whale with so many tons of oil’——”</p> +<p>The young lady cleared her throat—she cleared it point-blankly.</p> +<p>“Excuse me, but, perhaps you do not know, that is—is—my father.”</p> +<p>Stammering forth these words, she at the same time turned very red in +the face.</p> +<p>This was slightly awkward, or would have been to another. As for this +young man, he did not mind a little thing like that.</p> +<p>“I did not know it,” he told the girl, unruffled; “I crave your pardon. +The fact is, it is an habitual failing of mine to make sport of fat people. +The lubberly clumsiness of a huge corporation of human flesh is to me so +irresistibly comic! My mother tells me a dreadful day of retribution is +coming—a day, wherein I shall be fifty and fat, and a fit subject for the +ridicule of others.”</p> +<p>“I cannot discern the foreshadows of such a day,” replied the girl, +glancing with unconscious approbation at the admirable outlines of a figure +whose proportions were well-nigh faultless. She fingered nervously at her +bonnet-strings, smiled a panic-stricken little smile, broke out into a cold +sweat of fearful expectation, and through all the horrors of the situation, +tried her best to emulate the young man’s inimitable air of cultured composure. +He got up at this juncture from the ground, not hastily, not awkwardly, +but in his own time and at his own pleasure, and standing there, +entirely at his ease, looked every inch the living exemplar of that expressive +little phrase—“don’t-care.”</p> +<p>Some persons object to being interrupted, he did not.</p> +<p>The girl stood up, too, but stood with such a difference! More and more +disconcerted she became with every passing second, so ashamed was she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +of her unsightly old father, in his blue cotton farm clothes, dirty and baggy, +and his red cotton handkerchief—no redder than his face—so ashamed, +and with such a sense of guilt in her shame! Truth to tell, the contrast +between the two men thus confronted, was almost startling; the bloated +ungainliness of the one, the sinewy shapeliness of the other; the misshapen +grotesqueness of the one, and the sculpturesque comeliness of the other. +It was a contrast painful to any intelligent observer, and for the poor girl +before us, about to introduce a lover of such mold to a father of such +aspect, it was like being put to the rack.</p> +<p>“Mr. Devonhough, father.”</p> +<p>“Mr. <i>Who?</i>” gasped a big voice, struggling out from smothered depths +of grossness.</p> +<p>“Mr. Devonhough,” repeated the daughter, looking all manner of ways, +“a friend of the Rutlands.”</p> +<p>“How does ye, Mr. Deviloh?” inquired the old farmer, in his exceedingly +countrified, agonizingly familiar manner; extending a big, rough, +red, and very filthy hand to be shaken by this exquisite sprig of refined gentility. +Mr. Devonhough, needless to mention, touched it as gingerly as if +it had been a glaringly wide awake and aggressively disposed Cobra de +Capello. He endured the ceremony in silence, however; about as much as +could be reasonably expected from one so superbly self-controlled.</p> +<p>“What will father do next?” wondered the perturbed young lady, in +burning suspense. What he did was to stare unmercifully into the young +man’s face, as if every separate feature was a distinct and incomprehensible +phenomenon, and, afterward, inspect him with due carefulness, and +at his very deliberate leisure, from the hat on his head to the shoes on his +feet.</p> +<p>Mr. Devonhough did not flinch. Some persons object to being stared +at; he did not. It is very foolish to mind such things. And besides, he +had eyes as well as this old Brobdingnagian, and knew how to use them +to quite as good a purpose. While the bellicose Creecy took in slowly the +outward manifestations of this bland young stranger, the young stranger +himself, in about two seconds and a half, had cross-examined every constituent +element in the old man’s body, and thoroughly analyzed even the +marrow in his bones.</p> +<p>We have intimated that the old man’s figure was bad; his face was a +dreadful climax to a bad figure, so marred it was by worry, so battered by +time, so travel-stained on life’s rough journey, so battle-scarred in life’s +hard strife. Behind this forbidding frontage, the old man kept in store a +good, sound heart; but what availed that to his present inquisitor? A +good, sound heart in an ugly body, is the last thing a young man looks for +in this world, or cares to find.</p> +<p>From the inspection of so much ugliness, Mr. Devonhough glanced towards +the daughter; it was merely a glance, for with a delicate sense of feeling, +he quickly looked away in an opposite direction. Flushed she was with +shame, ill at ease, ready to cry out with a bitter cry, accusingly towards +heaven, unspeakably humiliated; but, withal, a winsome lass, so fresh and +fair, so pretty. Such a father! Such a girl! In heaven’s name how do +such things come about?</p> +<p>Satisfied with his investigations, Mr. Creecy now remarked, quite +cheerfully:</p> +<p>“I s’pose, sir, you air a drover?”</p> +<p>“A drover? No, sir; as far as I am able to judge, I am not. More, I +cannot say, as I do not know what you mean.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span></div> +<p>“Den I reckin, sir, you air er furiner inter the bargin.”</p> +<p>“No, sir; not a foreigner either, though I was educated abroad—partly.”</p> +<p>“Dat’s it,” ejaculated the old man, triumphantly. “Eddicashun is the +thing what plays the Ole Harry wid the onderstan’in’. Dar is my little Mell, +dar, when she war er chit of er gal, an’ knowed nuthin’ ’bout the things +writ down in books, she war er mighty smart gal. She had a onderstan’in’ +of plain English, mity near es good es mine, an’ she could keep house, an’ +make butter, an’ look arter farm bizniss in gin’ral, not ter say nuthin’ ’bout +sowin’ her own cloes; an’ now, bless God! arter gittin’ er fine eddicashun, +she don’t know the diffrance ’tween er hoss an’ er mule, or er bull an’ er +heifer; an’ she’d no mo’ let yer ketch ’er wid er broom in her han’, or er +common word on her lips dan steal er chickin! Es fur es my experance +goes, nuthin’ spiles er gal like high schoolin’. I purt myself ter a heap er +trouble, young man, ter edicate my only darter, but I’d purt myself ter er +long site mo’, ter onedicate ’er, ef I know’d how!”</p> +<p>This speech amused Mr. Devonhough to such an extent that he reluctantly +displayed a set of very white teeth, and Mell’s rather strained gayety +found an agreeable echo in his <a name='TC_8'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'pleasant, sounding'">pleasant-sounding</span> laughter. Even the old +farmer’s features relaxed. He was “consid’ble hefted up” at the undisguised +effect of his own facetiousness.</p> +<p>“The reason I axed ef yer wuz er cattle dealer,” he proceeded, “is dis. +You ’pears ter be in the habit er comin’ hur every mornin’ ter see our fine +Jersey. She’s er regular beauty, ain’t she?”</p> +<p>“She is—worth coming to see; but since you press the point, I feel +called upon to disavow coming here for any such purpose.”</p> +<p>Here Mr. Devonhough turned his contemplative glance from the direction +of Suke’s charms, and fixed it mischievously upon Mell who, having +already, since the beginning of this interview, looked into the four quarters +of the globe, now dropped her eyes in search of the mysteries beneath +it.</p> +<p>“To be honest wid ye,” admitted old Creecy, “I didn’t ’low ye wuz +arter Suke, ezzactly, but I sorter reckin’d ef yer’d come ter see Mell, it’s +the front do’ yer’d er knockt at, es I ust ter do when I went er courtin’ my +gal—Mell’s mammy—an’ had it out comferterble in the parler. We has er +very nice home up dar on the hill, with er whole lot er fine furnisher in +the front room, which Mell never rested ’till I went in debt ter buy. Now +its mos’ paid fur, an’ I kinder ’low Mell ’ud be glad ter see yer mos’ enny +time.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” responded Mr. Devonhough, with frigidity.</p> +<p>“He mought go now, Mell, ef yer’d ax him.”</p> +<p>“Not to-day, thank you,” turning to Mell, with more graciousness of +manner. “In fact, I have not yet breakfasted;” and he abruptly bowed +adieu, and made his escape.</p> +<p>He was quite out of sight before father or daughter addressed a word to +each other. At length the old farmer demanded roughly of the girl +“What in the tarnation she wuz er blubberin’ erbout?”</p> +<p>“What, indeed!” sobbed Mell, in a frenzy of passion, and with eyes of +storm. “I have good cause to cry. What else can I do? I can’t say +<i>Damn!</i>”</p> +<p>“Can’t yer? Why not? ’Tain’t the cuss what’s so bad; it’s the feelin’. +Ef the devil’s in yer, turn him out, I say. I ain’t no advercate er bad language, +but ef er man feels like cussin’ all the time, he mought as well cuss! +Dat’s my opinion. An’ ef it will help yer to cool down er bit, my darter, +I’ll express them sentiments, which ain’t too bad for a young lady ter feel, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +but only to utter. So here goes—but remember, Lord! ’tain’t me, it’s Mell—damn! +damn! damn! Sich er koncited, stiff-starched, buckram-backed, +puppified popinjay, as this Mr. Devil—”</p> +<p>“Hush your mouth,” screamed the daughter, beside herself with rage; +“I don’t want <i>him</i> damned!”</p> +<p>“You don’t! Then who?”</p> +<p>Mell, wrought up to the highest pitch of exasperation, made no reply +beyond looking daggers and gnashing her teeth.</p> +<p>“Not your old dad, Mell?”</p> +<p>“No, father; I don’t want you damned either. But what did you come +down here for? What did you call him a cattle dealer for? What did you +talk about such horrid, nasty, disgusting things, for? Oh! I am mortified +almost to death.”</p> +<p>“I sorter reckon’d yer’d hate it worser’n pisen,” chuckled the old farmer; +“but er good dose of pisen is jess what some folks needs bad. Come, +come, Mell, hold your horses! It’s your eddicashun what’s er botherin’ of +yer!”</p> +<p>“I wish to God I had no education!” exclaimed Mell, passionately. +“It’s turned out to be the worst thing I ever did do, to get an education! +It has made me unhappy ever since I came home and found things so different +from what they ought to be. How poor and mean a home it is! +How lowly its surroundings, how rude its ways and how I am degraded +and fettered and hampered and looked down upon for things beyond my +control!”</p> +<p>“I knows—I knows”—answered her old father, with that suspicious +thrill-in-the-voice of a subjugated parent. “It’s yo’ ignerront ole daddy +an’ yo’ hard-workin’ ole mammy what’s er hamperin’ ye! We ain’t got no +loving little Mell, no longer, to say, Popsy and Mamsy, so cute, but only er +fine young miss, who minces out ‘father’ and ‘mother’ so gran’, an’ can’t +hardly abide us, the mammy what bare her, and the daddy what give her +bein’. I knows. Ef it warnt fer us, ye’d be the ekill of the finess’ +lady in the lan’, wouldn’t ye, Mell? Wall, ye kin be, my darter, in spite o’ +us, ef you play yo’ kerds rite. You’se got es big er forshun es Miss Rutlan’—bigger, +I believe. Hern’s in her pockit, yourn’s in yo’ phiz. But, +arter all, a gal’s purty face don’t ’mount ter mor’n one row er pins, ef she +ain’t got no brains to hope it erlong. Play yo’ purty face, Mell; play her +heavy, but back her strong wid gumshun! Then you’ll git ter be er gran’ +lady o’ fashion, in spite o’ yer ugly ole dad an’ common ole mammy. +Now, I wants ye ter tell me somethin’ ’bout dat young jackanapes. What’s +his bizniss? What is he?”</p> +<p>“A perfect gentleman!”</p> +<p>“Sartingly—sartingly. I seed dat, as soon es I sot my eyes on ’im, but +what sorter man? My ole dad ust ter say, ’one fust-rate man could knock +inter blue blazes er whole cart load er gentlemin’. I’ll tell yer fer er fack, +er gentlemin ain’t nothin’ nohow, but er man wid his dirty spots whitewasht. +But what air the import er this one’s intentions respectin’ of ye?”</p> +<p>Whatever her ideas on this point, the girl was too modest to express +them.</p> +<p>“Wall, maybe you kin tell me the dispersition of your own min’ regardin’ +him?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I can do that,” she replied with alacrity. “Make up your mind +to it. I’m going marry him just as soon as he asks me. And the sooner +the better!”</p> +<p>“Exactly! But when is he gwine ter?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></div> +<p>“How do I know, father?”</p> +<p>“I kin tell ye, Mell. <i>Never!</i>”</p> +<p>“You don’t know one thing about it—not a thing!”</p> +<p>“Sartingly not! It’s the young uns these days what knows everything, +an’ the ole ones what dont know nuthin’. But yo’ ole dad knows what he’s +talkin’ ’bout. The likes o’ him will never marry any gal who puts herself +on footin’ wid er cow. Does yer reckin Miss Rutlan’ would excep’ his visits +in er cornfiel’, and let him make so free?”</p> +<p>“It only happened so, father.”</p> +<p>“Hump! It’s happen’d so er good many times, es I happen ter know. +Happenin’ things don’t come roun’ so reg’ler, Mell. See hur, my gal, ’tain’t +no use argufyin’ wid me on the subjec’. I ain’t got nary objecshun ergin +yo’ marryin’ the young man; provided—now listen, Mell!—<i>provided you +kin git him</i>. He’s es purty es er grayhoun’, an’ I reckin has es much intellergence, +but insted ef lettin’ him make a fool er you, es he’s now tryin’ ter +do, turn the tables, Mell. The biggest fool on top o’ this airth is the woman +who wants ter git married; the next biggest fool is the man in er hurry +ter git er wife! One mo’ word, Mell, an’ I’ll go my way, an’ you kin go +yourn. Ain’t gwine ter mortify you no mo’. Remember, what I say: thar’s +only one thing you dassent do wid er fine gentlemin—<i>trus’ him!</i> Don’t +trus’ him, Mell; don’t trus’ him! My chile, the good Lord ain’t denied ye +brains, use ’em! Here ends the chapter on Devilho—”</p> +<p>Turning off abruptly, Mr. Creecy puffed sturdily up the hill, leaving his +daughter deep in the sulks, but with much solid food for reflection.</p> +<p>Her eyes followed him sullenly. He was but one remove from—a +darkey. Never had he appeared so irredeemably ugly, awkward and +illiterate; never acted so altogether and exasperatingly vulgar, horrid and +abominable, and yet she pondered deeply on his words. Their effect upon +her surprised even herself. Can an unschooled man be wise? Ah, Mell! +wisdom is not curbed by rhetoric, nor ruled by grammar. The <i>respicere +finem</i> of the unlettered appears oftentimes to be <i>jure divino</i>.</p> +<p>After a while Mell wiped away the very last tear of agonized pride, +which hung like a dewdrop on her long curling lashes. The gall and wormwood +of her present feelings were somewhat abated. She knew what she +was going to do.</p> +<p>“I’ll get out of this!” exclaimed Mell, speaking to herself in particular, +and into space at large. “Get out of it, the very first chance.”</p> +<p>Get out of what, Mell? This humdrum life of little cares and big trials? +this uncongenial association with an overworked and sickly old mother +(once as pretty as yourself, Mell) and an ill-favored, ill-mannered and +illiterate old father?</p> +<p>Is that what Mell intends to get out of?</p> +<p>Yes, and she means to do it in the easiest possible way, according to her +own conception of the matter. Other girls may find it necessary to work +their way, by a long and tedious process, out of disagreeable surroundings, +but she will do it with one brilliant master-stroke—<i>coûte qu’il coûte</i>.</p> +<p>Put a placard on pretty Mell; proclaim her in the market place; hawk +the news upon the street corners; inscribe it on the pages of the great +Book up yonder!</p> +<p>To unite her destinies with some being—not divinely, blessing and being +blessed—not vitally, loving and being loved; not necessarily a being affectionately +responsive and, therefore, fitted to become the sharer of her joy +and the assuager of her grief, but simply some being of masculine endowment +serving in the capacity of a latch-key, through whose instrumentality +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +she can gain admission into the higher worldly courts, for whose untasted +delights her whole nature panted, is henceforth, until accomplished, the end +and aim of Mellville Creecy’s existence.</p> +<p>Ho, there! all ye buyers, come this way!</p> +<p>Here’s a woman for sale!</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II.<br /> +<span style='font-size:0.9em;'>A MOTE IN THE EYE.</span></h3> +<p>In Pompeii, eighteen hundred years ago, people—a good many people, +were dreadfully afraid of dogs; so much so that many of the householders in +that famous old city put <i>Cave Canem</i> on their front-door-sills, as a friendly +piece of advice to all comers-in and goers-out. Just how their feelings +were affected towards the domestic cow, we are left to conjecture; but +now, after eighteen hundred years, and in less famous localities, people—a +good many people—are still afraid of dogs, and without a nice sense of discernment +in their fears, include cows, putting the two together as beasts +that want “discourse of reason.”</p> +<p>Now, this is unrighteous judgment; for even a cow should be looked at +fairly, even if she does show the cloven hoof. There are cows and cows, +as well as men and men. Suke, the young Jersey, would not toss her horns +at a butterfly, much less hurt a baby. She was sagacity itself, and granting +she did not know the buttered side of bread, which is likely, she did +know, to a moral certainty, where she got her grass and how.</p> +<p>Early the next morn, Suke began to low, and hoping to be heard by virtue +of insistence, kept it up until nightfall, by which time she had bellowed +herself hoarse. Suke could make nothing out of it, and no doubt dropped +to sleep, theorizing on the perversity of remote contingencies, and wondering +why it was that she had spent all the long hours of that breezy summer +day in the lot, and the companion of her outings in the house.</p> +<p>The late afternoon found Mell in dainty attire, seated on the front porch, +gazing wistfully in the direction of the Bigge House. He had not found +her in the meadow in the morning, perhaps, he would seek for her in the +little house on the hill, in the evening. It could not be that he had avoided +paying her any attention that could be noticed by others; she had sometimes +thought so, but then it could not be. She dismissed the idea; it +was too uncomplimentary to herself, and too defamatory towards him.</p> +<p>But the slow hours dragged on; he came not. Mell sat alone. At ten +o’clock she crept sadly into bed—into bed, but not into the profound +slumber of youth and a mind at ease. Far into the night, her unquiet +thoughts were yet heaving to and fro; advancing as restless billows of the +sea, retreating as vaporous cloud-mists in the sky. Her snow-white bed—a +feathered nest—erst so well suited to light-hearted repose, had changed its +flexible lines of comfort into rigid lines of care.</p> +<p>Dropping to sleep at last, Mell dreamed she had made the world all over, +from pole to pole, after a new model and on a modern plan, and having +fitted it up expressly for her own needs, found it ever so much pleasanter, +and a great improvement on the old.</p> +<p>It was upon the same old world, however, she opened her eyes the next +morning, and into one of its most worrying days, holding, indeed, more than +its share of disappointment and worry.</p> +<p>But when the third day was drawing to its weary close, and her longing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +heart longed still unsatisfied, existence had become a burden almost insupportable +to poor Mell. For the third time she donned her prettiest dress. +He <i>must</i> come to-day. Out again upon the little porch, with a book in her +hand, and trying to read, Mell was oppressed with a sense of extreme isolation, +a wasting famine of the heart, a parching thirst of the eye. In her +despairing loneliness, incapable of any other occupation, she scanned +eagerly every passer by; brooded deeply on many passing thoughts. This +lonely waiting, in a small waste corner of the great wide universe, for a girl +of Mell’s ambitious turn of mind, was, in truth, hard. It was lowest pauperism +to her panting spirit—panting to achieve not little things but great. +Humble strife in a little world, amid work-a-day environment, and among +everyday people, had no charms for Mell. Such living was, in a word, +unbearable.</p> +<p>And over there across that beauteous valley, in the enchanted halls of +the unattainable, life was a delightful series of interesting events, redolent +of delicate sentiments and sweet-smelling savors, spiced with novelty, +brimful of pleasure, amusing, absorbing, far-reaching, all-embracing; in +brief, a ceaseless symposium, purged of every ugly, common or narrow +element, as roseate and as captivating to the fancy, as hand-painted satin +framed in mosaic.</p> +<p>A boy walked up the garden path. The young lady seated on the porch, +saw him coming, and a feeling of exultation shot through all the blood in +her veins. The boy held a note in his hand, and Mell jumped into the +contents of that note, intellectually, in less than the millionth part of a +second. He could not stand it any longer; he was writing to know if he +might call, and when. She had a great mind to let him come this very +evening, though he did not deserve it; but then, do men ever deserve just +what they get, good and bad, at women’s hands?</p> +<p>“A note, ma’am,” said the boy. Mell took it in silence, opened it tremulously, +and read:</p> +<p>“Suke is unhappy. Me too. Don’t disappoint us to-morrow, and send +me a bit of a line, sweet lassie, to say that you will not. J. P. D.”</p> +<p>“The scribblings of a school-boy,” muttered Mell, inconceivably dashed.</p> +<p>“No answer,” she told the boy. When the messenger was beyond reach +of recall, she was sorry she had not replied to the note, or sent word, yes; +for, perhaps, it would be better to see him once more, have a plain talk, +and come to some understanding. The more she dwelt upon the matter, +the more certain she became that this was her best course; so upon the +morrow, the half-past five o’clock breakfast was hardly well over, when, with +alternate hope and fear measuring swords within her, she fled to the lot for +Suke. With one arm thrown affectionately around the Jersey’s neck, the +two proceeded most amicably to the meadow. There she waited an hour +nearly, before Jerome came; but he did come, eventually, wearing the loveliest +of shooting-jackets, with an English primrose in his buttonhole, radiantly +handsome, deliciously cool, and as much at his leisure as if it did +not make much difference to him whether he ever reached his destination +or not.</p> +<p>Thus Jerome—but what of Mell? Every medullary thread, every centripetal +and centrifugal filament in her entire body was excited over his coming. +She was flushed, and so hot and flurried, and had been waiting for +him, it seemed to her, twelve months at least, and it enraged her now to +see him sauntering so slowly toward her, just as if they had parted five +minutes ago. Poor Mell, after her experiences of the past three days, was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +in that condition of body when a trifle presses upon one’s nervous forces +with all the weight of a mountain. Irritated, she returned his good morning +coldly.</p> +<p>“Dear me, Mr. Devonhough! Is it really you? Why did you come? I +did not send you word I would be here.”</p> +<p>“No, you did not. Nevertheless, I knew you would.”</p> +<p>“Nevertheless, you knew nothing of the sort! How can you say that? +I had a strong notion not to come.”</p> +<p>Jerome made a gesture of incredulity.</p> +<p>“Oh, a notion! I dare say. Girls live on notions, bonbons, sugar-plums, +taffy, and what not; a pound of sweetened flattery to every half ounce of +wholesome truth. But laying all notions aside, you will always come, Mellville, +when I send for you.”</p> +<p>“How dare you,” began Mell, nettled to the quick and purposed to give +him an emphatic piece of her mind, and then ignominiously breaking down, +constrained, dismayed, crimsoning to the tips of her ears, paling to the +curves of her lips, and wishing she had died before she left the farm-house +that morning.</p> +<p>“And now I have offended you,” said Jerome drawing nearer, “and I +did not mean to do that, pretty one! I cannot help teasing you, sometimes, +because when you are teased your face has that innocent, grieved expression +of a thwarted child, which I do so dearly love to see. And I must, perforce, +do something in self-defence, you have been so cruel to me.” His tones +were low, now, and as oily as a lubricating life-buoy. “I have waited for +you one hour each day; I have gone away after every waiting, desolate and +unhappy. Don’t you know, when two people think of each other as we do, +when two people love each other as we do, that separation is the worst form +of misery? Then why have you been so cruel, Mell?”</p> +<p>Peeping under the fluted archway of the white sun-bonnet for an answer, +his face came in dangerous nearness to its wearer; their quickened breath +united in a symphony of sweet sighs, their quickened pulses throbbed in a +unison of reciprocal emotion.</p> +<p>One moment more, and—Mell stood off at some little distance, looking +back roguishly at the figure kneeling alone beside the old stump, with outstretched +arms tenderly embracing naught, and stealthy lips defrauded of +their prey.</p> +<p>Mr. Devonhough did mind a losing game such as this. To be made to +feel foolish and to look foolish, was more than he could tolerate under any +conjuncture of circumstances. He extricated himself as speedily and as +gracefully as possible.</p> +<p>“Miss Creecy!”</p> +<p>“Mr. Devonhough!”</p> +<p>“You will probably treat me with ordinary civility, at the time of our +next meeting.”</p> +<p>“And you will probably do the same toward me.”</p> +<p>“We shall see, as to that.”</p> +<p>He bowed blandly, and turned upon his heel. He was going away? Well, +he wouldn’t go far. Mell was so confident on this point, that she seated +herself comfortably on the old stump again, and gave herself no uneasiness. +She could not credit the evidences of her own senses when the moving +figure became first a mere speck upon the horizon, and then a something +gone, lost, swallowed up into the unseen.</p> +<p>“It passes belief,” said Mell; “surely he will come back, even yet!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></div> +<p>She waited one hour longer; she waited two—he evidently did not intend +to come back.</p> +<p>She went home with a troubled heart.</p> +<p>The next morning, feeling somewhat more cheerful at what she considered +the certain prospect of seeing him again, and to a somewhat better purpose, +she called for Suke, in feverishly high spirits, and the two set off together +on a spirited race down the hill.</p> +<p>One hour—two hours—three hours—and not a sign of her truant lover.</p> +<p>Mell burst into an agony of tears.</p> +<p>“I am no match for him,” she sobbed. “He is heartless and cynical, +and imperious and selfish. He does not care in the very least bit for me +and I”—springing to her feet, and dashing away her tears—“I do not know, +at this moment, Jerome Devonhough, whether I most love or hate you!”</p> +<p>This feeling of sullen resentment sustained her through that long, long +day. In the cool of the evening her mother sent her on an errand to the +little country store, about a mile distant. Coming back she encountered a +gay cavalcade of ladies and gentlemen on horseback, conspicuous among +them, Jerome. She had no reason to suppose he recognized, or even saw, +the quiet figure plodding along on foot, and catching the dust from their +horses’ hoofs.</p> +<p>“This is my life,” said Mell, looking after them with yellow eyes, “while +others ride, I walk!”</p> +<p>The noise of their clattering feet and merry voices had scarcely died +away, when there came another sound; faint at first and uncertain, it came +nearer and nearer. A solitary horseman dashed up to her side and dismounted.</p> +<p>“Jerome! Is it you?” exclaimed Mell, with a glad start, forgetting all +the anger she had been nursing against him since yesterday, in the joy of +seeing him again. “How could you tear yourself away from that lively +crowd?”</p> +<p>“One, if she is the right one, is crowd enough for me,” declared Jerome, +with a laugh; and throwing his bridle reins negligently across his arm, he +walked along beside her. “When I saw you, Mellville, I dropped my whip +out of pure delight, and as it is a dainty trifle belonging to Clara—Miss +Rutland, that is—adorned with a silver stag’s head and tender associations, +I had, of course, to come back for it. At all events, I could not have closed +my eyes this night, without seeing you, making my humble confessions, and +imploring your forgiveness for my conduct of yesterday. I behaved +abominably. I confess it. I am truly sorry. And, at the risk of falling in +your esteem, I am going to tell you something—my temper is a thing vile—villainous, +but it does not often get the better of me as it did yesterday. +Forgive me, dearest?”</p> +<p>“I am not your dearest,” Mell informed him, with head erect.</p> +<p>“Not? Why, how’s that? ‘Nay, by Saint Jamy,’ but you are! I have +one heart, but one, it is all yours; you have one, but one, it is all mine. +We are to each other, dearest, <i>Ita lex scripta</i>.”</p> +<p>“The matter is one in which I, myself, shall have a say-so.”</p> +<p>“You have had a say-so! You have said: ‘Jerome, I love you!’”</p> +<p>“How can you speak so falsely? It is not true—I did not say so.”</p> +<p>“Not in words,” conceded her tormentor, “but you do, all the same, +don’t you, petite?”</p> +<p>“I am not your petite, either,” protested Mell, driven almost to desperation.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span></div> +<p>“No? Then you are sure to be my darling. That’s it, Mell! You are +certainly a darling, and mine.”</p> +<p>“I am not!” shrieked Mell, choking with anger. This mockery of a +sore subject was really unbearable.</p> +<p>“Not my darling, either?” inquired Jerome, grave as a Mussulman. +“Then what the dickens are you?”</p> +<p>“A woman not to be trifled with,” said Mell, hotly; “who finds it much +easier to magnify injuries than to forgive them.”</p> +<p>“Like the rest of us,” interposed Jerome; “but that is not Christian, +you know.”