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diff --git a/old/53178-8.txt b/old/53178-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 33fa935..0000000 --- a/old/53178-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7616 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories and Sketches, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Stories and Sketches - by our best authors - -Author: Various - -Release Date: September 30, 2016 [EBook #53178] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES AND SKETCHES *** - - - - -Produced by Chris Whitehead, Chris Curnow and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - STORIES AND SKETCHES. - - - - - STORIES AND SKETCHES - - BY - - OUR BEST AUTHORS. - - - - - [Illustration] - - - - - BOSTON: - LEE AND SHEPARD. - 1867. - - - - - Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by - LEE & SHEPARD, - In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of - Massachusetts. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - THE SKELETON AT THE BANQUET. _Seeley Regester._ 9 - - LET THOSE LAUGH WHO WIN. _Samuel W. Tuttle._ 37 - - THE PROPER USE OF GRANDFATHERS. _Fitz Hugh Ludlow._ 61 - - AT EVE. _Gertrude Brodé._ 77 - - BROKEN IDOLS. _Richmond Wolcott._ 93 - - DR. HUGER'S INTENTIONS. _Louise Chandler Moulton._ 105 - - THE MAN WHOSE LIFE WAS SAVED. * * * * *. 121 - - THE ROMANCE OF A WESTERN TRIP. _J. L. Lord._ 157 - - THE TWO GHOSTS OF NEW LONDON TURNPIKE. _Mrs. Galpin._ 185 - - DOWN BY THE SEA. _Hattie Tyng Griswold._ 229 - - WHY MRS. RADNOR FAINTED. * * * * *. 249 - - UNDER A CLOUD. _William Wirt Sikes._ 265 - - COMING FROM THE FRONT. _Richmond Wolcott._ 281 - - A NIGHT IN THE SEWERS. _Chas. Dawson Shanly._ 293 - - - - -THE SKELETON AT THE BANQUET. - -[Illustration] - - -Dr. Graham sat in his office, his book closed on his knee, and his -eyes fixed upon the street. There was nothing of interest to be seen. -A light snow was falling, making the pavement dreary; but it was -Christmas, and his thoughts had gone back to other days, as people's -thoughts will go on anniversary occasions. He was thinking of the -young wife he had buried three years and three months ago; of the -great fireplace in his boyhood's home, and his mother's face lit up -by the glow; of many things past which were pleasant; and reflecting -sadly upon the fact that life grew duller, more commonplace, as one -grew older. Not that he was an elderly man,--he was, in reality, -but twenty-eight; yet, upon that Christmas day, he felt old, very -old; his wife dead, his practice slender, his prospects far from -promising,--even the slow-moving days daily grew heavier, soberer, -more serious. It was a holiday, but he had not even an invitation for -dinner, where the happiness of friends and the free flow of thought -might lend a momentary sparkle to his own stale spirits. - -The doctor was not of a melancholy, despondent nature, nor did he rely -for his pleasures upon others. He was a self-made man, and self-reliant -to an unusual degree, as self-made men are apt to be. His tussle with -circumstances had awakened in him a combative and resistant energy, -which had served him well when means were scant and the rewards of -merit few. But there is something in the festal character of Christmas -which, by luring from the shadows of our struggle-life the boy nature -of us, makes homeless men feel solitary; and, from being forlorn, -the mood soon grows to one of painful unrest; all from beholding -happiness from which we are shut out. On this gray afternoon not -the most fascinating speculations of De Boismont and the hospital -lectures,--not the consciousness of the originality and importance of -his own discoveries in the field of Sensation and Nerve Force,--had any -interest for Dr. Graham. - -That he had talent and a good address; that he studied and experimented -many hours every day; that he as thoroughly understood his profession -as was consistent with a six years' actual experience as an actual -practitioner; that there was nothing of the quack or pretender in -him;--all this did not prevent his rent from being high, his patients -few, and his means limited. With no influential friends to recommend -and introduce him, he had resolutely rented a room in a genteel -locality up town, had dressed well, and had worn the "air" of a man -of business, ever ready for duty; but success had not attended upon -his efforts, and the future gave no promise of a change. Of this he -was thinking, somewhat bitterly; for what proud soul is not stung with -unmerited neglect? Then a deep sadness stole over him at thoughts -of the loss which had come upon his early manhood,--a loss like -which there is none other so abiding in strong, wise hearts. A cloud -seemed to be sifting down and closing around him, which, with unusual -passivity, he seemed unable or unwilling to shake off. A carriage -obstructed his view, by passing in front of his window. It stopped; -then the footman descended, opened the carriage-door, and turned to -the office-bell. He was followed by his master, who awaited the answer -to the bell, and was ushered into the practitioner's presence by the -single waiting-servant of his modest establishment. The doctor arose -to receive his guest, who was a man still younger than himself, with -something of a foreign air, and dressed with a quiet richness in -keeping with his evident wealth and position. - -"Dr. Graham?" - -The doctor bowed assent. - -"If you are not otherwise engaged, I would like you to go home with me, -to see my sister, who is not well. There is no great haste about the -matter, but if you can go now, I shall be glad to take you with me. It -will save you a walk through the snow." - -"He knows," thought the doctor, "that I do not drive a carriage;" and -that a stranger, of such ability to hire the most noted practitioners, -should call upon him, was a source of unexpressed surprise and -suspicion. - -"What do you think is the matter with your sister?" he unconcernedly -asked, taking his overcoat from the wardrobe. - -"That is for you to decide. It is a case of no ordinary character--one -which will require study." He led the way at once to the door, as if -unwilling to delay, notwithstanding he had at first stated that no -haste was necessary. "Step in, doctor, and I will give you an inkling -of the case during the drive, which will occupy some fifteen or twenty -minutes." - -"In the first place," continued the stranger, as they rolled away, -"I will introduce myself to you as St. Victor Marchand, at present -a resident of your city, but recently from the island of Madeira. -My house is upon the Fifth Avenue, not far from Madison Square. My -household consists only of myself and sister, with our servants. I have -the means to remunerate you amply for any demands we may make upon your -time or skill; and I ought to add, one reason for selecting so young -a physician is, that I think you will be the more able and willing to -devote more time to the case than more famous practitioners. However, -you are not unknown to me. I have heard you well-spoken of; and I -remember that, when you were a student in Paris, you were mentioned -with honor by the college, for an able paper read before the open -section upon the very subject to which I now propose to direct your -attention,--mental disease," he added, after a moment's hesitation. - -"A case of insanity?" bluntly asked the doctor. - -"Heaven forbid! And yet I must not conceal from you that I fear it." - -"Give me some of the symptoms. Insanity in strong development, or -aberration of faculties, or hallucination?" - -"I cannot reply. It is one and all, it seems to me. The fact is, -doctor, I wish to introduce you to your patient simply as a friend of -mine, so as to give you an opportunity for studying my sister's case, -unembarrassed by any suspicion on her part. To excite her suspicions is -to frustrate all hopes of doing anything for or with her. Can you--will -you--do me the favor to dine with me this evening? It is now only about -an hour to six, and if you have no other engagement, I will do my best -to entertain you, and you can then meet my sister as her brother's -guest. Shall it be so?" - -The young man's tones were almost beseeching, and his manner betrayed -the most intense solicitude. Quite ready to accede to the request, -from curiosity as well as from a desire to reässure the young man, Dr. -Graham did not hesitate to say, "Willingly, sir, if it will assist in a -professional knowledge of the object of my call." - -The change from the office to the home into which the physician was -introduced was indeed grateful to the doctor's feelings. The light, -warmth, and splendor of the rooms gave to the home an air of tropical -sensuousness; and yet an exquisite taste seemed to preside over -all. Though not unfamiliar with elegance, this home of the brother -and sister wore, to the visitor, an enchanted look, as well from the -foreign character of many of its adornments and the rare richness of -its works of art, as from the gay, friendly, enthusiastic manner of his -entertainer,--a manner never attained by English or Americans. Sending -word to Miss Marchand that there would be a guest to dinner, St. Victor -fell into a sparkling conversation, discoursing most intelligibly -of Paris, Madeira, the East Indies, and South America, taking his -guest from room to room to show this or that curious specimen of the -productions or handicraft of each country. As the articles exhibited -were rare, and many of them of scientific value, and as the young man's -knowledge kept pace with his eloquence of discourse, Dr. Graham was -agreeably absorbed. - -An hour passed rapidly. Then the steward announced dinner; but it -was not until they were about seating themselves at table that _the -patient_ made her appearance. It was now twilight out of doors. The -curtains were drawn and the dining-room lit only by wax tapers, under -whose soft radiance bloomed an abundance of flowers, mostly of exotic -beauty and fragrance. It was evident that the young master of the house -brought with him his early tastes. - -"We have an extra allowance of light and flowers, and a little feast, -too, I believe; for neither myself nor my English steward here forget -that this is Christmas. Don't you think it a beautiful holiday? My -mother always kept it with plenty of wax candles and flowers." - -"It is a sacred day to me," answered the doctor, sadly, thinking of -his lost wife and of the three times they had kept it together, with -feasting and love's delights. - -At this moment Miss Marchand floated into the room and to her place -at the head of the table,--a girlish creature, who gave their guest a -smile when the brother said,-- - -"Dr. Graham is not entirely a stranger, Edith; he was in Paris when we -were there. You were a child, then. I was indeed glad to meet him in -this strange city, and I mean that we shall be friends upon a visiting -footing, if he will permit it." - -It was but natural for the physician to fix a piercing look upon the -face of her whom he had been given to understand was to be his patient, -and whose disease was of a character to command his best skill. His -physician's eye detected no outward tokens of ill health, either of -body or of mind. A serene brow, sweet, steady, loving eyes, cheeks rosy -and full with maiden health, a slender though not thin figure, all -were there before him, giving no indication even of the "nervousness" -assumed to be so common with young ladies of this generation. Exquisite -beauty, allied with perfect health, seemed to "blush and bloom" all -over her; and the medical man would have chosen her, with professional -enthusiasm, as his ideal of what a young woman _ought_ to be. Her -pink-silk robe adapted itself to her soft form as naturally as the -petals of a rose to its curving sweetness. Only to look upon her -gladdened the sad heart of Dr. Graham, the wifeless and childless. He -felt younger than he had felt for years, as thirsty grass feels under -the influence of a June sun after a morning of showers. His spirits -rose, and he talked well, even wittily,--betraying not only his varied -learning as a student and his keen powers of observation as a man of -the world, but also the gentleness and grace which, in his more active, -worldly life, were too much put aside. It was a little festival, in -which the dainty dishes, the fruit, and wine played but a subordinate -part. - -Nothing could be more apparent than the pride and affection with which -Mr. Marchand regarded his sister. Was there, indeed, a skeleton at this -feast? The doctor shuddered as he asked himself the question. All his -faculties were on the alert to deny and disprove the possibility of -the presence of the hideous visitor. His sympathies were too keenly -enlisted to be willing to acknowledge its existence even in the -background of that day or the days to come to that household. Yet, -ever and anon, in the midst of their joyousness, a strange look would -leap from the quick, dark eyes of St. Victor, as he fixed them upon -his sister's face, and an expression would flit across his own face -inscrutable to the watchful physician. With a slight motion of his hand -or head he would arrest and direct the doctor's attention, who would -then perceive Miss Marchand's luminous glance changing into a look -expressive of anxiety and terror, the glow of her cheeks fading into -a pallor like that of one in a swoon. But, strange! an instant would -change it all. The pallor, lingering but a moment, would melt away as a -mist before the sun, and the roses would come back to the cheeks again -in all their rosiness. The host would divert his companion's startled -attention by gracefully pressing the viands upon his notice, or by some -brilliant sally, so scintillating with wit or droll wisdom, as to have -brought the smile to an anchorite's eyes. - -"I pray you watch her! Did you not notice that slight incoherency?" he -remarked, in a whisper, leaning over toward the doctor. - -The doctor had noticed nothing but the playful badinage of a happy girl. - -"I am afraid her loveliness blinds my judgment. I _must_ see what there -is in all this," he answered to himself, deprecatingly. - -They sat long at table. Not that any one ate to excess, though -the pompous English steward served up one delicious dish after -another, including the time-honored Christmas feast requisite,--the -plum-pudding,--which was tasted and approved, not to wound the Briton's -national and professional vanity, but sent off, but slightly shorn of -its proportions, to grace the servants' table. - -The guest noticed that St. Victor partook very sparingly of food, -although he fully enjoyed the occasion. Save tasting of the wild game -and its condiment of real Calcutta currie, he ate nothing of the -leading dishes or _entrées_. Neither did he drink much wine, whose -quality was of the rarest, being of his own stock drawn from his -father's rich store in his Madeira cellar. Of the luscious grapes and -oranges which formed a leading feature of the dessert, he partook more -freely, as if they cooled his tongue. That there was fever, and nervous -excitement, in the young man's frame, was evident. Indeed, to the -doctor's observant eye, the brother appeared more delicate, and of a -temperament more highly nervous than his sister. - -The frankness, the almost childish confidence and open-heartedness -of the young people formed one of their greatest attractions to the -usually reticent, thoughtful physician. He felt his own impulses -expanding under the warmth of their sunny natures until the very -romance of his boyhood stirred again, and sprouted through the mould -in which it lay dormant. There was nothing in their past history or -present prospects which, seemingly, they cared to conceal, so that he -had become possessed of a pretty fair history of their lives before -the last course came upon the board. Both were born in the island of -Madeira. St. Victor was twenty-four, Edith nineteen, years of age. -Their mother was the daughter of an American merchant, long resident -on the island; their father was a French gentleman of fortune, who -had retired to the island for his health, had loved and won the fair -American girl, and lived with her a life of almost visionary beauty -and happiness. Their father had joined their grandfather in some of -his mercantile ventures; hence those voyages to the Indies, to South -America, to the Mediterranean in which the children were participants. -They also had spent a couple of years in France, cultivating the -acquaintance of their relatives there, and adding some finishing -touches to St. Victor's education, which, having been conducted under -his father's eye by accomplished tutors, was unusually thorough and -varied for one so young. This fact the doctor surmised during the -progress of the banquet, though he did not ascertain the full extent -of the young man's accomplishments until a future day. Nor was Edith's -education overlooked. She was in a remarkable degree fitted to be the -companion and confidante of her brother,--sympathizing in his tastes, -reading his books, enjoying his pastimes, and sharing his ambitions -to their utmost. It was a beautiful blending of natures,--such as the -world too rarely beholds,--such as our received "systems" of education -and association _cannot_ produce. - -Their grandfather had been dead for several years; their father -for three, their mother for two. "She faded rapidly after father's -death,--drooped like a frost-blighted flower," said St. Victor. "They -had been too happy in this world to remain long apart in the next." - -"You now see, doctor," the narrator of these family reminiscences at -length said, "why Edith and myself are so unlike. My sister is her -mother over again, fair and bright, like your New York ladies,--among -the most beautiful women, in many respects, I have ever seen. I am -dark and thin,--a very Frenchman in tastes, temperament, and habits." - -He toyed a few moments with an orange; then, again leaning toward the -physician, he said, in that sharp whisper which once before during the -evening he had made use of,-- - -"I will tell you all, doctor. My father died insane. We afterwards -learned that it was one of the inheritances of his haughty and wealthy -family. The peace and delight which he had with his wife and children -long delayed the terrible legacy; but it fell due at last. He died a -maniac,--a raving maniac. _She_ does not know it. It killed her mother. -Imagine, doctor, _imagine_, if you can, how I watch over her! how I -pity! how I dread! O God! to think that I must detect those symptoms, -as I have done during the last six months. I have seen the virus in -her eyes to-night. I have not breathed a word to her of my knowledge -and convictions; but I am as certain of it as that she sits there. -Look at her now, doctor,--_now_!"--with a stealthy side-glance at the -beautiful girl who, at the moment, was smiling absently over a flower -which she had taken from its vase,--smiling only as girls can,--as if -it interpreted something deeper than a passing thought. - -It is impossible to describe the strain of agony in the young man's -voice; his sudden pallor; the sweat starting from his forehead; or to -describe the piercing power of his eye, as he turned it from the face -of his sister to that of his guest. Accustomed as he was to every form -of suffering, Dr. Graham shrank from the appeal in that searching look, -which mutely asked him if there were any hope. - -The clear whisper in which St. Victor had spoken aroused Edith from her -revery; she darted a glance at both parties, so full of suspicion and -dread, so in contrast with her natural sunny expression, that it was as -if her face had suddenly withered, from that of a child, to the thin -features of the careworn woman of fifty. She half rose in her chair, -faltered, sank back, and sat gazing fixedly at the two men; yet silent -as a statue. - -St. Victor was the first to recover himself. He burst into a light -laugh,--sweet as a shower of flowers,--and, taking up a slender-necked -decanter of pale wine, passed it to his guest, remarking,-- - -"We are forgetting that this is Christmas night. Fill your glass, -my friend, with _this_ wine,--the oldest and rarest of our precious -store,--and I will fill mine. Then, we will both drink joyously to the -health of my only darling--my one beloved--my sister." - -He said this so prettily, poured out the wine with such arch pleasantry -of gesture, that the color came back to Edith's cheeks; and when the -two men bowed to her, before drinking, she gave them a smile, steeped -in melancholy, but very sweet, and brimming with affection. It thrilled -Dr. Graham's veins more warmly than the priceless wine. - -"After our mother's death," continued St. Victor, in his natural -voice, "we found ourselves quite alone. We had formed no great -attachment to our relatives in France; and, as one branch of our -father's business remained still unsettled in this country, we resolved -to come hither. Then, too, we had a longing to behold the land which -was our mother's. When we had arranged and closed up our affairs in -Madeira, we sailed for France, where we spent one winter only. I -thought"--with a tender glance at his sister--"that a sea voyage would -do Edith good. I was not satisfied about her health; so I drew her -away from Paris, and, last spring, we fulfilled our promise to see our -mother's land, and came hither. I am afraid the climate here does not -agree with her. Do you think she looks well?" - -The girl moved uneasily, casting a beseeching look at the speaker. - -"It is not I who am not strong," she said; "it is you, St. Victor. If -your friend is a doctor, I wish he would give a little examination -into the state of your health. You are thin and nervous; you have no -appetite,--while he can see, at a glance, that nothing in the world -ails _me_." - -Again her brother laughed; not gayly as before, but with a peculiar and -subtle significance; while he gave the doctor another swift glance, -saying to him in a low voice,-- - -"I have heard that persons threatened with certain mental afflictions -never suspect their own danger." - -Dr. Graham did not know if the young lady overheard this remark; he -glanced toward her, but her eyes again were upon the flowers, which she -was pulling to pieces. He perceived that her lips trembled; but she -still smiled, scattering the crimson leaves over the white clothes. - -At this period of his novel visit,--just then and there, when St. -Victor laughed that subtle laugh and his sister vacantly destroyed the -red flower,--a conviction rushed into the physician's mind, or rather, -we may say, pierced it through like a ray of light in a darkened room. - -Instantly all was clear to him. From that moment he was cool and -watchful, but so pained with this sudden knowledge of the true state of -the case that he wished himself well out of that splendid house, back -in his own dreary office. He wished himself away, because he already -loved these young people, and his sympathy with them was too keen to -allow him further to enjoy himself; yet, in all his medical experience, -he had never been so interested with a professional interest. As a -physician, he felt a keen pleasure; as a friend, a keen pain. His -faculties each sprang to its post, awaiting the next development of the -scene. - -While Mr. Marchand was giving some order to his steward, the beautiful -girl at his other hand leaned toward him, and also whispered -confidentially in his ear: "Dr. Graham, if you really are my brother's -friend, I pray you watch him closely, and tell me at some future time -if you have any fears--any suspicions of--Oh, I implore you, sir, do -not deceive me!" - -Her eyes were filled with tears, her voice choked. - -The thing was absurd. Its ludicrous aspect struck the listener, -almost forcing him to laugh; while the tears, at the same time, arose -responsive in his own eyes. - -A clock on the mantel chimed nine. The steward placed on the board the -last delicacies of the feast,--Neapolitan creams and orange-water ice. - -"Edith chooses luscious things like creams," remarked her brother. -"Which will you have, doctor? As for me, I prefer ices; they cool my -warm blood, which is fierce like tropic air. Ah, this is delicious! I -am feverish, I believe; and the scent of the orange brings back visions -of our dear island home." - -He paused, as if his mind were again on the vine-clad hills of the -"blessed isle." Then he spoke, suddenly,-- - -"Edith, have some of this?" - -She smiled, shaking her head. - -"But you _must_. I insist. You need it. Don't you agree with me, -doctor, that it is just what she requires?" - -He spoke in a rising key, with a rapid accent. Edith reached forth her -hand, and took the little dish of orange ice. It shook like a lily in -the wind; but she said, softly and with apparent calmness,-- - -"Anything to please you, brother. I will choose this every day if you -think it good for me." - -He gave her a satisfied look. Then there was a brief silence, which -their guest was about to dissipate with a playful remark, when St. -Victor turned abruptly to the steward,-- - -"Thompson," he cried, "now bring in the skeleton!" - -"What, sir?" stammered the astonished servant. - -"Bring in the skeleton, I said. Do you not know that the Egyptians -always crown their feasts with a death's head? Bring it in, I say, and -place it--_there_!" - -Half-rising in his seat, he pointed to the vacant space behind his -sister's chair. - -The man now smiled, thinking his master jested; but his expression -grew more questioning and anxious as the bright eyes turned upon him -glittering in anger. - -"Why am I not obeyed? Bring in the skeleton, I repeat, and place -it behind my sister's chair. It is in the house; you will have no -difficulty in finding it. It has lurked here long. I have been aware of -its presence these many months,--always following, following my dear -Edith,--a shadow in her steps. You see how young and fair she is; but -it is all hollow--ashes--coffin-dust! She does not know of it; she has -never even turned her head when it lurked behind her; but to-night she -must make its acquaintance. It will not longer be put off. Our feast is -nearly over. Bring it in, Thompson, and we will salute it." - -The steward, with a puzzled look, turned from one to another of the -company. Miss Marchand had risen to her feet, and was regarding her -brother with terrified eyes, stretching out her hands toward him. -The doctor, too, arose, not in excitement, but with commingled pain -and resolution stamped upon his features; while his gaze rested upon -the face of St. Victor until the eyes of the young man were riveted -and arrested by the doctor's demeanor. A flush then diffused itself -gradually over Marchand's pale countenance; his thin nostrils quivered; -his fingers twitched and trembled and sought his bosom, as if in search -of something concealed there. Then he laughed once more that short, -nervous laugh so significant to the physician's ears, and cried, in a -high tone,-- - -"So, Edith, you did not know that you were going mad? _I_ did. I've -watched you night and day this long time. I have all along been afraid -it would end as it has--on Christmas night. _That_ was the day our -father tried to murder our mother. An anniversary, then, we have -to-night celebrated. Ha, ha! And you didn't know the skeleton was -awaiting admittance to the banquet!" - -His eyes gleamed with a light at once of delight and with malice; but -he quietly added,-- - -"But _I_ shall not harm you, you demented thing, you beautiful -insanity. There! doctor, didn't I tell you to watch her--to read -her--to comprehend the subtle thing? So full of art and duplicity! -But look at her now--_now_! She is as mad as the serpent which has -poisoned itself with its own fangs--mad--mad! O God! has it come to -this? But, I knew it--knew the skeleton was her skeleton--the bones -without her beautiful flesh. We've had enough of it now. Take it away, -Thompson,--hurry it away!" - -"Appear to obey him. Pretend that you take something from the room," -said Dr. Graham, in an undertone, to the servant, while St. Victor's -eyes were fixed glaring and lurid upon his trembling, agonized, -speechless sister. - -The skeleton had, in truth, appeared at the Christmas feast. - -Laying his hand firmly upon the young man's wrist the doctor said,-- - -"Mr. Marchand, you're not well, to-night. You are over-fatigued. Shall -we go upstairs?" - -St. Victor's quickly flashing gaze was met by that clear, resolute, -almost fierce response in the physician's eye, before which he -hesitated, then shrank. The madman had his master before him. - -"You are right. I am not very well; my head aches; I'm worn out with -this trouble about Edith, doctor. _Do_ you think it is hopeless? She -had better come with us. I don't like to leave her alone with that -hideous shape at her back." - -Obeying the gentle but firm pull upon his wrist, the brother turned -to leave the room, looking back wistfully upon his sister. She was -following them with clasped hands, and a face from which all youth and -color had fled. St. Victor suddenly paused, gave a scream like the cry -of a panther, wrenched himself quickly from the grasp upon his arm, -and, in an instant, his teeth were buried in the white shoulder of his -sister. But only for an instant, for almost as quickly as the madman's -movement had been the doctor's. One terrible blow of his fist sent the -maniac to the floor like a clod. - -"O doctor! why did you do it?" - -"To save your life, Miss Marchand." - -"Poor St. Victor! His fate is on him at last." - -Her voice was calm in its very despair. She sank down beside the -senseless man, lifting the worn, white face to her lap and covering it -with kisses. "I saw it,--yet I did not think it would come so soon. O -God! be pitiful! Have I not prayed enough?" - -The lips of the injured man began to quiver. "We must bind him and get -him to bed before he fully recovers," said the doctor, lifting Edith to -her feet. "Here, Thompson, help me to carry him to his bed." - -When the maniac recovered consciousness fully, his ravings were -fearful. It was the malady of frenzy in its most appalling condition. -The extent of the mental wreck Dr. Graham had, for the last half hour -of the feast, been trying to fathom. When he dealt that dreadful blow -he knew the wreck was complete: reason had gone out forever with -that panther-like shriek. All that could be done was to secure the -maniac against injury to himself or others, and to administer such -anti-spasmodics or anæsthetics as, in some degree, would control the -paroxysms. - -Poor St. Victor! So young, so gifted, so blest with worldly goods; his -fate was upon him, as Edith had said. - -From that hour he had but brief respite from torment. Not a gleam of -sanity came from those fiery eyes; all was fierce, untamable, inhuman, -as if the life had been one of storm and crime, instead of peace and -purity. Did there lay upon that racking bed a proof of the natural -depravity of the creature man, when the creature was uncontrolled by -a reasoning, responsible will? Or, was it not rather a proof that the -mental machine was in disorder, by a distention of the blood-vessels -and their engorgement in the brain,--that cerebral excitement was a -purely physical phenomenon, dependent upon simple, physical causes, -which science some day shall define and skill shall counteract? - -Happily, the fire in the sufferer's brain scorched and consumed the -sources of his life, as flames drink up the water that is powerless to -quench them. Day by day he wasted; and, in less than a month from that -night,--Christmas evening,--St. Victor Marchand's form was at peace in -death. - -During all that time Dr. Graham never left the sufferer's bedside. Day -and night he was there at his post, doing all that was possible to -alleviate the pain. The skill of a physician and the love of a brother -were exhausted in that battle with death in its most dreaded form. - -His care was, too, required for Miss Edith. Her life was so interwoven -with that of her brother, that the doctor doubted if she could survive -the shock to her sympathies and affection. When the surprise of the -tragedy was over, on the day following the first outburst of the -malady, she told him that for months she had feared the worst. She had -remarked symptoms so like her father's as to excite her fears; yet, -with the happiness of youth, the sister persuaded herself that her -apprehensions were groundless. His sunny nature seemed proof against -the approach of an evil so blasting; and her momentary fears were -banished by the very mood of heightened vivacity and excitement which -had awakened them. Having no intimate friend in whom to confide, none -to counsel, she had borne the weight of her inward sorrow and dread -alone. - -At intervals, during Christmas day, she had observed an incoherency in -her brother's speech, and an unwonted nervousness of manner, which had -inspired her with serious alarm. When he proposed to drive out, she -encouraged the suggestion, hoping that the cold air might restore him -to his usual state. Upon his return with Dr. Graham, he had seemed so -entirely like himself, so happy, so disposed to enjoyment, that she -once more dismissed every thought of danger, until she overheard the -sharp whispers in which he addressed his guest. - -"And oh, to think," she cried, while the tears rained down her cheeks, -"that in his love for me, his madness should take the shape of -beholding the conditions of his own brain reflected in mine! He was so -afraid harm would come to me,--thoughtful of me so long as even the -shadow of sanity remained. Dear, dear St. Victor,--so good, so pure, -so wise! Why was not I the victim, if it was fated that there must be -one?" Then lifting her tearful eyes,--"Doctor, perhaps the poison lurks -in my veins, too! Tell me, do you think there is danger that I, too, -shall one day go mad?" - -"No, poor child, most emphatically, I do _not_. You must not permit -such a fancy to enter your mind. As St. Victor said, you are your -mother's image and counterpart, in temperament and mental quality, -while he, doubtless, in all active or positive elements of constitution -and temperament, was his father's reflex. Is it not true?" - -"I believe so. My dear father used, I know, to think St. Victor nearer -to him than I could be. When together, they looked and acted very much -alike. Poor, dear brother!" and again the tears coursed down her cheeks. - -The doctor was deeply moved; this grief was so inexpressibly deep as -to stir in his heart every emotion of tenderness and sympathy it was -possible for a gentle-souled man to feel. - -"I loved him," he said, gently, "before I had known him an hour. His -nature was like a magnet, to draw love. Alas! it is sad, when the -promise of such a life is blighted. I would have given my life for his, -could it have averted this terrible blow from this house." - -A radiant, soul-full look dwelt in her tear-dimmed eyes. That this -man--a comparative stranger--should manifest this interest in her -brother aroused all the gratitude and affection of her warm nature. - -"And I love you, Dr. Graham, for loving him," she said, in the pathos -of the language that never speaks untruthfully,--the pathos of -irrepressible feeling. Then she added: "Do not leave us, doctor. You -are all the friend we have here in this great city. If you leave us I -shall, indeed, be alone." - -"I will remain, my dear child, so long as there is need of my services." - -He did not tell her, in so many words, that the case was hopeless; but -her eye was quick to see the wasting form and the growing prostration -which followed each paroxysm. How those two faithful attendants -watched and waited for the end! And in the grief for the sister, the -physician's gentleness found that road to a mutual devotion, which is -sure to open before those who love and wait upon a common object of -affection. The doctor and sister became, without a consciousness of -their real feeling, mutually dependent and trusting. - -In less than a month, as we have written, the skeleton which came to -the feast on Christmas night departed from the house to abide on St. -Victor Marchand's grave. - -At the next meeting of the Institute, Doctor Graham gave a full account -of the case, remarking upon the singular feature in it of the madness -assuming an embodiment in the sanity of another. From much that Edith -told him, as well as from his own observation and knowledge, he was -convinced that, for months, the young man had detected every minute -symptom and development of his disease in his sister; and had a -physician been at hand, he could have traced the insidious progress of -the malady in the strength of the brother's suspicions regarding his -sister. The facts cited to the Institute touched the compassion of the -most practice-hardened physician when Dr. Graham related the strange -and pitying tenderness with which young Marchand had watched his -sister, and strove to divert from her mind the madness which tainted -his blood alone. - -"Alone in this great city. If you leave me, I shall be alone indeed." -The words were like an angel's rap upon the heart's door. In his own -great trouble,--the loss of his wife,--the physician deemed himself -afflicted beyond his deserts; but what was his condition compared with -that of this youthful, tender, dependent woman, whose loss isolated her -from all others? - -No, not all others. After the first black cloud of her sorrow had -drifted away, she turned to him, whose hand had sustained her, even -when prayer had left her helpless and hopeless,--turned to him with a -love that was more than a love, with an adoration, before which the -physician bent, in wonder and satisfaction. He drew her to his bosom as -something to be kept with all the truth and tenderness of an abiding -love. - -The dull office has been exchanged for a home that is like a palace of -dreams; and Edith Graham, never forgetting her great sorrow, yet became -one of the happiest of all who ever loved. - - - - -LET THOSE LAUGH WHO WIN. - - - - -LET THOSE LAUGH WHO WIN. - -[Illustration] - - -Mr. Pontifex Pompadour was a gentleman whose family record testified -to his having breathed the breath of life sixty years, and yet his -appearance bore witness to not more than forty. Appearances, however, -though they are deceitful, result from causes more or less palpable; -and, in this case, they could be naturally accounted for. - -_Ecce testem!_ - -Mr. Pompadour's complexion was clear and transparent,--but it was not -his own. His teeth were white and regular,--but they were artificial. -His hair was black and glossy,--but it was dyed. His whiskers were -ibid.,--but they were ditto. His dress was the perfection of fashion -and taste, though rather youthful; and withal he carried himself with -a jaunty air, and a light and springing step, smiling blandly on all -he met, as if smiles were dollars and he were dispensing them right -royally. - -He had an only son,--Augustus Fitz Clarence Pompadour,--who was -heir-apparent to the very considerable property supposed to belong -to the "said aforesaid." This son was twenty-three, and had graduated -at college with some knowledge of some things, if not of some others. -He was a modern Mithridates in his power to withstand strychnine and -nicotine; and he had devoted much attention to that branch of geometry -which treats of the angles of balls on a cushion. One beautiful trait -in his character, however, was his tender affection for his father, -which showed itself most touchingly--whenever he was in need of money. - -In person he was prepossessing, having light-blue eyes, dark-brown -hair, and a drooping moustache. Nor will I allow that he was a vicious -lad. Indolent and useless he certainly was,--an insignificant numeral -in the great sum of humanity, but a _roué_ he certainly was not. -The worst thing about him was his name, and that he received from a -weak, silly novel-reading mother, who gave her life for his, and, -with her dying breath, charged his father to pay this homage to the -yellow-covered world in which she had lived. - -If there was anything wanting in the comfortable mansion, where -the Pompadours, father and son, kept bachelor's hall, it was the -refining and softening influence of woman. And this brings us to the -consideration of the skeleton which abode in the closets of Pompadour -and son. - -The late Mrs. Pompadour had possessed some property which she had -retained after marriage. Before her death she made a will, leaving -to Augustus the fee, and to his father the income of the estate. In -case, however, Augustus should marry before his father _did_, he was -to enter into full possession of the property. Wives, in dying, do not -generally offer their husbands a premium for replacing them; and so -the judges inferred that the real meaning of the testatrix would be -arrived at by inserting the letter _e_ in the word "_did_;" thus making -the contingency turn upon Augustus' marrying before his father _died_. -Moreover, the lawyer who drew the will (his ancestor was limned by Æsop -in the fable of the Ass in the lion's skin) swore positively to this -rendering being in accordance with the wish of the deceased, and so the -courts decided that in the event of Mr. Pompadour's marrying before his -son, he should retain his interest during life. - -Now Mr. Pompadour, aside from mercenary motives, was very uxoriously -inclined; and would doubtless have married years before, had he not set -too high an estimate on himself. - -His condition of mind at the beginning of this history might be -expressed logically somewhat as follows:-- - -First, he must get married. - -Second, Augustus must _not_. - -And Augustus, by analogous reasoning on identical premises, _mutatis -mutandis_, had arrived at a dual conclusion. - -First, he must get married. - -Second, his father must _not_. - -A vigorous system of espionage had been instituted by father and son, -on the actions of each other. Skirmishes had been frequent; and if -neither gained any decided advantage, neither lost. But the great -battle of the war was yet to be fought, and it has been reserved for my -pen to inscribe its history. - -In the suburban village where Mr. Pompadour resided was a handsome -residence; and its owner, "about visiting Europe," offered it for rent. -The house was elegant, and the grounds especially fine. They were -flanked by two shady streets and fronted on a third. A widow lady with -one daughter became the tenant; and, as is usual in such cases, the -whole village called upon her,--three persons prompted by politeness, -and three hundred by curiosity. The cards which did duty for the lady -in returning these calls, announced her to be "Mrs. Telluria Taragon, -_née_ Trelauney." By the same token her daughter was discovered to be -"Miss Terpsichore Taragon." - -Mrs. Taragon was one of the most bewitching of widows. About forty (she -acknowledged to thirty-three), she was the very incarnation of matronly -beauty. She was just tall enough to be graceful, and just plump enough -not to be unwieldy. Her eyes were black and dangerous. Her hair was -short, and it clustered over her forehead in little ringlets,--rather -girlish, but very becoming. Her teeth were white and natural, and she -had a most fascinating smile, which showed her teeth in a carefully -unstudied manner, formed a pretty dimple in her chin, and enabled her -to look archly without apparent intention. - -Her daughter, Miss Terpsichore, was twenty, with a slender, graceful -form, and a pair of rosy cheeks, before whose downy softness the old -simile of the peach becomes wholly inadequate. She had hazel eyes, -whose liquid depths reflected the brightest and sunniest of tempers, -and dark brown hair, with just a suspicion of golden shimmer filtering -through its wavy folds. - -Mrs. Taragon, on the bare charge, could not have escaped conviction -as a "designing widow." She not only was on the lookout, perpetually, -for an investment of her daughter, but she was flying continually from -her cap a white flag of unconditional surrender to the first man bold -enough to attack herself. - -Mr. Pontifex Pompadour "availed himself of an early opportunity" to -call upon Mrs. Taragon. His fame had preceded him; and that estimable -lady, who was in her boudoir when he was announced, gave a small -shriek of dismay at her dishevelled appearance. However, no one need -be alarmed at such a manifestation on the part of a "lady of fashion." -It is indicative of perfect satisfaction with her general effect. Mrs. -Taragon flew to her mirror to shake out another curl--and her flounces; -smiled bewitchingly by way of rehearsal; bit her lips frantically to -bring the blood _to_ them, and walked aimlessly about the room for a -few moments with her hands above her head, to send the blood _out_ of -them. Then picking up her handkerchief daintily, and going downstairs -slowly, that her cheeks might not be too much flushed, she acquired -sudden animation at the parlor-door, and burst into the room with -an elaborate rustle, and a thousand apologies for having kept Mr. -Pompadour waiting so long,--and wasn't "the day perfectly lovely?" - -If a conversation be interesting, or serve in any way to develop the -plot of a story, I hold that it should be given at full length; but the -polite nothings which were repeated at _this_ interview, came under -neither of these heads. They served only to display Mr. Pompadour's -false teeth, and Mrs. Taragon's real ones (and the dimple) through the -medium of Mr. P.'s real smile and Mrs. T.'s false one. - -The two parted mutually pleased, and Mrs. Taragon said to herself, as -she resumed the novel she had dropped at Mr. Pompadour's entrance, "If -I marry _him_, I will have that set of sables, and those diamonds I saw -at Tiffany's." - -Mr. Pompadour beheaded a moss rose with his cane, as he stepped -jauntily down the walk, and remarked to his inner self, "A monstrous -fine woman that, and I may say, without vanity, that she was struck -with my appearance. Why, ho! who the devil's that?" - -The acute reader will perceive a slight incoherence in the latter -portion of this remark. It was due to a sight which met Mr. Pompadour's -gaze on stepping into the street from Mrs. Taragon's domain. This was -nothing else than Augustus Fitz Clarence walking leisurely up the -street with a young lady whom we know--but the illustrious parent did -not--to be Miss Terpsichore Taragon. - -"Confound the boy!" said the old gentleman, "I wonder who he's got -there? Just like his father, though! For I may say, without vanity, -that I was a tremendous fellow among the girls." - -Augustus Fitz Clarence was not at all pleased at this chance rencontre. -The intimacy with the charming widow, which it strongly hinted -at, brought vividly to his mind its possible results upon his own -prospects. And, moreover, he was conscious of a peculiar and novel -sensation in regard to the young lady, which made him rather shamefaced -under the paternal eye. In short, he was in love. All the symptoms were -apparent: a rush of blood to the face, and a stammering in the speech, -whenever proximity to the infecting object induced a spasm. He also had -the secondary symptoms,--a sensation of the spinal cord, as if molasses -were being poured down the back, and a general feeling "all over," such -as little boys call "goose-flesh," and which is ordinarily occasioned -by a ghost story, or a cold draught from an open door-way. - -To the writer, who stands upon the high level of the philosophic -historian, it is evident that the same feelings warmed the gentle -breast of Terpsichore that burned in the bosom of Augustus. To furnish -food, however, for the unextinguishable laughter of the gods, this fact -is never made clear to the principals themselves till the last moment. -"And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe ... and thereby hangs a -tale." - -With the foregoing paragraph, I bridge over an "hiatus, as it were," of -several months. - -Respect for truth obliges me to record the fact, that Mrs. Taragon -regarded her daughter with that unchristian feeling called jealousy. -But, if a heartless, she was a shrewd woman, and she meant to dispose -of Terpsichore advantageously. - -There was, at this time, and I believe there is still, in the village -of which I write, an "order of the garter," under the control of one -Mrs. Grundy, the motto of which was: "Those are evil of whom we evil -speak." Its evening meetings were familiarly known as the "nights of -the sewing-circle;" and it was the duty of each member to attend to -everybody's business but his own. An agent of this order promptly put -Mrs. Taragon in possession of everything which had been discovered or -invented concerning Mr. Pompadour, not forgetting to enlarge upon the -conditions of the will. Mrs. Taragon thereupon resolved to marry Mr. -Pompadour; for, in addition to other reasons, she confessed to herself -that she really liked him. As may be supposed, therefore, she looked -with much disfavor on the increasing intimacy between the young people; -but she feared that any violent attempt to rupture it would precipitate -the very result she would avoid. She sat, one day, in a brown study, -regarding the subject in all its bearings, with her comely cheek -resting upon her plump hand, and, at last, arrived at a conclusion. - -"I think it would not be wise," she said, consulting the mirror to see -if her hand had left any mark upon her cheek,--"to interfere just at -present; at any rate, not till I am _sure_ of Mr. Pompadour; but I will -keep a close watch upon them." - -Not many days afterwards, a picturesque group occupied the bow-window -of Mrs. Taragon's drawing-room. Mrs. T. herself, quite covered with an -eruption of worsted measles, was the principal figure. At her feet, -like Paul at Gamaliel's, sat Augustus; but, unlike Paul, he held a -skein of worsted. Nestling on an ottoman in the recess of the window -was Terpsichore, inventing floral phenomena in water-colors, and -looking very bewitching. - -"'Twas a fair scene." As under the shade of some far-spreading oak, -when noon holds high revel in the heavens, the gentle flock cluster in -happy security, fearing no dire irruption of lupine enemy, so-- - -"Mr. Pompadour," announced the servant. - -"The devil!" echoed Augustus Fitz Clarence. - -Mrs. Taragon's first impulse was to spring up and greet her visitor -cordially. Her second, to do no such thing. Napoleon said, "An -opportunity lost is an occasion for misfortune." Here was her -Austerlitz or her Waterloo! With the rapidity of genius, she laid the -plot for a little comedy of "The Jealous Lovers," to the success of -which the actors themselves unwittingly contributed. - -Half rising, she acknowledged Mr. Pompadour's elaborate bow, and, -motioning him gracefully to a seat, sank back into her chair. Then, -pretending that the worsted was knotted, she bent her curls so near -Augustus' face, and made a whispered remark with such a conscious air, -that the blood rushed to that young man's face in an instant. - -"I saw you out riding yesterday, Mr. Pompadour," said the cheerful -widow, pleased that her first shot had taken effect. "And what a -_beautiful_ horse! and you ride _so_ gracefully!" - -"Thank you, madam," said Mr. Pompadour, stiffly; "I think I may say, -without vanity, that I do ride tolerably well." - -"And you," to the son, "now your father is present, I must call you -_Mr._ Augustus,--may I not?" she said, coaxingly. The "Mr." was -emphasized, as if when alone she did not use it. But this was, of -course, unintentional. - -Now Augustus, for some time, had endeavored to ingratiate himself with -Mrs. Taragon, but with little success, and, therefore, he was utterly -unable to comprehend her sudden benignity. He glanced at his father, -and met the eyes of that individual glaring on him with the look of an -ogre deprived of his baby lunch. He glanced at Terpsichore, but that -young lady was absorbed with a new discovery in botany. He glanced at -Mrs. Taragon, but she was calmly winding worsted. - -"Terpy, dear," said her mother, "_do_ show Mr. Pompadour some of your -drawings. My dear little girl is _so_ devoted to art!" she exclaimed, -enthusiastically, as the daughter rose to bring her portfolio. "Take -care, Mr. Augustus; you know worsted is a dreadful thing to snarl." -Augustus had involuntarily sprung up to offer his assistance, but he -sank back in confusion. - -"Are you fond of engravings, Mr. Pompadour?" asked the young lady, -sweetly. - -"Ah! yes! I--I think I may say without vanity,"--began Mr. Pompadour, -but he finished silently to himself,--"D--me, I'll make her jealous!" -Whose Austerlitz or Waterloo should it be? He put on his eye-glass to -inspect the volume, and for a little while almost forgot his egotism in -admiration of the beauty of nature beside him, if not of the beauties -of art before him. - -Augustus was not slow in perceiving that, for some unknown reason, Mrs. -Taragon's attention was gained, and he tried desperately to improve the -occasion. Every once in a while, however, his eyes would wander toward -his father, who played his part with so much skill that the bosom of -Augustus was soon filled with burnings, and the mind of the widow with -perplexities. The gentle heart of Terpsichore was grieved also, and -her mind sorely puzzled at the enigmatical conduct of those about her, -while she was somewhat annoyed at the pertinacious attentions of the -elder P. - -The distinguished gentleman who wrote so graphically about the "Elbows -of the Mincio," must confess that _our_ Quadrilateral is only second -to that which he has helped to embalm in history. The Irishman's -experience with the large boot and the small one, and the other pair -similarly mismated, was here reproduced with painful reality. Some evil -genius had scattered wormwood on the air, and asphyxia, or something -worse, seemed likely to supervene, when the entrance of another visitor -broke the charm, and the _téte-à-téte_, and the gentlemen fled. - -The thermometer of Mr. Pompadour's temper indicated boiling heat. He -sputtered and fumed like an irascible old gentleman as he was, and -managed to work himself into a crazy fit of jealousy, about his son -and the too fascinating widow; and, oddly enough, this feeling thus -aroused by the green-eyed monster, for the time being, quite eclipsed -his mercenary muddle. So, upon poor Augustus, as the available subject, -fell palpable and uncomfortable demonstrations of paternal displeasure. - -For several days Mr. Pompadour stayed away from Mrs. Taragon's, and -that good lady began to fear lest she had overdrawn her account at the -bank of his heart, and that further drafts would be dishonored. The -thought of such a catastrophe was torture of the most refined quality. -By an illogical system of reasoning, peculiar to the female mind, she -imagined that Terpsichore was the cause of his desertion, and that -young lady thereupon became the recipient of an amount of small spite -and aggravated vindictiveness, which reflected great credit upon Mrs. -Taragon's inquisitorial capabilities. - -She had, it must be obvious, set her heart upon having those diamonds -from Tiffany's. - -At the end of a week, however, Mr. Pompadour called upon Mrs. Taragon, -and this time he found her alone. His countenance gave proof of some -desperate resolution. His attire was more than usually elegant. His -hair and whiskers were a trifle blacker and glossier than ever. He had -a rose in his button-hole, and yellow kids on his hands. Solomon, in -all his glory, was not arrayed (I sincerely trust) like unto him! Mrs. -Taragon rose cordially, and held out to him her plump little hand; it -lay a moment in his, as if asking to be squeezed. Mr. Pompadour looked -as if he would like to squeeze it, and perhaps he did. - -The lady's cordiality soon gave place to a timid shyness. To use a -military phrase, she was "feigning a retreat." Mr. Pompadour waxed -bold and advanced. The conversation skirmished awhile, the widow -occasionally making a sally, and driving in the enemy's outposts, -his main body meanwhile steadily approaching. The tone in which they -conducted hostilities, however, gradually fell, and if one had been -near enough he might have heard Mr. Pompadour remark, with a kind of -quiet satisfaction, "For I think I may say, without vanity, I still -possess some claim to good looks." The widow's reply was so low that -our reporter failed to catch it, and then--military phraseology -avaunt!--the old veteran knelt on the carpet, and surrendered at -discretion. - -"Good gracious, Mr. Pompadour!" exclaimed the widow, with well-feigned -alarm, at the same time picking a thread off her dress, "_Do_ get up, -somebody may come in!" - -"Never!" said the old hero stoutly, seeing his advantage, and -determined to have its full benefit, "at any rate, not till you promise -to marry me!" - -A form passed the window. This time Mrs. Taragon was really frightened. -"I will," she said hurriedly; "now get up, and sit down." - -Mr. Pompadour leaped to his feet with the agility of a boy--of sixty, -and imprinted a kiss lovingly upon the lady's nose, there not being -time to capture the right place on the first assault. What followed we -will leave to the imagination of the reader. - - * * * * * - -It was now October, and the trees had adorned themselves in their -myriad dyes. The maple had put on crimson, the hickory a rich gold, and -the oak a deep scarlet; while the pine and the hemlock "mingled with -brighter tints the living green." - -To the woods one balmy day Augustus and Terpsichore went together, to -gather leaves for wreaths and screens. Both were carelessly happy, and -the pines echoed their merry voices as they laughed and sang. At length -the basket, which Augustus carried, was filled with gorgeous booty, -and they sat down upon a fallen log, while Terpsichore wove a garland -for her hair. No wonder that in the tranquil beauty of the scene their -noisy mirth should become hushed. No wonder that, as the sun stole -through the branches, and like Jove of old fell in a shower of gold -about them, upon both their hearts fell the perfect peace of love! With -the full tide of this feeling came to Augustus the resolve to know his -fate; for he felt that upon that answer hung his destiny. - -They sat in silence while he tried to teach his tongue the language -of his heart. Then he glanced timidly at the maiden, but her head was -drooped low over the wreath, and her cheeks reflected its crimson dye. - -"Miss Taragon," he said, at length, abruptly, "were you ever in love?" - -She started like a frightened bird. The rich blood fled to her heart, -and left her face pallid as marble. - -"I--I--don't know," she stammered. "Why do you ask me such a question?" - -"Because," he said, "then you may know how I feel, and pity me! O -Terpsichore!" he added passionately, "I love you with my whole soul, -and if you will but bless me with your love, my whole life shall be -devoted to your happiness." - -And so he talked on in an impetuous strain, of mingled prayer and -protestation, which was stereotyped long before the invention of -printing. - -Terpsichore's heart beat wildly. The color came and went in her cheeks, -and she turned her head away to conceal her emotion. - -The wreath lay finished in her lap; and at last, with a bright smile, -she placed it on his forehead; and, clasping his hand in both her own, -she kissed him on the forehead. And now we might as well leave them -alone together. - -Mrs. Taragon, having made sure of Mr. Pompadour, now proceeded to carry -out her plan of throwing obstacles in the way of the young people. -Augustus, of course, was not aware of her complete information in -regard to his "property qualifications," and attributed her disfavor -to personal dislike. Whatever her motives, however, her actions were -unequivocal; and Terpsichore, especially, had a sorry time of it. So -uncomfortable did matters become, that, upon a review of the situation, -and an eloquent appeal from Augustus, she consented to take with him -that irrevocable step, to which Virgil undoubtedly alluded under the -fine figure of "Descensus Averni." In plain English, they resolved to -run away and be married. - -I will not weary the reader with details of the preliminaries. They -are unimportant to my narrative. A note, dispatched by Augustus to the -Rev. Ebenezer Fiscuel, informed that gentleman that about half-past -ten o'clock of an appointed evening he would be waited on by a couple -desirous of being united in holy matrimony. - -Augustus arranged to have a carriage in waiting under Terpsichore's -window about ten o'clock, and, with the aid of a ladder and the -above-mentioned clergyman, he hoped to settle the vexed question of the -property, and render all further opposition to their union of an _ex -post facto_ character. - -The evening came, and it found Mrs. Taragon and her daughter seated -together in the parlor. Terpsichore was crocheting a net, which, like -Penelope's, grew very slowly. She was nervous and fidgety. Her eyes -wandered restlessly from her mother to the door, and she started at -the slightest sound. Mrs. Taragon seemed uncommonly suspicious and -alert. She was reading, but had not turned a leaf for half an hour. She -glanced furtively and continually about the room. - -"She has found us out," thought Terpsichore, and her heart almost -stopped beating. With a great effort she controlled herself, and had -recourse to stratagem. - -"Mother, dear," she said, dropping the net in her lap, "you look tired; -why don't you go to bed?" - -"Oh, no, darling," said the widow, cheerfully, "I don't feel a bit -weary. But your eyes look red, and I think _you_ had better retire." - -"No, mamma, not yet," she replied. "I want to finish this net. I have -done so little upon it lately." - -A slight shade of vexation crossed the face of the widow. - -"If you had devoted yourself to the net," she said, spitefully, "it -would have been finished." - -Terpsichore blushed guiltily. Augustus had spent more than two hours -with her that day; and she felt a presentiment that impending wrath was -about to descend on her devoted head. - -"I am sure, mother," she said, quietly, "_you_ can't complain of my -seeing too much company." - -This shot told; for Mr. Pompadour had been very attentive of late. - -Mrs. Taragon nearly tore a leaf out of her book. - -"At any rate," she retorted, "my visitors are respectable." - -Terpsichore's lip quivered. The remark was cruel, but it roused her -spirit. - -"If my company is not respectable," she said, with an incipient sob, -"it is the fault of his bringing up." - -Mr. Pompadour was hit this time, right between his eyes. The widow -blazed. - -"You--you--you minx," she said, angrily, "I believe you'd like to see -me dead, and out of your way!" - -The remark was utterly irrelevant; but she saw it in the book, and -thought it would be dramatic. - -Terpsichore burst into tears, and beat a retreat in disorder. As she -left the room, Mrs. Taragon said to herself, with a sigh of relief,-- - -"Well, the coast is clear for Pompadour,--and she's safe for to-night, -any way." - -Which was a slight mistake. - -Ten o'clock came, and with it the carriage. A man glided silently -underneath Terpsichore's window, and a ladder was reared against the -wall. Silently the window opened, and a form descended the ladder, and -was clasped in an equally silent embrace at the foot. Terpsichore had -not entirely recovered her spirits, but she stifled her emotions for -the sake of Augustus. For the same reason she did not scold him for -rumpling her bonnet. Hurrying into the carriage, they drove rapidly -away. - -As they turned the corner into the principal street, another carriage, -going in the same direction, came up behind them at a quick trot. -Augustus sprang to his feet, and peered out into the darkness. -"Betrayed," was the thought which flashed through his mind, and he -muttered an eighteen-cornered oath. Terpsichore clung to his coat with -an energy which indirectly reflected lasting credit upon his tailor. - -"Put on more steam," whispered Augustus hoarsely to the driver, and -the horses dashed onward at a break-neck pace, soon leaving the other -carriage far behind. - -At the rate they were going, it took but a few minutes to reach the -parsonage. Directing the coachman to drive round the corner and wait, -Augustus half-led, half-carried the trembling girl into the house. -The Rev. Fiscuel's family and one or two neighbors were assembled in -the parlor. The ceremony was soon performed, and an earnest blessing -invoked upon the married life of the young people. As they were -receiving the congratulations suited to the occasion, a juvenile -Fiscuel came in, and whispered something to his father. Mr. Fiscuel, -with a smile, turned to Augustus, saying, "My son tells me that your -father is coming in at the gate with a lady." - -The newly-married looked at each other in mute surprise. "I'll bet a -hat," exclaimed Augustus, suddenly, "it's your mother; and they've -come to get married!" - -The Rev. Ebenezer spoke eagerly: "Did you send me two messages this -morning?" - -"No!" said Augustus; "of course I did not." - -"Then they have, verily," exclaimed the clergyman, in a tone of -very unclerical excitement; "for I received two messages from 'Mr. -Pompadour.' I spoke of the singularity at the time." - -"Can you hide us somewhere?" said Augustus, "till you've 'done' the old -gentleman?" - -"Come in here," said Mrs. Fiscuel, who had her share of that leaven of -unrighteousness which is usually called fun. As she spoke, she opened -the drawing-room door. - -The Rev. Ebenezer sat down to write a certificate for Augustus; and, as -one door closed upon the young couple, the other opened to admit the -older one. If not in as great a hurry as their children, they seemed -equally desirous of making assurance doubly sure. The family and the -witnesses, who had followed Mrs. Fiscuel out of the apartment, were -again summoned, and, for a second time that evening, the words were -spoken which made a Pompadour and a Taragon "one bone and one flesh." -Watching the proceedings through the crevice of the half-opened door, -was a couple not counted among the "witnesses," and certainly not -invited by the principals. - -When the ceremony was over, Augustus and Terpsichore entered the -room. Their appearance created what "Jenkins" would call "a profound -sensation." Mr. Pompadour looked bowie-knives and six-shooters, Mrs. -P., darning-needles and stilettoes. Augustus was self-possessed. -Perhaps he remembered the old saying, "Let those laugh who win." - -"We happened here not knowing you were coming," he said, addressing -both; "wont you accept our congratulations." - -Suddenly Mrs. Pompadour _née_ Trelawney, gave a scream, and fell back -in a chair, with symptoms of hysterics. She had caught sight of the -_ring_ on her daughter's finger, and comprehended everything in an -instant,--the carriage which had fled before them as they left the -house; this "accidental" visit to the minister's; and, worse than all, -how she had been outwitted! - -Terpsichore sprang forward to assist her. - -"Go away from me! Go away! Don't let her touch me!" she screamed, -throwing her arms about like a wind-mill. "I wont have it! I wont! I -wont!" - -Mr. Pompadour, during this outburst, showed signs of exasperation; -apparently, however, he did not see the point, but was fast concluding -that he had married a lunatic. - -Terpsichore was frightened and began to cry. Augustus, to reässure her, -put his arm around her waist. At this, the senior Mrs. Pompadour sprang -up, and seized her husband by the arm, so energetically that it made -him wince. Pointing to the tell-tale ring with a gesture worthy of -Ristori, she managed to articulate: "Don't you see it? That undutiful -girl has married Augustus, and--and he has married _her_!" - -Mr. Pompadour "saw it," and uttered some words which were not a -blessing. - - - - -THE PROPER USE OF GRANDFATHERS. - - - - -THE PROPER USE OF GRANDFATHERS. - -[Illustration] - - -If people without grandfathers are in need of any particular solace, -they may find it in the fact that those cumbrous contingencies of -existence cannot be continually stuck in their faces. A wise man has -remarked, that the moderns are pigmies standing upon the shoulders of -giants. He would have been wiser still, had he observed how frequently -the giants change places with the pigmies, and ride them to death like -Old Men of the Sea. If, at sixteen, I have the dyspepsia and a tendency -to reflect on the problems of my being, I am begged to notice that, -at a corresponding period old Jones, of the alternate generation, was -gambolling o'er the dewy meads, a gleesome boy. If my baby cries and -is puny at teething-time, the oracles, with an intuitive perception -how my grandfather behaved a hundred years before they were born, tell -me it was not so in his day; that heaven lay about him in his infancy; -but that none of the article exists either in that loose condition or -otherwise for the immature human animal who breaks out of darkness -and mystery into this day of gum-rings. If the tremendous pace at -which the modern world is going knocks me up at forty, and compels -me to keep my stall for a year of valetudinarianism, I am asked to -remember what a hale old fellow the same inevitable ancestor was at -ninety; I am inundated with his exuberance of spirits, overwhelmed -with the statistics of his teeth; and invited in the mind's eye (in my -own, too, if I know myself!) to take six-mile walks with him before -breakfast unassisted by a cane. It is not a pleasant state of mind to -be disgusted with one's forefathers, who would, probably have been -very jolly fellows to know, and not the least in the world like the -people who are all the time boring us about them. If there is truth in -spiritualism, a delegation from those fine old boys will, some of these -days, take advantage of a sitting, and rap out an indignant disclaimer -of the bosh that is talked in their name. If my grandfather was not -a much more unpleasant person than myself, he would scorn to be made -a boguey of for the annoyance of his own flesh and blood. Any man of -well-regulated mind must prefer utter oblivion among his descendants to -such perpetuation as that of Mr. Wilfer. - -"Your grandpapa," retorted Mrs. Wilfer, with an awful look, and in -an awful tone, "was what I describe him to have been, and would have -struck any of his grandchildren to the earth who presumed to question -it." - -If our ancestors could return to the earth, it is little likely -that their first inclination would be to goody themselves over the -excellence of their own period, or pull faces at the degeneracy of -ours. Sleepers in ill-ventilated, or rather entirely non-ventilated -apartments, eaters of inordinate late suppers, five-bottle men, and -for the most part wearers of sadly unphilosophical raiment, those -sturdy old fox-hunters would acknowledge it just cause for astonishment -that their children have any constitutions at all. Little motive -for self-laudation would they find in the fact, that, after drawing -out their account with Nature to the last dime, they had taken a -respectable first-cabin passage to the Infinite Boulogne just before -the great Teller said "No funds," and shoved back their checks through -the window, leaving to their children the heritage of a spotless name -and the declaration of physiological bankruptcy. - -Nor would they content themselves, I fancy, with the negative ground -of mere humility. They would have something very decided to say to the -wiseacres, who taunt our wives in the agony of tic-doloureux with the -statement that their grandmothers knew nothing of neuralgia. "No!" -these generous ancients would retort, "that is the residuary legacy -of a generation to whom we left a nervous system of worn-out fiddle -strings." To such as talk of that woful novelty diphtheria as a crime -of the present age, they would point out the impossibility of a race's -throat descending to it without tenderness, a race's blood flowing to -it without taint, from ancestors who swaddled their necks in fathoms -of cravat, and despised the question of sewage. When I had the gout, -and could not stand up for myself, those brave _vieilles moustaches_ -would stand up for me. "Many a fine old bin of our port," would they -exclaim, "has been emptied down through the æons into those innocent -toes of thine. I mind me how I smacked my lips over that very bottle -whose broken glass now grinds around, red-hot, in the articulation -of thy metatarsal phalanges. Dancing at thy fair great-grandmother's -wedding, I slaked the thirst of many vigorous sarabands in that -identical ruby nectar, which, turned by the alchemy of generations -into acid blood, now through thy great toe distils in gouts of fiery -torture. I danced;--thou, poor Serò-natus, dancest not, but dost pay -the piper." - -Suppose that our returning ancestors regarded us in the intellectual -and spiritual, as well as the physical aspect, they must find still -less reason to put on airs of superiority. If, in the sphere where they -have been lately moving, improvement goes on as fast as we believe, -they may be expected to wonder that the theological and scholastic -training of their own earthly day has not resulted in a present race -of imbeciles and fetish-worshippers, or Torquemadas and madmen. With -thankful astonishment will they revere that nature whose boundless -elasticity and self-repair has brought bright and self-reliant, even -though sometimes a trifle too pert and iconoclastic, Young America -from loins burdened, through all their period of cartilage, with five -days and a half per week of grammar-grinding, a Saturday afternoon of -"keeping in for marks," and a seventh day which should have been the -Lord's, but was conspicuously liker the devil's. - -Woman, religion, and the forefathers are all the victims of a false -quality of reverence. The world has immemorially paid them in the -coin of lip-service for the privilege of using their sacredness as a -yoke. They are defrauded of their true power by the hands that waft -them hypocritical incense; bought off the ground where their influence -might be precious and permanent, by the compliment of a moment, or the -ceremony of a day. We pick up the fan of the first, and shoulder her -out of her partnership in our serious business of living. We build -temples for the second, that she may not gad about among our shops, -or trouble the doors of our houses. In the third, we do superstitious -homage to a mere accident of time, and feel free to neglect the genial -lesson of humanity which is eternal. - -It is impossible not to reverence our forefathers--those grand old -fellows who, long before we rose, got up to build the fires, and shovel -the sidewalks of this world. The amount of work which they did was -immense; great was their poking and their pushing; their thrashing of -arms, and their blowing of fingers. If they sometimes made a compromise -with their job; if here and there they left the gutters uncleared, or a -heavy drift to thaw over under the sun of modern conscience, and flood -our streets with revolution; if they built some of their fires with -wet wood, which unto this day smokes the parlors, or even the inmost -bed-chambers of mankind,--let us remember how frosty the dawn was, how -poorly made were the tools and mittens of the period. All honor to -their work, and the will with which they went at it! But when we are -asked to regret the rising of the sun; to despise a time of day when -there are no more fires to build, no more walks to shovel; or, if such -anywhere remain, when there are snow-ploughs and patent-kindling to use -in their behoof--distinctly No!--a No as everlasting as Mr. Carlyle's, -and spelt with as big a capital. - -The mistake of that great writer and minor disciple of the Belated-Owl -school to which he belongs, naturally arises, not from the -over-development of reverence, to which it is generally ascribed, but -from a constitutional divorce between the poetic imagination and the -power of analysis. The former faculty, by itself, results in impatience -with the meaner actualities of life,--a divine impatience in great -poets, a petulant in small ones. Lacking the latter faculty, such -persons are in the condition of a near-sighted man placed without chart -or compass at the helm of a free-going clipper. Making no allowance for -the fact that the blemished and the trivial disappear with distance, -and, ignorant of the direction in which humanity must steer, they put -out with disgust from a shore where every old clam-shell and rotten -wreck is as conspicuous to those, at least, who look for it as the -orange-groved cliffs, and the fair retiring stretches of greensward, -to voyage for some scarce descried Atlantis gemming the horizon ring -with an empurpled roundness born of vapor, time, and space. To such, -the future might be a noble course to lay; but that lies beyond the -horizon, and impatience is not consistent with faith. On, then, on -to the farthest visible,--but westward, while the grand fleet of -humanity sails last. Into shadow which drowns the petty details of -existence,--not toward a shore which shall be reached only by long -buffeting and weary watching, whose noble scenery, glorious with all -the temples and trophies of the latest age, shall bear unshamed the -scrutiny of the full-risen sun. - -The application of scientific processes to the study of history has -revealed the steady amelioration of the race. The mail of chivalric -giants is brought out of romance's armory to the profane test of a -vulgar trying on, and, behold, it is too small for the foot-soldier of -to-day. Population everywhere increases, while the rates of mortality -diminish. The average longevity of the people of London is greater, -by something like twenty-five per cent., than it was a century ago. -The improvement of machinery is more and more lifting the yoke of -physical labor from the neck of man, leaving his mind freer to cope -with the higher problems of his own nature and the universe without. -Not as a matter of platform enthusiasm and optimist poetry, but of -office statistics, do we know that the world is an easier and better -place to live in, and that a man is luckier to be born into it, -than in the day of the fathers. So much has changed, and changed for -the better. That analysis, which the Carlylists lack, reveals still -other changes worked by the course of time in the phenomena of the -race,--such changes as concern the habits of society, the styles of -literature, the systems of political economy and commercial order, the -tenets of philosophy, the schools of art, the forms of government and -religion. This analysis further reveals that, while all these functions -of life are in their nature endlessly mutable, the organic man, from -whom, under all variations, they get their _vis viva_, remains from -age to age eternally the same. While each successive generation has -its fresh, particular business on the earth,--something to do for -the race, which succeeding generations will not have the time, even -as prior generations had not the light, to do,--something which is -wanted right away,--something for which it was sent and for which -the whole machine-shop of time had been shaping the material to be -worked by its special hand,--analysis discloses that the capital upon -which every business is to be carried on undergoes neither increase -nor diminution. There is just as much faith, just as much courage, -just as much power in the world as there ever was. They do not show -themselves in Runnymedes, because Runnymede has been attended to; nor -in wondrous Abbot Sampsons, because monkery is mainly cured. They -are not manifest in martyred Edwardses, because at this day Edwards -could call a policeman; nor in burning Cranmers, because society has -made a phenomenal change in her method with martyrs and shuts them -in a refrigerator, where once she chained them to a stake. They do -not appear in French Revolutions, because the world has grown through -a second American Revolution, grander than the first, and a great -representative native has plucked Liberty out of the fire without one -scorch of license on her garments. They seek no outlet in crusade, for -Jerusalem has been made of as little consequence as Barnegat, by the -fulfilment of the promise,-- - -"The hour cometh when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet in -Jerusalem, worship the Father, ... when the true worshippers shall -worship him in spirit and in truth." - -I have a little butcher, who is Coeur de Lion in the small. He does not -split heads nor get imprisoned in castles, but has the same capricious -force, the same capacity for affront-taking, the same terribleness -of retribution, and the same power of large, frank forgiveness which -belonged to the man who broke the skulls of the Saracens and pardoned -his own assassin. I went to school to Frederick the Great. He did not -take snuff nor swear in high Dutch, and it was his destiny to be at -the head, not of an army of men, but of one hundred as unmanageable -boys as ever played hawkey or "fought pillows" in the dormitory. -His solution of difficulties was as prompt, his decisions were as -inexorable, he had as irascible a temper and as admirable a faculty of -organization as his Prussian prototype's. Calvin and Servetus discuss -their differences at my dinner-table; the former possesses all his -old faith in the inscrutable; the latter all his ancient tendency to -bring everything alleged to the tribunal of science, and I may add that -Calvin has as little doubt as ever of the propriety of having Servetus -cooked,--only he postpones the operation, and expects to see it done -without his help. I am acquainted with Sir Philip Sidney, the courtly -knight and the melodious poet. The chivalry with which he jousted at -Kenilworth and fought at Zutphen are hourly needed in the temptations -and harassments of a broker's office, and many's the hard day through -which it has borne him with honor. The pen which he devotes to the -Muses is as facile as in the Arcadian time,--though the sturdy lance he -used to set in rest is substituted by another pen, of the fat office -type, consecrated to the back of gold certificates and the support of -an unmediævally expensive family. - -Looking in all directions round the world, I find the old -nobleness,--the primeval sublimities of love and courage, faith and -justice, which have always kept humanity moving, and will keep it to -the end. In no age has the quantity of this nobleness been excessive, -but so much of it as exists is an imperishable quantity. It is a good -interred with no man's bones; it is the indispensable preventive of the -world's annihilation. Carlyle has been praised for the epigrammatic -assertion that nothing can be kept without either life or salt. This -is true, but not the whole truth; salt will keep beeves, but as for -nations and races which have lost their savor, wherewithal shall they -be salted? The fact that mankind survive at all is the proof that -ages have not tainted them with putrescence. Things live only by the -good that there is in them, and the interests to which they appeal; -the fields which open to man, in our own day, are so much vaster and -massier than they were in the day of our fathers, that the tax on the -activities of the race could not be met by our capital of life if we -had lost one particle of the good which supported them. - -When I look at the fathers, I recollect that courage and love, faith -and justice, have no swallowing horizon, while all that is petty and -base succumbs in one generation to the laws of perspective. It is -pleasanter thus. At the grave of the old schoolmaster who flogged us, -we remember the silver hair and the apple he gave us once,--never the -rattan. "We had fathers after the flesh who corrected us, and we gave -them reverence," nothing but reverence, when we leaned with tearful -eyes over their vacant chairs. If I have ever quarrelled with my -friend, when he can return to me no more, I make up with his memory -by canonizing him. The tendency to do thus is among the loveliest and -divinest things in our nature. But it is a still lovelier and diviner -thing to anticipate the parallax of time and look upon the present with -the same loving, teachable, and reverent eyes, which shall be bent upon -it from the standpoint of coming generations. He to whom the beauty and -nobleness of his own time are, throughout all that he deplores in it -and in himself, the conspicuous objects of love and veneration,--who -extends the allowance of the dead to the faults of the living,--from -whom no personal disappointments can ever take away his faith in the -abiding divinity of his kind,--need never fear that his judgment of -the fathers will be a churlish and disrespectful one. The only object -which such a man can have in recalling the vices and defects of older -generations is to establish their kinship with his own, to prove his -era's legitimacy against philosophers who find only pettiness in the -present and grandeur in the past. If he cannot make them see the good -side by which the modern family receives blood from the ancient, there -shall not be any bend sinister on his escutcheon because he neglects -to show them the bad one, though he would rather vindicate his lineage -the other way. To him the organic unity of mankind, throughout all -generations, is dearer than the individual reputation of any one of -them. - -Having the faith of this organic unity he can look at the errors of -the forefathers without pain. They lessen neither his love nor his -respect for them. Who is there that would care to know king David only -as a very respectable Jew, in a Sunday-school book, who was always -successful, invariably pious, and passed his time wholly in playing -hymns on a harp with a golden crown upon his head? To almost all young -readers, and many an old one, the vindictive psalms seem a shocking -inexplicability in the sacred canon. The philosopher, however, feels -with the illiterate preacher, "It is a comfort to us poor erring -mortals, my brethren, to remember that on one occasion even, David, -beloved of the Lord, said not only, 'I am mad,' but 'I am fearfully and -wonderfully mad?'" Not that it would be any comfort to us if that were -all we possess of him; but we also have the record of his getting over -it. I once knew a little boy who learned to swear out of the psalms, -and it must be acknowledged that of good round curses there is in no -tongue a much fuller armory. Conscientious persons, who want to damn -their enemies without committing sin, no doubt often sit down and read -an execratory psalm with considerable relief to their minds. Not in -this spirit do men skilled in human nature peruse the grand rages of -the many-sided fighting bard; not because they would cloak their errors -with the kingly shadow of his own, do they rejoice that he exists for -us to-day just where the rude, large simplicity of his original Hebrew -left him, and that tame-handed biography has never been able to pumice -him down into a demi-god. They are glad because these things prove him -human and imitable. If his stormy soul triumphed over itself; if he -could be beloved of the Infinite at a moment when the surges of both -outer and inner vicissitude seemed conspiring to sweep him away, then -we cease to hear his swearing or the clamor of his despair; and to us, -whose modern spirits are not exempt from flood and hurricane, his grand -voice chants only cheer down the centuries, and we know that there is -love caring and victory waiting for us also in our struggle, since we -are not the lonely anomalies of time. - -As with David so with all the men of the past,--it gives us no pain -to find that they were not a whit nearer perfection than ourselves. -We do not regret their superseded customs, nor wish them restored in -the living age. He who takes them from the time of which they are -a congruous part and seeks to import them into a day which has no -explanatory relevance to them, so far from showing them reverence, -is like a man who, to compel the recognition of his grandfather's -tombstone, strips it of its moss, scrubs it with soap and sand, and -sets it up on Broadway among signs and show-cases. Their opinions -are not final with us, because every age brings new proofs, and -every generation is a new court of appeal. Their business methods -are framed upon a hypothesis which does not include the telegraph -or the steam-engine. Where a man can persuade his correspondents to -send their letters by the coach and their goods by the freight-wagon, -he may adjust himself very comfortably to the good old way by which -his grandfather made a fortune and preserved his health to a great -age. Until he gets his mail weekly and answers it all in a batch, -recuperating from that labor by the sale of merchandise, one box to an -invoice, he is simply absurd to lament over the rapidity with which -fortunes are made at this day, and eulogize the "sure and slow" process -by which a lifetime whose sole principle was the avoiding of risks -attained the same object. As if the whole problem of life were not how -to secure, as quick as possible, all the material good necessary for -living, in order to leave the kind free for all its higher functions of -self-development and discipline. As if money were not a mere