</p> +<p>“You are enough to turn the saintliest Christian into a cast-away,” proceeded +Mell, severely. “Can’t you be serious for a little while? I am not +a child to be mocked at and cajoled and cozened and hood-winked, <i>faire +pattes de velours</i>, treated to flim-flam and sweet-meats, knowing all the +while that you are ashamed of my mere acquaintance.”</p> +<p>“You can’t think such a thing!”</p> +<p>“I do think it! I have cause to think it! See here, suppose you were +in love with Miss Rutland—”</p> +<p>“I can’t suppose that! I couldn’t be if my life depended on it; not +after seeing you. Why do you wish me to suppose that?”</p> +<p>He shot a keen glance at her.</p> +<p>“That I may ask you this question—If you were, would you make love +to her after the same methods you employ toward me?”</p> +<p>“No; I don’t believe I would. I am quite sure I would not. The +woman is herself responsible for the way in which love is made to her. +I can’t be with you any time without wanting to call you some pet name, +and I never feel that way with Clara.”</p> +<p>“It is my fault, then, that you are so disrespectful?”</p> +<p>“Am I disrespectful?”</p> +<p>“You are. Listen to me for a moment, Mr. Devonhough. If you really +care for my society, as you say you do, why do you not seek it as you +do the society of other young ladies—at home? My father is a poor man, +but he is honest; and honesty should count for something, even in good +society. He is also illiterate, but no one can say aught against his character; +and character ought to be more desirable than much learning. +Then, again, although the blood in my veins may lack in blueness, it is +pure, which is a matter of some importance. Altogether, I don’t see why +you should look down upon me.”</p> +<p>“I do not look down upon you!” Jerome was earnest enough now. +“I know that I ought to have called at the house, but—ahem! my +time is not exactly at my own disposal. In a word, I have not had an +opportunity.”</p> +<p>Jerome, saying this, looked far away in pensive thoughtfulness. Mell, +listening, looked hard into his face.</p> +<p>“Opportunity!” ejaculated Mell. “You manage somehow to call upon +me pretty often elsewhere!”</p> +<p>“Not at a visitable hour.”</p> +<p>“Were I a man and wanted to see a girl, I’d <i>make</i> my opportunity!”</p> +<p>She laughed, derisively—there is something very undiverting in such +a laugh.</p> +<p>“Would you, Mell? No, you would not. You would do like the rest of +mankind; submit as best you could to the inflexible logic of events and do +the best you could under the circumstances.”</p> +<p>“Is a cornfield the best you can do under the circumstances?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></div> +<p>“It is Mell—the very best. Now, my sweet Mell, I am going to be serious—really +serious—dreadfully in earnest. I acknowledge that you have some +cause to find fault with me. There are things ‘disjoint and out of frame’ +in my wooing, which I cannot explain to you at this time. Bear with +them, bear with me for a little—there’s a dear girl—and when I come +back—”</p> +<p>“You are going away! Where, Jerome? When?”</p> +<p>“Only a run over to Cragmore, for a week or ten days. I have friends +there, who are writing for me. Another guest is coming to the Bigge +House, and I rather think we shall be in each other’s way, Mell.”</p> +<p>She leant upon his words as if they planned</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“Eternities of separate sweetness.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“Mell, will your regard for me bear a heavy test? I cannot now speak +such words to you as my feelings prompt me to speak, but will you not +trust me blindly until certain difficulties which surround me are overcome? +Is your affection great enough for that?”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” faltered Mell; “I would trust you to the world’s end, +and to the very crack of doom, if you would only tell me.”</p> +<p>“And then it would not be trust,” Jerome gently reminded her, with his +mysterious smile. Catching his glance of penetrating tenderness, a vivid +breathing reality from a misty background of fogs and doubt, under the +spell of its enchantment, Mell thought she could. Her face softened.</p> +<p>“It will be hard, Jerome, but I will try.”</p> +<p>“Then, believe me, all will yet be well with us. Whatever untoward +event may occur, whatever else you may have cause to doubt, never question +the sincerity of my attachment. I call upon God, who readeth the +heart of man, to witness that you, only, are dear to me—you, only, precious +in my sight. Believe that; be patient, and trust me.”</p> +<p>The deep silence which followed these words was broken only by their slow +moving feet, crushing the crisp leaves beneath them, and the wild palpitations +of the girl’s heart. Crystal stars made haste to lend their liquid +glimmering to the scene, and blinked knowingly at each other from azure +heights on high. The sweet south wind, in melting mood, murmured tunefully +above their heads, swelling in delicious diapason of melodious suggestions, +and mingling with mysterious elements in stirring pulse and +thrilling nerves.</p> +<p>The rasp of a discordant tone, thrust vehemently into this sweet blending +of concordant harmonies, disturbed upon a sudden Mell’s unwonted peace +of soul. She heard her father’s voice. He was saying: “Don’t truss him, +Mell; don’t truss him.”</p> +<p>“How can I be patient,” she asked, with a touch of her old petulance, +“unless I know why it is you treat me so? Jerome, tell me your difficulties.”</p> +<p>“And by so doing increase them? No. My hands are full enough as it +is, and to have you incessantly fretting and fuming about little crooked +things which all the fretting in creation won’t straighten out, would be +more than I could stand. Melville, you must really consent to be guided +blindly by my judgment in this matter. I have studied the subject carefully, +and it is only for a little while, sweet. We are young, we can afford +to take things easy.”</p> +<p>“Men of pluck,” exclaimed Mell, with spirit, “don’t take things easy! +They grip hold of things and turn them into moulds of purpose.”</p> +<p>“Do they, little wiseacre? Then, manifestly, I am not a man of pluck. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +I am made of weak stuff, a feeble straw, perhaps, in your estimation, +tossed about by every little puff of air! Ha! ha! ha! How little you know +about me, Mell!”</p> +<p>“That is true,” responded Mell, promptly, adding, with that lively turn +of expression which gave such zest to her conversation, “very little, and +that little nothing to your credit!”</p> +<p>Jerome was amused. He laughed and stopped, and forthwith laughed +again.</p> +<p>“Ah, Melville, you charm me afresh at every meeting. Where do you +get all your <i>sauce piquant</i>? Beside you for life, that old meddling busy-body, +<i>ennui</i>, will never get a single chance at a fellow. Your name ought +to be Infinite Variety.”</p> +<p>“And yours,” retorted Mell, with the quickness he enjoyed, “Palpably +Obscure! But here we are at my own gate. Fasten your horse and +come in.”</p> +<p>Her voice was absolutely pleading.</p> +<p>“I would with ever so much pleasure, but—that whip is yet to be found, +and the riders will be coming back. I must at once rejoin them. Good +night, Mell.”</p> +<p>“Good-night,” responded Mell, from the other side of the gate, and in +angered tones, “Jerome, have I not spoken plainly enough to you? Must +I repeat that I am not your toy—not your plaything—but a resolute woman, +determined to maintain my own respect and to accept nothing less than +yours? You shall not so much as make free with the tip end of this little +finger of mine, until—”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Jerome, “let me know the worst. When will that terrible +interdict be removed?”</p> +<p>“When you can enforce the right by virtue of possession.”</p> +<p>“Heaven speed that moment!” exclaimed he, sighing audibly and +mounting his horse. “When shall we meet again, Melville?”</p> +<p>“That rests with you.”</p> +<p>“Let me see, then. Not to-morrow, for at daylight we are off to +Gale Bluff for the day. Not on Wednesday, for there’s a confounded +<a name='TC_9'></a><span class="trchange" title="Standardised hyphenation: Was 'pic-nic'">picnic</span> afoot for that day. I wish the man who invented <a name='TC_9a'></a><span class="trchange" title="Standardised hyphenation: Was 'pic-nics'">picnics</span> had been +endowed with immortal life on earth and made to go to every blessed one +of ’em! But on Thursday, Mell, I shall be in the meadow at the usual +hour.”</p> +<p>“But I won’t!”</p> +<p>“Yes, you will, Mell.”</p> +<p>“Positively, <i>I will not!</i>”</p> +<p>“Nonsense. What is your objection? Where is the harm? The young +ladies at the Bigge House entertain me out of doors.”</p> +<p>“Do they?”</p> +<p>Mell was astonished, and began to waver.</p> +<p>“I thought it wasn’t considered the thing.”</p> +<p>“On the contrary, it is <i>the</i> one thing warranted by the best usage. Out-of-doors +is now in the fashion. Doctors preach it, preachers expound it, +legislators enact it, and the whole people make it a decree <i>plebiscite</i>. +Clara sits with me for hours under the trees—”</p> +<p>“Oh, does she!” interrupted poor Mell, with a pang. Seeing her way +to a question she had long been wanting to ask, she subjoined quickly: +“And what do you think of Clara Rutland, Jerome? Do you call her an +interesting girl?”</p> +<p>“I never have called her that,” replied Jerome, “never that I know of, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +but—she’ll do. One thing, she can talk a fellow stone blind at one +sitting. But that’s nothing. Starlings and ravens can talk, too.”</p> +<p>At the end of this speech, Mell was doubly anxious to know Jerome’s +real opinion of Clara Rutland. It seemed to her that the question was +more open at both ends than it ever had been before.</p> +<p>Jerome patted his horse’s head, told him to “Be quiet, sir!” and resumed +the threads of discourse.</p> +<p>“What was I saying? Oh, yes! We live out of doors at the Bigge +House. There wouldn’t be any use for a house there at all, if it wasn’t for +bad weather. Those girls try their best to be agreeable, but none of them +are <i>provoquante</i> and charming, like you, Mell. While they sleep away the +sweetest hours of these golden summer mornings, what harm is there in +you and I enjoying pleasant converse together in the green fields, inhaling +the pure air of heaven? I promise you to be on my best behavior. I +promise you to uphold the integrity of the tip end of that little finger +inviolate; and so you will be on hand without fail, Mell, and so will I, and +so will something else.”</p> +<p>“What else, Jerome?”</p> +<p>He bent low from his saddle-bow to whisper into her ear:</p> +<p>“That supreme happiness which is present everywhere when you and I +are together. Be sure to come, darling. And now, once more, good-night!”</p> +<p>He galloped off, leaving Mell standing in the gateway, and on the +uncomfortable side of a very knotty point. Did Jerome really love her? +She believed he did—ardently. Did he love her well enough to surmount +those difficulties of which he had spoken? Did he love her well enough to +marry her?</p> +<p>“Aye, there’s the rub!” cried Mell. Her mind fairly swarmed with +ugly suspicions, some of them as infinitesimal, and at the same time as +dangerous as those microscopic bacteria which enter the physical laboratory, +disorganizing, and, if not quickly eliminated, destroying the very stronghold +of life itself. And as biological analysis was not yet, at that time, +practiced as a method of research into the germs of things, Mell must needs +fall back entirely upon inferential deductions.</p> +<p>Those difficulties, what could they be that she might not know them? +If this tantalizing, and yet, withal, most fascinating, of created beings, truly +loved her—loved her in love’s highest sense, and with no thought of deception, +would he at every turn put her off with honeyed words and paltry +evasions? Would he have said, “You must really consent to be guided +blindly by my judgment in this matter,” if he valued her as she valued +him?</p> +<p>Of one thing she was sure; she would be guided blindly by no human +being, man or woman, in anything.</p> +<p>“<i>No, I won’t!</i>” she audibly informed the dew-damp lilies and the +secretive rose, stamping her foot to impress it upon their understanding. +Catch any wide-awake, thoroughly independent, altogether self-sufficient +and splendidly educated American girl going it blind at any man’s behest! +She would make short work of his courtship, and him too—first.</p> +<p>Still pacing distractedly up and down the garden path, Mell heard a +window open, saw a head protrude, and heard a voice, which said:</p> +<p>“Send ’im ter his namesake, Mell. Let ’im git thar before he gits the +better o’ you!”</p> +<p>“So he shall, father.”</p> +<p>“Then go ter bed.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></div> +<p>“I am going now—going to bed,” she continued, communing with herself—“to +bed, but not to the meadow Thursday morning. I’ll cut my +throat from ear to ear, just before I start to the meadow again at the bidding +of Jerome Devonhough!”</p> +<p>Bravo for Mell! Strong in this determination, she is now comparatively +safe, except for the one menacing fear, that this sentimental feeling she +has for Jerome may interfere with the more serious business of life. Love +was all well enough in its way, but what this country maiden panted for, +was a new life on a higher plane, with or without love. It was the thing +her education demanded. It was the thing she intended to accomplish.</p> +<p>After all, she went to bed in very good spirits. She was tolerably sure +of bringing Jerome to her own terms, and if not—well, not to make a sad +subject likewise tedious, Mell, in spite of all her love for Jerome, was as +much for sale as ever.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III.<br /> +<span style='font-size:0.9em;'>A TOTAL ECLIPSE.</span></h3> +<p>Nothing ever turns out just as we expect.</p> +<p>The next day promised to be long to Mell, but before the old tall clock in +the corner tolled out the hour of ten, something happened which gave to +its every moment a pair of golden wings. Miss Josey Martlett, one of those +ancient angels who personate youth, who endeavor to assimilate facial +statistics and unfledged manners, who are interested in everything under +the sun except their own business, came driving up to old man Creecy’s +farm. Under this lady’s auspices it had been, and through her material +assistance, that the sprightly little country girl had been mercifully +snatched out of regions of ignorance and darkness, and maintained for a +number of years at a famous boarding-school, where, among other things, +she had been taught to worship the beautiful in all its forms, to cultivate +the refined in all its processes, and to execrate the common and the ugly +in all its manifestations. A defective curriculum—for what is more common +than human frailty; what uglier than, oftentimes, duty?</p> +<p>Let us hasten to concede that old man Creecy has some show of reason on +his side. Not all education educates. The best may furnish us with feet +and hands, eyes and wings, trained members, fit implements, shields, +anchorage, strongholds, and stepping-stones; but also hiding-places, weak +spots, loopholes, clogs, and stumbling-blocks.</p> +<p>“I would stay, but I can’t,” protested Miss Josey, as Mell insisted upon +her taking off her hat and sitting down in the most comfortable rocker in +the house, while she herself sat beside her and toyed with the visitor’s +hand, and fanned away the heat; and then ran for a glass of fresh buttermilk, +and brought in some red peaches and blue grapes on an outlandish +little Jap waiter in all colors, “just too ’cute for anything.” Miss Josey was +Mell’s only connecting link with the country “quality,” and hence appreciated +in due proportion to her importance.</p> +<p>“I declare, Mell, you spoil me to death,” simpered Miss Josey, “and +nothing else in life is half so nice as being spoiled to death. But I must +eat and run—must, really—I’m just so busy I hardly know which way to +turn. I want you to go to a picnic with me to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“A picnic!”</p> +<p>Mell’s heart got into her throat at one single bound, and stuck there. +Jerome had said something about a picnic.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></div> +<p>“What picnic, Miss Josey?”</p> +<p>“The Grange picnic. I’m one of the lady managers, as perhaps you +know, and I want you to help me with the tables. Mrs. Rutland cannot +go, and there are so few to be depended on.”</p> +<p>“You can depend on me,” said Mell; “I will go with you gladly—gladly +spend and be spent for you, who have been always so kind to me.”</p> +<p>Hadn’t she, though? But this was the crowning act of all Miss Josey’s +kindness. At this picnic she would see Jerome, and, who knows, perhaps +find out his difficulties!</p> +<p>“You are a sweet girl, Mell,” returned Miss Josey, gratified. “So grateful, +in a world chock full of the basest ingratitude. I told Miss Rutland, +‘Mell Creecy is the girl to take your place. She knows what to do, and +she’ll do it!’”</p> +<p>After this, Mell could scarcely follow the drift of her visitor’s conversation. +She was in a ferment of impatience for Miss Josey to be gone, that +she might put the finishing touches to a new white dress in readiness for +to-morrow’s festivities. But Miss Josey, who couldn’t possibly stay two +short minutes when she arrived, did not get off under two mortal hours, or +more. This is one of those little peculiarities of the sex, which the last one +of them disavows.</p> +<p>Gone at last, Mell went dancing over the house and singing over her +work at such a lively rate, that her father put his head in at the chamber-door +wanting to know “what she was er makin’ sich er fuss erbout?”</p> +<p>“The Grange picnic, father, tra-la-la! I’m going with Miss Josey, +folderolloll!”</p> +<p>“Oho! Devilho gwine ter be thar, I s’pose?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed! Hail, all hail! La-la-tra-la!”</p> +<p>“Make him toe the mark, darter!”</p> +<p>Mell’s song abruptly ceased.</p> +<p>To make an individual of Mr. Jerome Devonhough’s subtle intellect and +masterful will toe the mark was going to be no easy matter. He was far +from being an exact science whose formula could be reduced to the touchstone +of certainty. Softer were his ways, and more complex his web, the +fabric of his purpose more difficult to trace, than the intricate meshes of +this cob-webbery lace she was basting in the neck of her dress. Nevertheless, +every stitch of her needle fastened down her gathering intentions +to the figure of her mind. Jerome must have done with these evasions; +he must tell her the truth, and the whole truth; he must henceforth act +right up to the notch, or else she would put an end to everything between +them, and in the future have nothing whatever to do with him. Several +measures such as these, rightly enforced, would, she believed, bring the +most slippery Lothario in existence down on his knees at a woman’s feet, +<i>If</i> the man really loved the woman. <i>If</i> Jerome really loved Mell.</p> +<p>“If, <i>Si, Wenn, Se!</i>” vociferated Mell, stamping her fiery little foot. +“Why was it ever put into articulate speech?”</p> +<p>She knew it, this highly educated girl, in so many languages, and could +not blot it out in a single one of them! Is not mere human knowledge a +kind of blunt tool?</p> +<p>But she was ready, bright and early, the next morning, so promptly ready +that Miss Josey commended her in unstinted terms.</p> +<p>“Had it been Clara,” said Miss Josey, as Mell sprang lightly into the little +basket phaeton, “she’d have kept me waiting, probably, a whole hour +without a scruple of compunction! Come, we will go to the Bigge House +first for some things I must carry.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span></div> +<p>To the Bigge House? The gates of Paradise were about to open for +Mell. Rejoice with her, all ye who read. How will you feel when +the doors of your big house are about to unclose themselves before your +long-aspiring and wistful gaze, disclosing within the risen Star of Conquest, +the bright realization of many golden visions and many rose-colored +dreams?</p> +<p>This Bigge House, of so much local fame and importance, was, in fact, a +spacious mansion of no small pretention, and having been originally built +for a man named Bigge, in spite of all that the present owners could do in +the way of writing and calling it Rutland Manse, it remained, year after +year, the Bigge House. Pleasantly situated, well-constructed, and well-kept, +the house itself was surrounded by extensive and beautiful grounds, +a grove, a grass plot, a flower garden embellished with trellises, terraces, +fountains, rare shrubbery, and an artificial pond to row pretty little boats +on, and secondly, to propagate fish. The family were of an old stock, but +a newly rich—a class who like much to enjoy their money, and better still, +to show it.</p> +<p>On this cloudless summer morn, perfect as weather goes, so perfect that +one might look upon it as a Providential complicity in the booming of the +Grange picnic, a gracious provision of nature to suit one special occasion, +the approaches to the Bigge House presented a stirring scene. Carriages, +buggies, and wagons, vehicles of every description, and vehicles nondescript, +lined the roadways in every direction. Servants were rushing hither and +thither, fresh arrivals coming every few moments to swell the throng, +voices calling to each other in joyous recognition, fair hands waving <i>au +revoirs</i>, as they dashed by, without stopping, on their way to the scene of the +day’s festivities. A pleasurable sense of expectation brightened every face, +a buoyant sense of exhilaration quickened every heart, and high above the +heads of all, a brilliant sun, regnant on a field of blue, lighted up the long +sloping hills and broad green valleys. Mell looked about her wonderingly. +Who were all these people, and how many of them would she know before +the day was done?</p> +<p>Miss Josey had left her holding the reins while she ran in for a cargo of +bundles. It was not at all necessary, except in Miss Josey’s imagination. +Her well-groomed little nag was alive, it is true, but some live things creep, +and Aristophanes—called Top,—was one of them. He never thought of +starting anywhere as long as he could stand still. In this respect, he +differed from his mistress, who never stayed anywhere, as long as she could +find enough news to keep going.</p> +<p>“Hold him tight, Mell,” had been Miss Josey’s injunction when she left +Mell alone with Top.</p> +<p>At another time this arrangement would have greatly disappointed Mell. +Her whole being had clamored to get inside the Bigge House, and, behold! +here she sat along with Top outside the sacred precincts. But, somehow, +her heart beat so high with rainbow-tinted fancies, she was altogether unconscious +of anything amiss in the situation. If not within the very courts +of the wonderful palace, the very penetralia of the Penates, she was very +near the goal; nearer than she had ever been before. She could almost +look in—she could almost see the shining garments and gloriously bright +faces of the beings she envied, the beings who lived that life so far above +her own. She had come thus far; she waited at the gate, and some day +the great doors would be flung wide open for her; she would cross the threshold. +But not alone. One would bear her company who was ever an honored +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +guest there, and in many another home of wealth and fashion and influence.</p> +<p>These thoughts transferred their suppressed rapture into the expression +of her face—into cheeks dazzling for joy—into eyes swimming in lustre—into +a mouth wreathed into curves of exquisite transport. She was beautiful.</p> +<p>A number of young gallants came crowding about the gate. They +stood in the plentitude of checked tweeds and light flannel, with the latest +sheen on a boot, and the latest paragon of a hat—mighty swells, conscious +of their own superiority, eying this deuced pretty girl, and wondering who +she was.</p> +<p>“You ought to know, Rube,” said one.</p> +<p>“But, I don’t!” said Rube. “I will know before I’m much older though, +you can depend upon me for that! She’s with Miss Josey.”</p> +<p>Mell did not notice them beyond a casual glance. They had about them, +incontestably, an enormous lot of style, but compared to Jerome, they were +flat,—awfully flat. She caught a glimpse of him now, this swellest swell +of the period, coming down the marble steps of the mansion.</p> +<p>Some one is with him—a lady. Yes, just as she thought, Clara Rutland. +Here they come. She, so—so—almost ugly, and he, so—so—so Jerome-like. +That’s the only way to express it. Jerome is more than simply handsome, +more than merely graceful, more than a man among men—he’s a non-such, +in a nut-shell!</p> +<p>But here he is, almost in speaking distance, and every step bringing +him nearer. Isn’t he going to be surprised? Isn’t he going to be delighted? +Isn’t he going to shake her hand and smile that impenetrable +smile, and—?</p> +<p>How is this? Jerome has come and gone. He did not look at her—he +did not once raise his eyes in passing.</p> +<p>Just ahead of this poky little vehicle, where Mell awaited the return of +Miss Josey, stood a lordly equipage, all silver plate and shine, with a well-dressed +groom standing in front of the champing, restive, mettlesome +animal, as eager to be off and gone somewhere as the most restless of human +hearts in a human bosom.</p> +<p>Into this nobby turnout Jerome assisted Miss Rutland, and then springing +in himself, grasped the reins from the groom’s hands. For one awful +moment (to Mell) the horse stood straight upon his hind legs, and then, +obeying Jerome’s voice, who said in the quietest of tones, ‘Go on, Rhesus,’ +gave one wild plunge and dashed ahead, leaving Mell with a stifled feeling, +as if she was buried alive under twenty feet of volcanic ashes.</p> +<p>But what did it mean—his passing her without a sign of recognition? +Jerome might be of a truant disposition, of unstable fancy, and superior in +his own strength to most ordinary rules, but he couldn’t help knowing her +face to face. There was a bare possibility that he had not really seen her; +his sight, come to think of it, was none of the best, or, at least, he habitually +wore an interesting little <i>pince-nez</i> dangling from his button-hole, and +sometimes, though not often, stuck it across the bridge of his well-shaped +nose with telling effect.</p> +<p>With such arguments, and much wanting to be convinced, Mell recovered +her equipoise to some extent, managing to hear about half Miss Josey was +saying, and to answer only once or twice very wildly at random. Arrived +at their destination, she assisted her patroness in receiving and arranging +the baskets; this important contingent of the day’s proceedings being +satisfactorily disposed of, they followed the example of the crowd at large +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +and strolled about in search of some amusement. A more delightful location +for a day’s outing it would be hard to find, the world over. On three +sides of the principal grove, stretched an immense plateau, smooth as a +flower-garden, and level as a plumb line, and on the fourth side a sudden, +bold declivity, just as if a giant hand had pulled the clustering hills apart +and left them wide asunder, laying bare the heart of a magnificent ravine. +In this wild gorge were stupendous cliffs and brinks, shady shelves o’erhanging +secluded and romantic nooks, enormous rocks holding plentiful +treasures in moss and lichen, singularly constructed mounds, probably the +remaining deposit of a prehistoric race, wild flowers in variety, wild scenery +in perfection, and a beautiful stream of running water, wherein disported +finny tribes in abundance. Nothing in the highest art of gardenesque +could produce such results as this. A mere ramble amid such scenes of +diverse picturesqueness—nature’s wear and tear in moods of passion—amounts +to a study of geological architecture under favoring conditions.</p> +<p>Mell loved nature, but not as she loved Jerome. Her brains were +crammed with wild speculations in regard to him, which accounts for the +fact that she had no mind on that eventful day to invest in all those wonderful +manifestations of nature’s power and nature’s mystery.</p> +<p>During their circuitous meanderings, two young men joined Miss Josey +and were duly presented to her <i>protégé</i>. They were fine young fellows, and +very pleasant, too, but Mell continued so <a name='TC_10'></a><span class="trchange" title="Standardised hyphenation: Was 'pre-occupied'">preoccupied</span> in the vain racking +of her brain, trying to imagine what had become of Jerome and Clara Rutland, +that she did not catch their names, and replied to their efforts at +conversation with monosyllabic remarks. One of them, a merry-tempered, +straightforward, stalwart young chap, armed with rod and bait, asked her, +with a flattering degree of warmth, if she wouldn’t go with them a-fishing; +but reflecting if she did so, she would in all likelihood be out of the way of +seeing Jerome for hours to come, Mell declined without circumlocution, +glad to get rid of him on the pretext of having promised to assist Miss +Josey in her onerous duties, as commissary of subsistence. Discouraged, +the young fisherman bowed and left.</p> +<p>“Such a pretty girl,” he remarked to his companion. “It’s a pity she +doesn’t know what to say!”</p> +<p>Think of Mell Creecy not knowing what to say! The girl who was always +saying things nobody else had ever thought of saying. Such is the pretty +pass to which an unhappy love may bring the brightest girl! And, after +all, she saw absolutely nothing of Jerome until all those wagon upon wagon +loads of baskets had been ransacked, and their tempting contents emptied +out upon the festive board, giving forth grateful suggestions of the coming +mid-day meal.</p> +<p>While squeezing lemons, flushed and more than ever anxious, deft of +hand, but uneasy in mind, the buggy containing Jerome and Miss Rutland +dashed into the grove.</p> +<p>“We’ve been all the way to Pudney,” called out the young lady, holding +up to view some tied-up boxes, “and here are the prizes.”</p> +<p>“All right,” responded Miss Josey, “but do let us have the ice. The +prizes are of no consequence to a famishing people, but the dinner is, and +we are about ready.”</p> +<p>“She’s powerfully interested in the prizes,” commented a girl at Mell’s +elbow, “but she has a good right to be.”</p> +<p>“Why?” inquired Mell.</p> +<p>“Because she is going to be crowned queen of love and beauty.”</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></div> +<p>“I’ve put things together, and that’s the way they sum up to me. That +young man with her can beat all of our boys, and he’s going to crown her.”</p> +<p>“Is he?” ejaculated Mell.</p> +<p>Let him dare to do it! Before Jerome Devonhough should place a victor’s +crown on Clara Rutland’s head, she would—well, what would she do? +“<i>Anything!</i>” muttered Mell, between her teeth.</p> +<p>Poor Mell! She had been to such an expensive school and learned so +many things, and not one of them was of the slightest use to her in this +sore strait. Could there not be established a new school for girls, differing +materially from the old; founded upon a more adaptable basis, taught +after a hitherto unknown method, and including prominently in its curriculum +of studies, that branch of knowledge whose acquisition enables a +woman to bear long, to suffer in silence, and in weakness to be strong? +These are the practical issues in a woman’s daily life, and although in such +a school she might not get her money’s worth in German gutturals and +French verbs, she would, at least, have indulged in a less reckless expenditure +of time in obtaining useless knowledge.</p> +<p>But let us not blame the schools over much, and without a just discrimination. +Not all the fault lies at their door. Something there is amiss +among the girls themselves. It may be, that they love and hate, and talk +too much, even in one language.</p> +<p>In a girl of Mell’s temperament, love would not have been love, lacking +jealousy, and its twin-feeling, revenge. More’s the pity, Mell!</p> +<p>That picnic dinner was splendid. Everybody enjoyed it but Mell, and +it was not the young fisherman’s fault that she did not. Although he +was in attendance upon another young lady, who seemed to know what to +say, and said it incessantly, he kept an eye on Mell, and proffered her +every tempting dish he could lay his hands upon. To no purpose; for Mell +could not eat. She tried, and the very first mouthful paralyzed her ability +to swallow. It was altogether as much as she could do to keep from sobbing +aloud in the faces of all these <a name='TC_11'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'omniverous'">omnivorous</span>, happy people. What made +it all the worse, at breakfast time she had been happier than they—too +happy, in fact, to eat, and now, here at dinner, she was too miserable.</p> +<p>And there sat the author of all her misery, not twelve feet distant, perfectly +oblivious to her proximity, nay, her very existence. Not by any +chance did he ever look toward her, or show any consciousness of her presence. +So devoted and so marked were his attentions to that uninteresting +and anything but attractive Clara Rutland, that Mell heard it commented +upon on all sides. These two, so sufficient unto themselves, were among +the first to leave the festal board and wander off in sylvan haunts. Anon, +all appetites were satisfied, and amid the buzzing of tongues and boisterous +flashes of merriment, the multitude again dispersed. Unobserved and +in a very unenviable frame of mind, the unhappy Mell stole away to herself. +The paramount desire of her wounded spirit was to get beyond the +ken of human eye. In a hidden recess screened by an overhanging rock, +she sat down, the prey of such discordant and chaotic thoughts as wear +away, in time, the bulwarks of reason. It was yesterday, no, the day +before, no, longer, that he had called upon God to witness that she alone +was dear to him, she only precious in his sight, and now, how stands the +case? Ah, dear God, you heard him say it! Oh, All-seeing Eye, you have +looked upon him this day, and will not a lightning blast from an indignant +Heaven palsy the false tongue, whose words have no more meaning +than loose rubble!</p> +<p>Into the heaviness of these thoughts, growing heavier with access of bitterness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +as the moments sped, there came the ringing tones of a voice—a +voice well known to Mell.</p> +<p>Shaking off her lethargy and looking out from her hiding place, she beheld +the object of all these harrowing reflections, grasping Miss Rutland’s +two hands in his own, as they together, and laughingly, descended a precipitous +declivity. Once down, they proceeded with access of laughter, to +push their way through a tangle of brushwood. To get out of this into the +beaten path, they must necessarily advance in the direction of her place of +concealment, and, devoured with jealousy, inflamed with distrust, tortured +with the cruel madness of love, Mell determined to satisfy herself on the +spot, as to whether Jerome’s avoidance was premeditated or unintentional. +Just as the couple emerged from their nether difficulties, and stood on clear +ground and firm footing, Mell suddenly stepped forth upon the same path, +confronting them face to face. Miss Rutland did not speak. Mell knew +she would not, although they had attended the same boarding school for +years, lived in the same house, and graduated in the same class, where Miss +Rutland, unlike herself, achieved no distinction of self-merit; being content +to be accounted distinguished through the sepulchre of a dead father.</p> +<p>Mell did not expect recognition from her in such a place at such a time; +for the neighboring rocks were alive with the best families in the +county, and Clara was one of those feeble brained persons, who have minds +suited to all purposes, save use and knowledge of that kind which may +be put on and off as a movable garment. Such creatures, tossed about +helplessly on the billows of circumstance, keep one finger on the public +pulse, and know you, or know you not, according to its beat. For all +this, Mell cared nothing in that supreme moment. One swift glance at +Clara, and after that every faculty of her mind and body was centered +on Jerome. He was evidently surprised at being nearly run over by +this blustering and blowsy young lady, but beyond that—nothing. He +looked her full in the face, the unknowing look of a total stranger. +The result of this look was to Mell calamitous. A waving blankness +came before her sight, her knees trembled, her strength seemed poured +out like water, and staggering to a tree, she caught hold of it for support.</p> +<p>“Cut—cut, dead!”</p> +<p>This, after all that had passed between them, was simply brutal. But +the despised and slighted country girl was only momentarily stunned, +not crushed. Out of the throes of her wounded pride and injured affection, +there burst forth the devouring flames of a fiery and passionate +nature, incapable of any luke-warmness in emotion. Her eyes dilated, +her fingers twitched, her face set like a flint, her lip curled in scorn, and +she shook her clenched fist at Jerome’s retreating figure.</p> +<p>“Contemptible coward! Miserable trickster! What have I ever done, +that you should refuse to speak to me in the presence of Clara Rutland?”</p> +<p>Her bosom heaved; she sobbed aloud, and shook her fist again.</p> +<p>“I’ll make you sorry for this! I’ll get even with you, yet!” Words, +whose fierce earnestness embodied a prophesy, and were followed by a +prayer:</p> +<p>“Oh, God, only give me the power to make him feel it, and I ask no +more! I care not what then befalls me!”</p> +<p>This paroxysm of passion swept over her as a besom of destruction, +leaving her quenched as tow, white, unnerved, quite pitiful and hushed. +She sank to the ground and into a state of semi-unconsciousness.</p> +<p>Some one coming near, some one lifting her into a sitting posture, some +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +one pouring cold water upon her head, and holding something to her nose +aroused her.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” said the young fisherman, “open your eyes—open them +wide! It’s nobody but me. I wouldn’t tell another soul, for I know you +wouldn’t want the mischief of a fuss made over it. But how did you come +to pitch over?”</p> +<p>“I did not come to pitch over,” said Mell, bewildered, “did I?”</p> +<p>“Of course you did! I had been looking for you for ever so long, and +standing on top there, I happened to look down, and saw you lying here. +And you never will know how scared I was, for, at first, I thought you +were dead. Gad, didn’t I make tracks, though, after I got started! But, +drink a little more of this, and now, don’t you feel set up again?”</p> +<p>“Considerably so,” said Mell, trying, too, to look set up. He was so kind, +and she, poor, bruised thing, so grateful. This little word, kind, so often +upon the lip—upon yours and mine, and the lips of our friends, as we encounter +them socially on our pilgrimage day by day, is only at certain +epochs in our own lives fully understood, and deservedly cherished deep +down in the heart. And yet, so few of us can be great, and so many of +us could be kind if we would, and oftener than we are.</p> +<p>“I know just why you toppled,” proceeded Mell’s kind rescuer.</p> +<p>“But I didn’t topple!” again protested Mell.</p> +<p>“Did you fall down on purpose?”</p> +<p>“No. I did not fall at all, as far as I know.”</p> +<p>“Exactly! those are the worst kind—the falls you can’t tell anything +about.”</p> +<p>So they are. Her’s had not been far in space—she remembered it all +now, with an acute pang—but, oh, so far in spirit!</p> +<p>“You could walk now a little, couldn’t you?”</p> +<p>“I think I could,” said Mell.</p> +<p>She got upon her feet with his assistance.</p> +<p>“You are shaky, yet.”</p> +<p>“A little shaky,” Mell admitted.</p> +<p>“Then take my arm.”</p> +<p>She took it, as a wise being takes the inevitable all through life, submissively, +and without saying much about it.</p> +<p>They walked slowly, and the young follower of dear old Ike watched his +companion’s every step, with a solicitude bordering on the fatherly.</p> +<p>“What do you suppose I am going to do with you, now?”</p> +<p>She could not imagine.</p> +<p>“Give you something to eat—not that only, make you eat it! I gave +you enough at dinner time, if you had only eaten it, but you left all my +goody-goodies untasted.”</p> +<p>“And you unthanked,” added Mell, with a ghost of her old smile, and a +<i>soupçon</i> of her old sprightliness.</p> +<p>“No matter about that! Only, I was worried that you could not eat, +and I know the reason why.”</p> +<p>Did he? Did he know it? The girl at his side dreaded to hear his next +words.</p> +<p>“Miss Josey had been working you to death all the morning. I saw you +how you stayed around and looked after everything, while Miss Josey sat +on one side with her hands folded. She’s good at that! She never does +anything herself but reap all the glory of other people’s successes. The very +worst of these picnics is, that a few do all of the work, and the many all +the enjoying. Now, you—<i>you</i> haven’t had much of a time, have you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span></div> +<p>She had not, but no girl in her right mind is going to confess, out and +out, that she hasn’t had a good time, even in the Inferno.</p> +<p>“Rather slow, perhaps,” answered Mell, putting it as mildly on a +strained case, as the case would bear, “but there’s nobody to blame for it, +but myself. If I wasn’t such a fool in some respects, I might have had a—a +perfectly gorgeous time. <i>You</i> would have given me all the good time +a girl need to look for.”</p> +<p>“But you wouldn’t let me!”</p> +<p>“Well, you see,” explained Mell, warming with her subject, “I had +promised Miss Josey—”</p> +<p>“Never promise her anything again!”</p> +<p>“I don’t think I will! But, as I was saying, I promised her to come +and take Miss Rutland’s place—to come for that very purpose, and when I +make a promise, however hard, I’m going to keep it.”</p> +<p>“Bravo for you! Not every girl does that.”</p> +<p>“Every high-principled girl does.” Her tones were severely uncompromising.</p> +<p>“<i>Ought to</i>, you mean,” rejoined her companion, with an incredulous +laugh.</p> +<p>“No—<i>does!</i>”</p> +<p>Light words, lightly spoken, lightly gone! Alas! How these bubbles +of talk, subtle as air, come back home after a time, to twit us with scorn, +to taunt us with falsity, to impute wrong unto us, to arraign, to accuse, +to denounce, to condemn out of our own lips.</p> +<p>“Here we are,” said Mell’s companion, still laughing at the idea of a +young woman thinking it necessary to hold tight to her word. “Here we +are. Now sit right down here and rest your head comfortably against this +tree. I’ll be back in a twinkling.”</p> +<p>So he was, with a plate in his hand filled with edibles, and a bottle of +sparkling wine.</p> +<p>“Eat,” commanded this eminently practical young man; “eat and +drink. That’s all you need now to fetch you round completely.”</p> +<p>This settled the question, and settled it most judiciously and satisfactorily. +The solid food proved a balm of comfort to that desolate goneness +within her, which Mell had wrongly ascribed as due entirely to the volcanic +derangement of her heart; and the strong wine sped through her +veins a draught of health, a cordial to the mind, a rosy elixir of life.</p> +<p>Mell began to take some interest in her companion and her present surroundings. +She recognized in them a certain claim to her consideration, +and a certain charm. This young stranger was a gentleman in looks and +bearing; he had some manliness in his nature, nevertheless, (Mell felt down +on gentlemen) and a heart as brimming full of charity as St. Vincent de +Paul, himself. He was not ashamed among all his fine friends, to speak +to a simple country girl, who, destitute of fortune, had nothing to commend +her but <a name='TC_12'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'inate'">innate</span> modesty and God-given beauty. So far from being +ashamed, he was ministering to her wants as no one had ever ministered +to them before—as kindly and courteously as if she were in every respect +his equal in social standing. Jerome would not speak to her, and this +gentleman, in her weakness, held the cup to her lips, and put the food into +her mouth with his own hands.</p> +<p>“I’ll pray for him this very night,” thought Mell, and moistened the +thought with a grateful tear.</p> +<p>But, long before the edibles were consumed, every vestige of a tear had +disappeared from Mell’s eyes, and she was talking back to this pattern of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +a gentleman, as few girls of her age knew so well how to do. The blood +rushed back to her pallid cheeks, witchery to her tongue, magic to her +glance.</p> +<p>“Don’t be offended,” she remarked to him, with enchanting candor, +after they had become the best of friends; “but I did not hear your name +this morning, and I have not the slightest idea who you are.”</p> +<p>“Have you the slightest desire to know?”</p> +<p>“Indeed I have! You can’t imagine—the very greatest desire!”</p> +<p>“Then let me refresh your memory somewhat. Do you recall a pug-nosed, +freckle-faced, bull-headed youngster, who used to pommel Jim Green +into blue jelly, every time he wanted to lift you over the swollen creek or +carry your school-bag, or—”</p> +<p>“I do; I remember him well. But you—you are not Rube Rutland?”</p> +<p>“Then I wish you’d tell me who I am! I’ve been thinking I was Rube +Rutland for a good many years now—for I am older than I look.”</p> +<p>“And to think I did not know you!” exclaimed Mell.</p> +<p>“And to think I did not know <i>you!</i>” exclaimed Rube. “That’s what +gets me! I was asking everybody and in all directions who that stunning +girl was, with—”</p> +<p>“Well,” inquired Mell, laughing, “with <i>what?</i> I’d like to know what +is stunning about me.”</p> +<p>“With the sweetest face I ever looked into.”</p> +<p>This reply caused Mell’s eyes, intently fixed upon the speaker, to drop +with rare grace to meet the maiden’s blush upon her cheek. A perfectly +natural action, it was for that reason and others, a very effective one.</p> +<p>“When I found out who you were,” pursued Rube, studying the face he +had praised, seeing it glorified by his praises, “I fairly froze to Miss Josey, +wanting so much to renew our acquaintance, and when you had no word +of welcome for an old friend, and gave me the cold shoulder with such a +vengeance, I was cut all to pieces over it. Fact! I couldn’t enjoy fishing, +and I feel bad yet!”</p> +<p>“You might have known I did not recognize you,” said Mell, lifting her +eyes. “I cannot tell you how glad I am, Mr. Rutland.”</p> +<p>“<i>Mr. Rutland!</i> It used to Rube.”</p> +<p>“And shall be Rube again, if you so desire! Rube, I am just delighted +that you’ve come back home!”</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +<span style='font-size:0.9em;'>EVEN.</span></h3> +<p>So far, she had dallied innocently enough with her old playfellow; neither +seeking to please nor deceive, spreading no nets of enchantment, nicely +baited, to entrap the fancy of this agreeable young man (rich too), who was +as frank in nature and as transparent in purpose, as physically muscular +and daring.</p> +<p>At three o’clock, Miss Josey came to sound the horn for the races, and +the crowd came surging back. Old and young, big and little, the cream of +the county and its yeomanry, a congregation of the mass, a segregation of +the cliques, mounting high into the hundreds. The order of the Grange +was then at the zenith of its fame and power.</p> +<p>The crowd, as we have said, came surging back. The best of the fun +was yet to come. Mell roused herself and looked about her. Here were +other girls with sweet faces, and many of them, as she was aware, possessed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +of those heavier charms of worldly substance which oftentimes outweigh +the sweetest of faces. None of them must lure him from her. He should +stick to her, now, come what would. The careless beauty, the ingenuous +and undesigning woman, is immediately transformed into a greedy monopolist, +a wily fox, a cunning serpent, a contriving, intriguing, manœuvring +strategist, bent upon mischief, who will play a deep game and stoop to the +tricks of the trade, and shift, and dodge, and shuffle, and aim to bring +down, by fair means or foul, the noble quarry.</p> +<p>Eye, lip, tongue, mind, heart, soul, the graces of youth, the allurements +of beauty, the treasures of a cultivated mind, and all those sweet mysteries +of sense which float in the atmosphere between a young man and the +maiden of his fancy, were put in motion to bear upon Rube’s case.</p> +<p>He did not move; no wonder; gorged on sweets, Rube had neither power +nor inclination to be gone.</p> +<p>After a little, a group of young men stationed themselves at a given point, +not far from where this couple sat. They had been into an adjacent farm-house +and changed their clothes, and now appeared in knee pants, red stockings, +and white jackets, a striking and interesting accessory to an already +animated and glowing landscape. In this group of picturesque figures +Jerome was conspicuous. Jerome looked well in anything, and generally +well to everybody.</p> +<p>Not so, to-day.</p> +<p>To one pair of eyes, not distant, he now loomed up blacker in broad daylight +than the blackest Mephistopheles in a howling Walpurgis night.</p> +<p>He saw Rube beside her, and she noted his start of surprise.</p> +<p>“Have a care!” cogitated Mell. “There may be surprises in store for +you—greater than this and not so easily brooked.”</p> +<p>She turned her back upon him and gave her whole attention again to +Rube. The first duty of a woman is to respect herself, the second duty of +a woman is to enforce the respect of others. Some of these days Jerome +Devonhough would be only too glad if she would deign to permit him to +speak to her.</p> +<p>“Aren’t you going to take part?” she asked her companion.</p> +<p>“No; I’m not in trim, and it’s no use trying to beat Devonhough.”</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> could beat him,” said she. She spoke with confidence and +seductively.</p> +<p>“You are awfully complimentary, I declare! Do you wish me to run, +Melville?”</p> +<p>“I do. Yes, Rube, I wish it particularly. Why should this stranger +carry off the palm over our own boys?”</p> +<p>“For the best of reasons. He deserves to carry it off. Devonhough can +out-run, out-leap, out-ride, out-do anything in the county.”</p> +<p>“Except <i>you</i>,” again insinuated Mell.</p> +<p>“Say! what makes you believe so strong in me?”</p> +<p>“Nothing makes me, but—I cannot help it!”</p> +<p>At this point, dear reader, if you are a man, and happily neither blind, +nor deaf, nor over eighty years of age, take Rube’s seat for a moment, at +Mell’s feet. Let her tell you in the sweetest tones, that she cannot help believing +in you strong—let her bend upon you a glance sweeter than the +tones, stronger than the words, and then say, honestly, don’t you feel, as +Rube did at this juncture, mighty queer?</p> +<p>Under the spell, her victim stirred—he lifted himself slowly toward her, +inquiring in a low voice, but with intense energy:</p> +<p>“Melville, are you fooling me?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span></div> +<p>“Fooling you!” she ejaculated, in soft reproach. “Would I fool you, +Rube? Is that your opinion of <i>me</i>? You think, then—but tell me, Rube, +why do you think so?—that those early days are less dear to me than to you—their +memory less sweet?”</p> +<p>“I have thought so,” murmured he in great agitation, “because I have +not dared to think otherwise—<i>until now</i>.”</p> +<p>And into his great soul there entered, then and there, the ineffable beatitude +of the true believer.</p> +<p>Oh, wicked, wicked Mell! One little hour ago, and you had forgotten +his very existence! Is the Recording Angel, who stands above your head +up there, off duty, that you should dare to do it? Or, will it help your +case in the day of reckoning, that deception foul as this, has been raised +by clever women into the dignity of a fine art, and goes on among them +all the while, as inexpugnable as an Act of Congress?</p> +<p>“Melville, I will run this race—run it to please you.”</p> +<p>“I knew you would! And believe me, Rube, nothing could please me +more.”</p> +<p>“Suppose I should win,” said Rube, “what then?”</p> +<p>“You will be the hero of the day, and—” Mell halted very prettily, but +finally brought it out in sweet confusion, “and maybe <i>I</i> would wear a +crown.”</p> +<p>“By my troth, you shall! But what of me? I take no stock in crowns +like that. If I should win, Mell, may I name my own reward?”</p> +<p>“You may.”</p> +<p>“It will be a big one.”</p> +<p>“The man who runs and wins generally gets a big one.”</p> +<p>“But understand my meaning, Mell, understand it perfectly. I do not +want the shadow of a doubt to rest upon this matter. Who shall decide +when lovers disagree?”</p> +<p>He had been toying with a twig broken from a flowering bay; it was +stripped of foliage, save a few green leaves at the end, and with this he +lightly touched the dimpled hand reposing upon her lap.</p> +<p>“<i>That</i> is what I would ask. Will you give it to me, Mell, if I win the +race?”</p> +<p>Mell trembled violently, but she said “yes.”</p> +<p>That was natural enough. When a woman says yes, it is time to tremble. +Even Rube knew that.</p> +<p>“You mean it? <a name='TC_13'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'It'">It is</span> a solemn promise! One of those promises you +always keep!”</p> +<p>Again Mell trembled violently—worse than before, and again said “yes.”</p> +<p>That barely audible yes, had scarcely died upon her white lips when Rube +sprang to his feet, and casting off his fawn colored flannel jacket and light +waist-coat, tossed them in a careless heap upon the ground at her feet. +Divested of those outer garments, the symmetrical curves of his young +manhood, and the irregular curves of his honest face showed up to great +advantage in white linen and a necktie—the latter a very <i>chic</i> article of its +kind, consisting of blazoned monstrosities of art, in bright vermillion on a +background of white—blood on snow.</p> +<p>“You must excuse my shirt-sleeves,” said Rube, during the process of +disrobing. “I have no costume, so must do the best I can under the circumstances.”</p> +<p>He next made off with his suspenders, and began tugging at his shirt in an +alarming fashion.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></div> +<p>“What are you going to do?” interrogated Mell, with a horrified expression. +“You are not going to—”</p> +<p>“No,” said Rube, laughing, and coloring too. “I’m not going to take +it off. I’m only going to—” tugging all the while—“make myself into a +sailor boy, or flowing Turk, or a loose Brave, or a something or other, to +keep pace with those brocaded Templars, Hospitallers, and Knights of the +Golden Fleece over there. Come, now, can’t you fix a fellow up?”</p> +<p>“Fix a fellow up?” echoed Mell, helplessly. She never had ‘fixed a fellow +up,’ and she knew less about it than the sacred writings of Zoroaster.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Rube. “Give me those ribbons you’ve got on—fix me up, +put your colors on me, don’t you see?”</p> +<p>Mell did see at last, and greatly relieved, proceeded to do his bidding. +The sash from her own supple waist was deftly transferred to his, and a +knot of ribbons at her throat, after many trials, was finally disposed of to +their mutual liking.</p> +<p>“Now, don’t I look as well as any of ’em?” inquired the improvised +knight, quite carried away with the fixing-up process.</p> +<p>“As well, and better,” she assured him.</p> +<p>“Well, then,” he held out his hand to her, “let us seal the compact. If +I win, Melville——”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Mell, hurriedly.</p> +<p>“But if I fail.”</p> +<p>“You <i>cannot</i> fail, not if you love me!” She spoke impatiently, and +with flashing eyes. “A one-legged man could not, if he loved me! Love +finds a way, and love which cannot find a way is not love.”</p> +<p>“Enough,” said Rube, below his breath. “You will know whether I +love you or not.”</p> +<p>Their hands were still clasped together in bond, until, perceiving they +had become a subject of curiosity to those about them, Rube at length +allowed Mell to withdraw hers, whereupon he turned off with a light laugh; +that proficuous little laugh, which amid life’s thick-coming anxieties, great +and small, serves so many turns, and turns so many ways, and covers up +within us so much that is no laughing matter.</p> +<p>Rube laughed and mingled with the crowd.</p> +<p>“Come out of that!” shouted an urchin. It was the signal for a regular +broadside of raillery and chaff from the pestiferous small boy, a many-tongued +volume out of print, and circulating in open space at the rate of a +thousand editions to the minute.</p> +<p>Nothing abashed, amid groans and jeers, and gibes, and hoots, Rube took +his place with the others, the only make-shift knight among them.</p> +<p>“For pity’s sake, look at Rube,” exclaimed Miss Rutland, “actually in +his shirt sleeves? Rube, don’t! You are not in costume, and you spoil +the artistic effect.”</p> +<p>“Look sharp,” came Rube’s laughing reply, “or I’ll spoil the artistic +result, also.”</p> +<p>“Don’t get excited over the prospect,” commented Jerome, nodding his +head reassuringly at Miss Rutland, “there’s not the remotest cause for +alarm.”</p> +<p>Miss Rutland sat on a tub turned bottom side up, which had served its +purposes in lemonade. Jerome took his ease on a wagon-body, also turned +bottom side up, which had served its purposes as a table. Such are the +phases of a picnic—and one picnic has more phases than all of Jupiter’s +moons.</p> +<p>“The tortoise,” pursued Jerome, now turning his attention more particularly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +to Rube, “is a remarkable animal, but like thee, oh friend of my +soul, ‘thou drone, thou snail, thou slug,’ not much on a run. How much +is it I can beat thee, Rube, every time and without trying—three lengths?”</p> +<p>“Just you keep quiet,” retorted Rube. “The man so sure, let him look +to himself; the man who blows, let him beware! In all our trials at speed +there never was before anything to win, and I’m a fellow who can’t run +to beat where there’s nothing to win.”</p> +<p>“A tremendous issue is involved on the present occasion,” announced +Jerome in withering scorn. “A lot of paper flowers strung on a piece of +wire to stick on a girl’s head, and when it’s all over and done, I don’t +know who feels most idiotic or <a name='TC_14'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'repentent'">repentant</span>, the girl who wears ’em or the +fellow who won ’em. I’ve been there! I know. I hope a more enduring +crown than this perishable travesty will fall to my lot!”</p> +<p>“So do I!” prayed Rube aloud, and with devoutness.</p> +<p>“Oh, Rutland, Rutland!” exclaimed his friend, going off into an uncontrollable +fit of laughter. “There isn’t anything in this wide world half so +deliciously transparent as your intentions, unless—unless,” subjoined +Jerome, as soon as he could again command his voice, “unless it be Miss +Josey’s <a name='TC_15'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'juvenality'">juvenility</span>.”</p> +<p>“Hush laughing,” said Rube, drawing near and speaking low. “See +here, Devonhough, you don’t care the snap of your finger about this affair; +you’ve said as much; so hold back, dear old fellow, won’t you? Give me +a chance!”</p> +<p>“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Jerome, again going off. “‘<i>Dear old fellow.</i>’ +That’s rich! Very dear old fellow, never so dear before!”</p> +<p>“Oh, go along with you,” responded Rube crossly. “Go to the devil +until you can stop laughing!”</p> +<p>He was about to turn off in high dudgeon, when Jerome with an effort +pulled himself together and soberly considered the subject. “Hold on, +then! I’d like to oblige you Rutland, of course I would, but there’s Clara! +She expects me to—”</p> +<p>“Hang Clara!” said Rube, with the natural unfraternalness of a +brother.</p> +<p>“That’s what I propose to do,” answered Jerome. “Hang her with a +wreath!”</p> +<p>“Don’t!” again pleaded Rube. “Not this time. If you just won’t, +I’ll—”</p> +<p>“Rub-a-dub-dub!” beat the drum.</p> +<p>“Into place!” shouted a stentorian voice.</p> +<p>“Ready?”</p> +<p>“One—two—Boom!”