expression -of the extent to which a man has subordinated the forces of the world -to his own use,--a thing, therefore, which naturally comes quicker to a -generation which has taken all the great atmospheric and imponderable -couriers into its service! - -The true use of ancestors is not slavish; we do not want them for -authority, but for solace. If my grandfather could come back, he -certainly would be too much of a gentleman to sit down on my hat -or put his feet on my piano; and how much less would he crush my -convictions or trample on my opinions! He would be equally too -much of a business-man to interfere in the responsibilities of any -practical course I might take, when he had not looked into the -books of the concern, taken account of its stock, or consulted the -world's market-list for an entire generation. He would do what any -man would be proud to have his grandfather do,--take the easiest -and most distinguished chair at the fireside, and tell us night by -night, the story of his life. What roars of laughter would applaud -his recollection of jokes uttered by some playmate of his boyhood. -They would seem so droll to us at the distance of a hundred years, -though a contemporary might have uttered them without raising a smile -on our faces. What mingling of tears and laughter would there be when -he related some simple little family drama,--its pathos depending on -incidents as slender as the death of Auld Robin Gray's cows, but like -the wonderful song, in which those animals have part interest, going -unerringly to the fountains of the human heart! How would we double -up our fists, how red would we grow in the face when he told us, in -the most unadorned, dispassionate way, about the cruel creditor who -foreclosed a mortgage on him and turned him and our grandmother into -the street, just after the birth of their first child, our father; and -when he came to the passage where the kind friend steps in and says, -"here are five hundred dollars,--pay me when you are able," how many -girls there would be sobbing, and men violently blowing their noses! -If we had belonged to the period of the foreclosure and been next-door -neighbors to the mortgagor, the thing might have impressed us simply -as the spectacle of a young couple with a baby who couldn't meet their -quarterly payments, and were obliged to curtail their style of living. -The thing still happens, and that is the way we look at it. But when -grandpapa relates it, nothing in the domestic line we ever saw upon the -stage seems half so touching. The littlest school-boy feels a roseate -fascination hovering around the dogs that went after squirrels with -that venerable man when he wore the roundabout of his far-off period; -there is glamour about the mere fact that then, as now, there were -dogs, and there were squirrels; and as the grandchild hears of the -boughs which hung so full, the crisp leaves which crackled so frostily -those many, many falls ago--a strange delight comes over him, and he -seems to be going out chestnutting in the morning of the world. - -What we want of one, we want of all the grandfathers of the -race,--their story. Their value is that they take the experience of -human life, and hold it a sufficient distance from us to be judged -in its true proportions. That experience in all ages is a solemn and -a beautiful, a perilous, yet a glorious thing. We are too near the -picture to appreciate it, as it appears in our own day, though all its -grand motives are the same. We rub our noses against the nobilities -and cannot see them. The foreground weed is more conspicuous than the -background mountain. When the grandfathers carry it from us, and hang -it on the wall of that calm gallery where no confusing cross-lights -of selfish interest any longer interfere, the shadows fall into their -proper places, the symbolisms of the piece are manifest, and above -all minor hillocks, above all clouds of storm, unconscious of its -earthquake struggles and its glacier scars, Human Nature stands an -eternal unity, its peak in a clear heaven full of stars. We recognize -that unity and all things become possible to us, for thereby even the -commonest living is glorified. - - - - -AT EVE. - - - - -AT EVE. - -[Illustration] - - -"It is almost time for John to come home, I guess," and the young wife -rose from her sewing and put the tea-kettle over the bright fire on -the clean-swept hearth. Then she pulled the table out into the middle -of the floor, right to the spot where she knew the setting sun would -soon shine through the latticed window; for John loved to see the light -play upon the homely cups and saucers, and pewter spoons; he said it -reminded him of the fairy stories, where they ate off gold dishes. She -went about her work swiftly, but very quietly. Once there had been a -time when the little cottage rang early and late with the sound of her -glad voice. But then a pair of little feet crept over the floor, and a -tiny figure had raised itself up by the very table whose cloth was now -so smooth and unruffled by the small awkward hands. - -When Margery had put the golden butter, the jug of cream, and the slice -of sweet honey on the table, she went to the door to look for John. A -narrow path, skirted on one side by waving corn-fields, on the other -by pastures and orchards, stretched from the cottage down to the -broader road that led to the village. The sun was already low in the -sky, and threw across the path the shadow of the old apple-tree that -stood beside the house. Margery remembered how full of pink and white -blossoms the tree had been that spring when she first came here as -John's bride, and how they showered down like snow, while now a ripe -apple occasionally dropped from the branches with a heavy plump. - -"Here comes John at last," she said in a low voice, as she saw him -approaching from the village. He was yet a considerable distance off, -but Margery's bright eyes discerned that he was not alone. Beside -him walked a girl, whom Margery had known already while they were -both children. Mary was called handsome by the village lads; but she -was poor, and she and her father helped to do field work, on the -neighboring farms, in the busiest seasons of the year. - -As she and John advanced, Margery noticed that they seemed engaged in -earnest conversation. Then John stood still and gave her his hand. The -girl seized it eagerly and put it to her lips, and looking up at him -once, turned around and walked back to the village, while John hastened -on with longer steps. - -Margery's lips quivered. She did not wait for John at the door, but -turned back into the house, and was busied at the hearth when he came -in. - -"Well, wify, how goes it this evening?" he asked in his cheery voice, -which always reminded Margery of the time when he used to add, "And how -is my little pet darlint?" and pick the baby up from the floor. The -tones of his voice had grown almost kinder and more cheerful since, if -that were possible, though he always gazed around the room with a vague -kind of look, as if he half-expected to see the baby toddle up to him -from some corner. - -"Thank you, John, all goes as well as usual. You are late to-night." - -"Yes, there was something to detain me," he said, as he took down the -tin-basin and filled it with water, to wash his sunburnt face and -hands. A shadow flitted over Margery's face, but it was gone again -when they sat down to table. It was still light enough to see without -a candle, though the golden sunbeams John loved so much had faded long -ago. He talked cheerily of the crops, and of harvest-time, and of the -excellent prospects for the coming winter. There was no occasion for -Margery to say much, and she was glad of it. - -Then she quickly cleared the table, and John sat down by the hearth, -lighted his pipe, and laid his evening paper across his knee to be read -afterwards by candle-light. While Margery washed the dishes there was -no sound in the room but the clatter of the cups and spoons, and the -monotonous ticking of the old-fashioned clock in the corner. Margery -sometimes glanced over at John, who sat smoking and looking into the -fire. At last he got up, lit the candle, and, going up to Margery, -he asked, "What's the matter, Margery? You are uncommonly silent -to-night." - -She stopped in her work, and hung the towel over her arm. - -"John," she said, looking straight at him, with a strange light in her -brown eyes, and her face rather pale, "I want to go home." - -An expression half of pain, half of astonishment, came into John's -honest face. He too was a shade paler, and the candle trembled a little -in his hand as he asked,-- - -"Is the house too lonely again, Margery? You did say you wanted to go -home for a spell, after, after--but I thought you had got contented -again." - -She had turned away from him as she answered,-- - -"Yes, John, the house is lonely again. I see the little hands on all -the chairs, and hear the little feet crawling over the floor;" but -there was something of coldness in her tone, very unlike the pleading -voice in which she had once before made the same request. - -"Well, Margery," he went on, after a pause, going to the table and -putting the candle upon it, "if you think it will ease your heart to go -and see the old folks a little while, I am willing you should." - -He never spoke of the utter loneliness that fell upon him at the -thought of her going away, and how to him, too, the dim room was full -of the golden hair and the blue eyes of his child. - -She said nothing. - -"When will you come back, Margery?" he asked, after another pause. - -"I don't know, John." - -"When do you think of going?" - -"On Monday morning, if you can spare the horse to take me over." - -"I think I can, Margery; but I shall be sorry to lose my little wify so -soon," he could not help saying, as he laid his rough hand on her hair, -with so soft a touch that the tears started to her eyes. - -"I shall ask Mary to come here and keep house for you, while I am -away," she said. "Mary is used to our ways, and can do for you very -well." - -"Mary?" asked John, "I reckon she will be busy enough at harvest-time. -I need nobody when you are gone. I can live single again," with a half -smile; "but just as you think, Margery." - -Nothing more was said on the subject. Margery took up her sewing, and -John his paper. But he did not read very attentively that evening, but -often stopped and looked long and intently at Margery, who kept her -eyes steadily on the busy needle that was flying to and fro in her -fingers. It was a Saturday, and John tired with a week's hard labor. -So the fire was raked for the night, the old clock wound up, and the -little kitchen soon dark and silent. - -Next morning Margery awoke bright and early. So early indeed, that -through the open window of the bedroom she could see the pink clouds -floating in the sky, and felt the cool wind that always goes before the -rising of the sun. The swallows under the roof were just waking up, -and beginning to twitter half-dreamily. With her hands folded under -her head, Margery lay musing for a long while. Somehow her whole life -passed before her on this still, holy Sunday morning. She remembered -when she used to play barefoot in the little brook or sit on warm -summer afternoons on the straight-rowed wooden benches of the village -school. How the years had sped by like a single day, and she was a -grown young girl. Then John came and courted her, and then--. The sun -had come up, and played in bright lights over the ceiling, while on the -floor quivered the shadows of the rose-leaves from outside before the -window. The church-bell in the village began to ring. Margery listened -to the sounds, as they came borne on the soft breeze, across the waving -corn-fields. She looked out at the blue sky and thought of heaven, and -the blessed angels singing and rejoicing there. She thought of her -child, and of John, and of herself. A mingled feeling of joy and pain, -of calm and unrest, crept into her heart. She felt the tears rising -to her eyes again, but she would not let them. She sprang up, dressed -hastily, and went softly downstairs, while John slept heavily on. - -As Margery entered the kitchen, the cat got up from her rug, stretched -her legs and yawned, and then came forward to be petted. On the next -Sunday, Mary would probably be here to give pussy her milk, and stroke -her soft, glossy back. Margery threw open the door to let in the -beautiful fresh morning air. The dew lay sparkling on the grass and -flowers. Down there on the road was the spot where John and Mary had -parted last night. Margery turned away and shut the door again. Then -she bestirred herself to get breakfast. - -When John came down to it, Margery thought his step sounded heavier -than she had ever heard it before. - -"Will you go to church this morning, Margery?" he asked, when the -simple meal was over. - -"No, John, I guess not." - -"Well, Margery, I am going. I will come home as soon as service is -over; but I think it will do me good." - -"John, will you promise me to"---- - -"What, Margery?" - -"This afternoon, after I have got ready to go, will you come once more -with me to the--the grave?" - -"Yes, Margery, yes." - -She helped him on with his best coat, brought him the prayer-book, and -then watched him from the window as he walked down the road with slow -steps. - -Margery wondered what could be the matter with herself that morning. -She felt so tired that her feet almost refused to carry her. A hundred -times in her simple household duties, she paused to take breath, -and sat down to rest so often, that John came home from church and -to dinner, almost before it was ready. He praised the cookery; but -the dishes were taken almost untouched off the table again, and when -everything was cleared away, Margery said,-- - -"I must go upstairs now, John, to get ready. I want to take some of my -clothes with me." - -He sat on the doorstep, holding his pipe, which had gone out, between -his fingers, and only nodded his head, and said nothing. Margery went -up to the bedroom, and began to open closets and drawers, and pack -articles of clothing into a small trunk. At last she unlocked the great -old bureau, and took out a pile of tiny dresses and aprons, a tin cup, -and a few bright marbles, and stowed them carefully away in the trunk. -A pair of small, worn-out leather shoes, turned up at the toes, stood -in the drawer yet. Should she carry both these away, too? No, she -thought, as she brushed away the tears that had fallen upon it, one she -had better leave John. She put it resolutely back, locked the drawer, -and laid the key on the top of the bureau. Now there was nothing more -to be done. She looked around the room. Yes, that was to be readied up -a little, so that John might not miss her too much for the first day or -two. So she polished the chairs and the bureau, and carefully dusted -the mantlepiece, with the red and white china dog and the kneeling -china angel that stood there. Then she herself was to be dressed; she -had almost forgotten that altogether. She opened her trunk once more, -and took out the dress John loved best to see her in. - -Several hours had slipped by while she was thus employed, and now the -village-clock struck five. She hastened down. John still sat on the -doorstep where she had left him. - -"John, dear, I did not think it was so late. It is time to go to the -graveyard. Are you ready to come?" - -He looked up as if he had been dreaming, but rose and said, "Yes, -Margery." - -He shut the house-door, and they turned into a path to the rear of the -cottage. For some distance this road, too, was skirted on both sides -by fields of ripened corn. John passed his hand thoughtlessly over the -heavy ears, and now and then pulled one up, and swung it round in the -air. Neither of them spoke, and for a long while there was no other -sound but the rustle of their steps. - -The path at length turned aside and led to a high plateau that -overlooked the valley, in which deep shadows were already beginning to -fall. Blue mists crept over the foot of the mountains, while their tops -were yet lit up by the sun. The smoke from the chimneys rose up into -the air, and the shouts of the village children, playing on the meadow, -faintly came up from below. There under that great oak, the only tree -for some distance around, John had first asked Margery to be his wife. -Involuntarily the steps of both faltered as they drew near the spot, -but neither stopped. Margery glanced up at John; she could not see his -face, for his head was turned, and he seemed to be attentively looking -at something down in the valley. - -Another turn in the road, and the small cemetery, with the white stones -that gleamed between the dark cypress-trees, rose up before them. In -silence they found their way to the little grave. John seated himself, -without a word, on a mound opposite, Margery knelt down and pulled -some dried leaves off the rose-tree she had planted, and bound the ivy -further up on the white marble cross. She felt that John watched her, -but did not look up at him. Though she tried hard to keep them back, -the tears would fill her eyes again and again, so that she could hardly -see to pluck up the few weeds that had grown among the grass. When -that was completed, she covered her face with her hands and tried to -pray. She wanted to ask that John might be happy while she was away, -and that,--but her head swam round, and she found no words. She raised -her eyes, and glanced at John through her fingers. He sat with his back -toward her now, but she saw that his great, strong frame trembled with -half-suppressed sobs. - -"O John!" she cried, bursting into tears. She only noticed yet that he -suddenly turned around, and then closed her eyes, as he clasped her in -his arms. For a time she heard nothing but the sound of her own low -weeping, and the throbbing of John's heart. Suddenly she looked up, and -said,-- - -"O John, dear, dear John, please, please forgive me!" - -"Margery," he answered, in as firm a tone as he could command, "don't -talk so." - -"Oh, but, John, I did not want to go away only because the house was so -lonely, but because,--because,"-- - -"Because what, Margery?" he asked, astonished. - -"O John, because I--I thought you loved Mary better than me, because I -saw you together so many times in the last weeks; and she kissed your -hand last night." - -John's clasp about Margery relaxed, and his arms sank down by his side. -His tears were dried now, and his earnest blue eyes fixed upon Margery -with a dumb, half-unconscious expression of surprise and pain. She -could not bear the look, and covered her face with her hands again. - -"No, Margery," he said, slowly, "I only saw Mary because,"-- - -Margery raised her head. - -"John, dear John, don't talk about it! I don't believe it any more! I -know I was a bad, foolish wife! Only love me again, and forgive me, -dear, dear John! Oh, I don't believe it any more!" and she took his -right hand and kissed it, as Mary had done. - -"Wont you forgive me, John? I will never, never go away from you," she -pleaded, while the tears streamed down her face. - -He took her in his arms once more, and kissed her lips. - -The red evening sunlight had crept away from the little grave, and the -dusk was fast gathering about it. Margery bent down and kissed the -white marble cross; then they turned their steps homeward, Margery -holding John's hand like a child. - -"I must unpack my clothes again to-night," she said, after a while. "I -have all the baby's little things in my trunk, but, John, I was going -to leave you one of the little shoes." - -She felt her hand clasped closer in his. - -"Margery," he said then, "I think I had better tell you about Mary." - -"John, dear John, didn't I tell you I don't believe that any more," she -answered, with another pleading look. - -"No Margery, it is not that, but I guess you might help us. You never -knew that Mary's father is getting very bad in the way of drinking. -Since his house was burnt down, and he lost his property, he has been -going on in that way. Mary takes it dreadful hard, and wont let the -news get about, if she can help it. She thinks so much of you, and she -says you used to like her father so well, that she wouldn't have you -know for almost any money. So I promised not to tell you. She has come -to me many and many a time, crying, and begging me to help her. She -works as hard as she can, but her father takes all she gets; so they -are very poor. When you saw us yesterday, I had given her money to pay -their rent. She wants to raise money enough to take him to the Asylum, -because there he may be cured. I promised her to get him some decent -clothes." - -"O John, I will sew them. Poor Mary! and you needn't tell her who sewed -them." - -"That's right, Margery!" - -They had reached the house by this time, and John opened the door. The -kettle was singing over the hearth, and the bright tin pans against the -wall shone in the firelight. On the doorstep Margery turned around, -and, throwing her arms around John's neck, said softly,-- - -"John, I am glad I am going to stay." - -When they had entered, John lit the candle, and while Margery was -getting supper, took up yesterday's unfinished paper. He read very -attentively this evening, but suddenly stopped, and Margery saw the -paper tremble in his hand. Then he rose, gave it to her, and said, in a -husky voice,-- - -"Read that, Margery." - -Margery read. Then the paper dropped, and with a fresh burst of tears -she once more threw her arms about John's neck. - -In one corner of the paper that lay neglected on the floor was the -poem:-- - - "As through the land at eve we went, - And plucked the ripened ears, - We fell out, my wife and I, - Oh, we fell out, I know not why, - And kissed again with tears. - - "For when we came where lies the child - We lost in other years; - There above the little grave, - Oh, there above the little grave, - We kissed again with tears." - - - - -BROKEN IDOLS. - - - - -BROKEN IDOLS. - -[Illustration] - - -Not long since, it was my misfortune to be inveigled into attending -one of the semi-periodical "Exhibitions" of the ---- Institute, a -seminary for young ladies. I say it was my misfortune, because, to -please my better half, I abandoned the joys of my fireside, my book, -and my slippers, to stand for two hours by an open window, with a cold -draft blowing on my back; hearing, now and then, a few words of the -sentimental and "goody" platitudes of which the young ladies' essays -were composed,--the reading of which was interspersed with pyrotechnic -performances on the piano-forte, which the programme was kind enough to -inform me were "The Soldiers' Chorus from Faust," "Duette from Norma," -etc. I was fortunate in having a programme to enlighten me. - -There was nothing remarkable about the "Exhibition," except that, in -the dozen essays which were read, all the verses of Longfellow's "Psalm -of Life" were quoted, and that through them all there ran a dismal -monotone of morbid sentiment. One young lady, who had a beautiful -healthy bloom on her cheeks and wore quite a quantity of comfortable -and elegant clothing, uttered a very touching wail over her buried -hopes, her vanished joys, and the mockery of this hollow-hearted -world. She stated that all that's brightest must fade,--that "this -world is all a fleeting show, for man's illusion given,"--that "our -hearts, though stout and brave, still, like muffled drums, are beating -funeral marches to the grave;" and much more of the same sort. She was -impressed with the fact that Time is an iconoclast,--which last word -seemed to strike her as one of the finest in the dictionary. - -This is very true. Time does smash our idols continually; but should we -lament and sing dirges and make ourselves generally uncomfortable on -that account? Because the geese that we thought swans have turned out -to be only geese after all, should we go into mourning for our "buried -hopes," and "vanished joys"? That we outgrow our youthful fancies is no -more a cause for sentimental regret than that we outgrow our youthful -jackets. For myself, I can look upon the ashes of my early loves,--and -their name was legion,--with as few tears as I bestow upon the ragged -remnants of my early trousers. - -A number of years ago my young heart's fresh affections were lavished -upon the bright-eyed girl whose father kept a little candy-shop and -bakery across the way, and who with her own fair hands often gave me -striped sticks of stomach-ache for my pennies, and sometimes, when I -was penniless, sweetened my lot with a few peppermint drops, telling -me to pay for them when I came into my fortune. Many a time have I -stood by the lighted window of the little shop, heedless of the bell -that summoned me to my nightly bread and milk, watching her trip about -among the jars of candy and barrels of nuts, tying up parcels and -making change with a grace that seemed unsurpassable. But there was a -red-haired, scorbutic youth who drove the baker's bread-cart, and also -drove me to distraction. He was always flinging my youth into my face -and asking if my mother was aware of my whereabouts. At last a grave -suspicion forced itself upon my mind that Lizzie looked upon him with -favor and made light of my juvenile demonstrations. Time proved that my -suspicion was well founded; for one day a carriage stopped in front of -the little shop, out of which sprang the scorbutic young man, clad in -unusually fine raiment, including a gorgeous yellow vest and immaculate -white gloves. He was followed by a solemn-looking person, who wore a -very black coat and a very white choker. They passed through the shop -and went up the back stairs. After a while they returned, and with -them Lizzie, all smiles and blushes and ribbons and a bewitching pink -bonnet. The carriage was driven away and my idol was smashed. - -Straightway I builded me another, which was in turn broken, and -followed by another and another. Sometimes it was the dashing -highwayman, whose life and brilliant exploits I furtively made myself -acquainted with, out in the wood-house, and whose picture, in profuse -curls, enormous jack-boots, and immense expanse of coat-flap, graced -the yellow covers of the Claude Duval series of novels. Anon it was -the great Napoleon seated so proudly,--in cheap lithograph,--upon the -extreme hind-quarters of his fiery charger, and pointing with aspiring -hand toward the snowy Alps, that I set up and worshipped. - -Nor was I free from relapses of the tender passion. About the time that -my first love, Lizzie, was putting the third of her red-haired progeny -into pantaloons, and torturing his fiery elf-locks into an unsightly -"roach," and when I was a freshman in college, I became convinced that -the light of my life shone from a certain window in Miss Peesley's -boarding-school; for behind that window a comely maiden, with golden -hair and eyes of heavenly blue, slept and studied and ate sweetmeats -and read Moore's melodies. My heart was hers entirely, as was also -my spare coin,--for we had specie in those days,--which I converted -into valentines and assorted candies and "The Language of Flowers," -for her especial use and behoof. I worshipped her at church, as she -sat, with a bevy of other girls, aloft in the gallery, the entrance to -which was guarded by the ancient and incorruptible damsel who taught -algebra in Miss Peesley's academy, and who also marshalled the young -ladies to and from church, keeping them under her eye, and putting to -rout any audacious youth who endeavored to walk with one of them. It -was for her that I bought a flute, and with much difficulty so far -mastered it as to play "Sweet Home" and "What fairy-like music,"--in -performing which, standing in the snow under her window at midnight's -witching hour, I caught a terrible cold, besides being threatened -with arrest by a low-bred policeman for making an unseemly noise in -the night-time,--as if I were a calliope. It was to bow to her that I -neglected to split and carry in my Saturday's wood, and stood on the -street-corner all the afternoon, for which I was soundly rated at night -by my venerable father, who also improved the occasion by repeating his -regular lecture upon my inattentions to study and general neglect of -duty. - -So great was my infatuation that I manifested an unheard-of anxiety -about the details of my dress. I even went so far as to attend the -Friday evening "Receptions" at the academy, where Miss Peesley -graciously gave the young gentlemen an opportunity to see and converse -with the young ladies, under her own supervision. It was a dismal -business,--sitting bolt upright in a straight-backed, hair-cushioned -chair, under the gaze of Miss P. and her staff, smiling foolishly at -some dreary, pointless sally of Miss Van Tuyl's, who taught rhetoric -and was remarkably sprightly for one of her years,--crossing and -uncrossing my legs uneasily, and endeavoring to persuade myself that I -was "enjoying the evening." Nevertheless, I made desperate attempts to -be happy even under these adverse circumstances. - -And what was my reward? - -There came to college a young man who was reputed to be a poet. He wore -his hair long and parted in the middle, was addicted to broad Byronic -collars, could take very pretty and pensive attitudes, and was an adept -in the art of leaning his head abstractedly upon his hand. He at once -became that terrible thing among the ladies, a lion. And he was a very -impudent lion. Regardless of my claims and feelings, he sent to her, -whom I had fondly called mine own, an acrostic valentine of his own -composition, taking care that she should know from whom it came. The -result was that I was--as we Western people would term it--"flopped!" - -And so another idol was smashed. - -Then came a reaction. I scorned the sex and sought balm for my wounded -feelings in the worst pages of Byron. - -Having by this time attained the sophomoric dignity, I discovered -that the end and aim of existence was to be _fast_,--that the divine -significance of life consisted in drinking villanous whiskey "on the -sly," and proclaiming the fact by eating cardamom seeds; in stealing -gates and the clapper of the chapel bell; in devouring half-cooked -chickens, purloined from professional coops; in hazing freshmen; in -playing euchre for "ten cents a corner;" and in parading the streets at -midnight, singing "Landlord, fill the flowing bowl," and vociferously -urging some one to "rip and slap and set 'em up ag'in, all on a -summer's day." I smoked vile Scarfalatti tobacco in a huge Dutch pipe, -wore a blue coat with brass buttons, a shocking hat, and my trousers -tucked into my boots,--which after my great disappointment befell -me I ceased to black with any degree of regularity,--and regulated -my language according to a certain slangy work called "Yale College -Scrapes." - -I am inclined to look upon these youthful pranks not as unpardonable -sins, though I freely admit their utter folly, but as the vagaries of -immature _genius_,--if I may say so,--scorning to walk decorously, -because other people do, struggling to throw off the fetters of -conventionality, burning to distinguish itself in some new and -original way, striking out from the beaten paths,--to repent of it -afterward. For it does not take many years to teach one that the -beaten paths are the safest; and I have often wished that I had had a -tithe of the application and assiduity of "Old Sobriety," as we rapid -youngsters called the Nestor of the class, who plodded on from morn -till dewy eve and far into the night, and quietly carried off the -honors from the brilliant geniuses, who wore flash neckties and shone -at free-and-easys. But what thoughtless college-boy does not prefer -worshipping at the shrine of the fast goddess to treading the straight -and safe paths of propriety? It takes time and one or two private -interviews with a committee of the Faculty to rid him of his delusion. - -I have been making these confessions to show that I, too, as well as -the handsome and healthy young lady whose essay furnishes my text, -have had some joys that are vanished and some hopes that are buried. - -But I do not therefore find that this world is a dark and dreary -desert. I do not rail at life as a hollow mockery, nor long to lay my -weary head upon the lap of earth. On the contrary, the longer I live -in this world, the better I like it. It is a jolly old world, after -all; and, though Time is an iconoclast and does smash our idols with a -ruthless hand, it is only to purify our vision; and, as the fragments -tumble and the dust settles, we see the true, the beautiful, and the -joyous in life more clearly. I know that life has its disappointments -and crosses; but I think that it is too short for sentimental -lamentation over them. In homely phrase, "There is no use in crying -over spilt milk." If Dame Fortune frowns, laugh her in the face, and, -with a light heart and brave spirit, woo her again, and you will surely -win her smile. I am as fully impressed as any one with the fact that -this world is not our permanent abiding-place; but that is no reason -why we should underrate, abuse, and malign it. There is such a thing -as being too other-worldly. The grand truths and beautiful teachings -of God's gospel do not conflict with the grandeur, the beauty, and the -mystery of God's handiwork, the world; and we can no more afford to -despise and dispense with the one than with the other. And it seems to -me that we cannot better prepare for enjoying the life hereafter than -by a healthy, hearty, rational enjoyment of the one that is here. - -Do not, then, O youth, sit down and grow sentimental over your -fancied griefs. Do not waste your time in shedding weak tears over -the fragments of your broken idols. Kick the rubbish aside, and go on -your way, with head erect and heart open to the sweet influences of -this bright and beautiful world, and you cannot fail to find it not a -"Piljin's Projiss of a Wale," but - - "A sunshiny world, full of laughter and leisure." - -In worthy action and healthy enjoyment you will find a cure for all -your imaginary woes and all your maudlin fine feelings. - -In two little lines lies the clue to an honorable and happy life:-- - - "Thou shalt find, by _hearty striving_ only - And _truly loving_, thou canst truly live." - - - - -DR. HUGER'S INTENTION. - - - - -DR. HUGER'S INTENTION. - -[Illustration] - - -Dr. Huger was thirty years old when he deliberately resolved to be -in love,--I cannot say "fall in love" of anything so matter-of-fact -and well-considered. He made up his mind that marriage was a good -thing,--that he was old enough to marry,--finally, that he _would_ -marry. Then he decided, with equal deliberation, on the qualifications -necessary in the lady, and began to look about him to find her. She -must be a blonde. Above all things else, he must have her gentle and -trustful; and he believed that gentleness and trustfulness inhered in -the blue-eyed, fair-haired type of womanhood. She must be appreciative, -but not strong-minded,--well-bred, with a certain lady-like -perfectness, which could not be criticised, and yet which would always -save her from being conspicuous. Not for the world would he have any -new-fangled woman's-rights notions about her. - -You might fancy it would be a somewhat difficult matter for him to -find precisely the realization of this ideal; but here fate befriended -him,--fate, who seemed to have taken Dr. Huger under her especial -charge, and had been very kind to him all his life. He looked out of -his window, after he had come to the resolution heretofore recorded, -and saw Amy Minturn tripping across the village green. - -Amy was eighteen,--blonde, blue-eyed, innocent, well-bred, unpresuming, -without ambition, and without originality. She was very lovely in her -own quiet, tea-rose style. Her position was satisfactory; for her -father, Judge Minturn, was a man of mark in Windham, and one of Dr. -Huger's warmest friends. So, having decided that here was an embodiment -of all his "must-haves," the doctor went over that evening to call -at the Minturn mansion. Not that the call in itself was an unusual -occurrence. He went there often; but hitherto his conversation had been -principally directed to the judge, and to-night there was a noticeable -change. - -Amy was looking her loveliest, in her diaphanous muslin robes, with -blue ribbons at her throat, and in her soft light hair. Dr. Huger -wondered that he had never before noticed the pearly tints of her -complexion, the deep lustrous blue of her eyes, the dainty, flower-like -grace of her words and ways. He talked to her, and watched the changing -color in her cheeks, and her rippling smiles, until he began to -think the falling in love, to which he had so deliberately addressed -himself, the easiest and pleasantest thing in the world. She had the -prettiest little air of propriety,--half prudish, and half coquettish. -She received his attentions with a shy grace that was irresistibly -tempting. - -He went often to Judge Minturn's after that--not _too_ often, for he -did not wish to startle his pretty Amy by attentions too sudden or too -overpowering; and, indeed, there was nothing in the gentle attraction -by which she drew him to hurry him into any insane forgetfulness of his -customary moderation. But he liked and approved her more and more. He -made up his mind to give her a little longer time in which to become -familiar with him, and then to ask her to be his wife. - -When he had reached this determination, he was sent for, one August -day, to see a new patient,--a certain Miss Colchester. He was thinking -about Amy as he went along,--laughing at the foolish old notion -concerning the course of true love; for what could run any smoother, he -asked himself, than his had? It seemed to him as simple and pretty as -an idyl,--the "Miller's Daughter" New Englandized. - - "Oh, that I were beside her now! - Oh, will she answer if I call? - Oh, would she give me vow for vow,-- - Sweet Amy,--if I told her all?" - -he hummed, half unconsciously, as he walked on. - -Soon he came in sight of Bock Cottage, the place to which he was going, -and began thereupon to speculate about Miss Colchester. Of course -she was one of the summer boarders of whom Rock Cottage was full. -He wondered whether she were young or old,--whether he should like -her,--whether she would be good pay;--and by this time, he had rung -the bell, and was inquiring for her of the tidy girl who answered his -summons. - -He was shown into a little parlor on the first floor, and, pausing a -moment at the door, he looked at his patient. A very beautiful woman, -he said to himself, but just such an one as he did not like. She sat -in a low chair, her back to the window and her face turned toward him. -She wore a simple white-cambric wrapper. Her beauty had no external -adornment whatever. It shone upon him startlingly and unexpectedly, as -if you should open a closet, where you were prepared to find an old -family portrait of some stiff Puritan grandmother, and be confronted, -instead, by one of Murillo's Spanish women, passionate and splendid. -For Miss Colchester was not unlike those Murillo-painted beauties. She -had a clear, dark skin, through which the changeful color glowed as -if her cheeks were transparent; dark, heavily-falling hair; low brow; -great, passionate, slumbrous eyes; proud, straight features. There was -nothing like a New-England woman about her. That was Dr. Huger's first -thought; and she read it, either through some subtle clairvoyant power, -or, a simpler solution, because she knew that every one, who saw her -under these cool skies of the temperate zone, would naturally think -that thought first. Her full, ripe lips parted in a singular smile, as -she said,-- - -"You are thinking that I am not of the North. You are right. I was born -in New Orleans. I am a Creole of the Creoles. I don't like the people -here. I sent for you because you were German, at least by descent." - -"How did you know it?" - -It was an abrupt question for a man of the doctor's habitual grave -courtesy; but she seemed to him unique, and it was impossible to -maintain his old equipoise in her presence. She had read his thought -like a witch. Was there something uncanny about her? - -"How did I know you were German?" She smiled. "Because your name -suggested the idea, and then I saw you in the street, and your features -indorsed the hint your name had given me." - -"I am glad that anything should have made you think of me." - -It was one of the conventional platitudes, of which self-complacent -men, like Dr. Huger, keep a stock on hand for their lady friends. Miss -Colchester saw its poverty, and smiled at it, as she answered him,-- - -"I think of every one with whom I come in contact; and I thought of -you, especially, because I intended from the first, if there were a -good physician here, to consult him." - -The doctor looked into her radiant face. - -"Is it possible that you are ill?" - -He had sat down beside her by this time, and taken her hand. It gave -him a curious sensation as it lay quietly in his. He felt as if there -were more life, more magnetism, in it than in any hand he had ever -touched. - -"That _you_ must tell me," she said, quietly. "My heart feels -strangely, sometimes; it beats too rapidly, I think, and sometimes very -irregularly. I have lived too fast,--suffered and enjoyed too keenly. -The poor machine is worn out, perhaps. I look to you to inform me -whether I am in danger." - -"I must have my stethoscope. I will go for it. Are you sure you can -bear the truth?" - -She smiled,--a cool smile touched with scorn. - -"I have not found life so sweet," she said, "that its loss will trouble -me. I only want to know how long I am likely to have in which to do -certain things. If you can tell me, I shall be satisfied." - -As Dr. Huger went home, he met Amy. Something in the sight of her -fresh, blonde beauty, with its fulness of life and health, jarred on -his mood. He bowed to her with a preoccupied air, and hurried on. When -he went back to Rock Cottage, Miss Colchester was sitting just as he -had left her. To sit long at a time in one motionless attitude was a -peculiarity of hers. Her manner had always a singular composure, though -her nature was impetuous. - -He placed over her heart the instrument he had brought, then listened a -long time to its beating. He dreaded to tell her the story it revealed -to him, and at last made up his mind to evade the responsibility. When -he had come to this conclusion, he raised his head. - -"I do not feel willing," he said, "to pronounce an opinion. Let me send -for a medical man who is older, who has had more experience." - -She raised her dark eyes, and looked full in his face. - -"You are afraid to tell me, after all I said? Will you not believe that -I do not care to live? I shall send for no other physician. I look for -the truth from your lips. You find my heart greatly enlarged?" - -"I told you I did not like to trust my own judgment; but that _is_ my -opinion." - -"And if you are right I shall be likely to live--how long?" - -"Possibly for years. Probably for a few months. There is no help,--I -mean, no cure. If you suffer much pain, that can be eased, perhaps." - -Miss Colchester was silent a few moments. Dr. Huger could see no change -in her face, though he watched her closely. The color neither left -her cheeks or deepened in them. He did not see so much as an eyelash -quiver. At last she spoke,-- - -"You have been truly kind, and I thank you. I believe I am glad of -your tidings. I think I shall stay here in Windham till the last. I -would like one autumn among these grand old woods and hills. I have -nothing to call me away. I can do all which I have to do by letter, -and my most faithful friend on earth is my quadroon maid who is here -with me. She will be my nurse, if I need nursing. And you will be my -physician,--will you not?" - -"I will when I can help you. At other times, may I not be your friend, -and as such come to see you as often as I can?" - -"Just as often,--the oftener the better," she answered, with that -smile which thrilled him so strangely every time he met it. "I shall -always be glad to see you. Your visits will be a real charity; for, -except Lisette, I am quite solitary." - -He understood by her manner that it was time to go, and took his leave. - -That night he walked over to Judge Minturn's. Amy was just as pretty as -ever,--just as graceful and gentle and faultless in dress and manner. -Why was it that he could not interest himself in her as heretofore? -Had the salt lost its savor? His judgment endorsed her as it always -had. She was precisely the kind of woman to make a man happy. That -pure