</p> +<p>They were off in fine style, Jerome quickly showing the lead, and Rube +gaining gradually upon him towards the middle of the course. To one +spectator it was more interesting than the sword-dance, more exciting than +a steeple-chase. But the eager spectators at the starting place could see +very little beyond a certain point, owing to the crowd of boys and men +which lined the sides of the track and closed up as the runners passed. +They could hear vociferous yelling and screaming, sometimes the outcry, +“Devonhough ahead!” and then, again, “Hurrah for Rutland!” and, at +the last, a tremendous whooping and cheering and clapping of hands, in +which no name was at first distinguishable. Then, amid the unbounded +enthusiasm of the multitude, the victor was lifted above the heads of the +crowd and brought back in triumph.</p> +<p>Mell had scarcely moved from the spot where Rube left her. She had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +had some time for reflection, and had profited by it, to such an extent, that +she now felt quite miserable. That was the way with Mell, and continues +to be the way with Mell’s kind. They make a practice of hitching together +the cart of Unthought and the sure-footed beast Think-twice; the cart in +front, the horse in the rear; and if, under such circumstances the poor +brute, nine times out of ten, lands his living freight into very hot water, +too hot for their tender feelings, who is to blame for it?</p> +<p>Some very strange thoughts coursed through the girl’s mind. Now, suppose +it was Rube seated up there on the heads of an idolizing populace, and +it became incumbent upon her to fulfill that promise so rashly and foolishly +given, could she do it? No! No! She would rather live a thousand +years and scratch an old maid’s head every hour in all those years, than +marry Rube Rutland!</p> +<p>It made her sick to think about it; every nerve in her body recoiled; +every good instinct within her lifted up a dissentient voice.</p> +<p>“Can’t you see who it is?” She inquired hoarsely of her nearest neighbor, +a much be-banged girl, who peered above the crowd from the top of +a dry-goods box, with the cute expression of a fluffy-faced puppy, “Can’t +you see?”</p> +<p>“Not distinctly yet, but I think it is that young stranger, Rube Rutland’s +friend; I’m pretty sure it is.”</p> +<p>“Thank God!” muttered Mell. She was ambitious, but she was not yet +the hardened thing that ambition makes.</p> +<p>“My goodness!” suddenly exclaimed the girl on the box. “It isn’t +that strange young man! It is Rube Rutland! I can see him distinctly +now. Oh, how glad I am! It is Rube Rutland, boys.” “Rutland +forever!” shouted back the boys.</p> +<p>In all that big crowd there was but one heart not glad. Rube was in +the house of his friends, the other a stranger. County pride, State pride, +local prejudice, all sided with Rube. Jerome was an alien. He had come +there to beat “our boys,” and one of our boys had beaten him. Huzza! +Huzza! Shout the victory!</p> +<p>They did shout it with a noise whose loudness was enough to bring +down the roof of heaven. Never had there been such a victory at a Grange +picnic before.</p> +<p>Deafened by the noise Mell slunk back into the wood. All color forsook +her face once more. She had played for high stakes, this ambitious girl; +she had won her game, and in the winning cursed her own folly and +realized with a pang of unspeakable bitterness, that a victory for which +one pays too dear a price is the worst kind of defeat.</p> +<p>Released from the well-meant persecutions of his many admirers, Rube +asked for his coat and things, and a fan, and was next subjected to a statement +from the master of ceremonies.</p> +<p>“With this wreath,” explained that individual, “you may crown the lady +of your choice, crown her queen of Love and Beauty, and it will be her +prerogative to award the other prizes won on this occasion. Who is the +fortunate lady?”</p> +<p>Every woman in hearing distance held her breath, every man opened +wide his ears.</p> +<p>“Miss Mellville Creecy.”</p> +<p>“Whom did he say?” queried Miss Josey, tremendously excited and not +quite certain she had heard aright. Miss Josey was nibbling at a peach; +she nibbled no more. Though blessed with an excellent appetite, Miss +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +Josey in her hungriest moment was more eager to hear something new than +eat something nice.</p> +<p>“Did you say Mell, Rube?”</p> +<p>“I did,” said Rube.</p> +<p>It struck the crowd speechless. What? Rube Rutland, the son of an +ex-Governor, an ex-Judge, an ex-Senator, dead now, but dead with all his +titles on him; Rube Rutland, the greatest catch in the State, going to crown +Mellville Creecy, daughter of that old ignoramus who made “fritters” of +the King’s English, and dug potatoes, and hoed corn, and ploughed in the +fields with his own hands? The thing was preposterous! It was a thing, +too, to be resented by his friends and equals.</p> +<p>Miss Rutland drew her brother aside.</p> +<p>“Rube, you cannot mean it! You surely have some sense! A little, if +not much! You can’t crown that obscure girl with the cream of the +county, your own personal friends, all around you.”</p> +<p>“Can’t I?” said Rube. “I can and <i>will!</i> The cream of the county may +go to—anywhere.” Rube closed up blandly: “I will not limit them in +their choice of locations. That would be not only ungenerous but ungentlemanly.”</p> +<p>“Rube,” persisted Miss Rutland, “do listen to reason. What will +mother say? What will everybody say?”</p> +<p>“Say what they darned please!”</p> +<p>Rube was first of all a freeborn American—secondly, an aristocrat.</p> +<p>“What’s the use of being somebody if you’ve got to knuckle down to +what people say?”</p> +<p>“But you are not obliged to crown anybody,” insinuated Clara. “Rather +than crown this low-born girl, make some one your proxy. Jerome +would—”</p> +<p>“Oh, I have no doubt, with pleasure! You are a deep one, Clara, but +you’ll wear no crown this day. Might as well give it up.”</p> +<p>So she perceived, and turned off in a rage, first informing him that he +always had been, and always would be an unconscionable ass.</p> +<p>“You have fully decided, then?” questioned the master of ceremonies. +“I have,” Rube told him, beginning to get put out. Pretty Mell might +well have been a scare-crow, such consternation had she created amongst +them all. “I decided some time ago. Will it be necessary for +me to mount a tree-top and blow a clarion blast before I can make +you all understand that I am going to crown Mellville Creecy, and +nobody else?”</p> +<p>“Certainly not, certainly not,” hastily replied the master of ceremonies. +He too was disappointed; he had a sister. Was there ever a man in power +who didn’t have a sister?—who didn’t have a good many, all wanting +crowns?</p> +<p>“Will you make a speech?”</p> +<p>“Nary speech,” declared Rube, laughing. “I’m not so swift in my tongue +as my legs! See here, Cap’n, there’s no occasion for an unnecessary amount +of tomfoolery about this thing. Some gentleman bring Miss Creecy forward. +I’ll put this gewgaw on her in a jiffy, and that’ll be the end of it!”</p> +<p>Rube smiled softly to himself. That was very far from being the end of +it.</p> +<p>“Mell! Mell!” screamed Miss Josie, running up to her <i>protegé</i>, the bearer +of astonishing news, “you don’t know what’s going to happen! You’d +never guess it! Rube is going to crown you, my pretty darling! You are +to be queen of Love and Beauty.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></div> +<p>“But, I’d rather not,” said Mell, drawing back.</p> +<p>“Rather not?” screamed Miss Josey. “Did anybody ever before hear of +a woman who would rather not be a queen—a queen in the hearts of men?”</p> +<p>“I don’t see how you can help it,” continued Miss Josey. Mell did not, +either, alas! “But I don’t wonder you feel a little frightened about it. <a name='TC_16'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'It'">It is</span> +such a wonderful thing for Rube to do: but Rube has two eyes in his head, +Rube has, and knows the prettiest girl in the county when he sees her! +This thing is going to be the making of you, Mell (rather say the undoing, +Miss Josey) so don’t be so frightened, but hold your head high, and bear +your honors bravely, and remember all eyes are upon you. The rest of the +girls are fairly dying with envy, don’t forget that!”</p> +<p>This last remark brought Mell to her senses. Not one of them but would +gladly stand where she stood—gladly put themselves in her shoes if they +could. Rube was not a mate, as mating goes, to be met with every day in +the year. The sugared point of this timely suggestion served Miss Josey’s +purpose effectually. It stilled the wild throbbing in the girl’s heart, +brought the blood back to her face, and turned the purple of such +wondrous hue in her eyes, to the softest black; with intensity of gratification, +Jerome himself was forgotten for the nonce.</p> +<p>Miss Josey, still in a flutter of delight, now proceeded to put on her sash, +to replace the knot of ribbons at her throat, to pass her hands assuagingly +across Mell’s wilderness of frolicsome hair, and to put an extra touch or +two to her simple toilette generally; whispering words of stimulation and +encouragement all the while.</p> +<p>Thoroughly put to rights, Miss Josey placed the girl’s hand into that of a +very grand personage—the president of the Grange, in fact—who led her +gallantly to the spot selected for the coronation ceremonies. There stood +the hero of the day. He advanced a step or two as she drew near, he +bowed low, and then in a distinct voice with a somewhat heightened color, +but in his usual simple, straightforward manner, said: “Miss Creecy, I +beg you will do me the honor to accept this trophy of my victory.”</p> +<p>Miss Creecy silently bowed her head; he placed the wreath upon it, and +lo! what has become of our rustic maiden? She is a Queen!</p> +<p>Nevertheless, she immediately fell back again into Miss Josey’s hands, +who hastened to push the crown this way and then that,—forward a little, +and then backward a little—just one barley-corn this side and just one the +other; until the magical spot of perfect-becomingness having been reached, +she wisely let it be. As soon as the crowd caught sight of this bright +splendor of yellow hair, surmounted by a wreath of flowers, the shouting +and yelling re-commenced; and when it was passed with electric swiftness +from mouth to mouth, that the head of the Rutland family, the owner of +an honored name and a big estate, had chosen for his queen, not the daughter +of a rich planter or a great statesman, but a child of the yeomanry, a ripple +of intense excitement flashed through the multitude, and enthusiasm knew +no bounds.</p> +<p>“Rutland for the people, and the people for Rutland!” was the joyous +outpouring of the common heart. A sentiment which only subsided occasionally, +to be renewed with increased vigor and manifold cheers.</p> +<p>“I see your game,” said the secretary of the Grange to Rube, with a sly +wink. “You are going to run for the Legislature?”</p> +<p>“Your penetration surprises me,” returned Rube with a laugh. “What +a pity the voting couldn’t be done now; I’d be willing to risk a couple of +thousand on my own election, if it could!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span></div> +<p>“It’s awfully becoming to her, isn’t it?” inquired Jerome, speaking to +Clara, and referring to the crown which sat upon the queen’s head.</p> +<p>“I don’t think so,” returned Clara, “not in the least becoming. It +doesn’t suit the color of her hair.”</p> +<p>“Sure enough! I had forgotten that. We bought it to suit yours, didn’t +we? It is too bad! but never mind; we’ll come in for the second prize, +certain.”</p> +<p>“Not I!” exclaimed Clara, with a toss of her head. “It is first or none +with me. There is something mean, little, contemptible, about a second +prize, just like all second-rate things! Having failed in securing the +first, were I in your place, I would not try for the second.”</p> +<p>And she left him, much angered.</p> +<p>“Whew!” softly whistled Jerome. “It strikes me that what pleases one +woman, doesn’t please another. Why is that? It also strikes me that it’s +no use trying to please any of ’em. A man can’t; not unless he converts +himself into a sort of synchronous multiplex machine, and tries seventy-five +different ways all at once.”</p> +<p>The stream of people now poured in one direction,—towards royalty. +Queens differ; but there is a something about every one of them which +fetches the crowd. While this one stood hemmed in on all sides, an object +of curiosity to all classes and conditions, all eager for a sight of her, some +eager to be made known to her, others wanting to catch a look, a word, a +smile, Mell heard some one at her elbow say, softly:</p> +<p>“Mellville.”</p> +<p>Turning, she confronted Jerome. In a flash, her whole appearance +changed. The moment before she had been a gracious sovereign, accepting +with queenly grace the homage of her loyal subjects. Now, she was +an outraged monarch jealous of her rank, standing on her dignity.</p> +<p>“How dare you, sir!” asked Mell, eyeing him haughtily and drawing +herself up to her fullest height. “How dare you to speak to me! How +dare you touch me! I have not the honor of your acquaintance, sir!”</p> +<p>Jerome was undeniably astonished; but this was not the time, not the +place to indulge in a feeling of astonishment, or to make an exhibition of +himself or her.</p> +<p>“Your Majesty,” said Jerome, with his characteristic coolness, “will +graciously pardon me. The crowd is great, it pressed heavily upon all +sides and I have not been able to resist it.”</p> +<p>He fell back at once, and Mell bowed, just as if nothing had happened, to +the gentleman, whom the master of ceremonies was in the act of introducing +to her.</p> +<p>In the crush, Jerome encountered Rube. He had been called off on some +matter under discussion among those running the shebang—Rube’s way of +putting it—and was now endeavoring to push his way back to Mell.</p> +<p>“<a name='TC_17'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'How—do'">How-do</span>, old fellow?” said Jerome, by way of congratulation.</p> +<p>“Tip-top!” said Rube, by way of thanks, and seizing his friend’s hand +he wrung it as if his intention was to wring it clean off. “You’re a trump!”</p> +<p>“Don’t mention it!” begged Jerome. He began to laugh again. For +some reason the whole thing was excessively amusing to Jerome.</p> +<p>“But I <i>will</i> mention it,” persisted Rube. “I’ll thank you for it to my +dying day. It was so self-sacrificing on your part, considering everything.”</p> +<p>“Oh, was it?” exclaimed his companion, choking down his risibles. +“Well—ah—I don’t exactly feel it that way. A mere trifle.”</p> +<p>“Not to me,” declared Rube.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></div> +<p>“Perhaps not to me, either,” conceded Jerome, looking on the subject +more seriously. “For Clara—”</p> +<p>“You can patch up Clara,” Rube suggested, soothingly.</p> +<p>“Do you think so? It’s a rankling <i>casus belli</i> at present, I can tell you! +But how about your rustic beauty, eh, Rube? Is she pleased? Does she +like it?”</p> +<p>“Pleased? Like it? You bet she does! She’s delighted!”</p> +<p>“No one has introduced me yet,” Jerome next remarked, quite incidentally. +“And I am sure if her Gracious Majesty smiles upon any of her +loyal subjects it ought to be me.”</p> +<p>“That’s so! So come right along now.” They reached her side.</p> +<p>“Mell, here’s the very best fellow in the world,” said Rube, out of the +fullness of his heart, forgetting the prescribed forms of etiquette in the +absorption of warm feeling.</p> +<p>Mell had noted their approach. She was not taken unawares. She bent +her head slightly to the newcomer, she looked him over for a whole +minute, it seemed, before she opened her lips and said:</p> +<p>“How do you do, Mr. Very-Best-Fellow-in-the-World?”</p> +<p>Those near enough to hear roared with laughter, for the young queen’s +manner made the whole thing so absurdly funny; and perhaps there is +nothing a crowd so much enjoys as the taking down of a person whom +they regard in the light of one much needing to be taken down.</p> +<p>“His name is Devonhough,” Rube hastened to explain, not relishing +the laugh against his friend at this particular time by his particular fault. +“Mr. Devonhough, Miss Creecy. He is my very best friend, Mell. Shake +hands with him.”</p> +<p>Mell did so; but without the faintest glimmering of a smile, and with +such glacial dignity as fairly charged the atmosphere with iciness. Not +content with this, she met all his subsequent efforts to cultivate her acquaintance +with the briefest and chilliest repulses.</p> +<p>Rube was much concerned. He saw dimly that his best friend had not, +somehow, made a favorable impression upon his future wife; but he could +not tell the why or wherefore. While he wondered within him what he +could do to put things on a pleasanter footing between them, someone else +demanded his attention.</p> +<p>“See here,” said Jerome, as soon as Rube’s back was turned. “I hope you +now consider me sufficiently punished. I hope you feel even. I hope you +won’t treat me to any more state airs. I am tired of them. Your Majesty, +let me tell you something. Mark well my words. It is to me, not Rube, +you owe your present exaltation.”</p> +<p>“<i>To you!</i>”</p> +<p>The unsmiling countenance now broke into a ripple of scorn.</p> +<p>“What a ridiculous thing for you to say!”</p> +<p>“The whole thing has been ridiculous,” said Jerome. “I never in my +whole life ever enjoyed anything so much. ’Tis the one grain of truth +which gives point to the ridiculous. Think of Rube, dear fellow, so anxious +to crown you, knowing nothing, suspecting nothing, begging me not to run +fast, and I, so ten thousand times more anxious than he could possibly be, +to have you crowned.”</p> +<p>“<i>You?</i>”</p> +<p>“Yes. <i>Me!</i> Don’t you know, in your heart, Mellville, that I wanted +you crowned?”</p> +<p>“No, I know nothing of the kind! When a man wants a thing done, +he does it with his own hand; when he does not want it done, or cares not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +much about it, he does it with another man’s hand. Had you been anxious +you would not have left it to Rube.”</p> +<p>“But with that wreath in my own hand, Mell, I was morally bound to +put it upon another head.”</p> +<p>“Ah, indeed! Why?”</p> +<p>Jerome did not answer immediately. When he did, it was with averted +eyes, and with some impatience, and not in reply to her first question at +all, but her quick repetition of his own words, “Morally bound, eh?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Mellville. You forget I am a guest in her mother’s house.”</p> +<p>“I do not forget it! I remember it every hour in the whole twenty-four; +but does that make it incumbent upon you to ignore me? Jerome, look +me in the face. What is Clara Rutland to you?”</p> +<p>“Nothing!” exclaimed he, savagely, between compressed lips. “Less +than nothing! A hundred times to-day I have wished her at the bottom +of—”</p> +<p>“There! No use to send her there <i>now</i>. It’s too late!”</p> +<p>The knowledge of what she had done, the wretchedness she saw it was +destined to entail upon her, all this while couchant like a wild beast within +her, now uprose into her expressive features. Jerome was struck with it.</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” he asked.</p> +<p>“You will know soon enough,” she responded.</p> +<p>He stooped to pick up the handkerchief she had dropped, and in restoring +it, his hand, so cool and steady, came in contact with hers, so hot and +tremulous; it touched and lingered, lingered long, and clung in a tender +pressure; while a voice so low and firm, a voice, oh! so faint and sweet, stole +its way into her ear, murmuring but one word, one little, fond word, which +moved her in the strangest way, which thrilled, yet soothed her. Cooler +than snow it fell upon her burning cheeks, warmer than a sunbeam into +her freezing heart. That little game with Rube passed out of her memory.</p> +<p>But looking up all too soon, she saw him. He smiled upon her. He +was glad to see that she and Devonhough were getting along quite +pleasantly.</p> +<p>“I wish you would go away!” she suddenly exclaimed, turning upon +her companion rudely. “Go back to Clara Rutland! You have no business +here! I do not believe a word you have said to me! I yet fail to +comprehend why a man may not be the master of his own actions.”</p> +<p>“Heigh-ho!” sighed Jerome. “Just so it is in life. Just as a man begins +to think he has put everything in order, and settled the question, here +comes chaos again. You do not understand that, Mell? Well, I will tell +you. Every man has a master—circumstance. On my side, I am surprised +that you, with all your quickness of apprehension, have not been able to +see clearer and deeper into this subject. You ought to have known, you +must have felt that I had some good reason for acting towards you as +I have to-day. Have you been true to your promise to trust me—and +trust me blindly? I fear not. You have been cruelly angry with me ever +since this morning, when I dared not speak.”</p> +<p>“And why was it that you dared not speak?” demanded Mell, her lip +curling contemptuously, but with a tremolo movement in her voice. +“Does it then require some courage for a man, in your position to speak +to a poor girl like me? Rube does not think so.”</p> +<p>“With Rube it is different.”</p> +<p>“<i>It is</i>, very different. There is no false pride about Rube.”</p> +<p>“And I hope there is none about me. But, Mell, you do not in the least +understand my position.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span></div> +<p>“I know as much about it as I care to know. Henceforth, Mr. Devonhough, +let us be strangers.”</p> +<p>“We can never be strangers,” said Jerome. He was growing earnest; he +spoke very low and with that rapidity of utterance which accompanies excited +feelings. “This no time nor place, Mell, for such an explanation; +but here, and now, I will make it. I cannot longer exist under the ban +of your displeasure. Know then, dear, that I would not speak to you this +morning for your own sweet sake—not mine. I was driven to it to protect +your good name, and keep you out of the mouths of those shallow-pated +creatures, who have nothing else to talk about but other people’s failings. +Had Clara Rutland once seen me speak to you—had she for one moment +suspected the least acquaintance between us, that hydra-headed monster, +Curiosity, would have lifted its unpitying voice in a hundred awkward questions: +‘How did you come to know Mell Creecy? Where did you meet her? +Who introduced you to her?’ And so on to the end of a long chapter. I +did not wish to say, for your sake, that I had never met you anywhere +but in a cornfield. I did not wish to say, for your sake, that we had became +acquainted in a very delightful, but by no means conventional, manner. +I have thought it best, all along, to keep the fact of our acquaintance +in the background, until we were brought together in some way perfectly +legitimate and customary. Always for your sake, dear, not mine. +Now you know in part; to-morrow I will make a clean breast of all my +difficulties; so disperse these clouds, and give me one sweet look ere I go.”</p> +<p>Instead of that, Mell swallowed a lump in her throat which felt as big +as her head. She studiously avoided, for the rest of the day, any further +speech with Jerome. His explanation was plausible enough on its face; +but Mell was in no condition of mind to draw conclusions which might +stand the test of reason, or be satisfactorily demonstrated on geometrical +principles; and nothing that Jerome could say was now calculated to act +as a sedative on Mell’s nerves. She kept whispering to herself, “He feels it, +yes, he feels it;” and thus nourished the firmness and the bravado necessary +to her in the further requirements of her high position. She needed it all, +and more, when it came to bestowing upon Jerome a handsome pair of spurs, +as the second prize of the day. Certainly he cared for her, or why this +glow on his clear-cut face, or why this light in his speaking eyes now bent +upon her. Mell turned her head quickly.</p> +<p>“I can’t understand why you don’t like Devonhough,” Rube remarked, +noticing the movement. “I think it odd. He carries things with a high +hand among the girls, I can tell you. Most all of ’em are dead in love +with him.”</p> +<p>“And do you wish me added to the list?” interrogated Mell, finding herself +in a tight place, and hardly knowing how to get out of it.</p> +<p>“Well, no; I don’t!” laughed Rube, much appreciating the sly humor +of the question.</p> +<p>By seven o’clock the day’s festivities were concluded; and then ensued a +melting of all hostile elements into a homogeneous mass, all ravenous after +iced-lemonade and home-made cake, and a heterogeneous devouring of the +same; after which, the crowd, well pleased, but pretty well fagged out, +turned their faces homeward, under a sun still shining, but shorn of its +hottest beams.</p> +<p>No one will gainsay the statement that our heroine has made great +social strides in one summer’s day. In the morning a simple country girl, +poor in pocket, humble in rank, unknown in society, seated beside Miss +Josey in the little pony phaeton, full of fair hopes and inspirations; in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +the evening the affianced wife of the best-born and most eligible young +man in the county; returning to the old farm-house in grand style, leaning +back on soft cushions, beside her future lord, in a flashy open carriage +drawn by a ravishing pair of high mettled roans.</p> +<p>Ambitious, indeed, must be that girl not satisfied with this wonderful +result of one single operation in matrimonial stocks. And yet Mell is not +happy. She forgets to give heed to what Rube is saying; she forgets +almost to answer him back; so full of regret is she for her own lost +self. She had had a thousand longings to get out of her old self, and +out of her old life, and now, on the threshold of a new existence, Mell +finds herself with only one desire—just to get back where she came +from. If only she could—oh! if only she could, most gladly would this +lately crowned queen have relinquished the glories of empire, the spoils of +captive hearts, the trophies of social triumphs, the high emprise of a brilliant +future, only to be simple Mell once more.</p> +<p>Ah, poor Mell! Not for sale now. Sold!</p> +<h3>CHAPTER V.<br /> +<span style='font-size:0.9em;'>PLAYERS ON A STAGE.</span></h3> +<p>Now, then, here is Thursday. Jerome had said: “You will be on hand +without fail, Mell; and so will I, and so will something else.”</p> +<p>“But that something else,” moaned the hapless Mell, bowed down and +heart-stricken, “will never be on hand again in the meadow for me, nor +anywhere else.”</p> +<p>Saddest of all, she had herself laid the axe to the root of her own happiness; +she had baited her own hook and caught a big fish; she had provoked +her own doom, and herself sealed it.</p> +<p>Rube was not to blame.</p> +<p>And Jerome—he had made out a good case. Had he loved her less he +would, perhaps, have acted differently.</p> +<p>She had digged a pitfall for her own occupation; and of all comfortless +and stony places, such pitfalls as this make the hardest lying.</p> +<p>Out in the narrow hall, on its own particular peg, hung Mell’s white +sun-bonnet. She took it down and put it on her head, and walked slowly +to the top of the hill. With no intention of going to the meadow herself, +her feelings demanded that she should find out if Jerome was there.</p> +<p>He was, strolling moodily to and fro, in deep thought.</p> +<p>He knows now. Rube has told him. He despises her to-day, and yesterday +he had loved her. Look at him down there in the meadow! a beam +from the sun, a breath from the hills, a part of the morning, the most +glorious expression of nature in all nature’s glory! Observe how he walks! +Note how he stands still! Most men know how to walk, and most men +know how to stand still, after a fashion; but not after Jerome’s fashion. +In motion, Jerome is a poem set a-going; standing still, he is grace doing +nothing. He can lift one hand, and in that ordinary act sow the seed of a +dozen beautiful fancies; he can wield such mastery over the physical forces +of expression as has wondrous potency to sway the emotions of others.</p> +<p>So she thought; so she stood, hidden herself from sight, but with the +meadow in full view; and while so thinking, and so standing, drinking him +in with every breath, feeding upon him with her eyes, devouring him with +her soul, she, the affianced wife of another!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span></div> +<p>Oh, wicked Mell!</p> +<p>Jerome grows impatient; he looks at his watch, and turns inquiringly +towards the hill; and Mell flies back to the house as if pursued by fiery +dragons. For if he but caught sight of her, if he but crooked his finger at +her, she would go down there, and then—what then?</p> +<p>Mell was not blind to her own weakness. The afternoon brought Rube, +overwhelmingly happy, overwhelmingly devoted. She must take an airing +with him in his <a name='TC_18'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'bran'">brand</span> new buggy; and while they scoured the country round +about, Rube was making diligent inquiry as to how soon they might get +married. Mell caught her breath, and, in the same breath, at a possible +reprieve.</p> +<p>“Won’t you give me a little time to think?” she pleaded. “It has +come so sudden!”</p> +<p>“Hasn’t it, though!” cried happy Rube. “Do you half realize the +romance of the thing, Mellville? ’Tis like a page out of Knight-Errantry, +the days of lances and standards, and blood-thrilling adventures, when +warriors in steel swore by the Holy-rood, and won fair women’s smiles by +deeds of valor—something very unlike the prosaic happenings of this practical +modern life. But yesterday a wandering pilgrim, to-day I have +found a shrine. ‘’Tis a dream!’ I thought, when I opened my eyes this +morning, ‘a dream, too sweet to be true! Rube, old fellow,’ I said to +myself, ‘you’ve got something to live for now. You must look to your +ways and improve upon the old ones. There’s a dear little hand that +belongs to you; there’s a pair of blue eyes to watch for your coming; +there’s a sweet little woman who believes in you, God bless her! For her +sake I will run the race of life like a man; for her sweet sake I will +win it!’”