blonde beauty, with its tints of pearl and pink, was just what he -wanted, always had wanted. Why was it that he was haunted all the time -by eyes so different from those calm blue orbs of Amy's? He thought -it was because his new patient's case had interested him so much in -a medical point of view. He was tired, and he made it an excuse for -shortening his call. - -He went home to sit and smoke and speculate again about Miss -Colchester. He seemed to see her wonderful exotic face through the blue -smoke-wreaths. Her words and ways came back to him. He had discovered -so soon that _she_ was no gentle, yielding creature. She had power -enough to make her conspicuous anywhere--piquant moods and manners -of her own, which a man could find it hard to tame. He was glad,--or -thought he was,--that such office had not fallen to his share,--that -the woman he had resolved to marry was so unlike her; yet he could not -banish the imperious face which haunted his fancy. - -The next day found him again at Rock Cottage; but he waited until -afternoon, when all his other visits had been made. It was a warm day; -and Miss Colchester was again in white, but in full fleecy robes, whose -effect was very different from the simple cambric wrapper she had worn -the day before. Ornaments of barbaric gold were in her ears, at her -throat, and manacled her wrists. A single scarlet lily drooped low in -her hair. She looked full of life,--strong, passionate, magnetic life. -Was it possible that he had judged her case aright? Could death come to -spoil this wonderful beauty in its prime? - -Their talk was not like that of physician and patient. It touched on -many themes, and she illuminated each one with the quick brilliancy -of her thought. He grew acquainted with her mind in the two hours he -spent with her; but her history,--who she was,--whence she came,--why -she was at Windham,--remained as mysterious as before. Her maid came in -once or twice, and called her "Miss Pauline," and this one item of her -first name was all that he knew about her more than he had discovered -yesterday. He saw her,--a woman utterly different from the gentle, -communicative, impressible, blue-eyed ideal he had always cherished,--a -woman with whom, had she been in her full health, his reason would -have pronounced it madness to fall in love. How much more would -it be madness now, when he knew that she was going straight to her -doom,--that when the summer came again, it would shine upon her grave! -And yet it seemed as if the very hopelessness of any passion for her -made her power over him more fatal. - -He went to see her day after day. He did not consciously neglect Amy -Minturn, because he did not think about her at all. She was no more to -him in those days than last year's roses, which had smelled so sweet -to him in their prime. He was absorbed in Pauline Colchester--lived -in her life. She accepted his devotion, simply because she did not -understand it. If she had been in health, she would have known that -this man loved her; but the knowledge of her coming fate must make all -that impossible, she thought. So she accepted his friendship with a -feeling of entire security; and, though she revealed to him no facts of -her material life, admitted him to such close intimacy with her heart -and soul as, under other circumstances, he might never have reached in -a lifetime of acquaintance. - -And the nearer he drew to her the more insanely he loved her,--loved -her, though he knew the fate which waited for her, the heart-break he -was preparing for himself. - -At last he told her. He had meant to keep his secret until she died, -but in spite of himself it came to his lips. - -In September it was,--one of those glorious autumn days when the year -seems at flood-tide, full of a ripe glory, which thrills an imaginative -temperament as does no tender verdure of spring, no bravery of summer. -Pauline Colchester, sensitive to all such influences as few are, was -electrified by it. Dr. Huger had never seen her so radiant, so full -of vitality. It seemed to him impossible that she should die. If he -had her for his own,--if he could make her happy,--could he not guard -her from every shock or excitement, and keep her in such a charmed -atmosphere of peace that the worn-out heart might last for many a year? - -It was the idlest of lover's dreams, the emptiest and most baseless of -hopes, which he would have called any other man insane for cherishing. -But he grasped at it eagerly, and, before he knew what he was doing, he -had breathed out his longing at the feet of Miss Colchester. - -"Is it possible," she said, after a silent space, "that you could -have loved me so well? That you would have absorbed into your own the -poor remnant of my life, and cherished it to the end? I ought to be -sorry for your sake; but how can I, when just such a love is what I -have starved for all my life? I have no right to it now. I am Mrs., -not Miss, Colchester. I was Pauline Angereau before Ralph Colchester -found me and married me. I had money and, I suppose, beauty; perhaps -he coveted them both. He made me believe that he loved me with all his -heart; and then, when I was once his wife, he began torturing me to -death with his neglect and his cruelty. He was a bad man; and I don't -believe there is a woman on earth strong enough to have saved him from -himself. I bore everything, for two years, in silence. Then I found -that it was killing me, and, in one of his frequent absences, I came -away to die in peace. When it is all over, Lisette will write to him. -He will have the fortune he longed for, without the encumbrance of -which he tired so soon. You must not see me any more. Bound as I am, -feeling what you feel, there would be sin in our meeting. And yet I -shall die easier for knowing that, once in my life, I have been loved -for myself alone." - -Then Dr. Huger rose to go. To-morrow, perhaps he could combat those -scruples of hers; but to-day, there was no more to be said to this -woman whom another man owned. To-morrow, he could tell better how -nearly he could return to the quiet ways of friendship,--whether it -would be possible for him to tend her, brother-like, to the last, as -he had meant to do before he loved her. He took her hand a moment, and -said, in a tone which he tried so hard to make quiet that it almost -sounded cold,-- - -"I must go now. I dare not stay and talk to you. I will come again -to-morrow." - -"Yes, to-morrow." - -Her face kindled, as she spoke, with a strange light as of prophecy. -What "to-morrow" meant to her he did not know. He turned away suddenly, -for his heart was sore; and, as he went, he heard her say, speaking -very low and tenderly,-- - -"God bless you, Francis Huger." - -The next day he went again to Rock Cottage. He had fought his battle -and conquered. He thought now that he could stay by her to the end, -and speak no word, look no look, which should wrong her honor or his -own. He asked for her at the door as usual; and they told him she had -paid her bill that morning, and left. She had come, they said, no one -knew from whence; and no one knew where she had gone. She had left no -messages and given no address. - -Dr. Huger understood that this was something she had meant to keep -secret from him of all others. Was he never to see her again? When she -had said, "Yes, to-morrow," could she have meant the long to-morrow, -when the night of death should be over? He turned away, making no sign -of disappointment,--his sorrow dumb in his heart; and, as he went, her -voice seemed again to follow him,-- - -"God bless you, Francis Huger." - -For two months afterward, he went the round of his daily duties in -a strange, absent, divided fashion. He neither forgot nor omitted -anything; yet he saw as one who saw not, and heard with a hearing -which conveyed to his inward sense no impression. _She_ was with him -everywhere. All the time, he was living over the brief four weeks of -their acquaintance, in which, it seemed to him, he had suffered and -enjoyed more than in all the rest of his lifetime. Every day, every -hour, he expected some message from her. He felt a sort of conviction -that she would not die until he had seen her again. He thought, at -last, that his summons to her side had come. He opened, one day, a -letter directed in a hand with which he was not familiar. He read in -it, with hurrying pulses, only these words:-- - - "Madame Pauline Angereau Colchester is dead. I obey her wish in - sending you these tidings." - - "LISETTE." - -From the letter had dropped, as he unfolded it, a long silky tress -of dark hair. He picked it up, and it seemed to cling caressingly to -his fingers. It was all he could ever have in this world of Pauline -Colchester. Her "to-morrow" had come. His would come, too, by-and-by. -What then? God alone knew whether his soul would ever find hers, when -both should be immortal. - -Will he go back again some day to Amy Minturn? Who can tell? Men have -done such things. It will depend on how weary the solitary way shall -seem,--how much he may long for his own fireside. At any rate, he will -never tell her the story of Pauline. - - - - -THE MAN WHOSE LIFE WAS SAVED. - - - - -THE MAN WHOSE LIFE WAS SAVED. - -[Illustration] - - -I. - -On a pleasant, sunshiny afternoon of early summer, Mlle. Lisa sat -knitting in the door-way of a white, shining house, fronting on a -silent, remote street of a garrisoned town of France, not far distant -from Paris. The street was narrow and badly paved with sharp, irregular -stones, sloping gradually down to a point in the centre, which formed -the gutter, and at night was feebly lighted by an oil-lamp suspended -to a rope and stretched across the street at the corners. The general -aspect of the place was not amusing, for the habitations were few -and the passers-by fewer. Long rows of high, white-washed walls, the -boundaries of gentlemen's gardens, garnished with broken glass and -pots of cactus, gave a certain monotony to the Rue Arc en Ciel. The -very blossoms of the fruit-trees and flowering-shrubs behind the -white-washed walls, looked sleepily over their barriers, as they -diffused the contagious languor of their odors along the silent -white street. These drowsy influences, however, seemed in no ways to -diminish the carolling propensities of Mlle. Lisa, or to abate in any -particular the ardor of her knitting. - -Lisa Ledru was the daughter of the _proprietaire_ of No. 29,--a worthy -woman who had toiled to sustain herself and an agreeable, sprightly -husband, addicted to no vice save that of contented idleness, through -many long, weary years, and had brought up her only child, Lisa, to -a point of prettiness and usefulness, which compensated for past -sacrifices, and promised well for the future. - -Madame Ledru's house had been for years the abode of _militaires_. She -would occasionally condescend to the admission of a bourgeois, but this -infringement of habit and inclination was but a condescension after -all, and left her with a certain sense of degradation, when she exposed -her stair-case, which had creaked so long under the thundering tread -of martial heel and spur, to the mild, apologetic footstep of a man of -peace. Mme. Ledru's principles were well-known and properly appreciated -by the regiments in garrison, and her house never lacked inmates. Her -reputation for discretion and adroitness, in bringing order out of the -chaotic love affairs which perpetually entangled the impetuous sons -of Mars, was established on the firmest basis. No lodger was ever "at -home" to an importunate creditor, so long as madame's ample person -could bar the passage to their entrance, and no _tête-à-tête_ of a -tender nature was ever interrupted by the untimely appearance of a -cherished mother or aunt, or, still worse, the jealous intrusion of a -rival queen. - -The court-yard of Mme. Ledru's house presented a far more lively -appearance than the street in which it stood. In the centre of -the court stood a large, umbrageous tree, drooping over a stone -watering-trough, which gave drink to the numerous horses in the -stable-yard as well as to the chickens and barn-yard fowls, who -cackled and prowled about in its vicinity, as they picked up their -precarious living. At times their foraging-ground would be enriched -by a shower of crumbs from a friendly window above, and rumor -asserted that the gallant Colonel Victor de Villeport, hero of many -campaigns, with the prestige of a wound or two, and a compensating -glitter of decorations, had so far abandoned himself to the pastime -of chicken-feeding as to invent new methods of beguiling the monotony -of the entertainment,--such as tying morsels of bread to a string -and dancing it distractedly before the eyes of stupid clucking hens, -until experience had taught them in a measure how to cope with this -unexpected phase of their trying existence. The stable-yard, extending -to the left of the court, was gay with the bright military caps of -orderlies, who sang snatches of vaudeville airs, as they rubbed down -their masters' steeds, and polished up their sabres and buckles. - -But to return to Mlle. Lisa, who sat knitting and singing in the Porte -Cochère of No. 29, on a warm summer afternoon. Her joyous refrain -ceased, for a moment, as she heard the little gate opposite to the -house, belonging to the Countess d'Hivry's garden, creak on its -hinges, and the next instant saw protruding the round, red head of -François, the gardener. This apparition, though not itself enchanting, -gave Mlle. Lisa, on this occasion, the liveliest satisfaction. - -"Good-morning, Monsieur François," she said, with a beaming smile, as -she glanced furtively at the bouquet of flowers which was in his hand. -However dull might be the instincts of François in many things, they -were keen enough where Lisa was concerned; and, recognizing at once the -advantages of the situation, he advanced with a profusion of bows, and -a grin of ecstasy, to deposit his tribute of flowers at the feet of his -_adorata_. - -"What beautiful taste you have in flowers, Monsieur François," said -Lisa, with a perceptible elevation of voice, and with a sidelong glance -at the stone trough in the court-yard, whereat Ulysse, the orderly -of Colonel de Villefort, was watering his master's horse. "Mme. la -Contesse d'Hivry says that she could never give a dinner-party without -you to arrange flowers for the Jardinières, and to furnish all that -lovely fruit for dessert, which you grow in the glass-houses." - -"As to that," replied François, drawing himself up, and assuming an -attitude of professional dignity, which had momentarily yielded to the -all-absorbing power of Lisa's presence, "as to that, mademoiselle, I -can say, without boasting, that the yellow roses and tulips of the -Jardin du Roi would never be known for tulips and roses alongside of -mine; though for red and white roses I will not say so much, and the -pears-- - -"O mademoiselle! how lovely you are with those flowers in your hair!" -cried out the enamored gardener, once more forgetful of his life-long -enthusiasm, the pears and roses, and only mindful of the unexpected -form of female seduction offered to his distracted gaze. "I never knew -that roses could be so beautiful," he added, with a genuineness which -would have touched any being less merciless than a girl of eighteen, -bent on piquing a more indifferent admirer into something like jealousy. - -"It is your roses," said Lisa, laughing, "that make me, what you call -lovely. I don't make the roses. But what have you peeping out of -your pocket?" she inquired, fearing that the conversation was about -to assume a more tender character than she desired; "a note I should -think"-- - -"Ah, yes! I had forgotten," said poor François, with a sigh over his -own hopeless perturbation. "It is from Mme. la Contesse to the Colonel -de Villefort, and it was to be given without delay." - -"Ulysse, Ulysse," cried Lisa, gladly availing herself of this welcome -diversion, "here is a note for you." - -"Do you not see, mademoiselle," said Ulysse, pettishly, not entirely -pleased with François and his flowers, "do you not see that I am -watering the colonel's horse? I should think, too, that the bearer of a -note might deliver it himself." - -François, with a soothing sense of present preferment, was about to -make a good-natured reply, when the colloquy was terminated by a -sonorous voice from an upper window shouting, "Ulysse!" - -"_Mon colonel._" - -"Saddle one of my horses immediately." - -"Impossible to use either to-day, _mon colonel_; one limps, and I have -taken Mars to the blacksmith's, for he cast a shoe this morning." - -"_Sapeisti!_ What am I to ride then? There is the horse of Monsieur le -Baron always at our service. He is a nasty, stumbling thing, but if it -is very pressing"-- - -Victor de Villefort looked irresolutely out of the window, and -twirled his blonde mustache. He was a man between thirty and forty -perhaps, _distingué_ in manner and bearing, and gifted with a charming -sympathetic voice. - -"Here is a note for you, _mon colonel_," said Lisa, glancing -reproachfully at Ulysse, as she tripped lightly across the court-yard, -and passing the corridor of red brick, mounted two flights of narrow -wooden stairs to the colonel's room. - -"Thank you, mademoiselle," said Victor, courteously, as he took the -note. "Ulysse shall stay with me always if you say so. Do the roses -worn so gracefully on the left side of the head, indicate consent?" - -"I wear the roses for the sake of François, the gardener of Madame la -Contesse d'Hivry, who brings them to me." - -"Ah! I am always allowing myself to be taken by surprise, Lisa," said -Victor, opening his note and glancing over its contents. "I never keep -pace with fickleness." - -"But is it fickleness, _mon colonel_, to like what belongs to the -Contesse d'Hivry?" inquired Lisa, lowering her eyes with assumed -_naïveté_. - -"For you, yes. I should say that it was. But I dare say, with your -little malicious airs, mademoiselle, you mean more than that. But I -advise you to wear roses on the right side for Ulysse, and then tell -him that he must never leave me; and he shall not, I give you my word," -said Victor, gayly, taking up his hat and gloves and moving to the -door. "What a lucky thing," he continued to himself as he descended -the stair-case, "that the charming countess only asks for a pedestrian -cavalier! If she had asked for a mounted escort, I should have been -forced to have recourse to this tiresome baron here," and Victor -brushed lightly against the door of a fellow-lodger, "to have used his -stumbling horse, and then to have been bored for the rest of my life, -or of his life, about helping him to the cross of the Legion of Honor." - -The baron in question was a retired _militaire_, who, inspired with an -insatiable thirst for fame, was writing a military history of France. -His chief claims to notice appeared to be the possession of a stumbling -horse, and an overwhelming greed of decorations. - -As Victor mused over the consequences of an incautious acceptance of -the baron's steed, and over the base intrigues in which a pursuit of -the coveted cross might involve him, his brow darkened, and his step -grew heavier. - - -II. - -The drawing-room of the Contesse d'Hivry was a comfortable, -social-looking apartment, though with too great abandon in the matter -of furniture and decorations, to claim to be a model of any particular -epoch. The well-polished floors and numerous mirrors reflected back -the sun's rays, which sometimes penetrated through the fragrant -vines shading the windows. Bright oriental rugs were at the feet of -yellow damask ottomans, and the etagères and tables were covered with -rare bronzes, costly bits of porcelain, alabaster, and goblets of -crystal. But the appointments of the room seemed never so complete as -when the countess herself was seated in the embrasure of one of the -windows, as she was on this occasion, working at her embroidery or her -aquarelles. Mathilde d'Hivry enjoyed the deserved reputation of being -irresistibly charming. She was nothing in excess. She was not very -young, nor very rich, nor very handsome, nor very clever. But she was -exactly what every one desired that she should be at the moment. No -one could precisely define why they left her presence in a complacent -mood and in a friendly attitude towards the whole human race. Such -being the case, however, her society was naturally sought for, and -reluctantly abandoned. As the countess sat this afternoon, listlessly -and idly before her aquarelles, quite disinclined for work, and -leaning her little head with its great coils of black braids wearily -on her hands, her eyes rested mechanically on a miniature likeness -near her. The miniature was that of a young man, well-featured, -well dressed, well _frisé_, and well-painted. Under the sober tint -of the beard and hair was the suggestion of a more fiery hue,--the -red of the ancient Gaul,--just as in the mild brown eyes lurked the -possibility of a flash of "_furia Francese_," the savage ferocity which -centuries of civilization and good manners have only smothered in the -modern Frenchman, and which shows itself any day in the blouses, as -it might in the time of Charlemagne, in spite of their surroundings -of millinery, cookery, hair-dressing, and the art of dancing. These -reflections, however, were not in the least the source of Mathilde's -preoccupation. After a prolonged contemplation of the young gentleman's -miniature, she exclaimed petulantly, "Why should my aunt and uncle -urge me to marry again, especially Armand?" always regarding the brown -eyes of the miniature. "He looks mild enough there on ivory. But I can -imagine him clothed with the authority of a husband, making scenes of -jealousy, interfering, dictating, and being quite insupportable. I like -him too well to expose him to such temptations. We are much better -as we are. There is De Villefort. He is more solid, and more simple -in character, but terribly in earnest, I should say. And they say he -will never marry. Some disappointment in the past, or some hope for -the future will keep him as he is,--so they say, at least;" and she -fell into another revery, which was finally interrupted by a servant -announcing the Colonel de Villefort. - -"Oh! I am so glad that you could come to-day," said the countess, -resuming her wonted gayety. "Do you share my wish for a stroll in the -park this afternoon, whilst the band is playing?" - -"I always share your wishes, dear countess, and am too happy when I may -share your pleasures." - -"That is almost a compliment, I should say, and you think yourself -incapable of paying one. Why do you never pay compliments?" - -"I will tell you, if you will, in return, tell me why the portrait of -Monsieur Armand is always so near your favorite seat." - -"The reason is, I suppose," said the countess, laughing, "that I am so -used to it, that I am quite unconscious whether it is there or not." - -"Then I will tell you why I rarely pay you compliments,--because I like -you too well." - -"So you can only compliment those whom you dislike?" - -"On the contrary, those to whom I am indifferent." - -"But Colonel de Villefort," exclaimed the countess, gravely tying on -her white bonnet before the mirror and observing, with satisfaction, -that the soft white lace brought out the lustre of her rich hair and -her clear gray eyes, "do you know that public opinion decides that you -will never marry?" - -"Public opinion, perhaps, is wise enough to decide, because I never -have married, that I never shall," replied De Villefort, offering his -arm to the countess as they passed through the door. - -"There is certainly a reason for such a supposition in your case,--for -you have had inducements to marry." The colonel was grave and -thoughtful, and, for a few moments, they walked on in silence until the -sound of music roused him from a revery which Mathilde cared not to -disturb. "We are in the park now," he said, at last, "and almost in the -midst of 'public opinion,'" he added laughing; "but, after the music, -if you are not too tired for a stroll in the Jardin du Roi, I will tell -you some incidents of my early life, and you shall judge whether I can -marry." - -"Oh! thank you," said the countess, eagerly and gratefully, more with -her eyes than her voice, for the latter was quite lost in a blast of -Roland à Roncevaux from the trumpets of one of the imperial bands. -The afternoon being warm, the band was ranged in a circle under the -protecting shade of the great, careless old trees; but the sun's rays -penetrated here and there through their branches, throwing a golden -light on the curls of rosy children frolicking on the green grass, -casting an aureole of glory around the heads of gray-haired old men, -and glittering in the epaulets of flighty young officers. There were -knots of people grouped about in every direction,--French girls, -by the side of their chaperons, immersed in needle-work; imperious -English misses staring haughtily at the officers; ladies of opulent -financial circles, in striking toilets of the last mode, fresh from -Paris, and a few relics of the "_Ancienne Noblesse_," plainly attired, -and looking curiously and, perhaps, disdainfully from their small -exclusive _coterie_, at all this bourgeois splendor. Old women with -weather-beaten, parchment faces, under neat frilled caps, were possibly -retrieving, in their old age, the errors of a stormy youth, by carrying -on the "_Service des chaises_." Others were plying a brisk trade among -the children by the sale of cakes, plaisirs, and parlor balloons. - -Joining a group of acquaintances, Victor fastidiously placed Mathilde's -chair in a position sheltered from inconvenient sunlight, in proper -proximity to the music, and where no dust could tarnish the hem of -her floating immaculate robe. In these commonplace "_petits soins_," -common enough in the life of any woman of society, Mathilde recognized -a spirit of sincere devotion and protecting affection, which gave -her, at the same time, a thrill of joy, and an undefined sense of -apprehension and lingering regret. The Contesse d'Hivry passed, in the -world's estimation, as a model of happiness, and, in one sense, she -was happy. Gifted with health, a kindly, joyous nature, a due share of -worldly advantages, and an easy philosophy which enabled her to accept -cheerfully all daily cares and petty vexations, she was to be envied. -But she had, as we all have, her own particular demon, who was fond -of drawing aside a dark, impenetrable curtain, and showing her, in a -vision of exceeding loveliness, the might-have-beens, and the might-be, -of this deceptive life, and just as she would rush forward to seize on -these delicious illusions, they would straightway vanish, leaving her -to stare once more hopelessly at the same dark, impenetrable curtain. -As the countess looked out beyond the great trees at the velvet sward -of the Tapis Vert, at the orange-shrubs in their green boxes, at the -rows of antique statues on their solitary perches, leading to the great -fountain, and then the broad massive steps leading at last to the -distant château, she wondered whether the little demon of "_le grand -Monarque_," who had cooked in his majesty's behalf so many pleasant -scenes, had ever the audacity to drop, unbidden, the dark curtain -before his royal eyes. Whatever had been done, or left undone, in the -case of "_le grand Monarque_," the demon had conjured up spectacles for -some of his successors, which had not been so pleasant. It had not been -the fate of all to look from their bed of state, with dying eyes, on -the finer alleys, the shining lake, and the peaceful grandeur of the -royal grounds. The curtain had been drawn once for a sleeping queen, -and had revealed so dreadful a picture, that she had fled from her bed -at midnight to escape it. The demon, wearied with the eternal scene of -the marquis and marquise, in powder and high heels, bowing and mincing -before their Great King, had chosen to vary his pleasures by calling up -the old forgotten Gaul, with his red beard and his ferocious eye, to -storm and rage at the château gates. - -Mathilde had wandered so far away with her demon and his pictures, that -she was astonished, in turning her eyes, to find Victor gazing at her -with a look of troubled inquiry. The music had changed its character, -and the triumphal strains of Roland à Roncevaux had given place to a -plaintive melody of the Favorita, and Mathilde, glad to know her secret -thoughts thus interrogated by Victor, threw them aside and became once -more the gay and talkative Contesse d'Hivry. - -"How gay you are now," said Victor, addressing the countess, just -as the last strains of the Favorita had died away, "when I am quite -the reverse. I never can listen to that duo without feeling its -meaning,--from association, perhaps; for it is connected with a happy -and still painful part of my life. Shall we walk now?" said Victor, as -the countess made her adieus to her friends, and, taking his arm, they -sauntered away to the Jardin du Roi. - -"You sang that duo once," said Mathilde, half-inquiringly, "and I know -more than you think of your past life, for I will tell you with whom?" - -"You knew her, then?" asked Victor. - -"Yes, I knew Pauline D'Arblay, slightly, but I have never seen her -since her marriage, as Pauline Dusantoy." - -"She is quite unchanged, at least she was when I last saw her, some -years ago, and I think that she can never change," said Victor, -enthusiastically. "She must always be beautiful, as she is good, and -her native purity, I believe, must always resist the attacks of the -world, and leave her unscathed from contamination." - -"Where is she now?" asked the countess, after a few moments of silence; -for in proportion to the warmth evinced by Victor in recalling these -memories of the past, his companion was chilled into quiet reflections. - -"In Algiers, I suppose," replied Victor, "where her husband, General -Dusantoy, has been for years past." - -"My enthusiasm for Pauline is only surpassed by my affection and -reverence for her husband. I have known Dusantoy and have loved him -from my earliest childhood, and have received from him more proofs of -undeviating friendship and unwearied devotion than I can ever repay. -He has saved my life, too, though he unwittingly took from me, what -I believed at that time to be all that made life desirable," said -Victor sadly, as they approached the palings of the Jardin Du Roi, -through which the red and yellow roses and peonies, confident in their -gorgeousness, were nodding their heads insolently at the _gens d'arme_, -who paced listlessly before the gate. The verbenas and pansies, equally -brilliant but less flaunting, were dotted about in compact groups in -the parterres and on the lawn. The statue, surmounting the column in -the centre of the lawn, blackened and defaced by the wear and tear of -years, looked down grimly from its pedestal, as if to impose silence -on all beneath. So that the jardin, in its absolute repose, found -little favor in the eyes of children and nurses, who respectively chose -for their gambols and their flirtations some more joyous and expansive -locality. Its sole occupants on this occasion were an elderly priest, -too much absorbed in his breviary to be conscious of the rustling of -Mathilde's dress as she passed him, together with a pensive soldier, -who possibly sought diversion from the pangs of unrequited affection -by tracing with a penknife, on the stone bench which he occupied, an -accurate outline of his sword. - -"You knew Pauline d'Arblay as a child," said the countess to Victor, as -they seated themselves on a bench at the extremity of the lawn. - -"Yes, we were brought up together,--that is, our families were very -intimate. She was the only child of her parents, and I was the youngest -of a large family; but as my brothers and sisters were much older than -myself, and Pauline was nearer my age, we were always together, and, -until I was sent to college, she was my constant playmate." - -"You must regard her as a sister, then," said Mathilde. "Remembrances -of childish intimacy and souvenirs of soiled pinafores and soiled -faces, I should think, would always be destructive of romance." - -"It might be so, if the transformation of later years did not suggest -other sentiments,--sentiments which, unhappily for us, were only -understood when too late for our mutual happiness. I had scarcely seen -Pauline since our days of hide-and-seek in the château grounds, until -I finished my course at St. Cyr, and returned a sub-lieutenant, to -find that Pauline, the child of the pinafore, as you say, had expanded -into a lovely and lovable girl. At that age, however, I believe that -few can experience a serious passion. Curiosity and inexperience of -life prevent concentration on any one object, and make us incapable of -estimating things at their proper value. At college, too, I had formed -a romantic friendship for one of my classmates,--Dusantoy,--and the -ardor of this sentiment occupied me entirely, to the exclusion of all -others. Dusantoy had a rich uncle, who had purchased a large estate in -the vicinity of our châteaux. He came to visit his uncle, but passed -his time naturally with me. Pauline shared our walks and our drives. -We read to her as she embroidered or sewed, and she sang to us in the -summer twilight. We were very gay and _insouciant_ in those days, -little dreaming that our innocent affection would give place to a mad -passion, that would one day separate us eternally, and fill our lives -with unsatisfied longings. It was not until some time after, that a -winter passed by us both in the gay world of Paris revealed to me the -nature of my love for Pauline. A jealous fear took possession of me. -Seeing her the object of universal homage and admiration induced me -to declare my love. She had already discarded wealthy and brilliant -suitors; and for my sake. But, alas! I was the cadet of the family, -with only a good name, my sword, _et voila tout_! Pauline's mamma was -more prudent than her daughter and myself. Circumstances favored her, -and separated us. I was ordered to Africa, and Pauline returned to -the château; but we parted hopefully and confidently, vowing eternal -constancy. When we next met, she was the wife of another man, and that -man was my best friend, Dusantoy." - -"_Mon pauvre ami_," said Mathilde, almost inaudibly, and her hand -unconsciously rested on his. He pressed it to his lips, and they were -both silent. Victor's wound was deep as ever; but the poignancy of -such a grief is already much diminished when the consoling voice of -another woman and the pressure of her hand can soothe for an instant -the anguish of the past. - -"You know, dear Mathilde," continued Victor, "the history of -Pauline's misfortunes,--the sudden death of her parents, her father's -embarrassments and insolvency, and how on his death-bed he implored -his only child to save the honor of his name by accepting the hand -of a man in every way worthy of her, and who, at his uncle's recent -death, had come into possession of an immense fortune, a portion of a -Conte d'Arblay's forfeited estate. I was in Africa when the news came -to me that Pauline was affianced to Dusantoy. But I heard it without -a murmur; for I heard it from Dusantoy's own lips. He had been sent -to Algiers on an important mission, and came to confide in me in all -the rapture and ecstasy of his love. Nothing makes one so selfish -and inconsiderate as an absorbing happiness. Besides, poor Dusantoy -believed my love for Pauline to be purely fraternal. In my grief and -despair, I believed once that I must tell him that he was robbing me -of my sole treasure and hope in life; but, fortunately for him,--for -us both, perhaps, for I should never have ceased to repent such an -act of cowardice,--I was seized with brain fever, and for some time -my life was despaired of. Meanwhile, Dusantoy, with characteristic -devotion, postponed his return to France and to Pauline, that he might -watch over me; and to his untiring assiduity and unceasing care I -undoubtedly owe my recovery. But that is not all. Another accident -befell me, which would unquestionably have proved fatal to my existence -had not the skill and courage of Dusantoy again interposed to save me. -At the beginning of my convalescence, when I was first able to walk a -few steps in the open air, I was one day pacing the court-yard of the -house where I lodged, when a low, suppressed roar struck my ear, and -turning my head, I saw that a large lion had entered the open door-way, -and was standing within a few paces of me. My first emotion was not -that of terror,--not the same which I see on your face at this moment, -_chère contesse_" said Victor, laughing; "for I recognized the animal -as a tame, well-conducted lion belonging to a gentleman living in the -outskirts of the city, and was about to approach him, when the sight of -blood trickling from a wound in his side, and the menacing look of his -eye, warned me to retreat. Escape by the outer door was impossible, as -well as entrance to the house, for the lion barred the passage which -led to both doors; but I thought of a gate leading to a side street, -which was now my only means of flight. With feeble, tottering steps -I had gained this point, and in another instant should have made my -escape; but, by a singular fatality, the gate was bolted. I had neither -strength to force it nor agility to scale the wall. The lion, irritated -by his wound, and excited, as I found afterwards, by previous pursuit, -followed me with another ominous roar and a look of hostility far from -encouraging to one in my position. - -"Of all that followed I have but a confused idea. I was weak and -ill,--my brain reeled; but I remember that, as the lion was about to -spring, a violent blow made him turn with a snarl of rage, and spring -towards a new adversary,--Dusantoy,--who stood, gun in hand, in the -centre of the court-yard. Then the report of a fire-arm, and I can -recall nothing further. Dusantoy was an admirable shot, took cool aim, -and hit the lion in the heart. Pauline and I fancied that we felt the -recoil of the weapon in our own hearts for many a long day afterwards. -But perhaps it was mere fancy," said Victor, lightly, as he watched the -cheek of the countess growing paler as he spoke. - -"To end my long story," continued Victor, "after these experiences I -took a voyage to reëstablish my health; and, when I returned, I spent -a week in the same house with General Dusantoy and his wife. It was -heroic on my part; but I could stay no longer, and I have never seen -them since. And now you understand, _chère contesse_, why I have never -married." - -"I understand for the past? Yes," said Mathilde, rising from her seat; -"but the future"--her sentence terminated in a shrug. - -The last rays of sunlight were gilding the head of the statue on the -lawn; the priest had closed his book, and, with the swift, noiseless -tread of his order, had glided from the garden; the melancholy soldier -had girded his sword about him, after leaving its dimensions gracefully -reproduced on the bench where he sat, and had followed the priest; the -evening air was damp and chill, and Victor drew Mathilde's shawl around -her with tender care. - -"You are tired, dear Mathilde," said Victor. "You are pale; I have -wearied you with my long stories, _Appuyez vous bien sur moi_," and he -drew her arm through his, as they turned their steps homeward. - -"You have made me so happy to-day!" said Victor, as they approached -the house of the countess. "Will you give me some souvenir of this -afternoon,--the ribbon that you wear?" - -"We will make an exchange then," said Mathilde, laughingly, as she -handed the ribbon. "I will give a ribbon for the flowers in your -button-hole; and we will see who is most true to their colors." - -A passionate pressure of the hand and a lingering kiss on Mathilde's -primrose gloves were the only reply, and they parted. The delicate odor -of the primrose gloves lingered with Victor, as he sauntered homeward -in the dim twilight. The earnest, almost appealing, look of Mathilde, -as he parted from her, haunted him. - -"Could I ever forget and be happy?" he asked of himself. The very idea -seemed to him an unpardonable infidelity,--a culpable forgetfulness of -past memories, which lowered him in his own estimation. At the corner -of the Rue Arc en Ciel he encountered Mlle. Lisa, hanging contentedly -on the arm of Ulysse. Poor François and his flowers were forgotten at -that moment, and Lisa had abandoned herself to the delights of allaying -a jealousy successfully roused in the heart of the gallant Ulysse by -her recent tactics. - -"_Mon colonel_," said Ulysse, "a lady has called twice to see you in -your absence. The last time she waited a long while in your room, and -finally left a note, which she said was important and must be handed to -you at once." - -"A lady! Who can it be? My venerable maiden aunt, I suppose," said -Victor, shrugging his shoulders, "who has lost her vicious, snarling -poodle,--a wretched brute that always bites my legs, when I dare to -venture them in my aunt's snuff-colored saloon, and that I am expected -to find for her now, by virtue of my name of Villefort." - -"The lady is young, handsome, and in widow's weeds," said Ulysse, half -in reply to his colonel's muttered soliloquy, as he ran before him and -vanished into the court-yard of No. 29, in search of the note. - -The twilight deepened and thickened on the silent little street. The -oil lamp, hanging from the rope at the corner, was lighted, but its -feeble rays only penetrated a short distance, leaving the rest wrapt -in mystery and gloom, and the gate opening from the Contesse d'Hivry's -garden, François' portal of happiness, through which he passed into the -blissful presence of his Lisa, was scarcely discernible. The evening -was clear and fine, however, the stars were beginning to glimmer in the -sky, and a faint band of light in the east was growing every moment -into glistening silver, under the rays of the coming moon. - -After parting with Victor, Mathilde entered the _salon_, and, throwing -herself languidly into a chair, recalled with feminine minuteness the -events and conversation of the afternoon, until oppressed with the -light and warmth of the house, she sought refuge in the cool air of the -_balcon_, and, leaning on the balustrade, looked dreamily through the -honeysuckle vines at the parterres and lawn beyond. The meditations of -the countess, however, were not exclusively romantic, in spite of the -languid grace of her attitude, and the poetic abstraction of her gaze. -She was fortifying herself against an attack of imprudent tenderness, -by sternly picturing to herself all the practical disadvantages of -a marriage of inclination. Could she incur the lasting displeasure -of her aunt and uncle by marrying any one save her cousin Armand? -Could she sacrifice the half of her fortune, which was the penalty of -such a caprice of the heart, and sink into comparative poverty? The -souvenir of a single phrase, however, in the tender inflection of a -manly voice,--"_Appuyez vous bien sur moi_," was ever present to her -memory quickening the beatings of her heart, and bringing the warm -blood to her cheeks. The moon had risen, pouring a flood of silver -light over François' roses, and the pots of cactus on the garden-wall. -The countess strolled into the garden, and, fancying that she heard a -whispered conversation proceeding from the little gate leading into the -Rue Arc en Ciel, she turned her footsteps in that direction. - -"Is that you, Lisa?" asked the countess, rightly suspecting that the -muslin dress, fluttering in the moonlight, could belong to none other -than the daughter of the worthy Mme. Ledru, and that she was about to -surprise a _tête-à-tête_ between the coquettish Lisa, and her gardener, -the enamored François. - -"Yes, madame," said Lisa, "can I be of any service?" - -The countess shared poor François' partiality for Lisa. Her bright -eyes and shining hair were pleasant to look at, and her quick wit -and cheerful voice made her a nice companion, and then she enjoyed -the inestimable privilege of living in the same house with Victor de -Villefort. Perhaps some bit of intelligence concerning him would escape -her,--whatever it might be, Mathilde knew that it would be of thrilling -interest to her. If there was to be a morning-parade the following -day, Mathilde would go to the _Terrain de Manoeuvre_, to see her hero -"_en grande tenue_," in the staff of the General. - -"What a beautiful moonlight, Lisa! Will you walk with me towards the -lake? Fetch my shawl first from the house." - -"Here it is, madame," said Lisa, quite breathless, as she returned with -the shawl, and wrapped it around Mathilde. François unbarred the gate -and they stepped into the street. - -"I should like to know, madame, what has befallen the Colonel de -Villefort this evening," said Lisa, divining with tact the role she was -destined to play. - -"What has happened?" asked Mathilde, with ill-feigned unconcern. - -"We cannot imagine, madame. But this afternoon, during the absence of -Colonel de Villefort, a lady in deep mourning, young and handsome, -called to see him. Finding that he was not at home, she left a note -for him, and when the colonel read it, he was wild with excitement, -and called to Ulysse for his horse. The horse was lame, and not fit -for use, and the colonel swore, for the first time, I think since he -has been in our house. That is saying a great deal for a _militaire_, -madame. Ulysse has never seen the lady before. The colonel never -receives any lady but his aunt the Marquise de Villefort, and that is -also saying a great deal for a _militaire_,--is it not, madame?" - -"Well, did he get a horse?" asked Mathilde, with a severity which -astonished Lisa, in the unconsciousness of her childish babble. - -"Yes, madame; there is the horse of a queer baron, who lives with us, -who often puts his horse at the disposal of Monsieur le Colonel. The -horse stumbles too, but the colonel mounted him and rode off in furious -haste." - -"Who can she be?" asked the countess with an anxiety impossible to -repress. "Did he take this direction when he rode away?" - -"Yes, madame, he rode toward the lake. But take care, take care, -madame!" shrieked Lisa, as the furious clatter of a horse's hoofs on -the pavement warned her of danger. They had barely time to take refuge -in an open door-way, before a riderless horse dashed past them. - -"'Tis the baron's horse,--and the colonel, madame. _Mon Dieu! Mon -Dieu!_ What has become of him? Let me run for Ulysse." - -"And I will go on to the lake," said the countess; "perhaps." - -"Not alone, madame," exclaimed Lisa. - -But the countess had already disappeared under the shadow of the -houses, and Lisa, equally fleet of foot, vanished in the opposite -direction, in search of Ulysse. Mathilde hurried on,--whither she knew -not. A blind instinct stronger than reason warned her that delay would -be fatal, and that the life, grown to be so precious in her eyes, was -awaiting her coming, flickering and failing, perhaps, as it hovered -near death, which was for her to avert. She redoubled her pace, and -flew through the silent street, where she had passed but a few hours -before leaning on Victor's arm. She saw the lake before her, calm and -silvery. There was a hill to descend, and at the foot, by the side of -the lake, was a loose pile of stones. She sprang forward to pick up -something in the road. It was a riding-whip which she knew well and had -handled a hundred times. For an instant she was motionless, her head -swam, and her eyes closed to shut out the sight of a prostrate form, -lying at her feet so still and calm in the white moonlight. She knew -that, too. She knew well the blonde hair stained with blood, trickling -from a wound near the temple; and with a wild cry for help, Mathilde -raised the head, half-buried in mud and water, and gazed despairingly -at the closed eyes and rigid features of Victor de Villefort. - - -III. - -The autumn days had come again, and the sun shone on heaps of dried -brown leaves, which went whirling about in the Rue Arc en Ciel, with -every gust of wind. Mlle. Lisa was in her accustomed seat in the -door-way, No. 29, with shining hair and rosy cheeks, absorbed in the -customary knitting, but still capable of casting sly glances in the -direction whence François or Ulysse might finally appear. She was not -fated to languish long in solitude, for the faithful François, never -sufficiently confident of his personal attractions to present himself -empty-handed before the object of his admiration, was soon standing by -her side, fortified with a propitiatory offering of grapes. - -"O François," exclaimed Lisa, "how glad I am to see you! Has Mme. la -Contesse really gone?" - -"Yes, she has gone," replied François. "Monsieur Armand and the aunt of -madame have accompanied her. But you should have seen her pale face, -all covered with tears. It would have made you weep, too, Mlle. Lisa, -for it made me. Just think, mademoiselle, she never once tasted of the -grapes that I picked for her this morning, and placed so neatly in a -little basket." - -And poor François groaned audibly over this conclusive proof of the -countess's changed and melancholy condition. - -"Ah, poor madame, she has been so ill! But why did she go, then?" asked -Lisa. - -"Monsieur Armand and her aunt told her that she would never get well -here, and that she needed change of air, and so they hurried her -away,--only giving her time to write a few lines to your colonel, whose -life is not worth saving, if he cannot love Mme. la Contesse. Here is -the packet for Colonel de Villefort." - -"Yes, it was very brave and good of madame," said Lisa, "to find -the colonel, and to pull his head out of the water. He must have -suffocated, so says the doctor, if madame had not found him when -she did. But there is some mystery about the handsome lady in deep -mourning. I know who she is. She is the widow of General Dusantoy, who -lately died in Algiers; and she came every day to inquire for Colonel -de Villefort, when he was not expected to live; but since he is better, -I have seen no more of her." - -"Well, I will say again," said François, "that if your colonel finds -the lady handsomer and better than Mme. la Contesse, then madame had -better left his head in the water." - -Whilst Victor and his affairs were thus discussed below-stairs with -the intelligence and fairness usually developed in such discussions, -he sat in his room above, pale and thin, the shadow of his former -self,--twisting his blonde mustache, and gazing moodily through the -window at distant hills, all brown and yellow with autumn leaves -and autumn sunlight. His meditations were far from cheerful. People -were perpetually saving his life. Here was a new dilemma: Pauline -free once more,--free and true to her early love. Happiness once -more in his grasp; but Mathilde--was not his honor half-engaged, as -were his feelings a few weeks since? Could he so readily forget all -that had passed between them, and all that he owed her? Could he -repay the debt of his life by vapid excuses or by cold desertion? He -gazed mechanically at colored prints of Abelard and Heloise, hanging -side by side on the wall, and hoped that inspiration, or at least -consolation, might descend on him from these victims of unhappy -passion. But in Abelard's face he looked in vain for anything beyond -conceited pedantry, and Heloise was too much absorbed in her own mighty -resignation to trouble herself concerning the woes of others. A tap at -the door roused him at last from this unprofitable contemplation, and -in reply to his "_entrez_," the bright face of Mlle. Lisa appeared at -the open door. - -"_Bon jour_, monsieur; here is a letter from Mme. la Contesse d'Hivry, -who has gone this morning with her aunt and Monsieur Armand," and Lisa -paused to notice the effect of her abrupt announcement. - -"Gone!" said Victor, with unfeigned astonishment. "Where has she gone?" - -But Lisa observed that the hand of the colonel, as he opened the -packet, was, in spite of recent illness, ominously steady, and that the -surprise naturally occasioned by the news of the countess's departure -was quite unmingled with the grief and despair which mademoiselle had -kindly hoped to evoke. If she had dared, however, to remain until the -opening of the packet, her curiosity and interest would have been -rewarded by observing Victor's start of pained surprise as a faded -flower fell from the open letter, and his sigh of genuine regret as -the memory of the last happy day passed with Mathilde d'Hivry came to -him in full force, effacing, for the moment, all trace of his recent -reflections, and investing the image of Mathilde with all the poetical -charm of an unattainable dream of happiness. She was no longer an -obstacle in the fulfilment of his life-long hopes,--hopes persistently -cherished, yet cruelly baffled. He looked wistfully at the faded -flower as he crushed it in his hand, and recalled their last parting, -and though the souvenirs of the day--the flower from his button-hole, -and the ribbon which she had worn--had been lightly exchanged and -laughingly given, he knew well that the worthless relic, which he now -crumbled into dust and threw from the window, would have been tenderly -kept and treasured in good faith, had his destiny so willed it. Victor -turned sadly to the letter which lay before him, in Mathilde's delicate -writing. It began cheerfully enough, however, as her letters were wont -to do. - -"I cannot leave you, dear Victor, without a word of parting, and I fear -that a personal interview between invalids, like ourselves, might not -conduce to our mutual recovery. In my own case, absolute change of air -and scene are ordered, together with perfect quiet and rest. The one is -easily gained by going to Italy; but do we ever attain the other? or -would we attain it, if we could? When we next meet, for we must meet -some day, _mon ami_, we shall know, by looking in each other's eyes, -how obedient we have been to our physician's advice, and how great -has been its efficacy. The climate of Paris will heal in your case, -dear Victor, all that time has left unhealed, and I shall prepare for -your coming, by making a visit of explanations as well as of adieus. -Lest you find this enigmatical, I must explain, that certain rumors -concerning us, so rife in our little town, have reached the ears of -one who daily awaits you in Paris. I shall see Pauline Dusantoy, and -dissipate all doubts, by announcing my immediate departure for Italy. I -send you a faded rose-bud, which you may remember in all its freshness, -and which I have no heart to throw away. But you know how jealous -Armand is. Adieu, dear Victor, my hope in the future is, that the life -which I have just seen trembling on the brink of eternity, may be -crowned with full and perfect happiness. Adieu." - - * * * * * - -Colonel de Villefort was still weak and easily moved, and a choking -sensation in the throat made him quite uncomfortable, as he placed -carefully in a little drawer the letter which he had just read. He was -still haunted by a wistful look of soft and winning eyes, and he seemed -to hear the whispered adieu of a silvery voice, whose pure tones had so -often charmed and soothed him. Is the adieu eternal? he asked himself. -I think not, for I want no nobler and truer friend for my Pauline -than the Contesse d'Hivry, and Pauline will hold sacred as myself the -debt of gratitude due to the woman who has saved my life. But the -idea of marrying Monsieur Armand! To be sure he is handsome, rich, -well-connected, and has a certain charm in conversation, but quite -incapable of appreciating so noble a being as Mathilde; and then what -want of taste on her part! Victor's impatience was changing rapidly -into indignation, at the thought of the Contesse d'Hivry presuming to -marry, or trying to be happy, when another knock at the door changed -the current of his thoughts. This time it was Ulysse and not Lisa -who was the bearer of a letter, covered with armorial bearings, and -addressed with many flourishes to Colonel de Villefort. - -"What does the German baron want now?" said Victor, with an impatient -shrug as he glanced at the writing, "after breaking my neck with his -wretched brute of a horse? He sends many compliments of congratulation -to Monsieur le Colonel for his rapid recovery after the deplorable -accident, etc., etc., etc. And as he understands that Monsieur le -Colonel contemplates a visit to Paris, the moment that his health -permits, may Monsieur le Baron hope for his gracious intercession -in his behalf, that he may at last receive the reward of merit, the -much-desired cross of the Legion of Honor. Just as I supposed," said -Victor, laughing. "It would save me much trouble and mental agony to -give him mine, only I remember that Pauline has a weakness for these -baubles." - -"_Mon colonel_, may I say a word?" asked Ulysse, awkwardly, turning the -door-knob to keep himself in countenance. "Mlle. Lisa"-- - -"Is that the word, my good Ulysse?" said Victor, waiting in vain for -Ulysse to complete his sentence. "I understand that you should think -it the only word worth uttering, and I think you quite right. There is -only poor François, who may object to have his heart broken. Lisa is a -nice girl, and I have promised her that you should not leave me." - -"Thank you, _Mon colonel_," said Ulysse, glowing with exultation and -triumphant pride. - -"Now pack my portmanteau. I shall go to Paris to-morrow in the early -train." - - - - -THE ROMANCE OF A WESTERN TRIP. - - - - -THE ROMANCE OF A WESTERN TRIP. - -[Illustration] - - -The two following letters, received by me in the year 1852, will -explain themselves. - - "MY DEAR W----: When I left you at the depot in Boston, and was - whirled away westward, I knew not from what point I should address - you. I promised you, on the last evening that we passed together, that - from time to time I would, for your delectation, give you an account - of any adventure I might chance to meet with in my wanderings; as, - also, to try my hand at pen-and-ink sketches of men and manners. - - "Could you appreciate my surroundings, you would give me credit for - a truthful adherence to my word. As to where I am at this present - writing, I cannot say. In order to understand why I make so strange - a statement, I must begin my story some weeks back, and narrate an - incident that befell me, and led to the penning of this epistle. - - "The month of May, in our northern climate, needs no laudation as to - its charms; and, after a sojourn of many years in your crowded city, - I was fully prepared to appreciate all the beauty of this spring-time - among the wilds of Michigan. Therefore, after leaving Detroit for - the interior, I soon found (as the days were growing much warmer) - that it would be wisdom for me to discard most of the luggage with - which I had encumbered myself; as, by so doing, I could, as it were, - cut loose from dependence upon vehicles of all descriptions; and, - when my desires pointed that way, or a necessity arose, I could make - use of those powers of locomotion with which nature has endowed me. - Therefore, at the termination of the stage-route at H----, I selected - a few indispensable articles, and, transferring them to a knapsack, - sent back my trunk to an acquaintance at Detroit, with a request to - hold it subject to my order, and prepared myself for rough travelling - in the interior, or, as a New Englander would denominate it, 'the - backwoods.' - - "At the country tavern, in which I abode as a guest from Saturday - until Monday, I made inquiries of the landlord as to the route I - was to take, and the nature of the roads between H---- and the town - of N----, which I desired to visit. My host, a shrewd, bright-eyed - little man of forty, and a former resident of New Hampshire, lowered - his brows, and assumed a dubious look as he listened to me; and, on - my asking for an explanation of this change of countenance, informed - me that, had I money of any amount about my person, I had better look - to the availability of my pistols, and pay particular attention to - the company I might fall in with; for, within the past two years, - a number of travellers had been relieved of their possessions, and - two of them murdered on the roads I should be under the necessity of - passing over. The country being sparsely settled, the officers of the - law had been unable to trace the perpetrators of these acts of felony. - I listened to these details with much uneasiness, for, on leaving - Boston, I had, by an acquaintance, been intrusted with a package of - three hundred dollars, to deliver to Judge Perry, of N----, to meet - some payments becoming due on a purchase of pine lands; in addition, - I had upon my person some means of my own, the loss of which would - indeed be a calamity of a serious nature, as I was too far away from - friends to avail myself of their good services. I assumed an air of - ease, however, which I was far from feeling, and left my loquacious - friend, laughing defiance at all the dangers of the way. I had been - unable to obtain a conveyance at anything like a reasonable rate; - therefore, as the weather was so charming, had determined to undertake - the journey of seventy miles on foot, trusting to obtain a ride from - such travellers I might chance now and then to meet going westward. - For two days, I pressed cheerfully forward, being kindly welcomed to - a supper and bed in the cabin of the settlers. The roads were rough, - and at places illy defined, and I was often at fault as to my route; - this, and want of practice as a pedestrian, made my progress slow. - As the evening of the third day drew near, I judged I must still be - some twenty or twenty-five miles from my destination. I was ascending - a hill over the worst road that I had yet encountered. The dwarf pine - clothed the whole declivity, and rendered the approaching night more - gloomy than it would have been in the more open country. I was greatly - fatigued from my long day's walk, and, coming to a large boulder that - had evidently rolled from the higher ground above, I seated myself - to gain strength, and lifted my hat to let the wind cool my heated - forehead. Down, far away to my right, I could hear the gurgling and - splashing of a torrent, while the sough of the breeze among the pines - made a weird music that added somewhat to a depression that had been, - for the last hour, gradually stealing over me. The romantic visions - I had formerly entertained of nature in her solitary moments had - all departed, and I longed for the companionship of man. Some five - miles back, I had been at fault as to my route; but, trusting to good - fortune, had taken the road I was now upon. As I sat meditating, I all - at once recollected that I had been cautioned, by a man of whom I had - inquired, against taking the way that led to the hills; for, by so - doing, I should go astray. Undecided as to whether it would be better - to retrace my steps, or go on, in hopes of finding a lodging for the - night, I had arisen, and was hesitating which way I should turn, when - I heard the tramp of horses' hoofs, and down, from the higher ground - on my left, rode two men. - - "The obscurity had become so great while I had lingered, that I could - form but an indefinite idea as to their characteristics. The foremost, - mounted on a dark-bay horse, was slightly built, and evidently young. - His felt hat was so slouched over his face that all I could note was, - that he wore beard and mustache long, both of intense blackness. - - "His companion was a much more powerful man, and sat upon the - roan mare he bestrode in a careless manner; his face, also, was - hidden by an equal amount of hair, and, in addition, warm as was - the weather, his neck was muffled in a large woollen comforter. My - presence evidently took them by surprise, for they abruptly checked - their horses, and the younger man pulled sharply upon the bridle, - half-turning his steed, and seemed about to retrace the way he had - come, without greeting me. He, however, recovered his self-possession, - and with a 'Good-evening, stranger,' continued on until he was at my - side. I was truly thankful at this encounter, for I felt my doubts as - to my movements would now be solved. In a few words, I stated that - I had wandered from the road I should have taken, and asked their - assistance to set me right. The younger man seemed to labor under - restraint, and spoke but little; the other, however, offered to show - me the way, and stated they were going in the direction I desired to - pursue. They spoke in a manner and used language that convinced me - they were men of superior culture from those one might expect to - meet in the wild and sparsely settled district in which I was now - travelling. - - "'We have no time to spare, if we would get out of these pine-lands - and beyond the river-ford before the darkness becomes troublesome,' - said the larger man, as he urged his horse to a quick walk along the - road up the hill. 'You had best follow me, while my companion can - bring up the rear.' - - "Without hesitation, I acted upon his suggestion, as I was anxious to - reach a place of rest. 'You should consider yourself highly honored - to be so escorted and guarded from the dangers of the road,' said - my guide, as he half-turned in his saddle, with what I then thought - a jocular, but have since recalled as a sinister, laugh. 'Have you - any valuable property about you, that you can feel grateful for the - convoy?' Without a thought of the wisdom of silence on this point, I - answered: 'More than I should care or can afford to lose, for I am - a thousand miles from home, and among strangers.' The next moment - I felt as if I could have bitten out my tongue for its imprudence; - for flashing upon me came the remembrance of the landlord's tales - of robbery and violence. We had turned from the main road to the - right, into a narrower track, and were descending the hill toward - the river, as I judged; for each moment the noise of its waters were - more audible. In a brief time after my last remark, I felt that the - horseman behind me was pressing closer than was needful, and I partly - stepped from the path, intending to let him pass; for I instinctively - felt I would rather have them both in front. As I did so, I almost - unconsciously placed my hand upon my revolver. The younger man stooped - from his saddle as he came abreast of me, and, speaking in a cold, - hard tone, exclaimed, 'My good fellow, we will take charge of your - watch and money.' He leaned forward as he spoke, as if to grasp my - collar. At the same moment he who rode in front leaped to the ground, - and turned toward me. I saw my danger in an instant, and, quickly - drawing my pistol, fired at the head of my nearest foe. The flash - of the powder gave me a more distinct view of his face than I had - yet had. As he recoiled from me, I noticed a peculiar droop of the - left eyelid, and heard the expression, 'My God, I am hit!' At the - same moment a crushing blow descended upon my skull, and a thousand - stars seemed falling around me, and all was blackness. My return to - consciousness was occasioned by a sudden contact with cold water, and - I awoke to find myself struggling in the midst of a rushing torrent. - Instinctively I grasped at a support, comprehending my situation in - an instant. I had been hurled by my assailants into the stream we had - been approaching, and they undoubtedly supposed that I was beyond - the chance of recovery. The moon was not yet up, and I could discern - nothing except the general outlines of the banks of the stream, which, - rising high on each side, showed me I was at the bottom of a ravine. - It was many minutes ere my efforts were crowned with any degree of - success; at last, as I was hurled along, my hands came in contact - with the drooping bough of a tree, and, weak as I was from the blow - I had received and the benumbing effect of my immersion in the icy - current, the principle of self-preservation enabled me to put forth - almost superhuman strength, and to retain my hold on this anchor of - hope. - - "After many abortive attempts, I succeeded in dragging myself up, as - it were out of the jaws of death, upon the rocks which composed the - banks of the stream. As soon as I felt I was safe from the danger of - a watery grave, my strength left me, and I fell back almost utterly - devoid of life. My head felt as if a thousand triphammers were at - work upon it; a deadly sickness came over me, and I found that I was - relapsing into insensibility. By a great effort, however, I overcame - this lethargy, and crawled on my hands and knees up over the piled-up - rocks and bare roots of trees, until I found myself upon the soft moss - and dead leaves beyond. Here I lay for a long time, slowly recovering. - On an examination of my person, I found my watch and purse gone, as - well as the money-belt containing the three hundred dollars in gold - with which I had been intrusted. But what I felt to be a more severe - loss than all else was a valuable diamond ring, that had once been - my dead mother's, and given to me by her in her last illness. Some - hundred and fifty dollars in bank-bills and a letter of introduction - to Judge P----, placed two days before in one of my boots, had escaped - the search of the highwaymen. None of my bones were broken; but a - frightful swelling upon my head proved the force of the blow dealt - me, evidently from the loaded handle of a riding-whip. The pain was - intense, and, not knowing how serious might be the injury I had - received, I determined to seek some shelter while I was yet able to do - so. I cannot describe the agony I endured in the next three or four - hours. Though weak and suffering, I succeeded in finding by accident - a narrow by-path, or trail, leading through the forest, and continued - on, shivering with cold, and frequently obliged to throw myself upon - the ground, in order to gain strength and rally my wandering senses. - The moon came up, and my knowledge of the time of its rising proved - to me that I must have been insensible and in the hands of the two - ruffians for at least two hours. I was now in a level country once - more, having left the hills behind me, and, as the moon rose higher in - the heavens, I could distinguish my surroundings without difficulty. - I stumbled along the path I was treading, faint and ill, and at last, - as I began to think I could go no further, came to a clearing, and, - at my left, beheld a rough log-house among the charred stumps of the - trees. I reached the door, and, after many efforts, awakened the - sleepy inmates. A good-natured face greeted my sight, as a bushy head - was protruded from a narrow window at my right, and a kindly voice - asked, 'What is wanted?' Each instant growing fainter, I was hardly - able to articulate; and, before I could explain my position, I sank - insensible upon the threshold. When I say that it is almost three - weeks since that occurrence, and that from then until now I have - not been in the open air, you will understand how desperate was the - illness that followed. My honest host and his good wife have watched - over me as if I had been a son instead of a stranger; and to their - tender nursing I owe my recovery, for no physician has seen me. Far - away from any settlement, upon one of the least frequented cross-roads - in the wild section in which they dwell, sometimes weeks would elapse - without a wayfarer passing their humble abode. Now, once more, I am - able to arise and sit in the sunshine; and I hope soon to be in a - condition to seek out the authors of my sufferings. As I have lain on - my bed, too weak to move, I have thought much, and, strange as it may - appear, I feel an innate conviction that I shall not only discover the - two men who endeavored to murder me, but that I shall also recover - the property I have lost. The reason that I entertain this opinion is - this: The very fact of my long insensibility after the blow upon my - head, and the subsequent disposal of my body by casting it into the - mountain torrent, all go to confirm me in my belief that they thought - me dead. Consequently, having no fear of my reappearance, they will - not seek to conceal themselves, or seek refuge from detection by - flight. The old lady (whom I have found a great gossip), I presume, - thinks it a 'God-send' my being here; for she can now give vent to her - loquacity; and, were it not that this letter was already frightfully - long, I would quote some of her decidedly original remarks for your - entertainment. I accounted for the plight I was in by stating that I - had missed my footing in the darkness, and fallen into the stream, - striking my head upon a projecting rock as I descended. At night when - my host has returned from his labor, I have gleaned from him a full - description of the country for miles around, and find that I can reach - N---- in a day's ride, and that it is one of the most noteworthy - places this side of Detroit. As soon as I dare, I shall proceed there, - and my next letter will undoubtedly be mailed from that point. I shall - not tell you that I wish I had remained in Boston; for to do so would - be useless and foolish. I am now desirous of going forward to the - accomplishment of the object I first had in view when I left you, but - shall remain, however, in this part of the country, both to regain my - health and strength, and to seek out and punish my assailants." #/ - /# "MY DEAR W----: When I finished my last epistle, I little thought - I should allow six weeks to elapse before I again took up the thread - of my story; but, my mind and time have been so fully occupied, that - I must crave your indulgence. It is now the latter part of July, and - as you know, at this season of the year one does not feel disposed to - be loquacious. That you may fully comprehend my position, however, I - must be somewhat more minute in my descriptions than I could wish to - be. The sun was near its setting on as lovely a day as I have ever - seen, when I approached the house of which I am still an inmate. The - kind-hearted man who had given me shelter and care during my illness, - brought me to the village of N----, and seemed to regret parting - from me. I walked up the pretty street towards a large, white house - standing upon an eminence at its termination, which had been pointed - out to me as the residence of Judge Perry. As I paused at a gate - leading into the finely-kept grounds, I could, without an effort of - the imagination, fancy that I was once more in dear New England, for - all evidence of newness seemed to have been obliterated. I turned - and looked back upon the scene; the cottages quietly nestling amid - a multitude of shade-trees, now clothed in their loveliest garments - of green; far away the encircling hills, and, a little to my left, a - pretty stream creeping down the valley, its waters turned to molten - silver by the glance of the sinking sun. While lost in revery I - had not noticed the approach of an elderly gentleman, who now came - forward, and placed his hand upon the latch of the gate at which I - was standing, at the same time greeting me with the remark of 'A - delightful ending to as beautiful a day as one need wish for.' I - responded, eulogizing both the weather and scenery. Whilst speaking, I - took cognizance of my companion, and felt sure, from the descriptions - I had received, that I was addressing the owner of the residence; - and he, in answer to my inquiry, answered in the affirmative, and - said, 'You are Mr. James H---, I presume. I have been expecting you - for some time, having received a letter from my friend in Boston, - advising me of your intention of visiting me. I heartily welcome you, - and trust that on further acquaintance we shall be mutually pleased - with each other; but I am keeping you here at the gate, when I should - show you truer hospitality by inviting you within.' I accepted his - courtesy and was soon in a pleasant bed-chamber, where I made such - a toilet as my limited means afforded. As I descended the stairs in - response to the summons of the supper-bell, I felt the awkwardness - of my position; placed as I was, without a suitable wardrobe, in a - family of such evident social standing. Trusting soon to remedy this - deficiency, I entered a large apartment at the left, and found my - entertainer ready to lead me to the supper-room. I made some excuses - as to my appearance, which he turned off with a jest, and, opening - a door, ushered me to the well-spread table. As we came forward, a - young lady arose from beside an open window, where she had evidently - been awaiting us, and I was introduced to my entertainer's only - daughter. You have frequently bantered me on my stoical indifference - to female beauty. And now, when I tell you that she whose hand I - took was one of the most lovely of women, you will not have occasion - to make allowance for undue enthusiasm. I shall not here attempt to - describe her, further than to say, she was a blonde, with glorious - eyes and a wonderful wealth of hair. Her voice was music itself, - and her every movement denoted the grace of a well-bred lady. As - we seated ourselves at the table, I regained my self-possession, - which had been disturbed at this unexpected vision of loveliness. We - chatted cheerfully as we partook of the tea and toast, and I soon - felt as if with friends of long standing. When the repast ended, the - daughter lovingly placed her hand on her father's arm to detain him, - and my eyes encountered upon it a jewelled ring that flashed like a - thing of life in the lamplight. Could I be dreaming? For an instant - my brain whirled and I grew giddy, for I had discovered that which - I so much prized, and had lost,--the last gift of my dead mother. - This ring, from the peculiarity of its construction, and the antique - setting of the stones, I could not mistake, and yet I could in no - wise account for what I saw. One glance at that lovely face, whose - every line spoke of innocence, was enough to drive away all suspicions - as to her complicity with the men who had sought my life. I cannot - detail to you the incidents of that evening; for, short as has been - the time since, I have forgotten them. I was as one in a maze, and - talked mechanically, and only awoke to a recollection of what courtesy - demanded, when Judge Perry remarked 'that as I was evidently much - fatigued, and not yet in my usual health, they would allow me to - retire.' I sat at my chamber window gazing out on the moonlit valley - until long after midnight, but I could illy appreciate the beauty of - the scene. I was seeking to arrange some plan of action by which I - might trace up this first clew to a discovery I now felt most certain. - At last, wearied with fruitless thought, I determined to await the - course of events, and to trust to time for additional light. - - "The next few days were agreeably occupied in forming a more intimate - acquaintance with Helen Perry and her father. I put forth what powers - of pleasing nature has endowed me with, and my success seemed complete. - Ere long I was on such terms of friendship with them as I desired; - and then I learned from Helen that she had lost her mother many years - before,--soon after their emigration from Eastern New York to their - present home. I had thus far passed the time each day until two or - three o'clock with the judge in his office, after which I wandered - with Helen in the tasteful grounds surrounding her home, or upon the - low-lying hills beyond. Her education had not been neglected, and her - reading had been extensive. Thus we could converse upon the merits of - the literature of the day, and in such topics discovered we had kindred - tastes. She was ever frank and cheerful; and, short as had been our - acquaintance, my heart was beginning to beat faster at her approach, - and each morning, as I awoke, I looked eagerly forward to the hour that - would find her disengaged from household duties, and with leisure to - devote to me. - - "Once or twice the judge spoke of an absent friend, a Doctor Wentworth, - in a manner which caused me some uneasiness; for, as he did so, he - cast upon Helen a good-natured, sly glance that meant much, and always - produced a blush upon her sweet face. It was after dinner on Tuesday, - that we came out upon the lawn to inspect a rose-bush, which Helen - wished transplanted, when her father remarked,-- - - "'By the way, my dear, I received a letter from Edward this morning, - and he tells me he shall be here to-day; so, as in duty bound, and like - an ardent lover, I presume he will at once fly to you. I should advise - that you forego your accustomed ramble, and remain at home to welcome - him. I have no doubt our guest will be pleased for one day to escape - the task of following you as an escort.' - - "By the terrible sinking of my heart that these words occasioned, I - knew in an instant that I loved her; and, half-glancing at her as I - turned away (with difficulty hiding my emotion), thought I saw the - bright flush upon her animated face dying away, and a deadly pallor - taking its place. I dared not remain and listen to her reply, and - therefore wandered on past the summerhouse in which I had passed so - many pleasant hours with her, until my steps were stayed upon the - bank of the stream whose waters had now no music to my ears. I had - heretofore been unconscious of the hopes that had gained access to my - heart. Day by day I had, as it were, allowed my purposes to slumber. - Her charms had bound me a willing captive, and all unwittingly I had - cast aside thoughts of the future, and forgotten that the life of - inaction in which I was indulging could not last. I had found ample joy - and occupation in watching the play of her expressive features, and in - listening to the words that came from her lips. After my first few - hours of astonishment and wonder at the discovery of my stolen ring - upon her hand, I had ceased, even when alone, to dwell upon the mystery - connected with it. Now I was brought back to a remembrance of all I had - vowed to do as I lay ill and suffering in the rude log cabin of the - settler. It was long before my calmness returned, and my heart ceased - to beat wildly. The afternoon had waned as I turned back towards the - house and friends I had so abruptly left. It was in a more collected - frame of mind that I ascended the steps, and entered the parlor. I am - sure that, on encountering those there assembled, not the quiver of a - muscle betrayed the agitation I felt. Helen was half-reclining upon - a sofa, and leaning upon its back was the form of a tall and rather - slightly-built man. She started up as I entered. Could it be that a - brighter light beamed in her eyes as they encountered mine? I knew not, - for the judge, who was seated near, was prompt to rise also, and said,-- - - "'Mr. Palmer, we are glad of your return. Both Helen and myself were - beginning to fear you had been spirited away. Allow me to make you - acquainted with Doctor Wentworth. Doctor Wentworth, Mr. Palmer, our - guest. I trust that you will learn to value the hour that brings you - together.' - - "I looked the physician full in the face, as I took his hand. The sun, - streaming in through the western windows, fell full upon his features, - bringing out every line in a marvellous manner, and distinctly exposing - their play, as he acknowledged my greeting. The countenance was one to - attract the attention, and yet not pleasant to look upon. His forehead - was high and fair; hair and mustache black as night, chin smoothly - shaven and dimpled, and yet the eye repelled me. As I looked at him, - I had an unaccountable impression that we had met before, but I could - not tell where, or why it seemed as if the circumstances attending - it had been of a disagreeable nature. As, after the first words of - conversational politeness, he turned to Helen, I had a few moments - for reflection, and suddenly flashed upon me the recollection of the - scene in the wood,--the man leaning from his horse to grasp my collar, - the tones of his voice, the momentary glance I had of his face as I - fired my pistol at him, and the peculiar droop of his right eye that I - had noticed. Could it be possible? Had I gained one more clew to the - mystery? Was the man before me the would-be assassin? No! no! I was mad - to indulge such a thought. This physician, the friend of Judge Perry, - a gentleman, and evidently, from the judge's own words, the accepted - suitor of his daughter, could be no vulgar highwayman; and yet, as - he maintained a brisk conversation with Helen, and allowed me full - opportunity for close observation, the more convinced did I become that - he was the man. As she raised her hand, I saw the gleam of the diamond - upon it. At last the chain of evidence for me was complete. What so - natural as that her lover should present this to her? I thanked God - that I was to be made the instrument by which she was to be rescued - from such a marriage. I forgot my own private desire for vengeance. - My love for her--this beautiful and innocent girl--was of so true a - nature, that every other consideration was subordinate to the one for - the furtherance of her welfare. By a powerful effort I controlled my - feelings, and assumed an air of ease that I could not feel. - - "The doctor was all animation, and talked at a rapid rate, while I - thought I had never seen Helen so dull. 'By the way, doctor,' remarked - the judge, after we had left the tea-table and entered the parlor, - 'have you recovered from the accident you met with a few weeks ago? - Pistol-shots are anything but pleasant reminders, and you had a narrow - escape.' I was gazing directly at him while the judge spoke, and for an - instant, even as a summer breeze would ruffle a placid lake, a frown - gathered upon his brow, and was gone. 'I am as well as I could wish - to be,' was the answer, 'and have almost forgotten the occurrence.' - Pleading a dull headache, I retired to my chamber at an early hour. - I wished to be alone, that I might take counsel with myself as to - the course I ought to pursue, in order to bring this scoundrel and - his associate to justice. The longer I dwelt upon the matter, the - more convinced I became that my proper course was to make the judge - my confidant. He was of years' experience and discretion, and also - a deeply interested party, through his daughter's connection with - Wentworth. - - "I slept but little that night, and was in the grounds, when my host - came out for a stroll in the morning air. I knew that it would yet be - an hour before the breakfast-bell would ring; therefore, after speaking - of the beauties of the morning, I took his arm as if for a promenade, - and said, 'If you can spare me some thirty or forty minutes, and will - come where we can by no possibility be overheard, I will tell you - what I know is of vast importance to you.' He looked surprised, but - acceded to my request at once, recommending the arbor already in view - as a desirable place for private conversation. We seated ourselves, - and, with but few preliminary remarks, I gave him a full account of my - adventures since leaving Detroit. He did not once interrupt me; but, as - I proceeded, his face became more and more ashen, until, as I concluded - by denouncing the doctor as one of my assailants, it was as white as - that of a corpse. - - "For a minute after I had ceased speaking he remained silent; then, - drawing a long breath, he seemed to regain command over himself, and - said: 'I can but believe all that you have told me, for there are many - circumstances, with which you are evidently unacquainted, that go to - corroborate your story. Can you remember the day of the month upon - which your murder was attempted?' - - "'The twenty-second,' I replied. - - "'And on the twenty-fourth,' he said, 'Dr. Wentworth returned home - after an absence of some days, in charge of Hugh Chapin, an intimate - friend of his. He could with difficulty sit upon his horse, and was - apparently suffering severely. He stated that he had been injured by - the accidental discharge of his pistol, but that, as the ball had - only inflicted a flesh-wound in the shoulder, it would soon heal. The - explanation was plausible, and no one doubted his word.' - - "'Was there any mark upon the ring by which you could identify it?' - - "'On the inner-side, below the centre-stone,' I answered, 'was the - letter P, in Roman characters, and above it was some fine scroll-work, - and close observation would show the name of Susie, in minute - lettering, amidst it; any one gazing upon it in an ordinary manner - would fail to perceive it. My mother's maiden name was Susan Palmer, - and this ring was presented to her by my father previous to their - marriage. I feel sure that an inspection will prove my description to - be true, although I have not seen the jewel since I lost it except upon - your daughter's hand.' - - "'I am satisfied,' said my companion; 'I have seen the initial P, as - you describe it, but as it corresponded with my Helen's family name, - I thought it intended for it. I can readily identify the larger of - the two men, and the one who inflicted the blow that nearly cost your - life, in the person of a resident of a farm-house some three miles from - us, one Hugh Chapin, a bachelor and the almost inseparable companion - of Dr. Wentworth. I have never been pleased with this intimacy, for I - have felt an aversion to this man from my first knowledge of him. As - I could give no reason for it, I have said little to Wentworth on the - subject. They came here about the same time, four years ago, and Dr. - W., displaying considerable skill in his profession, soon acquired a - good practice, and has enjoyed the confidence of the community. This - Chapin purchased the house and farm he now occupies soon after his - arrival, and has always seemed to have the command of money, although I - learn that he is but an indifferent farmer, and often absent from home - for weeks together. I employed Dr. W. in a severe illness I had some - two years ago, and after I recovered he was much at my house, and Helen - saw much of him. He proposed for her hand, and at first she seemed - inclined to reject his suit, but, thinking the match a desirable one, I - persuaded her not to do so. I have since often fancied that perhaps I - did wrong in thus using my influence, as she has since their betrothal - seemed loth to accord him the privileges of an accepted lover. His - profession has often called him away, but I now see it may have - frequently afforded an excuse for an absence in which were performed - deeds too dark even to contemplate. The sheriff of our county is a - brave, shrewd man, and I will lay the facts of this case before him, - and we will devise the best means of bringing these men to justice. - I need not point out to you the wisdom of silence; we have cunning - knaves to deal with, and must use care, so they may gain no clew to - our intentions. Knowing that you had been intrusted with three hundred - dollars to pay into my hands, I have wondered at your silence on the - subject; but your explanation has made all plain at last. It will be - difficult to dissemble in the presence of this scoundrel, Wentworth, - I know; yet for a brief time we must submit to the infliction of his - presence, and allow him to visit Helen as heretofore.' - - "When we returned to the house, my heart was lighter than it had been - since my arrival at N----. I will pass over the record of the next - few days, for nothing of importance took place. The judge and myself - held frequent consultations with the sheriff in my host's office; - care being taken that these meetings should attract no attention. - The doctor was occupied with his patients, as the warm weather was - developing disease. Once only had his confederate, Hugh Chapin, made - his appearance in the village. I had seen him as he rode up the street - to the door of Dr. Wentworth's office, where dismounting, and securing - his horse, he entered. I would have given much to have been a private - spectator of their interview, but only remained book in hand in my - seat at the window. You may be sure I comprehended nothing printed - upon the page before me. Not many minutes elapsed after Chapin came - forth and rode away, ere the sheriff dropped in upon us. The moment he - made his appearance, I saw, by the twinkle in his eye, he had pleasant - intelligence to communicate. Glancing around to see that we were alone, - he cast himself into a chair, giving vent to a gratified chuckle. 