</p> +<p>This was the time for Mell to speak. She wanted to speak, but—she did +not. There were just exactly six reasons why she did not.</p> +<p>Here they are, all in a row:</p> +<p>Reason Number One.—She was not quite sure of Jerome—quite sure, +perhaps, in regard to his affections, but not his intentions. Love is much, +but not everything, and a lover surrounded by difficulties is not to be +depended upon matrimonially.</p> +<p>Number Two.—She was as resolutely bent upon getting out of this mean, +sordid life as ever, and what way was there but this way?</p> +<p>Number Three.—Rube was rich, and Rube’s wife would be rich, too. +For her part, she was sick and tired of poverty. Poverty, in a world +governed by wealth, is the most unpardonable sin in that world’s decalogue.</p> +<p>Number Four.—Rube was in “society,” and what ambitious woman ever +yet saved her soul outside the magic circle of society?</p> +<p>Number Five.—Rube was an aristocrat, and Rube’s wife would be <i>ex +necessitate rei</i>, an aristocrat also. Her Creator, she believed, had intended +her for an aristocrat; otherwise why had He endowed her with intellect, +beauty, and the power to sway men’s passions?</p> +<p>Number Six.—The fact that she did not love Rube had, in reality, +nothing to do with Rube’s eligibility as a husband. He would make a +very good one, an infinitely better one than none at all!</p> +<p>Of course, she would be paying a tremendous price for all these worldly +advantages. Mell was aware of that all the while, but after deducting +from the gross weight of their true value the real or approximate weight +of their possible evils and disadvantages, she would undoubtedly still be +getting the best of a good bargain.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span></div> +<p>What is life but an enigmatical offset of losses and gain—so much gain +on the one hand, so much loss on the other? And what was this transaction +between herself and Rube but a repetition, under a somewhat different +formula, of those mathematical problems worked out on her slate at +school? It was all very simple.</p> +<p>Young woman, if you were in Mell’s place; if you had six good reasons +for not telling the man you are about to marry that you did not care a +straw about him, wouldn’t you hold your peace?</p> +<p>Then cast no stones at Mell.</p> +<p>Mell <i>was</i> deeply moved by Rube’s words, but not deep enough to damage +her future prospects. And since a woman has very poor prospects outside +of matrimony, ought we not to excuse her for attending closely to +business?</p> +<p>At all events, although Mell’s thoughts were heavy, and her soul stirred +within her, and her thick breathing almost stifled in a painful sense of +guilt, she did not say a word. Feeling that Rube’s eyes were fixed upon +her, she raised to him her own, suffused in tears; an answer which fully +satisfied her companion. From which it will appear that a woman may weep +for the man she takes in—weep, and yet keep on taking him in.</p> +<p>And what can a man do? How could Rube tell that it was the hidden +pathos of his own groundless faith, and not a feeling of sympathetic affection, +which brought such softness of expression into that girl’s luminous +orbs?</p> +<p>If the actual is the only true thing, and amounts to everything, as it +really does in the school of Realism, there is still one difficulty to be +encountered—to get hold of the actual. He who aspires to find out the +actual, where a woman is concerned, must get himself another kind of eye, +one whose vision is introspective and able to penetrate into that mysterious +element in a clever woman’s nature which enables her so successfully to +clothe the Not-True in the beautiful garments of Truth.</p> +<p>Rube Rutland felt uncertain about a good many things—his own strength +under temptation, his mother’s consent to this marriage, Clara’s temper, +the great sea serpent, the Pope’s infallibility, the man in the Iron Mask, +and many a cock-and-bull story beside, but he never once doubted Mell +Creecy’s love, the purest myth among them all.</p> +<p>He came, after this, every day to the little house upon the hill, and had +it out “comferterble in the parler,” as old man Creecy had advised Jerome +to do. He courted with the enthusiasm of an incorrigible faddist over a +new fad; and no lover of those olden days of which he had spoken, when +goodly knights tilted in the jousts of arms, and won fair lady’s favor with +deeds of prowess, ever yet surpassed a modern mighty man with a mission. +Devotion itself is paralyzed when it comes to them.</p> +<p>At the Bigge House, as one may suppose, there had been considerable +consternation when its young master announced his intention of taking to +wife old Jacob Creecy’s daughter. Consternation, but hardly surprise; for +Rube had ever been one of those lawless members of well-conducted households +privileged to say and do outrageous things, and expected to turn out +of the beaten track on the slightest provocation.</p> +<p>Miss Rutland was most concerned. Said she to her brother:</p> +<p>“Rube, why not marry a female Ojibbwa, and be done with it? <i>That</i> +would be an improvement on Mell Creecy as a <i>mésalliance</i>. My God! Rube, +you can’t bring a girl here into this house as your wife, whose father talks like +a nigger, who says ‘dis,’ and ‘dat,’ and ‘udder;’ or do you expect to hold your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +position in society, your place among honorable men, simply by the grace +of heaven?”</p> +<p>This was severe; but it was not all—not half, in fact, that Rube had to +hear before he got rid of Clara. But it was not the first time he had +brought a hornet’s nest about his ears, nor swam against the stream, nor +borne the brunt of Clara’s tongue. Through much practice Rube had +pretty well mastered the art of holding out, which does not consist so much +in talking back as in saying nothing. Moreover, his cause was good, and +half a man can hold out with a good cause to hold on. One hard speech +Rube did make to Clara; he told her, in effect, that whatever might be the +grammatical shortcomings of old Jacob Creecy himself, his daughter knew +more in one single minute than Clara would ever learn in a lifetime.</p> +<p>Mrs. Rutland was not less unwilling, but more reasonable.</p> +<p>“You are my only son,” she said to him, “my first-born. I expected +you to add lustre to the family and make a great match.”</p> +<p>“The family is illustrious enough,” replied he; “if not, it will never be +more illustrious at my expense. I will have none of your great matches, +mother. I intend to marry the woman I love. I have loved her ever since +she was a child. None of the rest of you need marry her, however; I will +not impose that task upon you. But Mellville is to be my wife to a dead +certainty, and I am my own master.”</p> +<p>“You are, my son. I have not sought to prevent your marrying her. I +have only expressed my disappointment.”</p> +<p>“Well, I am sorry about that. But see here, mother; I will make it +easy for you. Keep this as your own home as long as you live, and I +will make another home for myself and the wife you do not like.”</p> +<p>“No, no, my dear boy, ever generous, ever kind! As your wife she +<i>must</i> be dear to me. What is a mother’s greedy aspiration compared to +her child’s real happiness? Follow your bent, my boy; follow it with your +mother’s sanction. And now, do you still love me a little, Rube, in spite +of this new love?”</p> +<p>“A little, dear mother!” He threw his arms about her. “No, not a little! +Much, very much; more than ever before! And believe me, when you +know Mell, you will feel very differently about it. You have only seen +her so far, through Clara’s eyes; come and see her as she is; come now, +mother, with me.”</p> +<p>And so it came about that on a certain day Rube came as usual to the +<a name='TC_19'></a><span class="trchange" title="Standardised hyphenation: Was 'farmhouse'">farm-house</span>, but not as usual, alone. His mother came with him—came, +looking about her with prying eyes, and a nose bent on thorough investigation, +and a mind ready to ferret out every idea in Mell’s brain; a mind +ready to probe every weak place in Mell’s character; a mind ready to +catechize every integument in Mell’s body.</p> +<p>The look of things about the premises prepossessed her at once in the +girl’s favor. The house was neither large, handsome, nor fresh; but it was +venerable, an attribute greatly esteemed by people of rank. Much of its +unpainted ugliness was concealed in trailing vines and creeping ivy, much +of its dilapidation shrouded in luxuriant shrubbery, an every-day adaptation +of the simplest elements of relief, technique. The little front garden, +in its white-sanded walks and well-weeded beds, brilliant in many-hued +blossoms, was just like a spruce country-damsel in her best bib and tucker. +The little parlor, daintily furnished and tastefully arranged, where the +visitor trod, not on bare boards, but a neat carpet, commingling Turkish +forms and Yankee interpretations, was still more suggestive. Into this +cozy apartment Mell had really crowded, in practical forms, all she had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +learned of human nature as it appears in man’s nature. Pretty +things there were, but none too pretty for use. Perfect neatness +there was, but not too perfect to interfere with a man’s love for +the let-me-do-as-I-please principle. Here a man who smokes might, +after asking permission, puff away to his heart’s content, puff away +without a compunction and without a frown from its ministering +spirit. Or, if my lord feels in a breaking mood, let him break, break +right and left, and there’s no great harm done; a few dollars would put +them all back. This is a consideration by no means small or unimportant +to some men, who seem inspired to break everything they touch, +from a woman’s heart to the most venerated of old brass icons.</p> +<p>This little room did everything it could to please a man, and put nothing +in his way; although it made him feel, with its presiding genius in it, every +kind of way, except uncomfortable.</p> +<p>There’s a rose upon the mantle, stuck by careless hand in a vase of +antique design—one rose, no more; for one such faultless rose as this fills +up all the spirit’s longing in a rose. A thousand roses, perfect of their +kind, could do no more. Here we have <i>sub rosa</i> a profound philosophical +maxim showing its colors—as brief as profound, i.e., enough is enough, +whether it be enough rose or enough stewed pigeon with green peas.</p> +<p>On a spider-legged table in this diminutive lady’s bower, there sat a dish +of ferns; some moss was growing in a basket; some colored strands of +wool lay across a piece of canvas; a carved paper-cutter peeped out from +the leaves of an unread book, left lying on an ottoman by some person who +had been seated in an easy-chair with silken cushions, soft to rest upon in +weariness, in a cozy corner; and on a sofa of crimson plush reposed, in restful +quiet, a guitar with blue ribbon attached. This guitar told its own +tale; Mell <i>had</i> learned something useful, after all, at that famous boarding-school; +for to the strumming of this guitar she could sing you, with +inimitable taste and in a bird-like voice, an English madrigal, or a French +<i>chansonnette</i>, or one of those plaintive love ditties which finds its way into +the listener’s heart through any language.</p> +<p>“Now, mother,” said Rube, looking about him with pardonable pride, +“isn’t this pleasant? Have we, amid all our grandeur, any such snug den +as this?”</p> +<p>“Well, no, Rube! It <i>is</i> charming! <i>Multum in parvo</i>, one may say. +But whom have we here?”</p> +<p>It was Mell, halting for one awe-struck instant in the doorway, attired +in a fresh muslin dress, with ribbons to match her eyes, and cheeks dyed a +red carnation at the formidable prospect of meeting, face to face, the august +mistress of the Bigge House. Rube pressed forward to meet her, and took +her fluttering hand in his own, and led her forward.</p> +<p>“Your new daughter, mother, and this, Mellville, is our good mother. +You’ll get along famously with her, I believe, in spite of Clara.”</p> +<p>Who but a blundering man, like dear honest Rube, would have so completely +let the domestic cat out of the bag?</p> +<p>No need for Mell to be the most wide-awake creature in existence to +understand on the spot, the real status of affairs, as concerned herself, at the +Bigge House.</p> +<p>Subjugated at once by her beauty, constrained to admit her lady-like +deportment, Mrs. Rutland kissed the rounded cheek and hoped she would +make her dear boy very happy. And Mell looked flatteringly conscious of +the great lady’s condescension, and blushingly avowed her unalterable determination +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +to try. This interesting little ceremony seemed to dissipate all +the underlying displeasure at Rube’s choice in his mother’s mind.</p> +<p>She watched the girl closely during the interview which followed. Many +girls are pretty and lady-like, not many are to be found as well educated +as Mell Creecy, or as thoroughly equipped by both nature and education to +entertain, to amuse, to fascinate. This was that part of Mell which “tuck +arter her ole daddy,” as old Jacob was wont to say. Even Clara Rutland’s +manners were not more easy and irreproachable, and Clara had never been +half so ready in speech and apt in reply. It was a matter of agreeable +wonder to Mrs. Rutland how a hard-working uneducated farmer could have +such a daughter, and she wondered also if this phenomenal social prodigy +could be found so strongly marked in any other land under the sun.</p> +<p>Obeying an instinct of curiosity, the visitor inquired:</p> +<p>“Your father and mother, Melville, are they here? Will they see +us?”</p> +<p>“Not if I can help it!” inwardly.</p> +<p>Outwardly very different.</p> +<p>“So sorry! Mother is not well to-day. She is rarely well, and rarely +sees anyone. Father is as usual busy upon the farm.”</p> +<p>“Rube says your father is a very thorough farmer,” remarked the +visitor.</p> +<p>“Doesn’t a good farmer make money out of it,” queried Mell, glancing +at her betrothed with a doubtful little smile, “just as a lawyer does out of +law, and a doctor out of physic? The earth is full of gold, and ought not +a good digger to strike it somewhere—some time? Father, at any rate, is +devoted to farming, as an occupation, and is happy in it, getting out of +the ground more of God’s secrets than the rest of us find among the stars.”</p> +<p>“That is a pretty idea, Mellville,” said Mrs. Rutland.</p> +<p>“Bless you!” exclaimed Rube, “that’s nothing! She’s full of ’em!”</p> +<p>Full of them, yes; and feeding his honest soul upon them, in place of the +real bread of affection.</p> +<p>The visit was long and pleasant, and at <a name='TC_20'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'it'">its</span> close Mell accompanied her +guests to the very door of their carriage. There Mrs. Rutland again touched +the girl’s soft cheek with her high-bred lips. Her foot was upon the stepping-stone, +when with a sudden thought, she turned once more.</p> +<p>“Mellville, we are to be very gay next week, a house full of company; +but I suspect we shall be honored with very little of Rube’s society unless +we first secure yours. Will you come, then, and make us a little visit?”</p> +<p>“You are kind,” answered she, coloring beautifully with intensity of +gratification. “Most kind! I will come with exceeding pleasure.”</p> +<p>These were perhaps the first unstudied words she had uttered in Mrs. +Rutland’s presence. There was no doubt about her wanting to go to the +Bigge House. She had been wanting to go there a long time. A veritable +flood-tide of joy filled her being at this speedy consummation of +her dearest hopes, but it was not of this she thought at that moment, nor +of Mrs. Rutland, nor of Rube. “I will see Jerome,” was what Mell +thought.</p> +<p>“Sweetest of mothers!” said Rube inside the vehicle.</p> +<p>“Luckiest of men!” returned his mother. “I am returning home as +did the Queen of Sheba; the half was not told!”</p> +<p>Rube now felt solid, unquestionably solid, in his own mind.</p> +<p>Mell, standing yet in the gateway, looked after them; gladly received +they had been, like many another guest; gladly, too, dismissed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></div> +<p>“The chain tightens,” cogitated the future mistress of the Bigge House, +“and if I should want to break it!”</p> +<p>But why should she want to break it, unless—</p> +<p>“There’s no use counting upon that,” Mell frankly admitted to herself, +“and no man’s difficulties must be allowed to interfere with my future. +And Rube is <i>so</i> eligible! A good fellow, too; a most excellent fellow! +There’s a something, however. What is it?”</p> +<p>We will tell you, Mell—Rube is not Jerome.</p> +<p>Going back into the house she found her father and mother peeping +through the blinds.</p> +<p>“Lord, Lord!” exclaimed old Jacob. “You’se jess er gittin’ up, Mell! +I knowed ye could do it, darter; but I mus’ say, I never lookt fer yer ter +git es high es the Bigge House.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Creecy inquired about Mrs. Rutland. Was she nice? pleasant?</p> +<p>“Very. No one could be nicer or pleasanter. She asked for you—both +of you.”</p> +<p>“She did? Then why didn’t you tell us?”</p> +<p>“Wife!” remonstrated the old farmer, “you is sartingly loss yo’ senses! +Don’t ye know, when Mell’s fine friends comes er long, we’s expected ter +run inter er rat-hole or some udder hole? All the use chillun has fer +parients these days is ter keep ’em er going. Onst Mrs. Rullan’, Mell +aint gwine ter know us by site! She aint no chile er mine, no how, Mell +aint!”</p> +<p>“Wall, now, she is yourn, I kin tell ye,” cried Mrs. Creecy, flaring up, +very much to the enjoyment of her liege lord.</p> +<p>The daughter turned off in disgust. Her father’s pleasantries were the +least pleasant of all his disagreeable ways. A coarse man’s humor is apt +to be the coarsest thing about him.</p> +<p>It was under very different auspices from those of her day dreams, that +Mell, after a few days of busy preparation, was admitted into the sacred +precincts of the social hierarchy.</p> +<p>Jerome was to have been the founder of her greatness, her steersman in +these unknown waters—not Rube.</p> +<p>None in this higher realm welcomed her more graciously than Clara. +Clara had high views of philosophy, but only one maxim: “See how the +hare runs, hear how the owl cries, accept the inevitable, and get all you can +out of it.”</p> +<p>Jerome returned from Cragmore the day following her own domestication +into this new sphere of existence. How strange it all seemed, and how +unnatural! How strange he should find her there, and with so good a +right to be there! Surely years have intervened since those lovely mornings +in the meadow, when Sukey cropped the dew-wet grass, and she sat +on the old tree-stump and Jerome lay at her feet.</p> +<p>Surely long, long years!</p> +<p>So long that Jerome has forgotten all about them—and her. She is now +to him only Miss Creecy, the prospective wife of his nearest friend, the +prospective mistress of the Bigge House, and not attractive, it would appear, +in these new surroundings. Others, very likely, did not notice how +he never spoke to her, if he could help it; how he never looked at her, if he +could help it; how they kept far apart, as far as the East is from the West, +though sleeping under the same roof, and eating at the same table, and +constantly together morning, noon, and night. Others did not notice all +these things, but Mell did.</p> +<p>“He despises me,” sobbed Mell in the darkness of her own chamber, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +smothering her sobs in her own pillow. “Once he loved, and now he +despises me!”</p> +<p>Better go to sleep, Mell; tears cannot wash away stern facts, and what +good would it do now, if he did love you?</p> +<p>The other guest has come; the one of whom Jerome had spoken. It is +the Honorable Archibald Pendergast, who is middle-aged, well-fed, and +somewhat portly, who has big round shoulders and a jolly way of looking +at things, who bellows out his words with a broad accent, and says, Aw! +aw! with tremendous effect; who wears his whiskers <i>à la manière +Anglaise</i>, as befits a man proud of his British ancestry and his English +ways. This great man’s marvellous wealth and honors, and incalculable +influence in national councils, and stupendous grandeur of future prospects, +carry everything before him—at the Bigge House, and everywhere +else.</p> +<p>Adapting herself with versatile cleverness, to these prevailing conditions +in her unaccustomed environment, Mell’s conception of modes and manners +expanded day by day, and she began to see plainly a good many objects +only dimly discerned before.</p> +<p>“I don’t think,” remarked she, quite innocently to Rube, the day after +the great man’s advent, “that Mr. Devonhough admires the Senator as much +as the rest of us.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder!”</p> +<p>Rube looked knowing and laughed.</p> +<p>“If he was as badly stuck on you as he appears to be on Clara, <i>I</i> wouldn’t +admire him either!”</p> +<p>“But,” said Mell, “is Jerome?”</p> +<p>“Yes, certainly. Didn’t you know that? I thought you did. They are +in the same interesting predicament as ourselves. Only Clara <a name='TC_21'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'wont'">won’t</span> announce, +because she wants to keep up to the last minute her good times +with other men. I don’t see how Devonhough stands it, and I’m awfully +glad you’re not that sort of a girl!”</p> +<p>“How long?” asked not-that-sort-of-a-girl, trying to steady her voice, +trying to maintain her rôle of a disinterested inquirer.</p> +<p>“How long have they been engaged!” repeated Rube. “Let me see—Six +months at least.”</p> +<p>“Six months!”</p> +<p>“You seem surprised, Mell.” He turned his glance full upon her.</p> +<p>“Not at all,” said she, pulling herself to rights. “I was only thinking +that you ought to be willing to wait as long as that.”</p> +<p>“So I would; as many years, for that matter, if there was any good +reason why I should. But there is not; not one, and so, Mell—”</p> +<p>“Six months!” ejaculated Mell, in the privacy of her own room. “So +all the while he lay at my feet he was engaged to Clara Rutland!”</p> +<p>Mell began to understand Jerome’s difficulties.</p> +<p>Later on she saw clearly some other things. Clara is fond of Jerome, +and would gladly, for that reason, marry him; but she is likewise attracted +by the mighty Senator’s wealth, and national importance, and English +ancestry, and future expectations; and for such reasons leans matrimonially +towards the Honorable Archibald, who is thirty years older than +Jerome, but thirty years richer and thirty years greater. Between two +fires Clara meanwhile keeps to the letter of the law with Jerome, and holds +out in ambuscade <i>le pot au lait</i> to the Honorable Archibald.</p> +<p>A closer acquaintance with the interior circuit of these unwanted surroundings, +so delicately refined, so distinctly aristocratic, so far above her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +own poor world, and yet withal, so unsatisfying and so “over-charged with +surfeiting,” developed to Mell the startling fact that a life spent in incessant +amusement not only soon ceases to amuse, but becomes, in process of +time, a devouring conflict with <i>ennui</i>. She recalled with a sense of wondering +comprehension the Arab proverb: “All sunshine makes the +desert.”</p> +<p>Another thing, these women at ease, with nothing in the world to do, +Mell was thunderstruck to discover, were the hardest worked people she +had ever known, striving each on a daily battle-ground of dawdling, dressing, +and pleasure. Seeking after some personal end, some empty honor, +or some favorite phantom just out of reach. What bickering and strife; +what small conspiracies; what canker at the roots and stunting in the fruit; +what Guelph and Ghibbeline factions in the midst of all this music, and +dancing, and laughter! The same amount of time spent in a good cause, +Mell’s long head could not but realize, would ease the rack, plant many a +blade of corn, staunch many a bleeding wound, wipe the death drops from +many a ghastly brow, lift up heaps of fallen heroes prone on stony plains, +and plant the standard of the cross on many a benighted shore. Outside, +Mell had yearned towards this stronghold of the rich, as a place where +there was plenty of room for growth and happiness: inside, she discovered +with astonishment and a groan, that there was plenty of room there for +dullness and unhappiness as well. Idleness without repose, leisure and no +ease, tears and no time to shed them—on every side, and unexpected dry-rot +in the substance of things, she had pictured to her own fancy as fair, +and only fair.</p> +<p>“Then,” interrogated Mell of her conscious Ego, “if not here, where +dwelleth content?”</p> +<p>Mayhap, Mell, upon the rock where the hawks nest, or in that haven +where the roving wind hideth its tired self for rest. Somewhere, but never +among the haunts of men. The deep hath its treasures, and there are +treasures of the mine; the mind hath its treasures, and there are treasures +of store; but content is the golden treasure, hardest of all to find, and +when found hardest to keep.</p> +<p>One night there was a ball, and the social lights of Pudney and Cragmore, +and the capital of the State itself, turned out in full force. The +Bigge House was crammed to its utmost capacity.</p> +<p>Dressing early, Mell left her room to other guests, in various stages of +evening toilet, and descending to the first floor, looked about her for some +quiet spot where, for a time, she could hide herself and her tumultuous +thoughts. The large reception room was dimly lighted as yet, and empty +apparently. Glad to find it so, she walked in, and standing between the +long pier-glasses, a tapering column draped in tulle clouds, took a full-length, +back and front inspection of her own person.</p> +<p>Now this dainty rustic maiden, as we have seen, looked at when framed +in a high-necked, long-sleeved, simple morning-gown, made a sweet picture +for any eye; but it was, in some respects, a tame presentation compared +to this gorgeously arrayed being, bedecked in flowers and a low corsage, +with marble shoulders, shapely throat, alabaster neck and rounded +arms, bewilderingly displayed, cunningly concealed. This fairy-like being +cannot be a <i>bona fide</i> woman; she is more likely a study from Reynolds +or Gainsborough, who has stepped out of canvas and a gilt frame on the +wall there, merely to delight the living eye and inflame the fumes of vital +fancy.</p> +<p>Not long, however, whether sprite or woman, did she pose there in admiration +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +of her own face and figure. For, truth to tell, they have both +become hateful in the girl’s own sight. Her fair face looks to herself no +longer as a fresh-gathered blossom sparkling with dew, as the ethereal interpreter +of a woman’s pure soul, blameless and serene. Much more does +it look, to her own acute sensibilities, as a painted mask, put on for hard +service; always in place, always properly adjusted, proof against attack, +but every little loophole needing to be defended at every point. A mask +very troublesome to wear, but not upon any account to be discarded, since +it concealed the discordance of a secret love and the clanking of a chain.</p> +<p>But now, to-night, in this empty room, in this deep silence and blessed +solitude, where there is no eye to see, no ear to hear, she will throw off for +one thankful moment the ugly, hateful thing. She will allow the dejected +visage to fitly portray the dejected mind; she will breathe freely once more, +and sigh and sigh, and moan and moan, and wring her hands in uncontrollable +agony; and, ignoring the fact that the heaviest part of her trouble is +of her own making, wonder why she had ever been born for such as this.</p> +<p>Hope is entirely dead in Mell’s heart. Transplanted out of the lowly +valley of her own birth to the mountain-tops of her soul’s desire, she feels +as lonely as we might imagine the spirit of Greek art, set down in a modern +world. Turn whatever way she would, there was but one fate for her—martyrdom. +If she did not marry Rube, she would be a martyr in her own +humble home; if she did marry him, she would be a martyr in his more +pretentious one; and there was not as great a difference as she had thought +between the air in the valley and the air on the mountain-top. It is the +lungs which breathe, and not the air inhaled, most at issue, and a martyr +is a martyr anywhere, the social type being hardly less excruciating to undergo +than others more quickly ended.</p> +<p>Pitiful in the extreme are such thoughts in a young mind; pitiful such +manifestations of suffering in one too young to suffer.</p> +<p>How the people upstairs would be surprised if they could see her! How +the Honorable Archibald, who liked things jolly, begawd! who thought all +evidence of feeling bad form, you know; who believed, root and branch, in +British stoicism, even in the jaws of death; how he would advise her in a +spirit of friendliness and a well-bred way, not aw to make a blawsted dolt +of herself—if he only knew. Fortunately, he did not know; fortunately, +nobody knew.</p> +<p>Nobody?</p> +<p>Then who or what is that creature in semblance of man, in attitude of +deepest thought, with folded arms and hanging head, darkly shadowed, +dimly seen, scarcely discernible in the embrasure of the window over +there?</p> +<p>Spirit or man? If a man, he might be a dead one for all the noise he +makes—only a dead man was never known before to use his eyes in such a +lively manner, or his ears to such good purpose, or to betray so deep an +interest in a living woman, even in a ball dress.</p> +<p>Mell did not look towards him, did not know he was there; yet, on a +sudden, as if from some inward sense of vigilance rather than any extraneous +source of knowledge, her pulses strangely fluttered—she became +aware that she was not in reality alone. <i>How</i>, in the absence of visual +impression, we can only say by an instinct as unaccountable as the phenomenon +of sound waves which excite wire vibrations.