'We - have them at last,' said he, 'thanks to the intelligence of the boy - the doctor employs to wait upon him, and whom I frightened and bribed - into playing the spy. A nice plot of robbery has just been concocted - by the two worthies closeted up yonder. Old Seth Jones to-day received - a payment upon the farm he sold Thompson, and will take it to Pollard - whose place he has purchased; having to travel some twenty miles of - bad road, it will be dark before he can reach his destination, and - Chapin and Wentworth are intent upon relieving him of his money; the - rocky gully between Harrison's and Thompson's is the point selected for - operations; and I, with my men, shall take care to be there in time to - have a hand in the game.' - - "That was an anxious evening for me. I sat with Helen and her father - until after ten, and, despite the efforts we all made, the conversation - languished. I saw she felt a weight upon her that she could not cast - off. As I gazed upon her face, while she bent over some feminine - employment, I could perceive the great change that had been wrought - in her in the few weeks I had known her. She had grown thin and pale, - and a look of suffering had taken the place of one of cheerfulness. I - asked myself if it could be that I had awakened her love, and that she - had discovered this fact and allowed her betrothment to Wentworth to - eat like a canker at her heart. I felt an almost irresistible desire to - tell her how dear she was to me, and that if she returned my affection, - all would be well with us. By a powerful effort, however, I choked back - the words that trembled on my lips, and retired to my chamber, where - I alternately paced the floor and sat by the open window until near - morning. The night was intensely dark, and I could distinguish only - the outline of the trees upon the lawn. It was three o'clock, and a - faint streak of light began to illumine the eastern horizon, when I at - last heard the tramp of horses upon the bridge that crossed the stream - down the valley. I could control my impatience no longer, and, opening - my door, descended the stairs with rapid feet, but the judge fully - dressed was before me in the hall, proving that he, too, like myself, - had impatiently awaited news of the result of the sheriff's ambuscade. - We hurried down the street, and, in the dull light of the dawning day, - met a party of six men having Hugh Chapin in charge. He was securely - bound, and riding upon a horse in the midst of his captors. I noted the - absence of Wentworth at once, and felt the most bitter disappointment, - but soon learned the occasion of it. In an attempt to escape, he had - been shot through the head, and was then lying dead at a farm-house - near the scene of action. - - "I can now condense into a few sentences what more I have to relate. On - being confronted with me, Chapin made a full confession of his own and - Wentworth's crime. It was he who struck me upon the head as I fired at - his companion, and, after binding up Wentworth's wound, he robbed and - then conveyed me to a lonely part of the stream and cast me in; my long - insensibility had cheated them into the belief of my death. - - "Helen made no pretext of regret at the awful judgment that had - overtaken her betrothed; on the contrary, her face now wears an - expression of repose which the dullest observer could not fail to - perceive. Need I add that I had a long conversation with her last - night during which she acknowledged her affection for me, and promised - to be my wife provided her father sanctioned our wishes. The judge has - since listened to my petition with a pleased smile, and answered that - in due time we should be made happy. - - "When our nuptials are performed, then will end my western trip and its - attending romance." - - - - -THE TWO GHOSTS OF NEW LONDON TURNPIKE. - - - - -THE TWO GHOSTS - -OF - -NEW LONDON TURNPIKE. - -[Illustration] - - -There is a certain ancient and time-honored institution, which, -in the advancement of recent discoveries and the march of modern -improvements, seems destined soon to pass from the use, and then, in -natural sequence, from the memories of mankind. For even the highest -type of civilization is prone to ingratitude, and drops all thoughts -of its best agencies as soon as it has outlived its absolute need of -them. Towards this Lethean current, whose lazy waters glide so silently -and yet so resistlessly along the borders of the Past, gradually -undermining and crumbling away the ancient landmarks and the venerable -institutions known and loved of the former generations, the whale-ships -are already drifting. - -For year by year, as they set sail with their hardy crews, every -succeeding voyage took them nearer to the court of the Ice King, the -chill of his breath grew deadlier, and the invasion of his dominions -more desperate. But, lo! when Jack Tar was almost at his wit's end, -a cry arose upon the prairie, and the disciples of commerce dropped -their harpoons and left their nets to follow the guidance of the new -revelation. Jets of oleaginous wealth sprang and spirted, and blessed -was he whose dish was right-side-up in this new rain of pecuniary -porridge. Instead of the old launchings and weighings of anchors, -came the embarkation of all sorts and sizes of solid and fancy craft -on the inviting sea of speculation, and men ran hither and thither, -outrivalling the tales of the bygone voyagers, by stories of vast -fortunes made in a day, and of shipwrecks as sad as any on the ocean. -And so, in place of dingy casks and creaking cordage and watery perils, -there sprang up the reign of pipes and drills, and for the laden ships, -black and oozy with their slippery cargo, we began to have long trains -of bright blue tanks speeding over all our western railways; and the -whaling vessels, with their smooth, tapering sides, and blowsy crews, -and complicated mysteries of rigging, seem already like forsaken hulks, -hopelessly stranded upon the shores of antiquity. - -But all this belongs to the Present, and any such prophecy uttered in -the days with which our story has to do would have been regarded as the -wildest of ravings. For then the whale-ship was a reality and a power, -the terror of all mothers of wayward boys, and the general resort of -reckless runaways and prodigals. The thought that it could ever be -superseded by any undiscovered agency had not yet made its way into the -heads of even the sage prognosticators who studied the prophets and the -apocalypse, and were able to dispose of all the beasts and dragons, -and to assign them appropriate places in the future, with the utmost -certainty and satisfaction. - -It is certain that no such forebodings startled the complacency of two -young men who sat, in the gathering twilight of a mild spring evening, -on a fragment of drift-wood in a little cove of New London harbor, with -the waves sweeping up almost to their feet, and the western sky still -flushed with the departing glory of sunset. - -They were a stout, bronzed, muscular couple, loosely clad in the common -sailor-suits of the period, and both with the shrewd, resolute cast of -countenance that distinguished the irrepressible Yankee then no less -than now. The darker of the two was the more attractive, for he had -the jolly twinkling eye, and gayly infectious air that goes with the -high animal temperament, and always carries a bracing tonic with it -like the sea-breeze. Wherever John Avery came, all the evil spirits of -dulness and mopes and blues, that conspire so fearfully for the misery -of mankind, had to give way, and one burst of his spontaneous merriment -would exorcise the whole uncanny troop. John was a born sailor, with -all the dashing frankness, and generous, hearty temper characteristic -of the class, and not deficient in the faculty for getting into scrapes -that is also an invariable endowment of his prototypes. - -The other was a less open face, sharper in its outlines, and with -more angles than curves. Had it been less kindly, it might have been -the face of a rascal, and yet an artist could easily have idealized -it into that of a hero. For all these variations and contrasts of -characteristic expression, that have such influence among us, are, -after all, wonderfully slight affairs, and a few touches either way, -upon the vast majority of faces, would give a seraph or a demon at the -shortest notice. The bright, plump countenance of Jack was an open -book, known and read of all men, while that of his cousin Philo was a -study far more perplexing, and in the end less satisfactory. But the -conversation of the two was sufficiently plain. - -"Sails on Thursday, does she, Phil?" said the cheerful voice of John -as his practised eye sought out a certain ship from among the crowd of -vessels in the harbor. - -"All hands aboard at nine o'clock's the order," replied Philo, taking -off his cap, and turning his face to the wind. - -"And the Sally Ann don't sail till Saturday. I say Phil, old fellow, I -wish we were going together," cried John with one of his bursts. - -"It's better as 'tis," said Philo, thoughtfully. "There's a better -chance for one of us to come back, you know, than if we were in the -same ship." - -"'_Come back._' Why, of course we shall come back,--that is, I -hope so, both of us. That wasn't what I meant. I'd like you for a -shipmate,--that's all," was the eager response. - -"Yes,--I understand," answered Philo. "We shan't both come home, _of -course_; but there's hopes for both of us, and a pretty strong chance -for one of us at least." - -And then a seriousness fell upon the cousins, and for many minutes they -sat and watched the tide creeping up to them like the lapping, hungry -tongue of some slow monster, thinking such thoughts as will sometimes -come unbidden to the heart of youth, and become more and more intrusive -and importunate as we grow older. - -These boys were offshoots of a sturdy Puritan stock, and the pluck -and backbone of their ancestry suffered no degeneracy in them. John -had been an orphan from infancy, and had grown up in an atmosphere -of loving kindness and tender mercy under the auspices of his Aunt -Betsy,--Philo's mother. She it was, who, in view of his orphanage, -had winked at his boyish misdemeanors, indulged his naturally gay -disposition in every way that her strict and somewhat barren orthodoxy -allowed, and when his sea-going propensities could no longer be -controlled by the mild influences of her molasses gingerbread and sweet -cider, she had made him a liberal outfit of flannel shirts and blue -mixed hose, and, tucking a Bible into the corner of his chest, bade him -God-speed on his first voyage. - -It was with some surprise that she saw him come back from a three -months' cruise, with no more serious damage than a scar across his -forehead; but still she felt reproached at the sight of it, and on -Jack's next start rectified her previous neglect, by sending Philo -along with him in the capacity of mentor and protector,--an office -which she, in the devotion of her heart, would most joyfully have -undertaken herself if the art and practice of navigation could have -been adapted so as to admit of the services of an elderly lady. But -becoming convinced of the utter impracticability of this plan, she -wisely settled herself down to be comfortable with tea-drinking and -knitting-work, with great confidence in Philo's sobriety and force of -character, as applied to preserve her darling Jack from harm; for Aunt -Betsy, like many other excellent people, was not free from favoritism, -and her adopted son was the child of her affections, while Philo had -the secondary place, and was expected to consider it his highest -happiness to fiddle for Jack's dancing, and otherwise to hold the -candle in a general way for the benefit and pleasure of that superior -being. Had Jack been less jolly and generous, or Philo less amiable and -forbearing, this maternal arrangement would have been a fruitful source -of jealousy and contention; but the two natures were so fortunately -balanced that even the one-sided weight of Aunt Betsy's partiality -worked no such derangement of the family peace, as might have been -supposed. The boys had made three short voyages together, and were now -about shipping for their first long absence in different vessels only -because Philo's superior education and business aptitude qualified him -for the position of supercargo, which had been offered him on board the -Skylark. - -Philo was already developing the great Yankee trait of penny-catching, -for even then he had saved quite a pretty sum out of the very moderate -pay of a foremast man in those times, and this, in addition to his -patrimonial inheritance of a few hundred dollars, made a nice nest-egg -for the fortune that he hoped to realize in late life. Jack, too, had -his property interest, for he had just come to man's estate in the -eye of the law, and his little property, carefully hoarded, and with -its due interest had been, only the day previous, paid into his hands -in good gold, accompanied by much sound advice and the warmest good -wishes from his benignant guardian, 'Squire Tupper, who, thanks to -Aunt Betsy's interposition had found him the most dutiful and least -troublesome of wards. - -Philo renewed the conversation by inquiring whether Jack had thought -of any particular mode of investment, and stating his own intention -of purchasing an interest in the Skylark, if on his return it should -appear advisable. But the former topic appeared to push itself uneasily -uppermost, and he soon came abruptly back to it,-- - -"I shall do that thing if I live to see home again; and, if anything -should happen that I don't, I want my money to go to you, Jack, except -half the income, and that I want to have settled on mother as long as -she lives." - -"You'd better say all the income, and the principal too, for that -matter, Phil," cried the hearty Jack, with a little break in his voice -at the last words. - -"No," replied the cousin, soberly. "There's enough besides to keep the -old lady comfortable as long as she lives, and more would only worry -her. If she gets something to show that I didn't forget her, it'll be -better than if she had it all to take care of; and she'll be just as -well suited to have it go to you." - -"But think of my getting what Aunt Betsy ought to have," remonstrated -Jack, sturdily. - -"It's best," said Philo. - -"And to hear you talk as if you was bound straight for Davy Jones' -locker," pursued Jack. - -"I shan't go any straighter for talking about it, as I know of," -answered Philo, looking steadily towards the dim horizon as if his fate -lay somewhere between the water and the sky. - -"Well, then," shouted the impulsive Jack, "if it must be so, I'm glad -I can match you at the other end of the same rope. You're as likely to -come home as I am, and, if I'm never heard from, all I've got shall go -to you." - -"Then we'd better make our wills in form, if that's your wish," said -Philo, rising from the log. - -"We'll make all fast to-morrow," remarked Jack, cheerfully; "though it -makes one feel queer to be doing such business at our age." - -"It can't hurt anything; and we're no more likely to meet with bad luck -for having things in ship-shape," replied Philo, as they walked up -towards the little town, whose twinkling lights winked like fireflies -out of the darkness. - -"Let's do it to-night, and have it over," exclaimed Jack, who found -an unpleasant creeping sensation gaining upon him as he dwelt on the -subject. - -"Well," said Philo. - -The cousins turned into the main street of the village, now a busy -mart of business, but in those days broad and grassy, with a row of -respectable gambrel-roofed houses, each with its liberal garden at -the side. Pre-eminent in respectability was the abode of 'Squire -Tupper, with its large, clean yard, small, patchwork-looking windows, -and ponderous brass knocker, which disclosed the terrific head of -some nondescript animal in most menacing attitude. Upon this brazen -effigy Jack sounded a vigorous rap, since 'Squire Tupper was the prime -magnate and authority of the small town, in all matters requiring legal -adjustment; and any well-instructed resident would as soon have thought -of having a funeral without the minister as of making a will without -the advice of the 'squire. - -The summons was answered by a pretty blonde girl, dressed in the nicest -of blue stuff gowns, the whitest of muslin tuckers, and with her -pretty feet displayed to advantage by fine clocked stockings and neat -morocco shoes. All these little matters and her dainty air gave her the -appearance of a petted kitten, or, rather, of some small, ornamental -image, made of cream candy, and kept in a Chinese doll-house. - -She turned rosy at sight of Jack, who came instantly out of his solemn -mood, and, in the frank, saucy way habitual to him, swung his arm -around the neat waist, and, spite of some tiny remonstrances and vain -struggles, planted a big sailor kiss right in the centre of the demure -mouth. All this was natural enough; for, besides being the 'squire's -ward and connected in that sort of cousinhood which extends to the -forty-ninth degree of consanguinity, Jack had now regularly "kept -company" with Molly for several months, and all his Sunday nights on -shore were piously devoted to "settin' up" with her in the prim, sanded -best parlor, where it is not to be supposed that he abstained totally -from such "refreshment" as Mr. Sam Weller was accustomed to indulge -when opportunity offered. - -But his demonstrativeness served to discompose Molly's ladyhood on this -occasion; and the presence of Philo with his business-like face added -so much scandal that she disengaged herself as quickly as possible from -Jack's audacious grasp, and, with such dignity as a white kitten might -assume in the presence of two intrusive pups, ushered them into the -family "keepin'-room," and withdrew, as if she wished it understood -that she washed her hands of them and their kind from that time forth. -But Jack slipped out after her, and probably made peace; for they -returned together,--he very brisk and shining, and she blushing like -Aurora. - -Philo, however, meant business, and said as much in plain terms, that -set Miss Molly into a perfect maze of conjecture as she went to call -the 'squire. Her only solution of the mystery was that Jack had now -come for the momentous _pop_, toward which events had been tending; -and that Philo had accompanied him in the character of second. She -felt a little piqued that she had not been able to bring him to the -point herself; but then it was certainly very straightforward in him -to come right to her father in that way; and so the little lady rushed -out to the wood-pile in a perfect flutter of delicious perplexity, and -imparted the fact that the two young men had called _on business_, with -such decided emphasis that the 'squire immediately took the cue, and -prepared himself to be especially benignant and paternal. - -Relieved of Molly's inspiring presence, Jack felt all the solemnity -of the affair returning upon him, and, as is usual with these strong, -mercurial natures, it loomed before him more and more grim and ghastly, -till, by the time that the 'squire made his appearance, he had become -almost persuaded that his last hour was really approaching. This state -of mind imparted to his countenance an expression of such touching -melancholy as made the old gentleman take him for the most despairing -of lovers, and wrought upon his sympathies amazingly. - -'Squire Tupper was the embodiment of magisterial dignity, owlish -wisdom, and universal benevolence. With a fine, showy person that was -in itself the guaranty of unimpeachable respectability, he had gone on -in life, and come to hold the position of an oracle; not on account -of anything he ever said, but because of a general way that he had of -looking as if he could on all occasions say a great deal if he chose, -which is a sure way to attain the distinction of being considered -remarkably well-informed, though it is one that is greatly neglected -of late years. The world laughs at witty people, and despises them; -and 'Squire Tupper was a bright example of the truth that it takes a -thoroughly dull man to be profoundly respected. - -He now saluted the cousins with grave urbanity, and deliberately placed -his stately form in the arm-chair, taking a fresh cut of tobacco as -a preliminary to business. If Molly had enough of mother Eve about -her to cause her to peep and listen behind the door, we don't know -as it concerns us. We don't say she did; but would be slow to take -the responsibility of declaring that she didn't. Young ladies, who -may chance to peruse this veracious history, are at liberty to decide -this point according to their own estimate of the temptation, and the -average feminine power of resistance. - -Jack plunged desperately into the middle of the subject, and then tried -to swim out toward the introduction. - -"We thought we'd stop in, sir, this evening, as we've made up our minds -to do a certain thing; and it seemed as if we--I mean I--felt as if I -should like to have it done, and over with." - -"I see, I see," replied the 'squire, with the utmost consideration for -Jack's embarrassment, and the delicate nature of his errand. "You've -spoken to Molly about it, I suppose?" he added, encouragingly. - -"Why, no. Didn't think it was worth while, as you was at home," -answered Jack. - -"Ah, I see! Jes' so, jes' so! Very thoughtful in you, Jack,--very, -indeed." The 'squire paused, and took a pinch of snuff, nodding his -satisfaction, and proceeded: "It's highly gratifying to me, Jack, to -see you so thoughtful as to come to me first on this business; though -it isn't what all young men would do. I'm glad to see that you respect -the parental relation, and respect my feelings, though you've no -parents of your own; still you've had an excellent bringing up by your -Aunt Betsy, and I've tried, in my humble way, to do what I could." -(Graceful self-abasement was one of the 'squire's strong points.) -"And now I say you've acted just right, because I am better capable -of judging what is for Molly's good than she can be herself; and, of -course, I'm the person to be first consulted; and it's most creditable -and gratifying"-- - -"Why, it isn't about Molly, at all!" cried Jack in bewilderment. - -O happy, doting pride of fatherhood! What a falling off was there, and -what blankness, followed by confusion, overspread 'Squire Tupper's -countenance, as the nature of his blunder and its extreme awkwardness -became apparent to his puzzled faculties. - -"No--no--certainly not--not in the least!" gasped he, catching after -his dignity, as a man drowning grasps at straws. - -"We came to see if you could attend to making out our wills, this -evening," said Philo. - -The 'squire looked from one to the other with such dazed incredulity -that both the young men applied themselves to explanations which -brought his senses back into the world of facts. - -"Yes, yes, certainly,--very creditable and prudent in you to wish to -make things all snug before you go. Excellent idea; though you're both -rather youngish to be doing such business. Still it's highly gratifying -to see you take it up in this way,--certainly,--just let me get the -materials." And the 'squire plunged with great eagerness into the -subject, briskly opening an old-fashioned secretary, and setting out -upon the table a heavy stone inkstand, a sand-box, some large sheets -of paper, and a bunch of quills; and then, being quite restored to his -accustomed equilibrium, begged them in the most impressive magisterial -manner, to state their wishes, and commenced making his pen, while -Philo explained the subject-matter of the conversation previously -recorded. - -"I see, I see!" said the 'squire, deliberately, when he had elaborated -the point of the quill, and tried it repeatedly on his thumb-nail. And, -without further ado, he drew his chair to the table, and headed the -page in a large, round hand: "_The Last Will and Testament of Philo -Avery_;" following it up with the regular formula for such cases made -and provided. - -"_In the name of God, Amen._ - -"I, Philo Avery, of the town of New London and state of Connecticut, -being of sound mind and memory, and considering the uncertainty of this -frail and transitory life, do, therefore, make, advise, publish, and -declare this to be my last will and testament," etc. - -Scratch--scratch, went the 'squire's pen, interrupted only by -occasional dips into the ink, while the two testators sat and looked -on in unwinking silence, and the tall candles flared and sputtered -as their sooty wicks dropped down into the tallow. Hardly had this -happened when Molly tripped shyly into the room, bringing a pair of -silver snuffers on a little tray, and with one dexterous nip relieved -each smoking luminary of its incumbrance, at the same moment casting -her demure eyes upon the page which her father was now covering with -sand. If she was not ignorant of the old gentleman's palpable blunder -(and remember the narrator takes no responsibility on that point), she -was certainly very innocent and unconscious, and, as Jack looked at -her, he anathematized his own stupidity in not taking the opportunity -which the 'squire had so temptingly opened for him, and determined that -he would rectify the omission speedily. - -Meanwhile, the quill travelled over another broad page, and the -documents were ready for the signatures. And then it was necessary -that Molly and the hired-man should be called in as witnesses, and the -former made very wide eyes of wonderment (little budget of deceit!) -when she learned the nature of the papers, and wrote her name in a -tiny, cramped hand, with many little quirks like the legs of spiders, -and this was supplemented by the laborious autograph of Silas Plumb, -the teamster, a young man of limited education and bushy hair. - -And when all this was done, the cousins exchanged the wills, and -tucked them into their respective side-pockets, feeling greatly -relieved, and the 'squire, after receiving his fee in a benevolent, -deprecating manner, as if it was quite a trial to his feelings, but -must be undergone as a duty, brought out some excellent port wine, and -pledged them both in liberal glasses, with wishes for their prosperous -voyage and safe return. And at the mention of this sorrowful topic, -poor Molly's spirits suffered such charming timid depression, and -were affected to such a degree that when Philo took leave, it was -necessary for Jack to lag behind, and finally allow him to go away -alone, since nothing else would serve to restore the languishing damsel -to comparative cheerfulness. At this interval of time, and without -the advantage of being an eye-witness, it would be a vain attempt for -anybody to undertake a minute account of how, standing in the low -"stoop," with its little round posts like drumsticks, and huge tubs of -thrifty, rough-leaved plants, Molly made herself perfectly irresistible -with her shy regrets, and how, when her grief and apprehension at -once welled up from her heart to her face, in the midst of bashful -palpitations and broken sobs, her proud little head wilted weakly -over on Jack's shoulder, and she begged him not to go sail-ail-ailing -away, and be drownd-ed-ed--and have that horrid old will-ill-ill for -his sole memento. Neither would it be easy to portray how Jack soothed -and petted, with all the little endearments that are such delightful -realities for the moment, but so silly and absurd to remember, and -finally, when nothing else would answer, committed himself past all -remedy, as what man could help doing, with such a dainty little figure -leaning close, and the sweetest of mournful faces buried in his collar. -And then, there were more tears and kisses, and at the end a long, -quiet talk of all that should be realized when that one voyage was -over, and he should be ready to resign his sea-faring life. - -At last Jack tore himself away from all these enchantments, and -rushed home for a couple of hours of delicious dreamy tumbling about -in bed before daylight, which seemed to come much sooner than he had -calculated, and aroused him to complete his preparations for departure. - -Everybody knows what a queer, altered aspect certain actions and -feelings take after one night, and the dawning of the clear, practical -light of the next day. Ideas that have seemed most urgent and actual -will at such times appear extremely unreal and visionary, and be -quite eclipsed in interest by the trifles that come in between and -demand immediate attention. Jack found it so, in the hurry and bustle -of the next day, what with the preparations for sailing, and all the -little matters that such a start involves. The doings of the previous -night seemed quite distant and foreign to his own personality; and it -needed the big-folded document, with its formal phraseology and crisp -rattle, to convince him that the acts of the evening before had not -been a rather memorable dream. Once, in the course of the day, he -took out the will, read it hastily over, and then tucked it away in a -little brass-bound box, that answered for him the same purpose that a -Herring's Patent does for prudent young men of the present day. - -But however it might be about the wills, and the chances that the Great -Reaper should overtake either of the cousins before the return-voyage, -Molly was a present and delightful reality; and that very evening Jack -made her another visit, justified 'Squire Tupper's presumption of the -former occasion, and amid Molly's tears and kisses, and big sighs and -little sobs, wished most heartily that the Sally Ann had made her -cruise, and that the future programme was ready to be carried into -effect. But then, he might be lucky enough to pay for waiting; and if -anything should happen to Philo in the interval,--of course, he hoped -there wouldn't, poor fellow; but accidents will happen, and if anything -so sad should occur, why, then he would be in a position to keep Molly -in the style she deserved and was accustomed to; and to buy out a share -in some nice little craft, that should bring home to them treasures as -rich, after their kind, as those that the ships of Tarshish brought to -King Solomon. But all this was mere conjecture, and Jack renounced it -with a feeling of reproach for having indulged it even for a moment. - -The next day the Skylark sailed, Philo starting away from the old -house with his chest on a wheelbarrow, and leaving Aunt Betsy on the -doorstep, with her lips pressed very tight, and all the grim fatalism -of her religious faith making stern struggle against the natural -motherly instincts of her heart. For she did love Philo; and even the -reflection that he wasn't going to wait upon Jack, according to his -established usage, was lost in genuine grief for his departure. - -Jack rowed out to the ship with him; and it would be doing both an -injustice to ask whether the cordial regrets of their separation were -mingled with any remembrance on the part of either, that in case they -should never meet again, one of them would be a few hundred dollars -richer for the death of the other. - - * * * * * - -On the morning of May 5th, 1805, the Sally Ann sailed out of New London -harbor. On the evening of September 12th, 1808, she dropped anchor in -the very spot which she had left three years and four months before. - -The first object, aside from the familiar shore, that met Jack's -recognition, as they sailed up the bay, was the ship Skylark, arrived -just six weeks previously, and the first man he saw, as he stepped on -land, was his Cousin Philo. There could hardly have been a more cordial -greeting than that which the bystanders witnessed; and yet a close -look into the heart of each might have disclosed a shade of something -strangely inconsistent with the outward semblance of happiness that -both wore. - -For three years is a long time for some thoughts and impulses to -mature in, and day after day out at sea, with only the monotony of -the ever-undulating waves, and the easily exhausted resources of -variety to be found on shipboard, give great opportunity for brooding, -and such speculations as come naturally to people who are idle and -isolated. Seeds of the devil's planting possess a peculiarly vital -and fructifying property and are sure to come to maturity sooner or -later. One can easily imagine the thoughts that might have come to -these two young men in the long, solitary watches, come perhaps like -suggestions from the world outside, wafted on the wings of the wind, -or caught up in chance hints and scraps of sailor talk, but coming -nevertheless straight from the God of mammon, and, with their slow -canker working a steady and sure corruption. And yet, neither had -probably ever allowed these thoughts to take any such positive form as -to be capable of recognition. They were always, even in the moments of -their strongest domination, veiled in some perfectly innocent mental -expression, such as _if_ anything should happen, or _supposing_ such -an affliction,--meditations which the most sensitive conscience could -not possibly challenge, but which had a way of creeping in upon the -minds of these two far oftener than they would have done, but for the -existence of the wills. - -Philo had an inborn love of lucre that was strong enough to give spice -and fascination to these ponderings of possibilities, while Jack was -constantly under the stimulus of his fondness for Molly, and desire to -make a handsome provision for her. And by these means, this indefinite -_if_, acknowledged at first only as a remote and dreaded contingency, -gradually took to itself substance, and began to figure in the plans -and projects of each as if it were almost a positive certainty. Always, -however, with the proviso that it was a very sad possibility, to be -devoutly deplored and hoped against, but still accepted and treated -as an actuality. And such an effectual devil-trap did this _if_ -prove to be, that this meeting of the two cousins was, in the hidden -consciousness of each, in the nature of an unexpected shock that made a -sudden scattering of many schemes and purposes, all based, to a great -extent upon that wicked and fallacious _if_. And while all this was -lurking under the demonstrative warmth and gladness of their greeting, -probably no greater surprise nor horror could have befallen either -than to have had the veil of his self-deception for one moment lifted, -and to have had a single glimpse at the truth within him, or a single -intimation of the lives that they two should lead through the next half -century under the evil consciousness of that ever impending _if_. - -But nothing of this supernatural character befell them, and after a few -warm greetings among the crowd on the pier, Jack hastened toward the -town. There were some changes in the familiar streets; buildings newly -built or altered, signs changed, and a barber's pole freshly painted. -All these he observed carefully as he walked on. When he came in sight -of 'Squire Tupper's, the radiant, blushing face of Molly disclosed -itself for an instant at the window, and speedily reappeared in a -flutter of delicious expectancy at the half-open door, for the news -of the arrival was already all over town. She gave a series of little -screams as Jack, with such a big black beard, and so very brown, came -up and saluted her with a strong bearish hug and a general smell of -whale-oil. - -For Jack was considerably altered by reason of a certain manly -reticence that seemed to have grown on with his whiskers, in place -of the old boyish dash and frankness. Molly had become steady and -womanly, too, and now saw with vast pride the dignified way in which -Jack deported himself, how he met the 'squire's gracious welcome with -equal ease and affability, and talked of his voyage and its adventures -in such a quiet, modest way as showed him to be every inch a hero. And -when, after a short stay, he spoke of Aunt Betsy, and would not prolong -her waiting, Molly was quite resigned to let him go, contenting herself -with dwelling upon his improved looks, and indulging in charming little -maidenly reveries that centred in the anticipated joys and splendors -of a certain day which she had settled in her own mind as not far -distant.--Alas, Molly! Indulge your reveries, poor girl. Dream on, -and let your dreams be sweet. Play over and over in anticipation your -pretty little drama of white dresses and bridesmaids and wedding-cake, -and make it all as gay as possible, for little else shall you have by -way of reward for your many months of constancy to Jack Avery, save -his occasional attentions and the satisfaction of being for years the -wonder and mystery of all the gossips in town. Yes; for years. It may -as well be said now as any other time. The day when Molly's dreams -should be realized withdrew itself from time to time, and at length -took up its permanent position in the distant horizon of uncertainty. -"Colts grew horses, beards turned gray," but Molly Tupper was not -merged in Molly Avery, and there were no prospects of that consummation -more than had appeared for the last--well--we wont say how many years. -For tender and devoted as Jack was for a long time, there was a change -in him, that brought something of constraint and reserve between them, -and, with all her delicate feminine tact, she could never lead him -into any direct avowal of his wishes on the subject. And since Molly -was the very paragon of maidenly modesty and trusting devotion, she -came to indulge the conviction that Jack knew best, and had some wise -though inscrutable reason for delaying matters. And in time, even -those indefatigables, the village gossips, wearied of wondering and -surmising, at their perennial tea-parties, and the whole thing settled -down into a discouraging calm. - -And yet Jack had no design of doing an injustice. He was really fond -of Molly, and fully intended to marry her. But for that ever-present -_if_, and the complications it involved, the event would have taken -place in due time. His reflections sometimes took a very painful turn, -as he pondered the subject. Here was this beautiful, affectionate girl, -to whom he had long been pledged, waiting his time with all the truth -and constancy of her loving nature. And here he was, living a dreary -and almost hopeless bachelor life, and standing in the way of any -advantageous match which might be otherwise open for her acceptance. -But, in case of his marriage, the will arrangement must be broken up, -and he should have the mortification of making that suggestion to -Philo; which seemed an almost impossible thing to do, for not a word -with reference to it had ever passed the lips of either since the -night when the agreement was made, and both had come to regard it with -something like a superstitious dread, as a theme whose discussion might -portend some fatal result. - -And then, again, thought Jack, life was such an uncertainty, and a few -months of waiting might make a vast difference. Suppose, in his foolish -haste, he should throw up the will arrangement, and marry Molly, and -it should turn out, after all, that a little delay would have improved -their condition so much. Though life insurance was still unknown, and -its cool calculations and scientific averages would have been then -regarded as the extreme of impiety, and its risks as a wicked tempting -of Providence, Jack had made out in his own mind a tolerably accurate -table of averages, which showed quite conclusively against his cousin's -chances for longevity. It is hardly to be supposed that Philo had -neglected the same satisfactory proceeding, or that his results were -very different. - -And thus this corrupting temptation, that is the root of all evil, had -crept upon these two noble young hearts distorting and defiling them -with its slow taint. And even now, either of them might truthfully have -questioned,-- - - "What shall I be at fifty, - If nature keeps me alive, - If life is so cold and bitter, - When I am but twenty-five?" - -It would be too dreary a task to follow them year by year. Let us make -leaps and take glimpses at them by intervals. - - -_Twenty-five._ What we have seen. - - -_Thirty._ Aunt Betsy, weak and childish for many months, has gone to -her long home, with a final admonition to Philo that he must make Jack -the object of his best watch and care for the entire period of his -natural life. - -Molly is still pretty, though a little thin and with a perceptible -sharpening of the elbows. Her color is not quite so high, nor her -figure so plump. She keeps house for the 'squire, with devotion and -good management that are the admiration of the town; continues to love -and trust in Jack with unabated fervor, though some young women, whom -she remembers to have held in her arms when they were babies in long -clothes, are long since married and have babies of their own. Still -she receives the sometime visits of her laggard lover with the same -grace and sweetness, confident that it will all come right in time; has -dropped the old familiar "Jack" for "John" or "Mr. Avery," which is a -hint that we ought to do so, too. - -That unfathomable individual has been for some time a partner in a -grocery establishment, carrying on a good business, and realizing -fair profits; devotes much of his leisure to revising the imaginary -insurance table, and has brought it down considerably closer; maintains -a great regard for his Cousin Philo, and has much affectionate -solicitude for his health; gives occasionally to various benevolent -objects; is extremely regular in all his habits, and is generally -regarded as a very nice young man, who has turned out much better than -was expected of him. - -Philo has purchased a farm in an adjoining town, and is improving it -with great care; is considered rather "near" in his dealings, and is -generally quite distant and reserved. Suspicions are entertained that -he has been disappointed in love, though nobody pretends to know the -particulars; always takes a great interest in his Cousin John, whom -he suspects of a tendency to dropsy. John, on his part, thinks Philo -consumptive. - - -_Thirty-five._ No great variation. - -Both the farmer and the grocery-man are moderately prosperous; though -neither ventures much into speculation, because each is mindful of -possibilities in the future that will give great additional advantages. -The insurance table has been reduced to one of the exact sciences. - -Molly, poor girl, has faded a shade or two. She still keeps house, and -raises an annual crop of old-maid pinks and pathetic-looking pansies, -together with sage and rosemary and sweet marjoram, which she dries -and puts in her closets and drawers, in order that their delicate, -homelike fragrance may keep out the moths and pervade her apparel. -But, as she moves so briskly and cheerfully about her little tasks, or -bends over some bit of sewing or other ladycraft, grave doubts intrude -themselves; and, if she were one whit less patient and self-forgetful, -she would sometimes throw aside all these little occupations, and, -like Jephthah's daughter, bewail her virginity. And, as she sits on -Sunday mornings in church, alone in the pew except the 'squire,--now -an old man who takes incredible quantities of snuff and drops the -hymn-book,--as she sits thus, and watches the happy matrons, no older -than she, coming in one by one, with their manly husbands and groups -of rosy children, there comes up, sometimes, a great rising in her -throat, which she is fain to subdue by taking bits of her own preserved -flag-root, which she carries always in her pocket. Or, when she sees -some pretty bride arrayed in the customary fineries, she sighs a -little, as the thought that she has lost her best bloom comes uneasily -to the surface; and then she sometimes looks timidly around to see if -Mr. Avery has come to church. But Mr. Avery isn't often there; the -insurance table takes up a good deal of his attention on Sundays. - -Molly has long ceased to dream about the white dresses and -orange-blossoms. She would be glad, indeed, to make sure of a plain -dark silk and only two kinds of cake; and of late even her hopes of -these have become empty and melancholy as a last-year's birds-nest. -Yet she clings still to the shadow of her old coquette girlhood, and -rejuvenates herself with a new bonnet every spring, with as much -seeming cheerfulness and confidence as if she were fifteen instead of -thirty-five. - - -_Forty._ Decided changes. - -'Squire Tupper rests in a grave marked by the most upright and -respectable of tombstones. And then all the chattering tongues, that -had before wagged themselves weary with gossip and conjecture, took a -renewed impetus, and it was settled in all quarters that Molly would -now be married as speedily as the proprieties of mourning would permit. -And John himself, it would seem, thought as much; for, without any -undue haste, he did make some motions looking that way. He bought a -new gig, and took Molly out to ride several times, besides sitting -very regularly in her pew at church. And, having thus evinced the -earnestness of his intentions, he made himself spruce one Sabbath -evening, and proceeded to call on her, with the express design of -asking her to fix the long-deferred day. - -But what was his surprise on finding, as he came upon the stoop where -he and Molly had so often exchanged vows of eternal fidelity (which -had, indeed, been tolerably tested), the best parlor gayly alight as -in the days of his early courtship, and to hear a male voice in very -animated conversation with Molly. - -Curiosity and pride alike forbade him to retreat; but how was his -surprise intensified to dismay when Molly, looking remarkably bright -and young, ushered him into the presence of Mr. Niles, a most -respectable gentleman resident in town, whose wife had been now three -months dead. He was as smiling and interesting as Molly. And presently -that outrageous damsel spoke up in the easiest way in the world,-- - -"You dropped in just the right time, _Cousin_ John, for now you shall -be the first one to be invited to our wedding. It is to come off a week -from next Wednesday in the evening. We have just settled the time, and -I shall have to stir around pretty lively to get ready." - -It was all true, and there was no help for it. John Avery had presumed -a trifle too much upon the elastic quality of Molly's love for him, and -now, at the eleventh hour, her seraphic patience had given way, and let -him most decidedly and disgracefully down. When her father was dead and -she left in loneliness, and John still delayed to make direct provision -for altering the state of things, Molly felt that she had passed the -limit of forbearance, and with a sudden dash of spirit, in which she -seemed to concentrate all the unspoken pain and suppressed sense of -wrong that had struggled in her heart through all these years past, she -actually set her cap for this forlorn widower with six children, caught -him, rushed him through a violent courtship, evoked from his stricken -heart an ardent and desperate declaration, accepted, and married him, -all in the space of eight weeks. - -And this was John's first intimation. Will any woman blame her if she -_had_ been a little studious to conceal the preliminaries from him, -till it should be time to acquaint him with the result, or if she -wasn't especially tender of his nervous sensibilities in making her -disclosure? - -But he was bidden to the wedding, and must needs go,--which he did, -looking very glum, and kissing the bride with far less gusto than -he had done in former times. But it was a very festive occasion, -notwithstanding, for the bridegroom appeared in a blue coat with brass -buttons, and his hair was greased to preternatural glossiness, while -all the six children stood in a row, their stature being graduated -like a flight of steps, and the cake was all that Molly had ever -pictured it in the wildest flight of her imagination. And Molly herself -in a perfect cloud of gauze and blaze of blushes renewed her youth -prodigiously. - -It was all over, and John Avery walked slowly homeward with a -glimmering consciousness that the things of this life in general were -rather shaky and uncertain,--indulging even a brief doubt as to the -reliability of his system of averages. - - -_Fifty._ Both of our old bachelors are beginning to grow gray and -morose. Philo stoops considerably, but is otherwise in excellent -physical preservation; reads all the medical books about abstinence and -frugality as the means of promoting long life, and practises rigidly -upon their principles. John is equally tough and temperate. Neither -shows the least sign of giving out for fifty years to come. Both have -increased in substance and have the reputation of being "forehanded." -The insurance table has been reduced to the very last fraction; but, -spite of its scientific accuracy, seems to be one of those rules that -are proved by their exceptions. - -Mrs. Niles is the most devoted of wives, the perfection of -step-mothers, and rejoices, besides, in a chubby little boy of her own. -All the seven are united in neglecting no opportunity to rise up and -call her blessed. - - -_Sixty._ Ditto--only more so. - - -_Seventy._ The Ghosts? - - -Yes, indulgent reader, your patience hath had its perfect work, if it -hath brought you through all these preceding pages, in order that you -may witness this _denouement_ scene, in which the ghosts appear, with -such real and startling semblance in the eyes of some of our actors, -that, in comparison, the fifth act of a sensation drama would have -seemed mild as milk. - -It is to see these supernatural visitants that we have brought you all -this long road. Let them show themselves but once, and we will then be -content, nay glad, to drop our curtain, retire from the footlights, -and whisk our actors back to the serene shades of private life. Grant -us, for a little time, the gifts of conjurers and "meejums." Let our -Asmodeus take you in charge, and show you things that are beyond the -range of mere mortal perception. Ubiquity shall be yours while you -journey into the land of spirits, and the name of the mischievous -wizard and terrible practical joker who conducts you thither shall be -Jack Niles. - -For we omitted to mention, in its appropriate connection, that when -Molly found herself laid under the responsibility of naming her boy, -she was debarred from bestowing on him that of his father, since it -had been previously appropriated among the six, and her artistic -sense revolted from starting the poor, helpless innocent out in the -world under the honored designation of Zophar Tupper, which his -grandfather had borne with such eminent respectability. And so, being -influenced by the tender grace of motherhood, and desirous of showing -her kind feeling towards the man whom she had once so loved and had -now so freely forgiven, she felt that she could do it in no more -expressive way than by calling her baby John Avery. The compliment was -appreciated, and there may still be seen, among the family treasures of -the Niles tribe, a silver cup, of punchy form and curious workmanship, -marked with the inscription "J. A. N. from J. A." - -Jack the second grew up a tolerably correct copy of the boyhood of -his namesake. He was gifted with the same gayety of temperament, and -facility for getting into scrapes. It had happened more than once that -heedless pranks of his had been leniently looked upon, and concealed -or remedied by the considerate care of John the elder, who, spite of -all the miserable warping and drying up of all his kindlier sympathies -under the influence of that ever-impending possibility, still seemed -to find a congenial satisfaction in the society of this frank, jolly -youth, whose presence brought with it such an echo of his own once -careless, joyous life. - -But, spite of warnings and admonitions, Jack was still a sad boy, and -his favorite mode of working off his surplus activity was in devising -and executing practical jokes. His invention and audacity reached their -culmination in a most unprincipled scheme against the two venerable -Avery cousins. - -Philo was now as sour, dry, and wizened an old man as dwelt in the -state of Connecticut, and those bleak hills and stony slopes do not -seem to produce very ripe and mellow old age. But Philo was known as an -especially hard and grasping old sinner, living a sort of dog's life, -all by himself, and too stingy to open his eyes wide. And it befell -once that he and his strange, barren mode of life were touched upon in -the evening talk of the Niles family, and then the mother, with her -old, modest sprightliness, went over the story of the two wills made -so long ago, and which must, in the natural course of human events, -soon come into effect. She had grown to be an old woman, this blessed -mother, but none of the loving ones, to whom her presence had been a -joy and consolation for so many years, ever thought of her gray hairs -or caps or spectacles, except as the emblems of more abundant peace and -benediction. - -She tells her story now,--about the early days of the two old men, -whose withered faces, and bent forms, and eager, acquisitive eyes are -so familiar to them all,--and as she proceeds, Jack lapses from lively -attention to a mood of profound reflection, which is always a bad sign -for somebody. - -In the evening twilight of the next day, a thin, yellow-haired lad, -mounted on a large, bony, sorrel horse, presented himself with an -appearance of great haste and urgency before the door of Philo Avery's -hermetic dwelling. After a vigorous though fruitless knocking, he made -his way to the rear of the small, dismal brown house, and spied an aged -figure advancing from an adjacent piece of woods, bending under the -weight of a large heap of brush. - -"Be you Philo Avery?" - -"Yes," answered the ancient, with evident suspicion. - -"Then I've got a letter for you," said the thin youth, and, thrusting -it forth, sprang upon his high horse and clattered away down the road. - -A letter! Philo stood and watched the messenger till he disappeared -from sight, filled with a vague sense that something strange was -about to break upon him. A letter sent to him was in itself a strange -occurrence. Who could write to him? and for what? Could it indeed -be the one thing so long looked for? and, if it were, how sudden! -Tremulous with excitement, he trotted into the house, and, after many -minutes of agitated fumbling, succeeded in lighting a candle. Then he -held the letter close and tried to examine the address, for Philo was -a victim to that unaccountable oddity, to which the greater portion of -human nature is prone, of making a close and critical scrutiny of any -unexpected or mysterious letter, before opening it for the conclusive -knowledge of its contents. But everything looks misty before his eyes, -and, after much squinting and peering, it occurs to him that he has -forgotten his spectacles. And at last, after more delay and fumbling, -he comes to the subject matter, very brief but comprehensive:-- - -"John Avery died last night. Funeral at ten o'clock to-morrow morning." - -No date, no signature; but what of that? Over and over Philo read the -two lines, before his mind could really grasp the intelligence they -conveyed. It would have made a striking picture,--that withered, bent -figure, in its coarse, well-worn clothes, stooping in the dim, lonely -room, and the hungry eyes devouring that bit of news. It had happened -at last, this thing for which he has waited almost half a century. How -many hundred times he had imagined his own feelings when it should -come to him, and how different it all was! The old man sinks into a -chair and gives himself up to revery. And sitting thus, there come -stealing upon him remembrances of long past scenes. He thinks of the -time when he and John were boys together, and of all his mother's love -and care of both; of the parting on the deck of the Skylark, and their -long voyage. And then came the slow-moving panorama of all the dull, -dreary, barren years that dragged their slow length onward between his -present self and all these boyish memories. The hours pass unnoted as -the poor old man goes through the successive stages of his retrospect, -and finally arouses himself with a start when the candle, that has been -burning dim and flickering, gives a dying glare and goes out in the -socket. And then he arises, cramped and stiff, and creeps trembling -to bed as the cocks are crowing for midnight. But the newly-made heir -cannot sleep. Haunting images visit him, as the Furies surrounded -Orestes. At length he rises and seeks the repository of his valuables. -He takes out the will, and though he has known it, every word by heart, -for a whole generation's lifetime, he reads it mechanically over. -How strange the lines look, and the name of _Zophar Tupper_, written -with the old magisterial flourish! Here, too, are the signatures of -the witnesses, and he finds himself wondering why John never married -Molly after all, and, even now, does not dream that he himself was the -obstacle, by his disagreeable persistency in living; for our mortality -is the last and severest lesson that we learn in life. - -Philo wonders if it is not almost daylight, and looks out at the east -window for the first streak of dawn; reflects that he must start early, -for it is nine miles to the town, and his old horse is not over-active. -He will have to dress up, too, for the funeral. How strange! To pass -away the time, he begins to get out his clothes and lay them ready. -From the depths of a great red chest he brings up a pair of good, new -pantaloons, that he has not worn for ten years, and then a coat to -match, and a fine shirt with a ruffled bosom, that Aunt Betsy made for -him while she was still young enough to do such things. And, lastly, he -bethinks himself of a pair of black linen gloves that he bought on the -occasion of the good woman's funeral, and from the darkest corner of -the chest he fishes them up. A little dingy and rotten they are, to be -sure, but still in wonderful preservation, though they give way in two -or three spots when he puts them carefully on. - -In these little occupations he wears away the hours till the darkness -begins to grow gray, and as soon as he can see sufficiently he goes to -the pasture and leads his astonished old horse to the door. Then comes -the terrible process of shaving;--and what spectacle is more forlorn -than that of an old bachelor trying to shave a long, stiff beard by -a weak light and with cold water? Even this is at length achieved; -and then, after much brushing and other unaccustomed elaborations of -toilet, he places the will carefully in his pocket, and, drawing on -the rusty gloves, takes a final survey of himself before starting. The -mouldy little mirror reflects a thin, yellow face dried into long, -fine wrinkles, straggling gray locks, and watery, pale-blue eyes. The -old-fashioned clothes make the thin, stooping figure more awkward and -spindling, and a high, tight cravat completes the scarecrow effect -of the whole. Still Philo has done his best, and is satisfied, as -he mounts his ancient steed, that he presents the very likeness of -respectable sorrow. - -And jogging decorously onward, as becomes his dismal errand, he ponders -how different this morning is from all the other mornings of his life. -In the silver-gray dawn there come back all the strange sentiments that -had arisen out of the surprise and excitement of the previous midnight. -A thick mist creeps up from a little stream that runs by the road-side, -and its damp, clinging chill seems to strike through and saturate his -very vitals. It occurs to him that the road is very lonely, and the few -scattered farm-houses very dreary and inhospitable-looking, for it is a -cloudy morning, and people are not yet stirring. - -All the influences and associations of the hour are dreary and -funereal. He tries to fix his mind upon the inheritance into which he -is about to step, but no bright, alluring visions rise at his call, and -his thoughts are either perpetually recurring to the early memories -that so affected him the night before, or else to the suggestion of his -own form lying stiff and cold for burial in the place of his cousin's. -All the well-known landmarks of the familiar way start into new and -strange aspects; and he recoils in affright from an old guideboard that -has stood in exactly the same place for forty years, but now appears -like some spectral gallows that spreads its arms in ghostly invitation. -He twists and pinches himself as he rides along, to be assured that he -is in the world of realities; but the night's experiences have unstrung -his aged nerves, and mind and body quiver helplessly alike. - -And now, from the brow of a little eminence, he perceives a gig slowly -advancing from below, and, as it nears him, he becomes conscious of a -great familiarity in its appearance. It is certainly very like the one -that John bought so long ago, before Molly was married, and which he -has used ever since. Curiously, too, it is drawn by a white horse, and -John has had a white horse for ages past. This is indeed a coincidence. -The thing comes noiselessly nearer. Oh, horror of horrors! It is John's -own self,--his form,--his features,--his old brown hat,--John indeed, -but deadly pale, and with wide, wild eyes fixed in a terrible stony -gaze. No natural look, no nod of recognition, but only that hideous, -glassy stare as he comes silently along, riding up out of the white fog. - -Philo can neither move nor cry out. He would turn and escape, but his -stiffened hand refuses to draw the rein, and his horse has become, like -himself, rigid and motionless. - -Prayers, oaths, and invocations rush, in a confused huddle, through his -bewildered brain, as he sits and gazes, unable to remove his eyes from -that horrid sight, and while he is vainly seeking to frame his lips to -some sort of utterance, the wraith itself breaks the silence. - -"Philo." The tone is broken and distant. - -Trembling and choked, he tries to answer. The blood rushes to his face -and almost blinds him, and he stammers out,-- - -"John Avery,--aren't you dead?" - -"Are you?" asks the wraith. - -"I--I--I don't know," says Philo, and he didn't. - -The ghost rises, steps down from the gig, and extends his hand. It is -very cold and clammy, but still a sound, fleshly hand, though quite -hard and shrunken from its early proportions. - -"Thank God!" shouts Philo Avery. - -"_Thank God!_" responds John Avery, fervently. - -"How came you here?" asks Philo, still a little incredulous as to the -real mortality of his companion. - -"On my way to attend your funeral," says John. - -"Why, no,--that can't be,--I'm going to yours." - -"Heavens!" exclaims John. - -"I guess it's a hoax," suggests Philo. - -John takes out a letter and reads aloud: "_Philo Avery died last night. -Funeral at ten o'clock to-morrow morning._" - -"Just like mine, except the name," says Philo. "So you thought I was a -ghost." - -"Didn't know what else you could be. You looked queer enough for one," -replied John. - -"Well, I've lived long enough to see ghosts, but this is the first of -that kind of gentry that ever showed themselves to me," cried Philo, -in his high, cracked voice, and actually convulsed with laughter. John -joined in, and the two ghosts made the whole region alive. - -"It must have been somebody that knew about the wills," said John, when -they had grown calm. - -"Yes," replied Philo; "and what cursed things they have been?" - -"Cursed--for both of us," said John. - -"Have you got it along with you?" - -"Yes, of course,--have you?" answered John, reddening faintly. - -"Why, yes,--and here it goes," cried Philo, with sudden energy, pulling -it out, and shredding it in strips. John was not to be outdone. With -equal eagerness he pulled his out, and, in a few seconds, both the -wills were fluttering in fragments among the elderberry bushes by the -road-side. - -"What a contemptible old screw I've been!" exclaimed John, -penitentially, as the insurance table came into his mind. - -"No worse than I," said Philo, thinking of all his drudging, grovelling -years. - -"Why, do you know I've wished you dead," burst out John. - -"Well, suppose you have,--I've done the same by you," answered Philo. - -"May God forgive us both." - -"_Amen_," said Philo, solemnly. - -"And help us in the future," continued John. - -"Amen again," said Philo. - -The muffled clatter of a horse's hoofs sounded through the fog, and -presently the twinkling face of Jack Niles beamed upon the ghostly -couple. Looking with well simulated astonishment on the group, the -empty gig, and his venerable namesake standing in the middle of the -road, Jack paused and begged to know what was the trouble, and whether -he could be of service. - -"I believe it was you," said Philo, looking at the mischievous lad with -sudden prescience. - -"I know 'twas," said John. - -And though Jack never owned it, that was a conviction that never -departed from the minds of the two, and when they died, long after, he -found himself bound by substantial reasons to remember the Two Ghosts -of New London Turnpike. - - - - -DOWN BY THE SEA. - - - - -DOWN BY THE SEA. - -[Illustration] - - -There is a lonely old house situated close down by the sea, in one -of the most secluded yet lonely nooks, not far from one of the most -noted resorts on the seaboard; an old gray stone house, showing the -marks of the many wild storms which have beat upon it in all the long -years which have passed over it; a house whose bareness and desolation -are enlivened but little by the heavy-trailing ivy which creeps over -a portion of it and in which many wild birds build their nests. Old -as it is, it seems never to have been finished,--rather to have been -left without any of the last touches which complete a building, and to -have thus stood for many years, with the wild winds and storms of the -coast beating against it. Here and there a shutter is torn from its -hinges, and lies where it fell under the window. The point is entirely -gone from cornice and colonnade, and the floor of the latter, which -had never been painted, is old and worm-eaten. The grounds about it -are an intricate tangle of brushwood. Flowering shrubs, which had been -planted here and there, have grown up into wild and unshapely trees. -Rose-bushes and wild vines choke up the paths, and the gates and fences -are broken and dilapidated. There is one path, which leads down to -the beach, which has been kept open, and has, apparently, been often -trodden; but apart from this there seems to be but little sign of life -around the old gray house. There is, indeed, one red-curtained window -upon the side which looks out to sea, and here a bright light is always -burning at night, and all night, and the sailors have learned to watch -for it as for a signal; and the place is known to them as the Lone-Star -House. Let us watch around the house, and perhaps it will have a story -to tell,--such places often do have, lonely and deserted as they seem; -stories often full enough of human love and heart-break. "It looks as -though it might be haunted," say the gay parties who ride by it from -the fashionable resort a few miles away. Yes, and there is no doubt but -what it is. - - "All houses wherein men have lived and died - Are haunted houses. Through the open doors - Phantoms unseen upon their errands glide - With feet that make no noise upon the floors." - -It is growing sunset now, and the sky is blossoming most gloriously -with many-colored clouds, as out of the door of the old house a woman -glides and takes the beaten path to the beach. A great rough and -shaggy dog follows her, and the two together walk thoughtfully along. -They go down where the great waves are tumbling and tossing upon the -rocks, and pace rapidly up and down the shore, looking far out over -the green waters with their fleecy crowns of foam. She is a woman of -middle-age, verging near upon forty, one would say, tall, and straight -as an arrow, with large, unfathomable gray eyes and a massive coronal -of glossy hair, streaked here and there with gray. She wears a cheap, -dark dress; but she has a handsome scarlet shawl around her shoulders, -of the most superb tint of which you can conceive; and she looks like a -woman who would love rich and gorgeous coloring; and, indeed, it is one -of her passions. In draperies, in articles of dress where such colors -are admissible, and more than all in flowers and leaves, she loves the -deepest and richest tints. Every night the sunset is a revelation to -her. She studies the gorgeous castles and cathedrals of gold, which are -builded in the western heavens with a glory which the temple of Solomon -could never attain; and she watches, from her little turret window up -in the old gray house yonder, every morning for the rising of the great -high-priest in his garments resplendent. There was, indeed, something -warm and rich and tropical in her blood, albeit it sprung from the cold -New England fount. She reminded one, as much as anything, of - - "The wondrous valley hidden in the depths of Gloucester woods - Full of plants which love the summer blooms of warmer latitudes, - Where the Arctic birch is broided by the tropic's flowery vines, - And the silver-starred magnolia lights the twilight of the pines." - -She walks upon the beach till the sunset has burned low in the red -west, and then takes the path back to the house. When about half-way -across the garden, she turns off a little from the main path, and, -putting back the bushes with her hands, makes her way for a few paces -and stops at a little grave,--a child's grave,--tufted thick with -purple pansies, sprinkled with white daisies. She sits down for a -moment beside it, plucks one or two spires of grass which have sprung -up among the flowers, then hurriedly leaves it, calling her dog after -her, and going into the house, where the light soon shines in the -seaward-looking window. The woman's name is Agnes Wayland, and here she -has lived alone for now nearly twenty years,--alone, except once in -a while of a summer she takes a quiet boarder or two, who see little -of her and know less, and of whom she esteems it a great pleasure to -be well rid, when the autumnal equinox comes on. Winter and summer, -in storm and sleet, rain and shine, she stays shut in the dim old -house all day, and emerges only towards evening for her walk upon the -beach, and her peep at the little grave, with its coverlet of pansies -in summer and its white drapery of snow in winter. Upon the night of -which I have been writing, she made her way back, as I have said, -into her own room,--a room where her prevailing tastes could quickly -be discovered. A peculiar depth and brilliancy of coloring pervaded -everything; carpet and curtains were of the same vivid crimson, and the -large bay-window filled with plants was gorgeous as a festal-room of -the fairies. Everything was old and much worn, and had a look of old -but not faded splendor. A few books occupied a cabinet in one corner, -and a piano, which was always locked, stood in another. An easy-chair -was drawn up to a little stand, near the window, and upon it lay an -open Bible. This was the place where she sat and read hour by hour -and day by day, always from the Bible, only varying her occupation by -weary hours over intricate and elaborate pieces of fancy-work,--more -beautiful and marvellous than such pieces of work ever were made -before, but always things which required only mechanical kind of -ingenuity, and needed genius and taste only in the coloring,--and these -she sold at the nearest town, and so earned her daily bread. After she -had taken her accustomed seat this evening, she was startled by a ring -at the door,--a sound so unusual that she trembled like a leaf as she -took the lamp and started to answer the summons. She had got half-way -down the stairs, when she stopped, and called lightly to the dog, -who was beside her in a moment, and together they opened the door. A -grave-looking elderly gentleman stood there, who inquired if he had the -honor of addressing Mrs. Wayland. - -"That is my name, sir," she answered, not opening the door or bidding -him enter. - -"And mine is Ashly, madam. I am a clergyman, living in Boston, and -I am seeking a quiet place, near the sea, in which to spend the -summer. I have been told in the village yonder that you sometimes -receive a boarder, and I think your place will just suit me. I have -recommendations, if you wish." - -But Mrs. Wayland did not need them. She was too good a judge of -character, despite her long seclusion, not to see at a glance that he -was what he asserted, and that, if she must have boarders at all, he -was just what she wanted. So she invited him in, without relaxing a -particle in the coldness of her demeanor, and, giving him a seat in a -cheerless-looking and scantily-furnished dining-room, told him in as -few words as possible what she would do for him and for how much she -would do it,--a straightforwardness which raised her very highly in -the reverend doctor's estimation, although she designed, if she had a -design in the matter, quite a contrary effect. She had sometimes had -some trouble in keeping her boarders at a sufficient distance to suit -her, and she had found it necessary upon their first arrival to have it -distinctly understood that they were to expect no sort of companionship -from her; that she gave them a room and their board, such as it was, -and she never took any pains to make it good or attractive, and that -that was all she wanted of them. But Dr. Ashly had a great horror of -a bustling and gossipy landlady, and thought he had found a perfect -treasure; and when she had shown him the room he could have, if he -liked, he eagerly agreed to take it, and said if she had no objection -he would take possession forthwith, and not go back to the village till -morning. To this she assented indifferently, and soon left him alone, -calling the one house-maid to get him some supper, and, retiring to -her own room, was soon buried in her accustomed thoughts, and scarcely -aware of his existence. And as landlady and lodger were equally pleased -to let each other alone, there was little intercourse between them for -several weeks. But one night, when the doctor had been for a long walk -on the beach, he saw, as he was returning, Mrs. Wayland, in her usual -evening exercise, pacing up and down the beach, and was struck by her -appearance as she walked thus, and stood still for a time observing -her, and followed her at last, at a little distance, while she made her -visit to the child's grave. His kind heart was very much touched by the -sight, and he determined to talk with her and give her his sympathy -and friendship, if she needed them. So he gathered some of the pansies -off from the grave, and, holding them in his hand, went into tea. Mrs. -Wayland had laid aside her shawl and was already seated at the table. -They usually had little conversation at these times, and that of the -most commonplace character. This evening, as he came through the door -and she caught sight of the flowers in his hand, she exclaimed, in a -quick, excited way, "You have been to my grave!" - -She spoke as though he had intruded upon her most sacred privacy, and -he answered, apologetically, "Yes, I have visited the little grave in -the garden. I hope I have not intruded. I have a little grave in the -churchyard at home, and such spots are very sacred to me." - -Agnes Wayland was a lady, and she would not have been guilty of a -rudeness for the world, so she hastened to reply,-- - -"Oh, no, sir, you have not been guilty of intrusion, but you are the -first one who has ever visited my grave, and I have watched it so -fondly for so many years that I almost felt jealous that any other eyes -should ever look upon it." - -"And I have not only looked upon it," said the minister, very softly -and benignantly, "but I have dropped a tear upon it." - -"That is something that I have never done." - -"Then I pity you with all my heart, my friend. If I had not been able -to weep over my child's grave, I think my heart would have broken." - -"Mine, sir, was broken before the child died," and, as she said this, -she arose hastily and left the room. - -The minister was much interested and full of sympathy for this lonely -woman, whose lot was so isolated, and as he lay that night and listened -to the deep, hollow roar of the sea, he thought of the great deeps of -the human heart, and the fierce passions which were ever tossing it, -and of the great calm of death. - -A few days after he ventured as delicately as he could to return to the -subject, by referring to the little girl he had lost, and of how her -mother had followed her, but a short time before, to the better land. - -"You seem very cheerful, sir," said Agnes Wayland, in a quick, -impetuous way, "and yet you have had trouble, it seems." - -"Yes, madam, I have had some very severe and dreadful trials; but I am -very happy and hopeful in spite of them all, for I know that now they -will soon be ended, and that I shall recover all that I have lost when -I reach the heavenly land." - -"How do you know that? I don't know it. When I buried my only child -down in the garden there, I thought I had lost him forever. That was -why, in my stony grief, no tear ever fell upon his grave. I have been -trying these fifteen years to believe what you say you believe; but -it has no consolation for me. God took my child away from me in my -bitterest need, and he took him forever. Was it a good God who did -that?" - -Her voice was cold and rigid, and a pallor as of death was upon her -face as she paused for a reply. - -"A good God, madam! and whom he loveth he chasteneth!" - -"No, indeed, sir, I don't believe that. He didn't love me, and I didn't -love him, and I don't love him now,--hate him, rather. He has tried me -too sorely." - -"My dear friend, you know not what you say. I beseech you, do not -blaspheme your God." - -"I have only said, sir, for once, what I have been thinking all these -dreadful years. When I buried my child down there, I did not believe in -any God for years. I thought some vile and fiendish Fate was pursuing -me. Then you ministers were always saying to me, 'Pray;' and I prayed. -They said to me 'Study the word of God;' and I studied it. It has been -my only study for fifteen years, and it has brought me no consolation -yet." - -"But you have found God in it,--have you not? You do not deny a God?" - -"I have found a God in it certainly, but only a God who has separated -me eternally from all I love." - -"My dear friend, I assure you, you have not yet found the true God, if -you believe this." - -"I have found I verily believe the God of the Bible, and he has said -the wicked shall go away into everlasting punishment; and I am the most -wicked of all God's creatures." - -Here Mrs. Wayland left him again standing upon the colonnade, and -hurried rapidly from him down the path which led to the sea. Her -conversation had revived in her heart all the strong passions which -slumbered there, and which she usually held in close repression. As -she paced wildly up and down the beach, feeling in her nearness to -the sea a sort of comfort as though the great ocean were her friend, -she thought over her whole lonely life. She thought of her happy and -brilliant youth, of its gayeties, its triumphs, and its great hopes; -she beheld herself the petted darling of a joyous circle of companions -and friends. She thought of her journeys in distant lands, whither a -loving father had taken her, and of all the delights of those years -when they had wandered through all the sunny climes of southern Europe, -and so away on to the Orient, where she had trodden with pilgrim feet -all the sacred places of that Holy Land. It was there she had first -met her husband; and she dwelt with fondness upon every little incident -which memory recalled of her intercourse with him there, and of how -they had sailed together upon their return to their native land. It was -then she had learned to love the ocean. In those long days, when they -were out upon the trackless deep, they had learned together the sweet -mystery of loving. Night after night they had paced the deck together, -gazing out upon the moonlighted expanse, and watching the breakers rise -and fall. The long voyage had been a season of enchantment. It had -passed into her being, and become a part of her inmost life forever. -She had one of those natures to whom such things come but once in a -lifetime. When they had reached home, they had been married, and, after -a year or two of pleasant married life, they had built the old gray -house of which I have told you, designing to pass their summers down -there within hearing of the grand, eternal anthem of the sea. How well -she remembered the hurry they were in to get down here,--so great a -hurry that they could not stop to have the house entirely finished, and -so in early May they had furnished two or three rooms, and lived here -in a wild trance of what seems to her now, as she looks back upon it, -perfect bliss. Here they wandered up and down the beach together hand -in hand for hours and beheld the waters glowing in the early tints of -sunrise, and reflecting the gorgeous splendors of sunset, and rippling -and shimmering in the bewildering moonlight. Then she thinks of how -gayeties began up at the village yonder, and how they began to see -much company and to mingle in all the excitements of watering-place -life. Here they had met the beautiful syren who had stolen her husband -from her. With what angry hate she dwells upon the soft, bewildering -beauty of that woman,--her rounded, dimpled form, her golden hair, -and the languishing blueness of the dreamy eyes! She seemed in all -her bewitching beauty, to the eye of Agnes Wayland, more hateful and -hideous than a fiend. She had fascinated Mortimer Wayland almost from -their first meeting. Of a dreamy, sensuous temperament, and a weak -will, and with no great power of principle at his back, the artful and -wicked woman had ensnared him with her wiles, and in the meshes of her -charms he had forgotten the grand and queenly wife, who to every eye -was so infinitely the superior of one for whom he was deserting her, -and the little year-old baby, who was just learning to lisp "father" to -him as he fondled him. - -Of the wild tempest which tossed her soul at this time she dreaded to -think even now. It had been so near to madness that it was a terror -to her yet. But pride had always been one of her ruling passions, -and, instead of pleading with him with a woman's tenderness, as some -might have done, she had treated him with coldness and disdain, and -with reproachful scorn had goaded him on to take the last step in the -dreadful drama. - -He had deserted her, and with the blue-eyed woman had sailed for a -distant land. Never since that time, now nearly twenty years, had -she left, except for her lonely walks, the old gray house. She shut -herself up like a hermit, and with wild and bitter grief cursed herself -and her God. Down into the deepest gloom of despair she went, where -never a single ray of heavenly light and comfort reached her. Her -child, indeed, she had left; but although she loved him with all the -concentrated passion of her nature, he seemed little comfort to her. -She brooded continually upon the darkness of her fate, and upon the -fathomless depths of despair into which she was sinking. - -Then the child died, and her last human interest went; and she made -its little grave in the tangled garden, and every year covered it -thick with flowers. But in her heart no white blossom of hope had ever -sprung up, no purple pansy of royal magnanimity and forgiveness had yet -blossomed there. And this night, after so many years, she was living -it all over again with tragic interest, and no softened feelings of -relenting or forgiveness entered her stern heart. - -"He is very happy," she thought to herself as she wended her way back -and stood by her little grave; "he is very happy, for he can stand -by his child's bed and weep; and so could I, if I had his hope. O my -darling, my darling, darling boy!" and she stooped down, and threw her -arms caressingly over the little mound. - -"Oh, if God would only, only let me meet you once more! O my God, why -cannot I forgive and be forgiven?" - -"My sister," said the kind old man, coming up and hearing her last -words; and feeling how vain it would be to reason or expostulate with -this woman,--"let us pray;" and, almost before she knew it, they were -kneeling by the little one's grave; and before the old minister had -concluded his simple but touching prayer, the woman, whose heart had -been stone for so many years, was weeping, weeping with passionate sobs -like a little child; and when he had concluded, she arose, and without -a word made her way into the house, and soon the red light shone in the -little window. - -Somehow after this a more gentle feeling crept into the heart of Mrs. -Wayland. A softer light came into her eye, and a more gentle tremor -was in her voice as she addressed the old minister, who saw that she -was touched, but was too wise to meddle farther than was absolutely -necessary with the good work which he was sure was going on. - -It was not many weeks from the evening of which I have spoken, when, as -she was returning from her evening walk, she beheld a scene of bustle -around the door of her house; a carriage was driving away, and a trunk -stood upon the steps, while some figures seemed just entering the door -whom she could not distinguish in the gathering darkness. "Dr. Ashly -has some friends come," she thought, with a feeling of impatience; -"what shall I do with them?" and she walked quickly to the house. As -she turned into the cheerless dining-room,--the only room which was -ever used below,--she saw, stretched upon a couch, the figure of a man -propped up by pillows, which seemed to have been hastily brought, and -looking pallid and wan. She walked quickly forward, but