</p> +<p>She was mysteriously imbued with another presence, if such a thing is +possible, and in all the world there was but one who could so clothe the circumambient +air in his own personality.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span></div> +<p>That one was Jerome Devonhough. Perceiving she now knew he was +there, he got up and came towards her.</p> +<p>Mell did not look at him; she looked upon the floor. He looked straight +at her, and looked so long and hard, and with a gaze so fixed and steady, +that he seemed to be slowly absorbing her very being into his own entity.</p> +<p>When this became intolerable, the fairy-like apparition in tulle, wrestling +with the situation, on a war footing with her own feelings, lifted from a +glowing face those <i>lapis lazuli</i> eyes of hers—pure stones liquified by soul +action—to his face and dropped them. In one swift turn of those eyes she +had taken in as much of that stern, cold, accusing face as she could well +bear. But there was nothing on it she had not expected to see. She knew +the unrelenting disdain of that proud nature for what is stained, unworthy, +unwomanly, as well as she knew its strength to esteem, its gift to exalt, its +power to bless.</p> +<p>And to look into a once loving face now grown cold, and to find there no +longer an indulgent smile nor approving aspect, is not an experience to be +coveted, even by the happiest.</p> +<p>“You are enjoying it, I hope,” said at length a low mocking voice.</p> +<p>“Enjoying it!” retorted plucky Mell, “of course I am enjoying it! +Why shouldn’t I? I am probably enjoying it as much as you are!”</p> +<p>“More, I hope. I, for one, never did enjoy being miserable.”</p> +<p>“Oh, miserable!” exclaimed Mell, in a lively tone. His misery appeared +to put her in the highest spirits. “Going to marry a rich girl and feeling +miserable over it, how is that? You ought to be as happy, almost, as I +am!”</p> +<p>“The happiness which needs to be so extolled,” replied Jerome, with a +sardonic laugh, “rests on a slim foundation. Mine is of a different stamp. +It leads me to envy the very worms as they crawl under my feet. Even a +worm is free to go where his wishes lead him—even a worm is free to find +an easy death and quick, when life becomes insupportable.”</p> +<p>Mell pressed her hand upon her heart, beating so fast—that pent-up heart +in a troubled breast, which rose and fell as a storm-tossed vessel amid tempestuous +seas.</p> +<p>“You cannot blame me for it,” said she wildly. “You slighted me, +you trifled with me, you goaded me to it! I would do it again; if need be!”</p> +<p>“Once has been enough,” Jerome told her, in sadness. Speech was an +effort to him; when a man regards some treasure, once his own now lost to +him, he thinks much, but he has little to say. That little, nine times out of +ten, would better be left unsaid. Jerome felt it so; for a long time he said +nothing more—he only continued to look at the woman he had lost.</p> +<p>She continued to contemplate the floor, until those polished boards, waxed +in readiness for gay dancers’ feet, became to her a sorry sight indeed, and a +source of nervous irritation. When their glances encountered again, hers +was full of passionate entreaty, his of inflamed regret.</p> +<p>“I have a question to put to you,” he broke forth, harshly. “What +right have you to marry Rube Rutland, loving me?”</p> +<p>“The same right that you have to marry Clara Rutland, loving me!”</p> +<p>This turned the tables. Now Jerome’s glance was riveted upon those +polished boards, and she looked at him. She had not had so good a look at +him in a long time, and her two eyes had never been eyes enough to take +in as much of him as her heart craved.</p> +<p>“At least,” said Jerome, regaining his composure and holding up his +head, “this much may be said for me. My contract with her was made +in good faith. I liked her well enough—I loved no one else—it was all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +right until I met you. My soul is as a pure white dove in this matter, compared +to yours! And these bonds of mine, they hang but by a single +thread. Our future would have been assured but for your broken faith.”</p> +<p>“Mine? It is all <i>your</i> fault, not mine! Had you trusted me, as a man +ought to trust the woman he loves, all might have been well with us.”</p> +<p>“All would have been well with us had you trusted <i>me</i>, as a woman +should trust the man she loves. Did I not ask you so to trust me? Great +God! Mellville, could I conceive that you would stake your future happiness—our +future happiness, on the paltry issues of a foot-race? That whole +day my mind was full of projects for bringing about a happy termination +to all our troubles. I could have done it! I would have done it! But +now!”</p> +<p>Lashed into fury by a vivid conception of his own wrongs, brought about, +as he chose to consider, through her treachery alone, Jerome turned upon +her angrily:</p> +<p>“Let me tell you one thing! You shall not marry Rube Rutland!”</p> +<p>“Shall I not?”</p> +<p>Mell laughed—not one of her musical laughs. Now that she was fairly +in for it, she rather enjoyed this fencing match with Jerome. Hitherto, +she had always by stress of circumstances, acted upon the defensive with +him; now she could assert her mastery.</p> +<p>“Shall I not? How will you prevent it?”</p> +<p>“I will open his eyes. I will tell him you do not care a rap for him.”</p> +<p>“You will tell him that? Very well. I will <i>swear</i> to him that I do. +Whom will he believe? <i>Not you!</i>”</p> +<p>Her words, her manner, were exasperating, and they were intended to be +exasperating. That cool and systematic self-control which characterized +Jerome, had more than aroused a feeling of rebellious protest in the girl’s +impetuous nature. If she could break him up a little—</p> +<p>“<i>I say you shall not marry him!</i>” The words were not loudly spoken, +but they were the utterances of a man much in earnest. “Rather than +see you his wife I would gladly see you dead!”</p> +<p>“Oh, no doubt! But let me tell you, sir, I do not propose to die to +please you! I propose to please myself by becoming the wife of Rube +Rutland!”</p> +<p>This was too much, even for Jerome.</p> +<p>“You heartless, cruel, wicked woman!”</p> +<p>With a single stride he reached her side; he shook his finger rudely in +her face; nay, in a frenzy of mad passion he did worse than that—he took +hold of the wayward creature herself and shook her with such violence +that those heavy coils of hair, upon which she had expended so much time +and pains, loosened and fell about her in a reckless loveliness beyond the +reach of art.</p> +<p>“Woman, do you know what you are doing? Do you know that you are +playing with dangerous implements? toying with men’s passions? dallying +with men’s souls?”</p> +<p>It is safe to say, Mell had never had such a shaking up, however frequent +the occasions when she had deserved it.</p> +<p>This unconventional usage on the part of Jerome, a man who wore self-possession +and correct manners as an every day coat of mail, not only surprised +Mell, but terrified and subdued her. In undertaking to “break up” +Jerome by stirring up the green-eyed monster, Mell had neglected to take +into account the well-established fact, that no jealous man stands long +upon ceremony. Panting for breath, she awoke unpleasantly to a full comprehension +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +of a madman’s possibilities, and ignoring all those impassioned +inquiries with which he had interlarded the severer measures of corporeal +punishment, she remarked in a spirit of meekness and a very faint voice:</p> +<p>“Jerome, let me go, please; you are hurting me.”</p> +<p>“But how much more you are hurting me,” said Jerome, harshly.</p> +<p>He released her, however, and felt ashamed. No man with real manliness +in him, but does feel ashamed after he has hurt a woman. She may +have deserved it, and yet he feels ashamed.</p> +<p>One would think that now after this ungentlemanly conduct on Jerome’s +part, Mell the high spirited will not only be full of a tremendous indignation, +but be willing, and more than willing, to give him up for good and all.</p> +<p>How little you know a woman, you who think that! A harmless man +never does anywhere so little harm as in a woman’s affections. The rod +of empire sways the world and a woman’s mind—all women, to a great or +less degree; all women are sisters.</p> +<p>In other words, it is very necessary for a man to be capable of shaking +up a woman for past offences, and present naughtiness, when she needs it, +or else he must make up his mind to take a back seat and give up the +supremacy. Some of the fair sex never come to terms without a shaking—there +may be one or two, here and there among them, who never come +to terms, even with a shaking!</p> +<p>Mell did not belong to this small minority; she was completely subdued. +Contrite, and submissive, she now approached her audacious antagonist; +approached him timidly, where he stood a little apart, and with his back +turned to her, feeling, as we have said, quite ashamed of himself, and said +gently:</p> +<p>“Jerome, I will break with Rube if you will break with Clara.”</p> +<p>“An honorable man cannot leave a woman in the lurch,” answered he, +in a manner indicative of a strong protest under the existing law.</p> +<p>“And how about an honorable woman?” interrogated Mell.</p> +<p>“She can lie, and lie, and still be honorable,” he informed her with +<a name='TC_22'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'fiercy'">fierce</span> irony.</p> +<p>“Then you expect me to——”</p> +<p>“I do! I confidently expect you to do it, and at once. Break with him, +and have a little patience with me, until Clara gets the Honorable Archibald +taut on the line, and awakens to the fact that she loves me still—but +only as a brother! It is coming—it is sure to come, and before long.”</p> +<p>“In the meantime,” remarked Mell, with a peculiar expression, “what’s +the use of hurting Rube’s feelings?”</p> +<p>“Gods and angels, listen!” exclaimed her companion, in overwhelming +indignation. “The question then has narrowed down to the getting of a +husband without regard to any body’s feelings—save Rube. His are not to +be hurt until you can hurt them with impunity! You are bound to hold +on to <i>him</i> until you secure <i>me</i>, beyond a peradventure! That is your +little game, Mell, is it? Out upon you! Oh, unfortunate man that I am, +to have fallen into the hands of a woman who is particular as to the fit of +her ball dress, but has no preference when it comes to a husband; +who has the aspect of a goddess, but the easy principles of a Delilah; +who is, in fact, not a genuine woman at all, with a heart and a soul in +her, but a man-eating monster, seeking prey—a shark in woman’s clothing, +ready to take into the matrimonial clutch, and swallow at a single gulp, +me, if you can get me; if not me, Rube; if not Rube, any other eligible +creature in man’s guise, whether descended from a molecule in the coral, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +or a tadpole in the spawn: whether a swine of Epicurus, or an ape just +from Barbary! Shame upon you, woman! Shame! Shame!”</p> +<p>Restive under these severe strictures, Mell had made several ineffectual +attempts to put a stop to them, but her appealing gestures implored in +vain. Finding he would not desist, she bit her lips in great agitation, +and crimsoned violently.</p> +<p>“You are the most impertinent man in existence!” she informed him +petulantly, when he had done.</p> +<p>“That’s right, Mell,” he answered. “Turn red—turn red to the tips +of your eyelashes! It is the most hopeful sign I have yet seen. Mellville, +look at me.”</p> +<p>She raised to him wonderingly her wondrously beautiful eyes.</p> +<p>“I have been asking myself how I could love you so well, a woman +who could condescend to sail under false colors; who knows how to stoop +from her high estate, and trick, and juggle, and blind; who has set a trap +to catch a mouse, and victimizes her prey; who has spread her toils to +obtain a husband under false pretences. I have asked myself many times, +‘how can you love that woman?’ I have wished that I loved you less—that +I loved you not at all! And I would crush it out—this unspeakable +tenderness, which shields and defends your image in my heart—crush it +out, beat it down, tear it into tatters, grind it into dust under the heel of +an inexorable resolve, but that I believe, but that I <i>know</i>, Mell, that +there is something within you deeper, better, worthier! ‘Truth is God,’ +and the woman who is true in all things is a part of Divinity. But +what of the woman who is false where she ought to be true? Let her +hide her head in the presence of devils! Be true, then, Mell, be earnest! +This frivolous trifling with life’s most serious concerns shows so small in +a being born to a noble heritage! It is only excusable in a natural <i>niais</i>, +or a woman unendowed with a soul.”</p> +<p>Jerome here paused. After a moment spent in thought, he approached +his companion very near, and in a voice of passionate tenderness +resumed:</p> +<p>“My darling! you can never know what hours of <a name='TC_23'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'tortment'">torment</span>, what days +of suffering, this conduct of yours has cost me. But I believe you have +erred more through thoughtlessness, and a pardonable feeling of resentment—more +through love turned into madness, than any settled determination +to do wrong. But now let it go no further. Hasten to set yourself +right with Rube. No matter whether you and I are destined to be +happy in each other’s love or not; at all hazards be true to the immortal +within you. Promise me to undo the mischief you have done; promise +me to be a good, true, useful woman, thinking more of duty than your +own interest and pleasure. The world is overstocked with butterflies, but +it needs good women, and I want you to be one of them—the best! My +darling, you will promise me?”</p> +<p>Mell was much affected; she hung her head and her bosom heaved.</p> +<p>“Do you hesitate?” cried Jerome, mistaking her silence. “Promise +me, Mell, I implore, I beseech you!”</p> +<p>“Theatricals?” asked a voice in the doorway.</p> +<p>It was Rube.</p> +<p>“Rehearsing your parts?” he again inquired, coming in.</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Jerome. “For are we not all players upon a stage?”</p> +<p>“And what play have they decided upon?” next questioned the unsuspecting +Rube, who, carrying no concealed weapons himself, was never on +the lookout for concealed weapons on others.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></div> +<p>“I don’t recall the name,” said Jerome. “Do you, Miss Creecy? It is +‘Lover’s Quarrel,’ or some such twaddle, I think.”</p> +<p>Mell thought it was something of that kind, but she furthermore expressed +the opinion that it would be well-nigh impossible to get it up in +time for the delectation of the Honorable Archibald.</p> +<p>“Which is no great pity,” declared the off-hand Rube; “I wish he’d +take himself elsewhere to be delectated.”</p> +<p>There was no doubt as to Rube’s preferences for a brother-in-law; +which, however, did not take away from the awkwardness of this remark. +Not suspicious, neither was Rube obtuse; he noted a singular contraction +on Jerome’s brow, he noted a strange confusion in Mell’s manner, and he +put it all down to his own blundering tongue, which was always placing his +best friend either in a false or in an annoying position before Mell. Out +of these considerations he made haste to subjoin:</p> +<p>“Ah, Mellville, you should have seen Devonhough how splendidly he +acquitted himself in our class plays at college!”</p> +<p>This was a pure offering from friendship’s store. Honest Rube, with his +fine open countenance all aglow with enthusiasm for his friend and joy +in the presence of the woman he loved, looked the archetype of hopeful +young manhood, untouched, as yet, by sorrow or mistrust. Regarded +from an architectural standpoint, he had the sublime simplicity and dignity +of the Doric, which was just wherein he differed from Jerome, who was a +Corinthian column, delicately chiselled, ornately moulded.</p> +<p>Mell remarked, in reply to this expression of lively admiration from +Rube, that she wished she could have seen Mr. Devonhough—or something. +Mr. Devonhough, with the expression of a man whose self-respect +will not admit of his bearing much more, said with an impatient “Pshaw,” +that she needn’t wish to have seen him, that this good acting of his was all +in Rube’s eye, and nowhere else; that he hated an actor, and that he never +would act another part himself, as long as he lived, not to oblige anybody, +and so help him God!</p> +<p>After which, shadowed by clouds, beleaguered with dark thoughts, with +sombre fires of jealousy smoldering in his eye, and war-hounds of anxiety +gnawing at his vitals, he abruptly turned and left the room—not with his +usual deliberation.</p> +<p>And still Rube saw nothing.</p> +<p>“He’s real cut up,” said the sympathetic Rube, looking commiseratingly +after the friend of his bosom. “And all for what? Because a +woman never seems certain of her own mind. When judgment overtakes +you women what is to become of you all, anyhow—eh, Mell?”</p> +<p>Mell could hardly say; and Rube, dismissing Jerome from his mind for +the present, found other occupation. He had never seen Mell before in +full dress. He addressed himself <i>con amore</i>, and exclusively, for a time, +to the study of structural feminity and those marvels of nature presented +to the eye of the earnest investigator, in the shape of a well-formed +woman on the outside of a ball dress.</p> +<p>During this process Rube’s sensations were indefinable.</p> +<p>Mell, preoccupied in thoughts of her own, hears, at length, his voice +dreamily, as a sound from afar, and looks up irritably to see, for the +hundredth time, how coarse of fibre Rube is compared to Jerome.</p> +<p>She resents the unpalatable fact. She resents something else, and +makes a very vigorous but unavailing effort to gain her freedom.</p> +<p>“I cannot understand,” playfully remonstrated Rube, and with arms +immovable, “why so simple a matter disturbs you so much. You are as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +white as a sheet, you are quivering like a leaf, your hands are icy cold, +and what is it all about?”</p> +<p>“I told you never, <i>never</i> to do that!” cried out Mell, in an agony of +passionate protest.</p> +<p>Even the most cold-blooded among mortals finds the caress of a person +not dear to them offensive; but take the woman of emotional nature, <a name='TC_24'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'exquisively'">exquisitely</span> +sensitive in all matters of feeling, and to such the touch of unloved +lips is worse than a plague spot.</p> +<p>“Don’t you hear me? I cannot bear it! I am not used to it!”</p> +<p>There was something more than maidenly coyness in her tone; there was +mental anguish, and a downright shade of anger. We wonder Rube did +not detect it. But you know, gentle reader, how it is. There are so many +things all around and about us which we do not hear and see, because +we are intent upon other matters, and are not looking for them. With +such feelings, in that dreadful moment Mell would rather have submitted +to a dozen stripes from Jerome, than one single caress from Rube—her +future husband, bear you in mind! the being by whose side she expected +to pass the rest of her days. Poor Mell! If getting up in the world requires +self-torture, self-immolation such as this, wouldn’t it be better, +think you, not to get up? Wouldn’t it be better, in the long run, for every +woman, situated as you are, to use a dagger, and thereby not only settle +her future, but get clean out of a world where such sufferings are necessary? +There can’t be any other world much worse, judged by your present +sensations.</p> +<p>But Rube, as we have said, did not hear that piteous wail of a woman +coercing her flesh and blood, the frame of her mind, the bent of her soul. +She was his own, and no words could tell, how he loved her. If a man +cannot lawfully kiss his own wife, or one so near to being his own wife, +it is a hard case, truly. That one little slip “’twixt the cup and the lip,” +which has played such havoc in men’s expectations, from the first beginnings +of time to the present moment, did not enter into Rube’s calculations, +or his thoughts.</p> +<p>He was in a playful and a loving mood. He tightened his clasp upon +her, he chucked her under the chin, he pinched her cheek, he patted those +sunny locks of hers and smiled down into that fair face, <i>faire les yeux +doux</i>, and babbled to her in lover-language, not unlike the “pitty, pitty +ittle shing” upon which we linguistically feed helpless infancy, as little +witting the possible sufferings of the child under such an infliction, as +Rube did Mell’s.</p> +<p>“Now truly, Mell,” asked Rube, “did you never let any other fellow kiss +you—never? not once?”</p> +<p>“No!” said Mell, emphatic and indignant. “<i>Never!</i> And <i>you</i> shouldn’t +now, if I could help myself! Do go away! I tell you I’m not used to such +as this!”</p> +<p>She was almost ready to cry.</p> +<p>The whole thing was immensely amusing and entertaining to Rube, and +while he laughed, he could also understand how it might come hard on a +girl, at first, to feel the bloom despoiled on her chaste lips.</p> +<p>“But you will get used to it after awhile,” he assured her, with a quiet +smile. “My word for it, you will! I will see to it that you do. There +now, my pretty one (just what Jerome called her) sweet, frightened bird, +why ruffle your beautiful plumage against these bars? They are made of +adamant; but only be quiet and take to them kindly and they will not derange +a single feather. You are exquisitely lovely to-night! You will intoxicate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +all beholders! And have you been thinking of that blissful time +when we are going to get married?”</p> +<p>She had, of course; but what made him so impatient? Couldn’t he wait +until she got back home? Rube could, certainly; but only on conditions, +and those conditions would come very hard on a girl not used to a lover’s +kiss, and who objected to a lover’s fondling, unless she managed well.</p> +<p>Fortunately, Mell could manage well. She could have managed the +diversified attractions of a dime museum if necessary.</p> +<p>“And before he shall desecrate my lips again,” Mell vowed to herself, +under her breath, “I will perish by my own hands!”</p> +<p>Ah! Mell, Mell, you should have thought of that before you sold yourself!</p> +<p>At daylight she crawled upstairs and into bed. The ball had been a +great success and she its reigning belle. Women like her, with such a +form, with such a face, with such glory of hair and wealth of high spirits +and physical exuberance, work like a spell in a ball-room. There was +something bewildering in the gleam of her eye; something intoxicating in +the turn of her neck, the flow of her garments.</p> +<p>She had danced, to please Rube, more than once with Jerome. It was +while the two were floating together in that delirious rapture of conscious +nearness, to which the conventional waltz gives pretext and the stamp of +propriety, and while their senses swayed to the rhythmic measure of the +sweetest music they had ever heard, that Mell looked up meltingly into her +partner’s face—a face absorbed, excited, yet darkly set with a certain sternness +which Mell fully understood—looked up and said to him: “Only +wait until I get back home.” Simple words indeed, and holding little +meaning for those who heard; but they gave a new lease of life to Jerome. +He answered back in a whisper, certain words. And now it only remained +for Clara Rutland to accept the Honorable Archibald Pendergast +and the happiness of two loving hearts would be assured.</p> +<p>The ball is over, gone, past, never to come back again, with its waltz melody, +<a name='TC_25'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'it'">its</span> ravishing rhyme without reason, its sweet smelling flowers, its foam-crested +wine, its outlying joy, its underlying pathos, its hidden sweetness, +and its secret pain. For, there never was a ball yet which had its lights +and not its shadows; which did not have some heavy foot among its light +fantastic toes; some heavy heart among its gallant men and beautiful +women.</p> +<p>Mell lives it over in the pale dawn. It made her blood curdle and her +flesh creep to think of those two men. What was she going to do with +them—Rube and Jerome? How was it all to end?</p> +<p>Horrible it would be to break off with Rube, more horrible still not to do +so. Fearful it would be to tell him the truth—the whole truth. But that +was what Jerome expected her to do, what she ought to do.</p> +<p>Those words of his were burned into her memory with fire. He wanted +her to become a good, true, useful woman, and be no longer a butterfly.</p> +<p>He had called her ‘my darling.’ He had called her so twice. He loved +her just as much as ever. In fact, he loved her more; for the man is not +living who does not love a woman more when he finds out somebody else +loves her as well as he.</p> +<p>She was quite decided, and Jerome was undeniably right; there was but +one honorable course for her to follow. Even if Jerome married Clara, +and she herself never had another offer of marriage (she never would have +another such as Rube) how sweet it would be, even in a life of loneliness, +to be free, to be able to maintain the dignity and the probity of her womanhood, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +to be able to throw aside the despicable part of a double-dealer and +a deceiver, to be able to feel that she had been worthy of Jerome though +never his.</p> +<p>Thus Mell felt when she stretched her weary limbs on that silken couch +of ease in the dim morning light, and turned her face to the wall, and +closed her eyes, and thought of that exquisite moment, when from Jerome’s +shoulder, conventionally used, she had proffered to him the olive branch +of peace and had caught the heavenly beams of that smile which restored +her to his favor. With the bewitchment of this smile reflected upon the +fair lineaments of her own face, Mell fell into that sweet rest, which remains +even for the people who flirt.</p> +<p>But how different everything always seems the day after the ball!</p> +<p>It must be the <a name='TC_26'></a><span class="trchange" title="Standardised hyphenation: Was 'gaslight'">gas-light</span> in the ball-room, it must be the sunlight in the +day-time, which makes all the difference. Sunlight is the effulgence of a +God, and lights up Reality; gas-light is a ray kindled by the feeble hand +of man to brighten the unreal—a delusion and a snare.</p> +<p>The absurd fancies of a ball-room hide their fantastic fumes in the broad +daylight.</p> +<p>Coming down to a six o’clock dinner—finding Rube at the bottom of the +stairs to attend upon her—finding the assembled company, including the +Honorable Archibald, half-famished and yet kept waiting for their dinner, +until the future mistress of the Bigge House put in an appearance, Mell +began more clearly to estimate her own importance—her own, but through +Rube. Her beauty, her wit, they were her own; but they had availed her +little before her betrothment to Rube. Especially was she impressed with +this aspect of the case, when, hanging upon his arm, she entered the brilliant +drawing-room to become immediately the bright particular star of the +social heavens, the cynosure of all eyes; to be immediately surrounded by +flattering sycophants; to be pelted with well-bred raillery for her tardiness +and sleepy-headedness; to be bowed down to and reverenced and waited +upon and courted and admired by these high-born people—she, old +Jacob Creecy’s daughter, but the future wife of the young master of +this lordly domain.</p> +<p>And Jerome expected her to give all this up—did he? And to give it +up whether he gave up Clara, or not? Jerome was simply crazy—and she +would be a good deal crazier herself before he caught her doing it! Mell +still has an eye to the main chance. Mell still “tuck arter her ole daddy!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The summer wanes. The ripened grain is harvested and the chaff falling +from the sheaves on the threshing floor; the patient teams sniff the +first cool breeze and put their shoulders to the wheel; the wagons are +heaped in corn; the fields grow white for the picking. In the windings of +green valleys yellow leaves and red play fast and loose amid the green, +and go fluttering to the ground; the deer stalks abroad; glad hunters blow +their horns, and the unleashed hounds are joyful at the scent of noble prey.</p> +<p>Twice has the moon changed, and Mell is still at the Bigge House, showing +up amid its polished refinements, as a choice bit of Corian faïence contrasted +with cut-glass. Every day she spoke of going, but every day there +was some reason why she should not go and should stay. Mrs. Rutland +wanted her to stay; and Mell herself, whatever her misgivings, whatever +her struggles, whatever her trials, wanted, too, on the whole, to stay. Here +was a congenial atmosphere of style and fashion, congenial occupation—or +the congenial want of any, endless variety of amusement, the hourly excitement +of spirited contact with kindred minds, and no vulgar father and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +mother to mortify her tender sensibilities. Here, too, she was in the presence +of the one being on earth she most loved, and even to see him under +cold restraint, was better than not to see him at all. Sometimes it happened +they sat near each other for a few blissful seconds; sometimes it +was a stolen look into each other’s eyes; sometimes an accidental touch of +the hand when Jerome was initiating the ladies into the ingenious methods +of a fore-overhand stroke or a back-underhand stroke, or the effective results +of skillful volleying—such casual trifles as these, unnoticed by others, +but more precious to them than “the golden wedge of Ophir.”</p> +<p>So the days passed on; rainy days, dry days, clear days, cloudy days, +bright days, dark days, every kind of day, and every one of them a day’s +march nearer the imperishable day.</p> +<p>“There’s a messenger outside, Miss Mellville, to say that your father is +sick and wishes you to come home.”</p> +<p>Jerome, it was, who spoke.</p> +<p>“Father sick!” exclaimed Mell. “I will go at once.”</p> +<p>“How provoking!” broke in Mrs. Rutland. “I wanted you particularly +to-day. Rube, too. Don’t you remember he wants you to go to Pudney?”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” interrupted Mell hastily. She did not wish Mrs. Rutland +to say before Jerome what Rube wanted her to go there for. It was to +have her picture taken. “I am very sorry, but if father is really sick I +ought to go.”</p> +<p>“Rhesus is under saddle,” said Jerome. “Shall I ride over and find out +just how he is? I can do so in a very few minutes.”</p> +<p>“No!” said Mell, with quick speech and restrained emphasis. Whom +would he see there? What would he hear? Her mother in an old cotton +frock, talking bad grammar. And Jerome was so delicate in his tastes, so +fastidious and æsthetic.</p> +<p>“No,” said Mell, decidedly. “I’m much obliged, but—”</p> +<p>“Yes,” interposed Mrs. Rutland, “I wish you would go, for Rube is +not here and I’ve no notion of letting Mell go unless it is necessary.”</p> +<p>“Did you say I must not?” inquired Jerome, addressing Mell and not +moving.</p> +<p>“Go, if Mrs. Rutland wishes it,” stammered Mell, furiously angry with +herself that she could not utter such commonplace words to him without +getting all in a tremor. They were all blind, these people, or they must +have seen, long ago, how it stood with Jerome and herself.</p> +<p>He was back in an incredibly short space of time.</p> +<p>“I saw your mother,” Jerome reported. (Great heavens! in her poke-berry +homespun, without a doubt!) “Your father is quite sick, but not dangerously +so. He only fancied seeing you, but can wait until to-morrow.”</p> +<p>While the old man waited, Mell had her pretty face photographed for +Rube.</p> +<p>He drove her home in the buggy the next morning. Coming in +sight of the quiet and shade of the old farm-house and recalling, as a +<a name='TC_27'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'forgotton'">forgotten</span> dream, its honest industry, its homely manners, its sweet +simplicity, Mell marvelled at her own sensations. Could it be gladness, +this feeling that swept over her at sight of the old home? Yes, it +was gladness. Perplexed in mind, heavy at heart, and fretted to the +lowest depths of her soul by this struggle within her, which seemed +to be never ending, Mell was glad to get back into the quietude of +the old farm house after the continuous strain and excitement of the past +few weeks. The flowers in the little garden stirred gently in the breeze; +there was a gleam of blue sky above the low roof; birds chirped softly in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +the <a name='TC_28'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'euonyms'">euonymus</span> hedge under the window of her own little room, and the +tranquillity and serenity and staidness of the spot soothed her feverish +mind and calmed her feverish spirit. It was lonely, desolate, mean, and +poor, but none the less a refuge from the storms of a higher region; +from the weariness of pleasure and the burden of empty enjoyment; +from the tiresomeness of being amused, and the troublesomeness of seeming +to be amused without being; from an <a name='TC_29'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'ecstacy'">ecstasy</span> of suffering and an agony +of transport; in short, a hoped-for refuge from herself and Jerome.</p> +<p>“Hurry up, Mell! Hurry up! He’s mos’ gone!”</p> +<p>“What, mother! You don’t mean—?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I does, Mell. He was tuck wuss in the night. He won’t know +ye, I’m ’fraid.”</p> +<p>But he did, and opening his eyes he smiled faintly, as she hung over his +ugly face—uglier now, after the ravages of disease, than ever before; dried +up by scorching fevers to a semblance of those parched-up things we see in +archæological museums; deeply lined and seamed and furrowed, as if old +Time had never had any other occupation since he was a boy but to make +marks upon it; uglier than ever, but with an expression upon it which had +never been there before—that solemn dignity which Death gives to the +homeliest features.</p> +<p>“Father! father!” sobbed Mell, “don’t die! Don’t leave your little +Mell! Don’t leave me now, when I’ve just begun to love you as I ought!”</p> +<p>Ha, Mell! Just begun! He has reached a good old age, and you are a +woman grown, and you have just begun to love your father! It is too +late, Mell. He does not need your love now. He is trying to tell you +that, or something else. Put your ear a little closer.</p> +<p>“What did you say, father! Try to tell me again.”</p> +<p>And he did; she heard every word:</p> +<p>“Good-bye, little Mell! I ain’t gwine ter morteefy ye no mo’!”</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI.<br /> +<span style='font-size:0.9em;'>A DEAL IN FUTURES.</span></h3> +<p>“Why do you fret so much about it?” asked Rube, sitting beside his +promised wife about a week after the old man was laid to rest. “You +loved your father, of course, but—”</p> +<p>“There’s the point!” exclaimed Mell. “I did not love him—not as a child +ought to love a parent. What did it matter that his looks were common +and his speech rude? His thoughts were true, his motives good, his +actions honest, and now I mourn the blindness which made me value him, +not for what he was, but what he looked to be. In self-forgetfulness and +sacrificing devotion to me he was sublime. He went in rags that I might +dress above my station; he ate coarse food that I might be served with +dainties; he worked as a slave that I might hold my hands in idleness; and +how did I requite him? I was ashamed of him; I held him in contempt. +Oh, oh! My, my!”</p> +<p>“Come, now,” remonstrated Rube, trying to stem the torrent of this +lachrymatory deluge, and wondering what had become of all the comforting +phrases in the English language, that he could not put his tongue upon +one of them. “Do try to calm yourself, dearest. I know you are exaggerating +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +the true state of the case, as we are all prone to do in moments +of self-upbraiding. I never saw you lacking in respect to him.”</p> +<p>“There’s a great many bad things in me you never saw,” blubbered +Mell, breaking out afresh.</p> +<p>“Dear, dear!” said Rube, “I never saw such grief as this!”</p> +<p>“You—are—disgusted, I know?”</p> +<p>“Not a bit of it!” declared Rube; “just the contrary! I fairly dote on +the prospect of a wife who is going to cry hard and cut up dreadful when +anything happens to a fellow. It kind of makes dying seem sort of easy. +But, come, now; you’ve cried enough. Let me comfort you.”</p> +<p>“No, no!” cried Mell, shrinking away from him. “If you only knew, +you would not want to comfort me. I do not deserve a single kind word +from you. I am unworthy your regard. I am a weak woman, and a +wicked one. Oh, Rube! I have not treated you right. That day at the +picnic I was angry with some one else; I was piqued; I did not feel as I +made you think I felt. I—that is—”</p> +<p>Here Mell broke down completely in her disjointed arraignment of self, +thoroughly disconcerted by the young man’s change of countenance. His +breath came quick, a dark cloud overspread his features, and he lost +somewhat of his ruddy color.</p> +<p>“Do you mean, then, to say I was but a tool, and the whole thing a lie +and a cheat?”</p> +<p>Rube’s thoughts sped as directly to their mark, as the well-aimed arrow +from the bent bow.</p> +<p>“Don’t be so angry with me,” prayed Mell, “please don’t! You don’t +know how much I have suffered over it. I say, at that time I thought I +cared for some one else, and so I ought not, in all fairness, to have +encouraged you; but, it is only since father died, that I have been able to see +things in their true light. I have had a false standard of character, a +false measure of worth, a false conception of human aims and human +achievement. Out of the wretchedness of sleepless hours I have heard the +under-tones of truth: Knowledge is great, but how much greater is +goodness without knowledge than knowledge without goodness!”</p> +<p>Rube made no reply. He left her side, and, crossing the room, folded +his arms and looked moodily out of the window. He was very simple in +nature, somewhat slow, sometimes stupid; but loyal and true—true in +great things, and no less true in small ones, and as open as the day.</p> +<p>Mell dried her eyes, and glanced at him anxiously. The worst part of +her duty was now over. She began already to feel relieved; she began +already to know just how she was going to feel in a few minutes more, the +possessor of a conscience, void of offence before God and man. There’s +nothing like it—a good conscience.</p> +<p>“This beats all!” soliloquized Rube, at the window; “I’ll be hanged if +there’s enough solid space in a woman’s mind to peg a man’s hat on! +Now, just as things have panned out all right for Devonhough, here’s a +tombstone in my own graveyard!”</p> +<p>“Ha!” thought Mell, hearing, considering.</p> +<p>“<i>Just as things have panned out all right for Devonhough.</i>”</p> +<p>What did that mean? Her throbbing, panting, bursting heart knew +only too well. Clara had come to a decision—she would marry Jerome, +and not the Honorable Archibald.</p> +<p>Rube had scarcely ceased to speak when Mell raised her head.</p> +<p>“Rube!”</p> +<p>Very soft that call!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span></div> +<p>Unheeding, Rube still looked out of the window and into the past. +That day at the picnic—that beautiful day, that day of days; a pure, +white, luminous spot in memory’s galaxy of fair and heavenly things—that +day she had not felt as she had made him think she felt; hence, he +had been a cat’s-paw, a puppet; and she—oh, it could not be that Mell +was a dissembler, a hypocrite, a serpent!</p> +<p>“Rube!”</p> +<p>A little louder was this call.</p> +<p>He turned, he obeyed—no more able to resist the beckoning hand, the +dulcet voice, the luring glance, than you or I the spells of our own individual +Sirens and Circes.</p> +<p>He came back to her, but stood in gloomy waiting, his brow so dark, +his expression so hard and cold and stern, that the girl on the sofa felt +herself wilting and withering before him, as a frail flower in a deadly +blast.</p> +<p>She did not say a word.</p> +<p>She only used two eyes of blue, and two big tears which rolled out +of them, and down upon her velvet cheek, and splash upon her little white +hand, with crushing effect—not upon the hand, but the beholder.</p> +<p>“Mell,” said he, hoarsely, “what is all this? What is the meaning of +it? I do not see your drift, exactly. Do you wish to be free?”</p> +<p>“I thought that would be <i>your</i> wish,” floundered Mell, “perhaps, when +you heard of that other—other fancy—you know, Rube; if I had not told +you anything about it, and it had come afterwards to your knowledge, you +would have thought I had not acted squarely towards you.”</p> +<p>“So much, then, I understand; but what are your leanings now? +Don’t beat about the bush; speak out your wishes plainly. I am not a +brute. I would release a woman at the very altar, if her inclinations +leaned in another direction. Do you imagine I would care to marry a +woman, however much I might love her, whose heart was occupied by +another? Where would be the sanctity of such a marriage? I would be +the worse defrauded man of the two. So, Melville, if there is any one you +like better than you do me, speak it now. Tell me plainly, do you care for +me—or some one else?”</p> +<p>Now, Mell, here’s your chance; hasten to redeem your past. He has +put the whole thing before you in a nutshell. You know just how he +thinks and how he feels. After this, you dare not further betray a heart +so noble, so forbearing, so true! Tell him, Mell; tell him, for your own +sake; tell him, for his sake; tell him, for God’s sake! Come, Mell, +speak—speak quick! Don’t wait a second, a single second! A second is +a very little bit of time, the sixtieth part of one little minute; but, short as +it is, if you hesitate, it will be long enough for you to remember that you +may live to be a very old woman, and pass all your life in this old farm-house, +utterly monotonous and wearisome; that you will be very lonely; +that you will be very poor; that you will be very unhappy; that you will +miss Rube’s jewels and Rube’s sugar plums and Rube’s hourly devotions, +to which you have now become so well accustomed;—short, but long enough +to remember all this. So speak, Mell, quick! quick! The second is gone +before Mell speaks.</p> +<p>It was a long second for Rube.</p> +<p>“O Mell, Mell! can it be that you care for him and not for me? At +least, let <i>me</i> hear it—let me hear the truth! I can bear anything better +than this uncertainty.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span></div> +<p>Even this bitter cry brought forth no response. The dumbness of +Dieffenbachia lay upon Mell’s tongue.</p> +<p>“I see how it is,” said Rube, turning to go.</p> +<p>“No, you don’t!” exclaimed Mell, pulling him back. She was now desperate. +Her tear-stained face broke into April sunshine. “I do not care +for that other. How could you think so? Once I thought so myself; it +was a delusion. A woman cannot love a selfish, tyrannical, overbearing +creature like that!—not really, though she may think so for a time; but +you, Rube, you are the quintessence of goodness! you are worth a dozen +such men as he!”</p> +<p>“So it’s me!” ejaculated Rube. “I am the lucky dog! I am the quintessence +of goodness!”</p> +<p>He drew a long breath; he sank comfortably back into the old seat and +into the old sense of security, and addressed himself with a joyous air and +renewed enthusiasm to the old rôle of love-making.</p> +<p>Just like a man—the very man who thinks he has such a deep insight +into dark matters, who thinks he knows so much about everything in the +wide world, especially women!</p> +<p>“You are the most conscientious creature alive!” declared Rube, happier +than ever, over a nearly lost treasure. “The whole amount of your +offence seems to be that you once thought you cared—”</p> +<p>“Yes—that’s it! I once thought so.”</p> +<p>“But <i>I</i> once thought that I cared for another girl. You would not, for +that reason, wish to send me adrift, would you?”</p> +<p>“No. Only I wish you hadn’t!”</p> +<p>“Just the way I feel about it.”</p> +<p>He laughed uncontrollably.</p> +<p>“Pretty one! Soul of honor! What other girl would have opened her +lips about such a trifle? And now I will not be put off another moment. +Name the day which is to make me the happiest of men.”</p> +<p>The day was named, and Mell really felt more composure of mind and +less disquietude of spirit than she had known for many a day. She had +eased, to some extent, her guilty conscience. She had shed many bitter, +if unavailing, tears over Rube and her dead father; and now, convinced +that she could not help herself, and determined to make the best of it, her +mind drifted complacently over the long stretch of prosperous years before +her, wherein she would be neither lonely, nor poor, nor unhappy, nor unloved; +with sugar plums to her taste and jewels in quantity—for there are just +two things in this world every young woman is sure to love—tinsel and +taffy.</p> +<p>A healing balm now poured itself, so to speak, into her life and future +prospects.</p> +<p>Of Jerome she saw no more. He had gone home before her father’s +funeral. He had seemingly passed out of her life forever. She never so +much as mentioned his name, even to Rube, and she even thought of him +less frequently than of yore. How could she be expected to think of him +with the wedding trousseau demanding all her thoughts and time?</p> +<p>But one day Rube came to the farm-house, worried, and told Mell, of his +own accord, that it was about Jerome and Clara. There had been a row +between them.</p> +<p>The Honorable Archibald Pendergast, as she well knew, was no ordinary +man—neither, it seemed, was he an ordinary lover. Notwithstanding his +late rejection, he had been paying Clara such marked attentions in Washington +that a society journal had publicly announced their engagement; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +whereupon Jerome had delivered his ultimatum—she would marry him at +once or else they were quits.</p> +<p>“And I don’t blame him,” declared Rube, “not one bit! He stood as +much at her hands, and stood it as long, as a man <i>can</i> stand. I never +could have taken the same from you.”</p> +<p>Ah, Rube, we little know, any of us, just what we are taking at any +hour in the day and at the hands of our own friends!</p> +<p>It is well for us that we do not.</p> +<p>“And now,” inquired Mell, scarcely able to articulate, so great was her +agitation, “what is Clara going to do?”</p> +<p>“She is going to marry the Honorable Archibald,” replied Rube, adding, +with the breezy disgust of a sunny temper: “It’s a confounded shame! +He’s old enough for her father, and I don’t believe she cares <i>that</i> about +him! But he’s a great statesman, and there’s a good prospect of his getting +into the White House some of these days; and some women love +social eminence better than they do their own souls! I am glad you are +not one of that kind, Mell—you will be content with your planter husband, +won’t you, Mell?”</p> +<p>“I have written him to come to our wedding,” pursued Rube. “I like +him as well as ever—even more! He’s a splendid fellow! I hope he will +come, but I think it hardly probable.”</p> +<p>Mell thought, too, it was hardly probable. After this, things went wrong +again with Mell. Her trousseau ceased to occupy her time and attention; +her wayward thoughts waged internecine strife in regions of turmoil and +vain speculation.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Jerome made no sign.</p> +<p>“Woe is me!” wept Mell. Much had she wept since her father died; +but a dead man is not half so sore a subject of weeping as a living +woman’s unworthiness, when it falls under her own judgment.</p> +<p>“To do right is the only thing,” moaned the unhappy girl—“to do right +and give no heed to consequences. I have learned the lesson at last. It +has been a hard one. Henceforth I am going to do right though I slay +myself in the doing.”</p> +<p>She prayed that night as she had never prayed in all her life before. +She asked for divine help in doing right by Rube. And she arose from her +knees strengthened to do her duty, as she then conceived it.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.<br /> +<span style='font-size:0.9em;'>THE LAST STRUGGLE.</span></h3> +<p>And the quiet days pass one by one—each one very like the other—until +the last sun has set, and the evening lights gleam in the old farm-house on +the last night before the wedding-day—that wedding-day which she had, +to the very last, put off to the latest possible time. Under the hush +of evening skies, in the flower-decked garden, in the dreamy grey air, in +the sight of fallow fields glistening in the moonlight, Rube is saying good-night.</p> +<p>“To bed early,” was the parting injunction of Mell’s future lord; “we +have a long journey before us.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered Mell, solemnly, “a very long journey. The journey +of life.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span></div> +<p>“However long, all too short,” was Rube’s fond reply. He stroked her +lovely hair. “Mell!</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>‘May never night ’twixt me and you<br /> +With thoughts less fond arise!’”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>After he was gone Mell repeated those words, “a very long journey.” +Then she sighed.</p> +<p>It would have to be a very long journey, indeed, to correspond with this +sigh of Mell’s—a very long sigh.</p> +<p>Well, there is no better time for a woman to sigh than the night before +she is married. Nor are tears amiss. Not one in ten knows what she’s +about; for, if she did, she would not—</p> +<p>On the brink of the Untried there is room enough to stop and look about +one, to think better of it, to turn around and go back; only no man or woman +was ever yet gifted with brains enough to do it. The things unknown, which +loom up so temptingly into sight upon the brink of the Untried, look far +more desirable, infinitely more tempting, than all the known blessings of +the past. And so Mell sighed—but lifted not a finger to save herself.</p> +<p>She went back into the little parlor to finish packing some favorite +trifles in a box to be sent to the Bigge House ere she returned—school +friend’s mementoes and some of Rube’s presents.</p> +<p>Thus engaged, outside was heard the noise of stamping hoofs and the +rumbling of wheels—some vehicle stopped at the gate—somebody came up +the sanded garden path, ascended the steps, crossed the little porch and gave +a hasty rap upon the front door.</p> +<p>Mell sprang to her feet. It thrilled her strangely, that footstep on the +porch, that knock upon the door.</p> +<p>Who could be coming there at such an hour—and the night before her +wedding?</p> +<p>Rube, perhaps; something he had forgotten to do or say. She would go +to the door; she started, and came back. She listened again.</p> +<p>It was not Rube’s step—it was not Rube’s knock.</p> +<p>Her senses were ever alert; she always noticed such things.</p> +<p>But the man outside had no time to lose, and did not propose to wait +there all night. He cleared his throat impatiently and knocked again. +This knock was louder than the first and more peremptory. It had a remarkable +effect upon Mell—a startling effect.</p> +<p>She sank upon the nearest chair, she trembled from head to foot; wild +thoughts whirled through her anarchical brain with the swiftness of a +whirlwind, and it was not until the persistent intruder knocked the third +time that she succeeded, through breath coming thick and fast, and half-palsied +lips, faintly to call out, “Come in!”</p> +<p>And the man came in, and the girl, crouching upon the chair, as if she +would fain hide herself down in depths of concealment where he would +never find her, felt no surprise, knowing already the late comer was +Jerome.</p> +<p>Jerome—but not at his best. He had been sick—or, so she thought, her +affrighted eyes sweeping over him in one swift glance. Pale was his face, +and careworn; physically, Jerome had never appeared so ill; spiritually, he +had never appeared to better advantage.</p> +<p>There are perplexed and ethereal truths in the heart of human things +which no bloom of health ever yet expressed. The sweetness pressed out +of suffering by the operations of its own nature, clothes itself in a subtler +and more irresistible charm than was ever yet discovered in the hues of a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +pearly complexion, or the rays of a brilliant eye. From under the potent +spell of its attraction, we soon forget a countenance merely beautiful; we +never forget the one made beautiful through suffering.</p> +<p>Our sainted mother, who went through rivers of fire and a thousand +death agonies ere death itself came; who died, at last, with a joyful smile +on her face, bidding us meet her on the other shore—we do not forget how +<i>she</i> looked!</p> +<p>Our heroic father, borne home from the battle-field, with his death +wound; who bade us with his last breath to serve God and our country—we +do not forget how <i>he</i> looked! These are the images indelibly fixed in the +sensitized slide of memory, while the peach-bloom face upon the boulevard, +the merry face in the dance, fade as fades the glory of a flower.</p> +<p>Jerome has suffered. Some of his youth he has left behind him. But +with that youth he has left, too, much of his suffering. At this moment +every feature in his facial federation of harmonious elements was lighted +up with a kindling spirit of its own. Whatever the inspiration, whether +intrinsically noble, or ignoble, it is to its possessor a glorious inspiration. +We say noble, or ignoble; for, one man’s glory may be another man’s +shame, and both true men. So, perhaps, no cause is great in itself, but +only great in the conception of the soul who conceives it and who fights +for it.</p> +<p>Out of Jerome’s presence, Mell had branded him as a being selfish, +tyrannical, and incapable of long retaining a woman’s love; in his presence +she only knew he was the embodiment of life’s supreme good.</p> +<p>But worse than a flaming sword was now the sight of the man she loved. +She dreaded the sound of his coming voice as she dreaded the trump of +Doom. What would he say—he who handled words as a skilful surgeon +manipulates cutting-instruments, to kill or cure—what would he say to +the woman who had been untrue to her word?</p> +<p>He said absolutely nothing.</p> +<p>No formal salutation passed between the two. Drawing a chair directly +in front of the hostess, by whom his coming was so little expected, Jerome +sat down upon it and regarded the agitated face and the almost cowering +form of the woman before him, in profound silence.</p> +<p>She had dreaded his words, had she? Heavens! This wordless arraignment +of her guilty self at the bar of her own conscience, her silent accuser +both judge and jury, and only two wretched hearts, which ached as one, +for witness, was worse than a true bill found in a crowded court of justice. +A storm of angry words, a typhoon, a sorocco, a veritable Dakota blizzard +of sweeping invective, would have been easy lines compared to this.</p> +<p>She would die—Mell knew she would—of sheer shame and self-reproach, +before this awful silence, which threatened to continue to the end of time, +was ever broken.</p> +<p>Would he never open his mouth and say something, no matter how +dreadful?</p> +<p>He did, at last.</p> +<p>“Mellville,” said Jerome, gently, “are you glad to see me?”</p> +<p>“No!” passionately.</p> +<p>“Not glad? Then you are the most ungrateful, as well as the most +faithless, of mortal beings. I have travelled long to get here. My reaching +here in time was uncertain, well nigh a hopeless matter; but nothing is +hopeless to the man who dares. What did I come for? Do you know?”</p> +<p>“To load me with reproaches. Do it and begone!”</p> +<p>“No, Mell; I have not come for that! There’s no salvation in abuse, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +and I have come to save. Perhaps, Mell, there is no one in the whole +world who understands you—your nature, in its strength and in its weakness—as +well as I. You are not a perfect woman, Mell; you have one +fault, but even that fault I love because I so love you! And I see so plainly +just how and why your love has failed me in my utmost need, and I +know so well just how and why the conditions of existence, amid such +surroundings as this, must be utterly unendurable to a girl of your temperament +and aims. And so, through all my anger and all my sorrow and all +my wounded affection, I have made excuses in my heart for my pretty +Mell, my faithless Mell, whom I still love in spite of all her weakness; who +in that weakness could find no other way of escape from a poor, bald, +common-place, distasteful life, except through the crucifixion of her own +heart, the ruin of her own happiness. Weak, you are nevertheless far +dearer to me than the strongest-minded of your sex; false in act but +not at heart, you are still the sweetest to me of all sweet womanhood; +and I have come to save, not to reproach you! Here is what I bring. It +goes fittingly with the heart long in your possession.”</p> +<p>He reached forth his hand to her. Mell inspected it with those dark and +regretful looks we bestow on the blessings which are for others, but not +for us.</p> +<p>This was the hand whose touch conferred happiness; a hand so strong, so +firm, so steady, perfect in every joint and finger-tip, endowed with all the +intellectual subtlety and effective mechanism of which the hand of man is +capable—the only hand, among thousands and ten-thousands of human +hands, she had ever wanted for her own—and now here it was, so near, and, +alas! farther than ever before! She clenched her own hands convulsively +together, and closed her eyes to shut out the sight of it and the entreating +tenderness of its appeal.</p> +<p>“Take it,” said Jerome, seductively; “it is now mine to give, and yours +to accept.”</p> +<p>“Too late,” returned Mell, in sadness; “to-morrow I wed with Rube.”</p> +<p>“<i>To-morrow?</i> Yes, I know. But have you ever reflected what a long +way off to-morrow is? and how little we need to dread the coming of to-morrow, +if we look well after to-day? And, my dear Mell, how many +things occur to-night ere to-morrow ever comes! That’s another thing +you have not thought about. In your plans for marrying Rube to-morrow, +you have neglected to take into consideration”—the rest he whispered +into her ear, so low, so low she could scarcely catch it, but the sudden +crash of brazen instruments, the sharp clash of steel, a thunderbolt at her +very feet could not have made her start so violently or convulsed her with +such terror—“<i>the fact that you are going to marry me to-night!</i>” With +a gesture of instinctive repugnance, with a look of supplicating horror, +she pushed him away.</p> +<p>“Only devils tempt like that!”</p> +<p>“No devil ever yet tempted a woman to right-doing.”</p> +<p>“It could not be right to treat Rube so.”</p> +<p>“It is the only way to right a wrong already done him.”</p> +<p>“No. I am going to make that wrong up to Rube. I have sworn to do +it! I am going to stick by Rube through thick and thin. You go away! +What did you come here for? Dark is the fate of the woman who breaks +her plighted vows.”</p> +<p>“Darker still the fate of the woman who seals false vows. Such are +untrue to the high instincts of the immortal within them.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span></div> +<p>“But think how infamous! how base such an act! how scandalous! +I cannot do it!”</p> +<p>“Yet, you will do worse—far worse. A loveless marriage is worse than +a broken vow. Such a marriage may pass current for legal tender in the +courts of the world, but when some day, you come to square up accounts, +you will find fraudulent bonds and unholy speculation in married estate +the worst investment a foolish woman ever made. Dishonesty never pays, +but it pays less in a marriage without love than anywhere else. And +where’s the use of trying to deceive Rube and the rest of the world, when +God knows? You can’t very well hoodwink <i>Him</i>, Mell. And how will +you be able to endure it; to be clothed in marvellously fine garments +and ride in a chariot, and envy the beggars as you pass them in their +honest rags; to be a Jonas in every kiss, a Machiavelli in every word, a +crocodile in every tear; Janus-faced on one side, and mealy-mouthed on +the other; to be a fraud, a sham, a make-believe, an organized humbug, +and a painted sepulchre? That’s the picture of the woman who marries +one man and loves another. Is it a pleasant picture, Mell? You will chafe +behind the gilded bars, and champ the jewelled bit. You will feel the +sickening thraldom of a cankering memory, a rankling regret, a sullen remorse, +a longing after your true self, with every breath a lie, every act +a counterfeit, every word a mincing of the truth. God only knows how +you will bear it!”</p> +<p>God only—she did not. Her head drooped lower in unspeakable bitterness +and humiliation. Amid all the darkness she could see but one ray of +light.</p> +<p>“But if I do my duty—” began Mell.</p> +<p>“A woman’s first duty to her husband is to love him,” said Jerome, +gravely; “failing in that, she fails in all else.”</p> +<p>“But love comes with the doing of duty, everybody says. I must do my +duty by Rube.”</p> +<p>“Very well. Do your duty, Mell, but do it now. That is all I ask. +Manifestly it is not your duty to marry him. With every throb of your +heart pulsating for me, you will not be worth one dollar to Rube in the +capacity of a wife. He would tell you so, if he knew. Can’t you see that, +Mell?”</p> +<p>She could see it distinctly. Jerome’s words burned with the brilliancy +of magnesium, throwing out this aspect of the subject in glaring light. +Rube stood again before her, as he had stood on the morning of that day +upon which she had undertaken to fulfil her promise to Jerome and failed +so <a name='TC_30'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'ignominously'">ignominiously</span>—stood, and was saying: “<i>I</i> would be the most defrauded +man of the two,” and “where would be the sanctity of such a marriage?”</p> +<p>Not one dollar would she be worth to him—<i>if he knew!</i> He would know +some time; everything under the sun gets known somehow, the only <a name='TC_31'></a><span class="trchange" title="Was 'ques-is'">question is</span>—when?</p> +<p>Seeing the impression made, Jerome spoke again, in words low, impassioned:</p> +<p>“Save yourself, for the love of God! Save yourself and Rube from such +a fate!”</p> +<p>Mell glanced about her in terror and confusion, turning red and pale. +Gladly would she save herself; but how can a respectable member of good +society accept salvation at such a price—the price of being talked about?</p> +<p>“It is too late,” she told her companion, in tones as sorrowful as the +wail of a wandering bard in a strange land; “too late! Why, man, the +bridal robes are ready, the bridal cake is baked, the bridal guests are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +bidden; and would you have me, at this last minute, turn Rube into a laughing-stock, +a by-word on every idle lip, a man to be pointed out upon the +streets, a man to be jeered at in the crowd? Would you have me do +that?”</p> +<p>“Yes. That is not a happy lot, but it soon passes, and is better than +being duped for life and wretched for life.”</p> +<p>Mell averted her face. She seemed striving for words:</p> +<p>“I don’t see why Rube should be so unhappy as you seem determined to +make him. Even granting that he knew that I do not feel romantically +towards him, as I have felt towards you—”</p> +<p>“Have felt?” interposed her listener.</p> +<p>She waived his question aside and proceeded:</p> +<p>“Still there is a love born of habit and propinquity, and that will come +to my rescue. Rube is a splendid fellow! I respect him. I honor his +character, and I could be happy with him if—”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Jerome, huskily, “go on.”</p> +<p>“<i>If it were not for you.</i>”</p> +<p>“Ha!” exclaimed he, “has it come to that? That alters the case completely. +I will take myself off, then! I will get out of your way! Had I +suspected the existence of one drop of real affection in your heart towards +the man you are about to marry, I would have cut off this right hand of +mine rather than come here to-night. In coming I was sustained by the +belief that I would not defraud my friend—not in reality—not of any +thing he could value; not of a wife, but of an empty casket. This belief, +on my part, is all that redeems my coming from being an act of diabolism. +And now it turns out that there is a very good reason why the bridal cake +cannot be thrown to the dogs, and the bridal robes cannot be committed to +the flames, and the bridal guests cannot upon any account be robbed of +their bride upon the morrow—<i>you could be happy with him if it were not +for me!</i>”</p> +<p>Bitter in tone was this repetition of her words—words which wounded +him so keenly. They were calculated to wound the tender sensibilities of +any lover, most of all a lover of Jerome Devonhough’s stamp. He could +condone any weakness on her part, except that which touched his own +dominion over her—the sceptre of his love, the yoke of his power. Under +a pacific exterior, there seethed in Jerome, volcanic masses of self-will and +unchangeable purpose; hemmed in, held in bounds, seldom breaking forth +in violent eruption, but always there. He was totally unprepared for any +change in the feelings of the woman upon whom he had lavished the arbitrary +tenderness of his own strong nature. Jerome, you perceive, is no more +of a hero than Mell is a heroine. He is the counterpart of the man who +lives round the corner, who sits next you in church, whom you meet not +unfrequently at your friend’s house at dinner. This man loves his wife, +not because she is an artistic production, elaborately wrought out in broad, +mellow, triumphant lines, grand in character, but rather because he recognizes +good material in her for his own moulding. We must never approach +the contemplation of any man’s requirements in a wife with our minds full +of loose generalities. There is so much of the fool in every man, the wisest +man, who falls in love. He falls in love, not so much with what is ideally +lovable in a woman, but what is practically complemental to his own nature. +Jerome, being strong, loved Mell, who was weak, and weak in those very +places where Jerome was strong. She needed him. He felt that he was a +necessary adjunct to her perfect development in the sphere of womanhood; +he felt that she was necessary to him in the enlargement of his manhood. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +For, does not a man of his type need some one to guide, to govern, to lord +it over, and to get all the nonsense out of? But he would love her, too, +notwithstanding all this, with that sheltering devotion which a woman +needs—all women, with one exception. A strong woman in her strength +is not dependent upon any man’s love.</p> +<p>“So it has come to this,” pursued Jerome, brooding in low tones over the +matter, “there is but one impediment to your happiness—the man whom +you have professed to love, whom you have so basely resigned. With me +safely out of the way, you and Rube are all right. You do, it seems, know +your own mind at last. And Clara Rutland knows hers at last, and everybody +is about to be made incontinently happy—everybody but me! I am +left out in the cold! I am left, between you all, stranded on the lonely +rock of unbelief, either in a woman’s word or a woman’s love; and must +eat alone, and digest as best I may, all the sour grapes left over from two +marriage-feasts. A pleasant prospect, truly! Would to God I had never +seen either one of you!”</p> +<p>Mell was dumb. She was dumb from conviction. Clara Rutland <i>had</i> +treated him badly, and so had she; and she could think of nothing to say +which would put in any fairer light that ugly treatment. She marvelled +at his patience through it all; she was bewildered that he had thus far, +during this trying interview, remained</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“In high emotions self-controlled.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>She knew a change must come. She saw through furtive eyes and without +raising her head, that a change had already come. Not even a strong will +can regulate a heart’s pulsations—a heart which has been sinned against in +its most sacred feelings. As the storm-clouds sweep up from the west and +mass themselves with awful grandeur in battle array, so lowered dark and +tempestuous thoughts, pregnant with danger, on the young man’s brow. +Across his frame there swept a convulsive quiver of emotion; his features +took on that hard, stern look of repressed indignation and passion which +Mell so well knew and so much feared.</p> +<p>With that look upon his face, Jerome was not a man to be trifled with.</p> +<p>But what was he going to do? Shake her again?</p> +<p>She said nothing when he took hold of her two hands with a grasp of iron. +Silently she awaited her fate; tremblingly she wondered what that fate +would be.</p> +<p>He was only telling her good-by. He knew not how hard he pressed +upon those tender hands; he only knew he might never clasp them in his +own again. It was a terrible moment—terrible not alone for Mell.</p> +<p>One would have thought, seeing how he suffered in giving her up, that +she was the last woman in the world; whereas, we know there are multitudes +of them, many more estimable in character, some equally desirable in +person, with just such wondrous hair, just such enchanting eyes, just such +shapeliness of construction, enough in itself to inspire mankind with the +most passionate love—plenty of her kind, but none exactly Mell!</p> +<p>Sensible of that detaining clasp; knowing his keen eyes scanned darkly +and hungrily every quivering feature in her unquiet face; hearing his +labored breath and the low sobs wrung from a strong man’s agony, Mell +felt first as a guilty culprit.</p> +<p>If only he would stab her to the heart, and then himself.</p> +<p>We little thought, any of us, when we saw him lying in the meadow on +the grass at her feet, that out of the joyous inspiration of that glorious +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +summer weather, out of two young lives so beautiful, out of young love, a +thing so full of poetry and romance, would come such wretchedness as this.</p> +<p>After a little while, the touch of those rose-leaf palms, the whiteness of +her face, the appeal for mercy in those eyes seeking his own, had a soothing +effect upon Jerome. He would now put forth all his strength and +quietly say good-by.</p> +<p>Softly he pressed to his lips one of those imprisoned hands; softly, in a +heart-sick rapture of despairing renunciation, he was about to do the same +with the other, when the glint of Rube’s solitaire, the pledge of her hated +bondage to another, the glaring witness of her treachery towards himself, +flashed into his eyes and overcame all his good resolutions. With a look of +unutterable reproach, with a gesture of undying contempt, he tossed the +offending hand back upon her lap.</p> +<p>“Think not,” he broke forth, in vehement utterance, “that no thought +of me will embitter your bridal joys! I leave you to your fate! I go to +my own! Dark it may be, but not darker than yours!”</p> +<p>And this was the quiet way in which he bade her good-by.</p> +<p>The words pierced Mell to the very soul, and, combined with the blackness +of his countenance, filled her with indefinable, but very horrible imaginings. +He had almost reached the door, when with a smothered cry of pain, she +followed him.</p> +<p>As irresistibly as ever he drew her.</p> +<p>“Jerome! Jerome! Where are you going?”</p> +<p>“To ruin!” exclaimed he, turning upon her with that barbaric fierceness +which seems to underlie everything strong in nature—“to ruin, where +you women without principle, have sent many a better man! To ruin, and +to hell, if I choose,” he added, with fearful emphasis. “My going and my +coming are no longer any concern of yours!”</p> +<p>“Yes, they are, Jerome,” she assured him, deprecatingly. “Don’t leave +me in anger, Jerome!”</p> +<p>“Not in anger? Then, how—in delight?” There was now a menacing +gleam in his eye which more than ever alarmed her. “My cause is lost. +You have done me all the wrong you could, and now that I am dismissed, +set aside, told to begone, debased, and dethroned, you expect me to be +delighted over it, do you?”</p> +<p>“No, Jerome; but do not leave me feeling so. Promise me to do nothing +rash.”</p> +<p>“I will not promise you anything! You have not spared my feelings, +why should <i>I</i> spare yours? Since your affection for me has moderated into +that platonic kind, which admits of your happiness in union with another, +I will do whatever I please to do, knowing no act of mine, however dreadful, +will affect you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Jerome, do not say that! You must see, you must know in your +heart, that I do still care for you—Oh, God! more than I ought.”</p> +<p>“And yet not enough to make you do what is right!”</p> +<p>“But to right you, will wrong Rube,” she answered in confusion.</p> +<p>“Enough, then; you know your own feelings, or ought to. Since Rube +is the one dearest to you, marry him!”</p> +<p>He turned again upon his heel. Obeying an impulse she could not resist, +Mell once more detained him. It is hard to die, everybody says; but to die +yourself must be easier than to give up the one you love.</p> +<p>“Jerome, wait a moment! Come back! Jerome, you do not realize +what a dishonorable thing this is you are persuading me to do?”</p> +<p>“Don’t I?” he laughed wildly. “God Almighty! Mellville, what do you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +take me for? Wouldn’t I have been here a week ago, two weeks ago, but +for the battle I have had to fight with my own scruples—but for the war +I have had to wage with my own soul? I have said to myself, again and +again, ‘I will not do this thing though I die!’ But when I started out upon +this journey, it had come to this: ‘I must do this thing or else—die!’”</p> +<p>Shaken as a storm-rifted tree bending in the blast, she was not yet uprooted.</p> +<p>“It is hard, hard,” she murmured, wringing her hands in nervous constraint; +“but time, you know, Jerome, time softens everything.”</p> +<p>“It does!” he said, harshly—“even the memory of a crime!”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by that?” exclaimed Mell, every word of his filling +her with indefinable fears.</p> +<p>“I mean what I say. Once out of the way, you and Rube, the two beings +most dear to me on earth, could be happy together; you have told me so. +Then, how selfish in me—”</p> +<p>“Oh, Jerome, you would not! Surely you would not do such a thing!”</p> +<p>“I do not say that I would, nor that I would not. A desperate man is +not to be depended on either by himself or others. I only know that in this +fearful upheaval of all my life’s aims and ends, any fate seems easier than +living. But Mellville—” his tones were now quiet, but they were firm; his +lips were set in angles of immovable resolve; his brow bent and dark with the +shadows of unlifting determination. It would be difficult to imagine a more +striking figure than Jerome in the rôle of a man who had made up his mind—</p> +<p>“But Mellville, this struggle must end. It must end <i>now</i>, or it will put an +end to us. I did not come here to-night to submit to the humiliation of +begging a woman to marry me against her will. I came to rescue a being +in distress from the painful consequences of her own rash act. Now, then, +you love me, or you do not? You will marry me, or you will not? Which is +it? Answer! In five minutes I leave this house, with or without you!”</p> +<p>He dropped upon his knees at her feet; he snatched her to his breast. +Reason was gone, his soul all aflame:</p> +<p>“Mell, listen: Love is more than raiment, more than food, more than +the world’s censure or the world’s praise. It is sweeter in life than life +itself! But time presses; the other wedding comes on apace; we have no +time to spare. An hour’s hard driving will bring us to Parson Fordham’s, +well known to me. There we will be married at once, and catch the early +train at Pudney. Our names will be an execration and a by-word for a +little time, but what of that? What though all friends turn their backs +upon us! Together we will enter hopefully upon a new life, loving God +and each other—a life of truer things, Mell; a life consecrated to each other +and glorified by perfect love and perfect trust. Will you lead that life with +me?”</p> +<p>“No, I will not!”</p> +<p>“What, Mellville!” he cried. “You will not! I thought you loved +me, loved me as I loved you?”</p> +<p>“Once I loved you,” she said. She spoke now as much to her own soul +as to his perceptions. “Once—or was it only that I thought I did? For +long weeks I struggled against deceiving Rube, and out of that I must +have drifted by slow degrees into deceiving myself. For, to-night, even +to-night, when I parted from Rube I thought it was you I loved, not he! +But the mists have lifted from my vision, and now, at this moment—never +fully until this moment—I see you both in your true light; I weigh you +understandingly, one against the other; I set your self-seeking against his +unselfishness, your improbity against his high sense of honor. And how +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +plainly I see it all! Just as if a moral kaleidoscope were exhibiting by spiritual +reflections, to the eyes of my mind, the difference between one man +and another, at an angle of virtue which is the aliquot part of three hundred +and sixty degrees of real merit! Upon this disk of the imagination appears +your own image; and what are you doing? Passing me by as an unknown +thing, a thing too small to know in the presence of mighty magnates at a +county picnic! There is another manly form; what is he doing? Lifting me +up from the bare earth where the other’s cruel slights have crushed me; feeding +me with his own hands; even then loving me. How different the pictures! +Shift the scene. Some one is crowning me: I am a queen before the +world. Whose hand has held a crown for me? Not yours—Rube’s! You +had not the courage. He had. I love courage in a man. I love it better +than a handsome face or an oily tongue. A man without courage—what is +he? He isn’t a man at all—not really. Jerome Devonhough,” here she +turned her lovely face, grown so cold, and her exquisite eyes, grown so +scornful, full upon him, “were you the right sort of a man, would you be +here to-night? Will a man, false to his friend, be true to his wife? I can +trust Rube Rutland; can I trust you? No! For, even while loving, I +could not keep down a feeling of contempt. Beginning with respect for +Rube, that sentiment of respect has ripened into love—real love—not the +wild, senseless, mad, unreasoning passion of an untutored girl, which eats +into its own vitals, and drains its own lees,—as mine for you,—but that +deeper, better, higher, more enduring, and well-nigh perfect affection of the +full-lived woman, who out of deep suffering has emerged into an enlightened +conception of her own nature’s needs, her own heart’s craving for what is +best, truest, most God-like in a man! That love, which will wear well, +nor grow threadbare through time, which will take on a more wondrous +glow in the realms of eternity, is the love I feel for Rube!”</p> +<p>“Bah!” he exclaimed, not yet quenched, not yet hopeless. “Eternity +is a long word, and all your fine talking cannot deceive <i>me!</i> Oh, woman, +woman, what a face you have, and what brains! I do not know which +holds me tighter. That face so fair, that mind so subtle—together they +might well turn the head of the devil himself, but they cannot deceive <i>me!</i> +The string which draws you is golden. It is not Rube you love so much, +so purely, so perfectly; oh, no, not Rube! Not Rube, but his possessions. +Not the man—the man’s house! Its beautiful turrets and gables, its gardens +and lawns, its lovely views, and spacious luxury, and abounding wealth. +For that you give me up. Still loving me, Rube’s pelf is dearer still!”</p> +<p>“Not now—not now! Now I love <i>him</i>—the man! Not for what he has, +but for what he is. For his truth, his nobility, his honor; and, as that +honor is in my keeping, I bid you go and return no more. Your power to +tempt me from my duty <i>and my love</i> is over! My faith is grounded, my +purpose unalterable. Go!”</p> +<p>“This is folly. Come with me!” he cried, striving to draw her towards +the door.</p> +<p>She resisted.</p> +<p>“Come!” he urged.</p> +<p>She broke from him, crying:</p> +<p>“No, by heaven! Were it the only chance to save my own life, I would +not go! I have done with you now, forever!”</p> +<p>“Good-night, then,” he told her, with a bitter sneer and a low, mocking +bow. “Good-night; but you will be sorry for this! You will regret this +night’s work all the days of your life. Its memory will darken the brightest +day of your life!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span></div> +<p>She did not speak, or move, as he turned upon his heel and left her.</p> +<p>There sounds his foot upon the stair, and next upon the gravelled walk! +And now the garden-gate swings open, and the carriage-door bangs shut, +after which the wheels grate upon the pebbles, and the clatter of horses’ +hoofs rings out upon the midnight air. Gone! Gone!</p> +<p>Her head reels; all her senses seem benumbed. Not even a heavy tread +through the dark entry did she hear. It was the clasp of strong arms +around her which woke her from her trance.</p> +<p>She turned, exclaiming in alarm: “Rube! You here! You—you have +heard?”</p> +<p>“Every word. I was up; I could not sleep. Does any man sleep the +night before he is married? <i>I</i> could not. I lighted a cigar and went out +upon the lawn. At the gate I stood, puffing away and looking up in this +direction, wondering if my sweet wife that is to be had obeyed my parting +injunctions and gone to sleep, when presently a carriage came tearing +along, going in the very direction of my own thoughts. A man sat within; +I cannot say that I exactly recognized that man in the moonlight, but I +saw him move quickly back when he saw me, and that aroused my suspicions. +I followed; I could not help following. Something told me my +happiness was menaced, my love in danger. I was determined to know +the truth, Mell. I listened.”</p> +<p>“And you do not hate me?”</p> +<p>“Hate you, Mell? Dearer to me than ever you are at this moment! I +know how you have been tempted; I realize all you have overcome. Never +could I doubt such love! Comforted by it, I can bear up even under so +heavy a misfortune as the treachery of a friend. But the hour is late; +we must not talk longer; you must snatch a little rest. Good-night once +more, dear love. To-morrow, Mellville, you will be mine—to-morrow!”</p> +<p>“Aye, Rube! To-morrow, yours! Upon every day and every morrow +of my life, always yours!”</p> +<p class='center padtop'>THE END.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class="trnote"> +<p>Transcriber’s Note:</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'>Authors’ archaic and variable spelling and hyphenation is mostly preserved.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'>Authors’ punctuation styles are preserved.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'>Any missing page numbers in this HTML version refer to blank or un-numbered pages in the original.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'>Typographical problems have been changed and these are +<span class="trchange" title="Was 'hgihligthed'">highlighted</span>, as are changes +made to standardise some hyphenation.</p> +<p>Transcriber’s Changes:</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_1'>Page 169</a>: Was ’territores’ (nullify the results of the war by converting the Southern States into conquered <b>territories</b>, in order that party supremacy)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_2'>Page 169</a>: Was ’acquiesence’ (The hint was taken, the contest of 1868 was fought under a seeming <b>acquiescence</b> in the views of Stevens and Morton;)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_3'>Page 194</a>: Was ’imperturable’ (“No, indeed! I have pledged my word to <i>her</i> never to touch a drop!” protested Andy, with <b>imperturbable</b> good nature.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_4'>Page 221</a>: Was ’anymore’ (“W.,” she said, “you don’t know <b>any more</b> about it than Horace Greeley did.”)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_5'>Page 225</a>: Was ’contemptously’ (Mrs. W. spoke of them <b>contemptuously</b> as “nasty black worms.”)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_6'>Page 245</a>: Was ’in’ (which is much better, and come to the reader <b>in the</b> shape of love-stories, odd adventures,)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_7'>Page 248</a>: Was ’of’ (and if she were in the company <b>of one</b> whom she trusted intimately, she would laugh those popular virtues to scorn with her warm,)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_8'>Page 254</a>: Was ’pleasant, sounding’ (Mell’s rather strained gayety found an agreeable echo in his <b>pleasant-sounding</b> laughter.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_9'>Page 263</a>: Standardised hyphenation: Was ’pic-nic’ (Not on Wednesday, for there’s a confounded <b>picnic</b> afoot for that day.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_9a'>Page 263</a>: Standardised hyphenation: Was ’pic-nics’ (I wish the man who invented <b>picnics</b> had been endowed with immortal life on earth and made to go to every blessed one)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_10'>Page 269</a>: Standardised hyphenation: Was ’pre-occupied’ (They were fine young fellows, and very pleasant, too, but Mell continued so <b>preoccupied</b> in the vain racking of her brain)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_11'>Page 270</a>: Was ’omniverous’ (It was altogether as much as she could do to keep from sobbing aloud in the faces of all these <b>omnivorous</b>, happy people.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_12'>Page 273</a>: Was ’inate’ (to a simple country girl, who, destitute of fortune, had nothing to commend her but <b>innate</b> modesty and God-given beauty.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_13'>Page 276</a>: Was ’It’ (“You mean it? <b>It is</b> a solemn promise! One of those promises you always keep!”)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_14'>Page 278</a>: Was ’repentent’ (I don’t know who feels most idiotic or <b>repentant</b>, the girl who wears ’em or the fellow who won ’em.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_15'>Page 278</a>: Was ’juvenality’ (Jerome, as soon as he could again command his voice, “unless it be Miss Josey’s <b>juvenility</b>.”)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_16'>Page 281</a>: Was ’It’ (“But I don’t wonder you feel a little frightened about it. <b>It is</b> such a wonderful thing for Rube to do: but Rube has two eyes in his head,)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_17'>Page 282</a>: Was ’How—do’ (“<b>How-do</b>, old fellow?” said Jerome, by way of congratulation.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_18'>Page 287</a>: Was ’bran’ (She must take an airing with him in his <b>brand</b> new buggy)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_19'>Page 289</a>: Standardised hyphenation: Was ’farmhouse’ (And so it came about that on a certain day Rube came as usual to the <b>farm-house</b>, but not as usual, alone.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_20'>Page 291</a>: Was ’it’ (The visit was long and pleasant, and at <b>its</b> close Mell accompanied her guests to the very door of their carriage.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_21'>Page 293</a>: Was ’wont’ (Only Clara <b>won’t</b> announce, because she wants to keep up to the last minute her good times)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_22'>Page 298</a>: Was ’fiercy’ (“She can lie, and lie, and still be honorable,” he informed her with <b>fierce</b> irony.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_23'>Page 299</a>: Was ’tortment’ (you can never know what hours of <b>torment</b>, what days of suffering, this conduct of yours has cost me.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_24'>Page 301</a>: Was ’exquisively’ (but take the woman of emotional nature, <b>exquisitely</b> sensitive in all matters of feeling, and to such the touch of unloved)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_25'>Page 302</a>: Was ’it’ (The ball is over, gone, past, never to come back again, with its waltz melody, <b>its</b> ravishing rhyme without reason)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_26'>Page 303</a>: Standardised hyphenation: Was ’gaslight’ (It must be the <b>gas-light</b> in the ball-room, it must be the sunlight in the day-time, which makes all the difference.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_27'>Page 304</a>: Was ’forgotton’ (the quiet and shade of the old farm-house and recalling, as a <b>forgotten</b> dream, its honest industry)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_28'>Page 305</a>: Was ’euonyms’ (birds chirped softly in the <b>euonymus</b> hedge under the window of her own little room)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_29'>Page 305</a>: Was ’ecstacy’ (from an <b>ecstasy</b> of suffering and an agony of transport; in short, a hoped-for refuge from herself and Jerome.)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_30'>Page 313</a>: Was ’ignominously’ (upon which she had undertaken to fulfil her promise to Jerome and failed so <b>ignominiously</b>—stood, and was saying)</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em'><a href='#TC_31'>Page 313</a>: Was ’ques-is’ (He would know some time; everything under the sun gets known somehow, the only <b>question is</b>—when?)</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 3.20 --> +<!-- timestamp: Thu Mar 18 16:56:40 +0700 2010 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Belford's Magazine, Volume II, No. 8, +January, 1889, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BELFORD'S *** + +***** This file should be named 31684-h.htm or 31684-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/6/8/31684/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Dan Horwood, and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://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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