when she had -reached the middle of the room, she stopped like one transfixed, and, -with wild eyes full of eagerness and something like joy, looked about -her. - -"Mortimer Wayland!" she exclaimed at last, grasping the table for -support. "Why come you here?" - -"I have come home to die, Agnes. I could not die anywhere else; I have -been for years trying to do so,--but God would not let me. I was forced -to come and seek your forgiveness, and God will not take me until I -have it; yet I dare not ask you to grant it; it is too much!" At this -the sick man shut his eyes wearily, and said no more. - -"Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who trespass against us," -solemnly said the voice of the old minister, who was sitting near the -couch upon which the man lay. - -"Oh, sir, you cannot know what it is for me to ask of her. Most wrongs -may be forgiven; but mine against her is so great that she cannot -forgive me, I am sure, unless God helps her. I have been suffering for -it these twenty years,--trying to expiate it; but I have failed. I have -suffered, I have struggled, I have almost died many times, sir; but I -could not atone for my sin, and God could not forgive it, nor can she." - -Then the minister's voice was heard again, and it said, "Sister, -remember the little child's grave in the garden, and forgive and be -forgiven." - -Then Mrs. Wayland, who had stood like a statue all this time, rushed -forward, and, kneeling by the couch poured forth her whole heart in a -torrent of passionate words,-- - -"O my husband, my darling, my only love, forgive me for my coldness and -my scorn! forgive me for not helping you to withstand temptation,--I, -who was always the stronger! It was I who drove you away, and for it -I have suffered and agonized all these years. I have been so hard, so -wicked and cruel, so unpitying and unforgiving, that I have had no rest -or peace night or day. It is so blessed to feel that I forgive you! so -joyful to think that you will forgive me,--that God will forgive us -both!" and the woman laid her head upon his breast, and rained upon his -lips a thousand passionate kisses. - -Then Dr. Ashly would have left them; but the woman called him back. - -"Share in our great joy, dear friend," she said; "for, had it not -been for you, this would never have been. A few weeks ago I should -never have received him whom I loved even as I had always loved, but -whom my pride would have banished from my door in the face of all his -pleadings; but you have softened my heart, and to you we owe this -joyful hour. And now you must help me," she continued, with a woman's -thoughtful care, "to carry him to my own room upstairs, which is the -only comfortable room I have; and there I can nurse him up, and soon -have him well again." - -And so he was carried up to the room where she had sat alone so many -years, and was soon as comfortable as womanly care could make him. - -"How natural it all looks here!" he said, glancing around the room. -"It is just as it used to be,--isn't it, darling? And I remember it so -well,--furnished, to suit you, in crimson, which you still like, as I -see by your shawl." - -"Yes," she said, with a little blush; "I have always worn it for your -sake. You used to say it was just the color to suit me, and I have worn -it all these years." - -"Darling," said he, looking all about the room, "I see no traces of any -one but yourself here. Where is our child,--our little baby boy?" - -Agnes Wayland went softly up to him, and put her arms around his neck, -as she said,-- - -"I thought, a few weeks ago, that he was down in the garden under a bed -of pansies; but now I know he is in heaven, where you and I will soon -join him." - - - - -WHY MRS. RADNOR FAINTED. - - - - -WHY MRS. RADNOR FAINTED. - -[Illustration] - - -You have seen hazel eyes,--have you not? I don't mean the quiet -nut-brown ones, you meet every day, but _bona fide_ hazel eyes, -opaline in their wonderful changes,--that make you wonder, when you -turn away from them, what color they will have assumed when you next -look into their depths; for such eyes have depths, sometimes glowing -emerald-like, with a steady, lambent flame, now gleaming with a soft -lustre like pearls, or melted into sapphires by tears. - -Such eyes had Mrs. Radnor,--cold, beautiful woman that she was; -insensible, I was about to say, only I remember her fainting at sight -of a pond-lily. How well I recollect the day! There was a party of us -passing the midsummer at the old Richmond farm, a few miles from ----; -Mr. and Mrs. Ferdinand Radnor among the rest. The latter, a haughty -statuesque woman, with nothing save her wonderful eyes to indicate -anything approaching a heart,--lovely as a dream, yet with beauty -that repelled even in its fascination. Such hair, too, as she had, -rolling in golden ripples down to her slender feet;--fine as silk, it -was brown in the shade, but glowed and intensified in the light till it -seemed as if a thousand stray sunbeams were imprisoned in the radiant -mass. We always called her the "Princess with the golden locks." You -remember her in the fairy tale,--do you not? That one, I mean, whose -hair was the wonder and admiration of the whole world, and whose lovers -delighted to bind themselves with fetters so exquisite; yet when they -strove playfully to throw them off, they found themselves with gyves -and manacles of steel, under which they were powerless. - -Mr. Radnor was urbane and gentlemanly; but, possessing only half a -soul, he divided the interest of that equally between admiring his own -person and annoying Mrs. Radnor by his attentions. - -It was a sultry July day, and we were all of us on the rose-terrace -back of the house, some dozing,--I pretending to read, though all the -time watching the "Princess" furtively from the shelter of my book. - -She had a pile of cushions spread with a scarlet shawl, and, like an -Eastern beauty, lay languidly upon them. Her dress of palest blue was -open at the throat, and her hands toyed listlessly with the heavy cord -that confined her waist. There was a blush-rose tint on her usually -pale cheek, and her hair, half escaped from its little net, lay like -flecks of gold on the scarlet cover. I think I never saw repose, utter -and perfect, before. - - "Down through her limbs a drooping languor crept, - Her head a little bent, and on her mouth - A doubtful smile dwelt like a clouded moon - In a still water." - -Suddenly the charmed silence was broken, for round the corner of the -house came Mr. Radnor, with his arms filled with superb water-lilies, -which he threw in a fragrant shower over his wife. He was saluted with -exclamations of wonder and delight, and while he was replying, I had -leisure to observe his wife. - -The change was frightful: an ashen pallor had spread itself over her -face, she was panting violently for breath, and, at the same time, -attempting to clasp both hands before her eyes. I cried aloud and -sprang towards her,--but it was too late. - -Mrs. Radnor had fainted! - -At the same time, Anne Richmond threw herself upon her knees beside -her, and, hastily gathering the snowy flowers from her dress and bosom, -where they had fallen, thrust them into Mr. Radnor's arms, saying -hurriedly, as she did so,-- - -"Pray, pray, take them away, sir, or your wife will die." - -He obeyed blankly, and together Anne and I applied the usual -restoratives, and, after some minutes, were rewarded by a faint color -in her lips, then a quivering of the mouth, and I heard her murmur -faintly,--"I saw him again, Anne. Oh, those dreadful flowers!" - -Then her eyes opened,--those wonderful eyes, that were then almost -startling in their blackness. She looked wildly round her for a -single second, and, catching sight of me, was herself again,--haughty, -self-sustained as before, even though lying helpless as a child on Anne -Richmond's arms. - -And, after all, pride is better for a fainting woman than all the sal -volatile in the world, thought I, receiving her languidly uttered -thanks, and retreating. - -We saw no more of Mrs. Radnor that day. Her husband talked loudly -of the extreme heat; and no one but the two who had observed the -expression of her face when the perfume of the lilies first met her -senses, knew anything to the contrary. As for me, I was restless and -unquiet. There had been from the first a nameless something about Mrs. -Radnor which had excited my deepest interest, and now my imagination -was busy. One thing the painful scene of the morning had convinced me -of, and that was, that some time in the past she had been quickened -into life by the breath of love, and the flowers had played a terrible -part in overwhelming her with memories possibly long buried in the -deepest recesses of her heart; for--I acknowledged it--Mrs. Radnor had -a heart. I never doubted it from the moment in which her face changed -from its quiet repose into that torturing expression of fear that it -wore when she fainted. - -"Anne," I said that evening to Miss Richmond, as I drew her into my -chamber after the party had separated for the night, "tell me something -of Mrs. Radnor. I am sure you are in some way concerned in her past." - -"Yes," she answered, with a little, fluttering sigh; "there is one page -of her life that no one living has ever read but myself. Perhaps I do -wrong in consenting to turn it for you; but it may be a warning to you, -child. To-morrow we will go down to the lake together, and I will tell -you what has changed Mrs. Radnor, from the brightest, sunniest girl -that ever lived, to the breathing statue that she has been for ten -years." - -She sighed again, as she kissed my cheek, and then I heard her -footsteps die away in the long corridor. - -My room was in the second story, and directly over those occupied by -the Radnors, which opened on a balcony leading down by a little flight -of steps to the lawn. - -The night was sultry and still. All the usual bustle and stir of -retiring had ceased, and, extinguishing my candle, I curled myself on -the broad window-seat, watching the stars that seemed to smile in the -hazy atmosphere. It was late,--nearly midnight, I think; and I drank -with delight the heavy fragrance which that hour always seems to draw -from the heliotrope, great masses of which grew under my windows. I do -not know how long I sat there. Waking dreams, such as flit lightly in -the tender stillness of summer nights, wooed me with delicious repose. -I fancied myself beneath Eastern skies, and the faint stir of a bird -in a neighboring tree seemed to me the pluming of a bulbul's wing; -and through the gilded lattice of the harem two starry eyes--and they -were Mrs. Radnor's--glittered and gleamed. The soft running of a brook -through the grounds was the lapping of waves against Venice stones. I -heard the twinkle of a guitar, and, framed by carved, gray stone work, -her rippling golden hair stirred in the night-breeze. - -Then everything faded, and I slept a moment or an hour,--I cannot say -which, so softly had the hours passed in softest sandals,--and it was -with a start that I sat upright and heard, with a keen thrill of fear, -a faint click, as of a drawn bolt, and immediately the distant bell of -St. Michael's pealing out. - -One--two; and with the dying of the second stroke there was a rustling -sound beneath my window, and then a shuddering whisper,--"My God! my -God! have mercy upon me!" - -Shrouded by a half-closed blind, I peered out, and, kneeling on the -balcony below, I saw a white figure illuminated by the strange, weird -light of a waning moon. The face was uplifted, and the expression might -have been that worn by Maria Therese in the solitude of her chamber -when the Archduchess Josepha died. - -I drew back,--it seemed like profanity for any but the God to whom -she appealed to witness her despair,--for it was Mrs. Radnor. I heard -a long, deep-drawn sigh, a footstep, and then the silky tones of her -husband. - -"My love,--why will you? The dew is very heavy." Then a stir and the -sound of a closing door. - -I shivered in the ghostly light that had crept into my window, and, -softly closing my blinds, I laid down to sleep if I could. - -The first person I saw, on entering the breakfast-room the next -morning, was Mrs. Radnor, pale as the muslin wrapper she wore, but as -coldly self-contained as usual. I felt the passionate sympathy, which -had taken firm hold on me since the scenes of the previous night, -almost vanish before her languidly uttered replies to my inquiries for -her health. It was only in watching the drooping corners of her rarely -beautiful mouth and the violet circles beneath the wonderful eyes, that -I could connect the haughty being before me with the utterer of the -despairing cry of the night before. - -The day wore on slowly enough to me, and it was only when the -lengthened shadows on the terrace, and Miss Richmond, equipped for her -walk, greeted my eyes, that my impatience subsided. - -The path led us through a shady grove of pines, that sighed mournfully -as one passed through them, then across a sloping interval made green -by recent rains, and so down through a fringe of alders to a little -seat close by the margin of a charming lake on which myriads of -water-lilies were closing their cups of incense. - -"Sit here," said Anne, pointing to a place at her side. - -"It is not always pleasant to think or speak of the past," she began, -after a few moments' silence, "although day by day its scenes and -actors appear to us. There are some memories in every heart that thrill -us with grief unutterable, and when you know that one person in the -story which I shall tell you was dear to me as my own soul, you will -not wonder if my lip falters or I fail to dwell on the more painful -portions of it." - -Then for the first time I was aware of another unwritten heart-history, -and knew why the soft lips and eyes of the woman beside me had so often -uttered their fatal no. - -"Ten years ago," she said, "our house was full of guests, and among -them was Eleanor Orne,--the most perfectly beautiful girl I ever -beheld. Fancy Mrs. Radnor, younger by as many years, with a bewildering -smile ever ready to play around the lovely mouth, with expressions as -rapidly following themselves in her eyes as clouds on an April day, and -you can form a faint idea of her loveliness. - -"There was also a young student of divinity, with an eye as clear as a -star and a soul pure as prayer itself. Proud and calm he was; but it -was a noble pride that clothed him as with a garment, and a gracious -calmness resulting from a vaulting intellect, subdued and chastened by -firmest faith. - -"He had been fond of me in a way, but from the night that Eleanor came -floating down the long piazza, attired in some diaphanous gray that -streamed around her like mist, I knew how it would be. I marked, with -one great heart-throb, the perfect delight that flashed in his dark -eyes as they rested upon her face and form. - -"After that they were always together. In the mornings he was reading -to her as she worked; on afternoons, rocking together in the little -boat on the lake; and then, in the purple twilight, singing dreamy -German music, of which they were both passionately fond. - -"I soon knew that James Alexander loved her. I read it in every glance, -in every tone. But Eleanor? I was not sure. Watch her as narrowly as I -would, I could not see that the rose in her cheek became a deeper pink -when he approached, or that her eyes were raised more tenderly to him -than to a dozen others who sought her smiles. - -"There had been rumors of Eleanor's engagement and approaching -marriage, which had drifted to me from her city home; but, when I saw -her day by day allowing him to become more attached to her,--for she -could not fail to perceive it all,--I rejected the rumor, and with it -the impulse which had prompted me to repeat it to James, that he might, -if not already too late, be upon his guard. - -"At last the end came. I dozed one day on a sofa in an inner room, -and watched with delicious delight my dream of fair woman that a -dark-velvet lounging-chair brought out in clear relief. Eleanor sat -there, with downcast eyes and clasped hands. Suddenly a step, hurried -and joyous in its very lightness, sounded in the hall; the door opened -and closed again, and Alexander stood before her with an open letter in -his hand. - -"'See,' he said, speaking rapidly, 'it has come at last, and I may -speak. It is a call to one of the largest parishes in your own city, -and I may say, what you must have known for weeks past, that I love -you, Eleanor, deeply, devotedly; that I want you. My darling, tell me -that you are not indifferent to me,--that you will be my wife.' - -"It was too late for me to move; and something--perhaps it was a kind -of dull despair--kept me motionless, with eyes riveted upon the group. - -"'Speak to me, Eleanor,' he said, more eagerly, bending over her as he -spoke. - -"I saw her face flush, and an almost imperceptible shrinking from him, -that made him quickly draw back. - -"'Speak, Miss Orne,--Eleanor, I implore you.' - -"'Oh, why have you said this to me?' she answered, faintly. 'I cannot -hear you, Mr. Alexander. I am to be married next month.' - -"I saw him reel for an instant as one would under a heavy blow, and -heard a deep sigh--almost a groan--burst from him; then a silence so -long and so profound that I could hear my heart beat. At last he spoke, -in a voice husky and changed,-- - -"'Forgive me. I did not mean to offend; but God knows what a mercy it -would have been if I could have known this before. I may touch your -hand once,--may I not? And you will look up into my face? No, not that! -Grant me this, at least then, before our long parting.' And he bent and -kissed one of the sunny curls that streamed over the chair. Then I saw -him raise one hand over her as in benediction, and, in another moment, -he was gone. I looked at Eleanor. She had risen from her seat, and -moved a step or two towards the door. - -"'O James, James, I love you!' she said, piteously; and then I had just -time to break her fall. - - * * * * * - -"An hour later, I met him on the doorstep. 'I am glad to have seen -you,' he said slowly, 'and to thank you for your kindness; for I am -going away. You will be good to _her_, Anne, for my sake,--will you -not?' - -"He turned from me, and passed down the walk. I watched him until a -sharp turn hid him from my sight. I never saw him afterwards alive. - -"The next day it rained, and the next; and it was not until the third -day that Eleanor and I took our usual walk. As we left the house, she -suggested that we shape our way towards the lake. Agreeing, we walked -on slowly, and I tried to make James Alexander the subject of our talk. -At first she evaded me; and, when at last she found my persistence was -not in any other way to be turned aside, said,-- - -"'It is an unpleasant subject to me, dear Anne. I fear I have much to -blame myself for. _I_ suffer enough; for, in rejecting his love, I shut -my eyes on a life that would have been a continual delight, to open -them on one from which my very soul shrinks abhorrently, and yet to -which I am solemnly pledged.' - -"'But it may not yet be too late,' I said, eagerly; for God knows I -loved James Alexander with no selfish love. - -"'Yes, it is too late,' she replied mournfully. 'I shall never allude -to it again, Anne; but I tell you now, that I do not and can never -love Mr. Radnor; but there are family reasons that make the sacrifice -of my hand a necessity. I never realized, until within the last few -weeks, that it _was_ such a sacrifice. I have been so happy, that I -dared not break the spell by telling him the truth. And somehow the -future seemed very far; and I did not dream that this summer would ever -end.' - -"Then there was silence between us for a space. At last she spoke -again,-- - -"'I hope he will not suffer long. Tell him some time, Anne, what I have -told you. He will not quite hate me, perhaps, then, if he knows that -I was not drawing him on to gratify a foolish coquetry, but loved and -suffered like himself.' - -"I was about to reply, but she laid her hand on my mouth. - -"'No,' she said. 'Let the subject go now forever. And no one will dream -by-and-by how fair a love lies buried beneath my laces and jewels; or -that, in the life of the noted man that he will one day surely become, -is a romance that belongs to a dead past. It will all be the same a -century hence. What does it matter after all?' - -"But her words ended with a sigh that contrasted strangely with the -forced lightness of her tone. - -"Just then we came out of the grove, and could see far off the little -waves of the lake dancing in the morning sunlight. I paused a moment -to pick some late wild flowers, while Eleanor walked on quickly and -disappeared among the alders that fringed the lake. I was following her -slowly, when suddenly I heard one wild, thrilling cry, and then my name -three times repeated. I flew almost down to the water, and there I saw -Eleanor unconscious; and, close to the shore, among the lilies,--white -and pure as their own petals,--a face upturned to the sky, swaying -gently with the motion of the water. I need not tell you whose." Anne -faltered. - -"Do not go on," I said, with my own eyes and voice full of tears. - -She raised her head quickly. - -"I had schooled myself to it, dear, before I came, and I must finish. I -am telling you of another's life, not mine. - -"Then there was a brain fever for Eleanor, that no one believed she -would ever rally from, in which she was either unconscious, or else -singing snatches of German songs, with a pathos that was heart-rending. - -"It was remarkable that neither to her mother nor to any one who -watched over her did her words ever betray anything that could connect -her illness with anything more than the bare horror of the discovery -she made. She was married the next spring; and when I saw her, a month -afterward, I should never, save for merest outline and coloring of -beauty, have recognized her. Until last night, the past has never been -alluded to by either of us. Then she confessed to me, that during the -last ten years her life has been haunted by a perpetual remorse. The -sun has set, dear, we will go home." - -It was dusk when we crossed the pine grove, and the branches of the -trees seemed, to my quickened imagination, to be singing a sad refrain -to the story I had heard. We walked slowly,--Anne with head uplifted -and a serene look upon her fair face that made me realize the refiner's -work. - -As we drew near the house there came forth a rolling symphony from the -parlor organ, and then a voice that I had never heard before, in the -_Agnus Dei_ of the Twelfth Mass. - -We paused, and Anne said quietly,--"She has never sung since he died -until now." - -We waited until the pure, pathetic tones had died away. Silence and the -spirit of the hour was upon us. Overhead the large, calm stars hung -low and bright. A gleam of light in Mrs. Radnor's rooms flashed for an -instant, and disappeared; and a white figure came out upon the balcony -of her apartment. - -"Kyrie Eleison," said Anne, in a hushed voice. "Let us go in." - - - - -UNDER A CLOUD. - - - - -UNDER A CLOUD. - -[Illustration] - - -One bitter cold day in January, four years ago, I had occasion to wait -for a street-car in Chicago, on one of those aside lines where the -cars pass but once in every ten or fifteen minutes. There was a German -lager-bier saloon close by, and I entered it for shelter. As I stood -by the stove, enjoying the grateful warmth, I observed near me a young -man, in very seedy apparel, engaged in reading the _Staats-Zeitung_. -Something in the air of the young man awakened my curiosity, and led -me to address him. Although reading a German newspaper, he was not -a German in appearance, and I put to him the question, "_Sind Sie -Deutsch?_" by way of experiment. - -"No, sir," he replied, "I am not German, but I speak and read the -language." - -I drew a chair near him, as he laid aside the newspaper, with the air -of one willing to enter into conversation. - -"Where did you pick up your German?" I asked. - -"I picked it up," said the young man, with an air of some pride in the -statement, "where I picked up my Latin and Greek,--at college." - -At this I ran my eye over him curiously. He had not the appearance of a -scholar. - -"You look surprised," said he. "Despite my present appearance, and the -place you find me in, I am a graduate; but at present, I am under a -cloud." - -"So I should imagine." - -I also imagined that the young man was probably shiftless, and no doubt -addicted to liquor; but I did not say so. As if he read my thoughts, he -spoke again: - -"People are always ready to think ill of a seedy man, I suppose. -Probably you think me a good-for-nothing, and would give me some -valuable advice about hanging around beer-saloons; but the fact is, I -am an employé of this establishment." - -He spoke with a bitter irony, that ill-concealed a sort of shame in the -confession. - -"May I ask in what capacity?" said I. - -"You may, sir; and I may answer or not, I suppose. I think I will -decline to answer. As I said, I am under a cloud. I am not proud of my -employment, but I do what I do because I can't do better, and idleness -is synonymous with hunger and cold for me and mine." - -"You are married, then?" - -"Yes, sir,"--with sudden reserve. - -"Don't be offended at my inquisitiveness," said I. "I spoke to you -first out of mere curiosity, it is true; but I speak now out of -interest in you. If I could help you, I would. There is my card." - -He took it with a respectful inclination of the head. - -"I've heard of you," said he, as he glanced at the name. "I can't give -you my card, sir, because I don't own such a thing." He smiled. "My -name is Brock St. John." - -"I hear the car coming," said I. "I'll see you again, Mr. St. John. I -don't set up for a philanthropist; but I like to do a good turn when I -can. Good-morning." - -And I went my own way. - -Henry Kingsley,--or rather a character of his creation,--in one of his -novels, remarks that he suspects there is some of the poetical faculty -about him, because he is accustomed to walk out of nights when anything -goes wrong. - -This is also my case. - -To "fetch a walk" about the streets, late in the evening, has long been -a favorite antidote for trouble with me. When the night is stormy, the -value of this remedy for fretting cares is tenfold increased. There is -an exhilarating sense of power in overcoming the opposing forces of the -elements, and breasting along at a brisk pace against a furious storm -of sleet or rain. As Leigh Hunt said, you have a feeling of respect -for your legs under such circumstances; you admire their toughness as -they propel you along in the teeth of the storm. As your blood begins -to warm up, and to whirl through your veins with an exhilaration beside -which that of wine is tame and effeminate, the "blues" that have been -gibing you vanish like magic. Always, after such a bout, I return home -and "sleep like a top," no matter what discomforts or sorrows have been -running their sleep-dispelling race through my head before starting out. - -On the night of the day that I met St. John I started out about eleven -o'clock for such a walk. The winds were holding high carnival that -night, and a fierce storm of mingled hail and rain swept through the -almost deserted streets. I forged along (as the sailors say), with my -head down, block after block, fighting the forces of nature, with the -same pleasure that Victor Hugo's hero felt, no doubt, in like effort. -True, my fight was to his as a cock-fight is to an encounter of lions; -but the limit of power is the limit of delight in overcoming in any -case. The boy who declaims "the Roman Soldier" at school to the rapture -of his gaping audience is as happy in his achievement as the tragedian -who thrills a theatreful. Gilliatt conquered storms, and so did I; he -was on the high seas, and I was in the streets of Chicago. - -Sounds of music and dancing fell on my ear. They came from the -beer-saloon of the morning. Curiosity impelled me to enter. - -The air was reeking with tobacco-smoke and the fumes of lager-bier. The -seats about the half-dozen tables were crowded with Teutonic guzzlers; -and, at the lower part of the room there was a cleared space where a -half-dozen couples were whirling in a waltz with that thorough abandon -which characterizes your German in his national dance. On a slightly -raised platform against the wall was a band composed of a violin, a -clarionet, and a trombone. - -The violinist was my acquaintance of the morning. - -He caught sight of me as I elbowed my way toward the dancing-floor, and -blushed violently. Then an expression of angry pride settled on his -countenance, and he continued his playing with stolid indifference to -my gaze. - -When the dance was over (and St. John kept up the music till the -surprised Teutons who played the wind-instruments were sheer worn-out -with their prolonged exertions), I went up to the young man, and shook -hands with him. - -"At work, eh?" I remarked, with a miserable effort to seem cheerful and -easy. - -"Yes, sir. You have found me out. You know now how I keep the wolf from -my door." - -"Yes, Mr. St. John; and I do not forget that it _is_ to keep the wolf -from your door. Still, I hope you are thoroughly misplaced here,--I -_hope_ you are!" - -He grasped my hand with a quick, strong pressure. - -"I must prove to you that I am, that's all," said he; "come to--to -where I live, to-morrow, and let me tell you the whole story." - -He took my pencil and wrote the address in my note-book. - -"To-morrow afternoon," said I, "I will call." - -The next day I found my way to the wretched tenement house in North -Clark street, where St. John lived, and climbed three pair of stairs -to the door of his room. I rapped, and the young man opened the door. - -I have seen a good deal of poverty in my day, and I was prepared to -find it here, as I did. But I was not prepared for the sight of such -a beautiful young face as that which met my gaze here, and to the -possessor of which St. John introduced me as his wife. She seemed like -some little girl that was lost. The unmistakable air of the true lady -showed itself in every detail of her dress and manner,--in the small, -white collar at the neck of the calico dress, in the smooth-banded hair -that matched the brown eyes, in the quiet demeanor that told of natural -and unconscious self-respect. It showed itself, too, in the perfect -neatness of the room, in which there was a cheerful, homelike air, -despite the poor and barren nature of its furnishings. The room was -kitchen and bedroom, dining-room and sitting-room, in one; but the bed -was smooth and clean, and the little cooking-stove was without spot. - -Mrs. St. John was engaged in the unpoetic occupation of mending her -husband's only coat. He was in his shirt-sleeves. - -"Aggie expected to get the coat done before our guest came," said St. -John, with a smile. "If you are at all particular, I'll put it on with -the needle sticking in it, and she can finish it after you are gone. -But I am accustomed to sitting in my shirt-sleeves." - -"So am I," was my reply; and, accordingly, I pulled off my own coat, -and sat in my shirt-sleeves, too. In the act, my cigar-case fell out of -my pocket. - -"Light a cigar, sir, if you like," said St. John, with a brisk -assumption of the airs of a genial host; "my wife don't allow me to -smoke, but my guests always do. She is fond of cigars, is Aggie." - -The little wife looked up with a demure and childlike air. - -"He never offers to smoke, sir," said she, "because"-- - -"Because I can't afford it," put in St. John. "I was a great smoker in -college; but those were my wild days. Thank you." - -The last remark was in acknowledgment of an offered cigar. We were soon -puffing great cloud-wreaths toward the ceiling, and an air of restraint -that had rested on us at first, despite our efforts to avoid it, was -speedily vanished. Cigars are social. - -"And now, sir," said St. John, "you shall hear the story I promised -you. I hope it wont bore you." - -"If it does I'll cry out," said I. - -The little wife laughed quietly. - -"I graduated; I married; I came to Chicago," began St. John, -sententiously. - -"_Veni, vidi, vici_," said I. - -"Quite the contrary; I _was_ conquered. I had that idea which young men -from the east, just out of college, are apt to have, that in this great -western city there was a comparative lack of intellectual culture, and -that a man of my education must speedily and easily get into a position -of prominence, where my talents would earn me a fine living. But I very -soon found where my mistake lay. I had not been bred to work,--real, -practical, marketable work,--either mental or physical. The professions -were open to me, as to any other beginner,--nothing more. I could not -step out of college into a lucrative practice at the bar; but I could -enter a law-office, and study. So of the other professions. If I had -any one idea more prominent than another, it was that I could secure -an editorial situation at once on one of the newspapers here. I was -surprised to find that there was absolutely no demand for such services -as I had to offer. - -"'Do you know anything about the newspaper business?' was the first -question put to me, by the first publisher to whom I made application. - -"That was the very last question that I had expected to have asked of -me. Of course I imagined myself competent, or I should not have applied -for editorial employment; but I knew the publisher meant, Had I had -actual experience on the press? I felt so sure of myself that I was -tempted to answer him 'Yes,' but the fact is I was never brought up -with such a reverence for the truth, as to always keep at a respectful -distance from it; so I told him I had not, but I could quickly learn. - -"'We are in no need of students,' said he; 'and, even if we took you to -teach you, your pay would not settle your washing-bill.' - -"One editor was good enough to let me try my hand at writing a -political article. I sat down in his sanctum and went to work. At the -end of two hours I handed him what I had written, quite confident that -I had settled the question of utility. It was an essay that would have -brought me honor at college. He read it and smiled. - -"'I don't want to hurt your feelings at all," said he, 'but you have -been two hours about a piece of work that a ready writer would knock -off in half an hour, and now it is done it is good for nothing. -You make the mistake so many have made before you, that an editor -does not need to be bred to his business. _My_ alma mater was a -printing-office,' said he, proudly, 'and I crept up the ladder round -by round. When I commenced editorial labor, I dropped type-setting, at -which I earned two dollars a day, to handle the reporter's pencil at -seven dollars a week. If you think you could do anything as a reporter, -I'll show you our Mr. Pyke, the local editor.' - -"Mr. Pyke was a rough one. - -"'Posted around town,' said he. - -"I told him I was a new-comer. - -"'Know short-hand?' - -"'No, sir.' - -"'What line are you strongest in?' - -"What line?' said I, not exactly understanding. - -"'Yes, what line? Speeches, fancy-work, police, sensations, picking up -items around town--or what?' - -"'I really don't know,' said I; 'I've never had any experience, -practically, in the newspaper business.' - -"At this Mr. Pyke turned round on me with a queer look in his face. - -"'Oh, that's it,' said he; 'you want to work at a trade you haven't -served an apprenticeship to. There! it's the old story. If you'll go up -in the composing-room, they'll give you a stick and put you to setting -type, I reckon. You better try it. Go and ask for our foreman, Mr. -Buckingham, and tell him I sent you,--will you? Why, you couldn't tell -where the _e_ box is!' - -"The man's manner was not so rude as his language, sir. He seemed -perfectly good-natured, and was scribbling away with a lead-pencil all -the while he was talking, much as if he were a writing-machine." - -"Doubtless he is, to a great degree," said I; "that is just where the -apprenticeship does its work. I know Pyke, and I've seen him write a -column of city matter, carrying on conversations with half-a-dozen -different people who dropped in during the time, without interrupting -him at all. But I don't mean to interrupt _you_; go on, please." - -"Well, sir," St. John continued, "before I had thoroughly learned -the lesson that I finally learned so well, I was almost literally -penniless. Such had been my high confidence in the easy and prosperous -path before me in Chicago, that when I came here I took board at a -first-class hotel, with my wife. I had very little money, and one day -I waked up to the consciousness that I had less than five dollars -remaining of that little, and still no work. Two hideous gulfs yawned -before me,--starvation and debt. My horror of the one is scarcely -greater than my horror of the other. Debt converted my father from -a well-to-do man into a bankrupt, and my mother, who owns the little -that is left of our old homestead in Massachusetts, was and is in no -condition to help me. I would beg in the streets, sir, before I would -look to my poor mother for help, after the long years of self-denial -she practised to get me through college. My wife is an orphan. You may -judge the color my future was taking on. I left the Tremont House, -and, falling at once from the highest to the lowest style of living in -apartments, came _here_. I had no confidence left, now, in that future -which had before seemed, so foolish and inexperienced was I, a broad -and flowery path for talent and education to tread. I never intend to -whine over anything in this world if I can help it, but I can assure -you this was a pretty dark old world to Brock St. John about that -time. The prospect of earning a dollar a day would have cheered me -wonderfully. I cared more on account of Aggie than myself, of course. -A man can bear ups and downs, kicks, cold shoulders, and an empty -stomach, if he is alone; but the thought that I have dragged _her_ down -to this is almost unbearable at times." - -"You have _not_ dragged me, Brock," spoke up the little wife; "I came -of my own accord!" - -"That you did, Aggie," said the husband, his eyes moistening; "I am -slandering you. But to go on: The day after we moved in here, and set -up house-keeping in careful preparation for the cold winter coming (I -had to pawn clothing to get these poor goods," he added, looking about -the room with a smile), "the German musician, who lives next door, -came in to ask us if his practising on a trombone annoyed us. We were -so hungry for a friendly face just then, that we would have let the -good-natured German blow his trombone through our transom-window after -that exhibition of fellow-feeling. That afternoon, I dropped in to see -him, in continuance of the acquaintance. There was a violin hanging on -the wall, and I took it down and played a tune on it. - -"That was my introduction to my first situation in Chicago. Stumm -got me my place at the beer-saloon; and so, through the knowledge of -an art which has always been to me nothing more than an amusement, I -get enough to live, in this time when all the hard-earned culture, -which cost me so much labor, fails me utterly. I am thankful for this, -heartily thankful; but I don't need to tell you sir, how it galls me to -do this work,--to sit three or four hours of every evening in a dense -and vulgar atmosphere, fiddling for my daily bread. No wonder I am -seedy; no wonder I get to look like a loafer, listless, without pride, -spite of Aggie's wifely care. If I knew an honest trade, I should be -a happy man. I would gladly barter my knowledge of Latin, Greek, and -German for the knowledge of type-setting." - -"So that you could prove to Pyke that you know the _e_ box from the _x_ -box?" queried I. - -He laughed. - -"But you talk the words of bitterness when you talk in that way, St. -John. You can barter your knowledge of German for _cash_, and keep it -too. Have you ever sought for pupils!" - -"Only a little. I have no acquaintances, you know. My only way to get -pupils was to advertise, of course. I tried it three days, and got not -a solitary reply. There are scores of teachers advertising. It seemed -useless for me to waste money in that way." - -"Well," said I, "I think I can set you in a way of getting up a class. -My own German is very rusty, and I will be pupil number one. Then I -know of two or three friends who want to study the language. I think we -can get you up a class among us." - -He made me no protestation of gratitude,--such protestations are -usually humbug,--but I saw his gladness in his face. - -The little wife sat squeezing her fingers for joy. - -Before a month had passed, St. John had a large class in German, and -bade adieu to fiddling. He proved an excellent teacher. Long before I -left Chicago to resume my residence in this city, he had got nicely -out from under his cloud, and was living in a snug house in the West -Division. - -There was a little baby playing on the floor at his house last summer -when I called to see him, on my way to Lake Superior. That baby bears -my name, I am proud to say. - - - - -COMING FROM THE FRONT. - - - - -COMING FROM THE FRONT. - -[Illustration] - - "HEAD-QUARTERS. DEP'T AND ARMY OF THE TENNESSEE. - "_East Point, Georgia, September 22, 1864._ - - "SPECIAL ORDERS. - "No. 214. - - [EXTRACT.] - - * * * * * - - "XI Having tendered his resignation, the following-named officer is - honorably discharged from the military service of the United States, - with condition that he shall receive no final payments until he - satisfies the Pay Department that he is not indebted to the - Government. - - "1st Lieut. ---- ----, Ills. Vol. Inf'try. - "By order of Maj. Gen'l O. O. Howard. - "(Signed) W. T. CLARK, _Ass't Adj't Gen'l._" - - -Think of that! After forty-one months of hard-tack and hard marching, -interspersed with enough fighting to satisfy the stomach of an ordinary -man; after so long an experience of the beautiful uncertainty of army -life; after polluting, with the invading heel of my brogan, the sacred -soil of several of our erring sister States; after passing many breezy -and rainy nights under the dubious shelter of shelter-tents; after -sitting through long and weary days in the furnace-heat of narrow -and dirty trenches;--after all this, I am at last permitted to bid -farewell to "the front," to go home and doff the honorable blue for the -more sober garb of the "cit," and drop into my wonted insignificance. -That little "extract" has a sweeter perfume for me than any triple -extract for the handkerchief ever elaborated by the renowned M. -Lubin. It is fragrant with thoughts of home and loved ones far away -in the Northland, of starry nights and starry eyes, of fluttering -fans and floating drapery, of morning naps unbroken by the strident -_ra-tata-ta-ta_ of the bugle. I grow quite sentimental over it, -notwithstanding the unpleasant condition with which it is qualified, -and which involves such a fearful amount of writing and figuring on -mysterious close-ruled blanks, and so much affidavit-making and other -swearing,--especially at the blundering clerks in the departments at -Washington. - -But this troubles me little now. Time enough to attend to it after I -get home. That is all I can think of,--_home_, and how to get there. - -How I should get there, and whether or not I ever would get there, were -questions not easily solved. It is the purpose of this sketch to show -some of the beauties of travelling on railroads that are under military -control, and especially to set forth the writer's experience in going -from Atlanta to Nashville. - -It was a terribly hot morning when I reached the depot at Atlanta, -amid a cloud of dust and a maze of wagons and mules and commissary -stores and frantic teamsters. I threw my valise into the nearest car -and hastened to the Provost Marshal's office for my pass. There was an -anxious crowd already in waiting: resigned officers and officers on -leave; jolly, ragged privates on furlough, eager to see their wives and -babies; sutlers and "sheap-cloding" men; flaring demireps, seeking new -fields; mouldy citizens in clothes of antique cut, fawning abjectly -and addressing every clerk and orderly as "kernel;" dejected darkies, -shoved aside by everybody, with no "civil rights bill" to help them. -While I was waiting for my turn, the train kept me constantly worried -by pulling up and backing down and threatening to leave. At last I -found an opportunity to exhibit my "Extract," and, after reading it -as slowly and carefully as if it had been a dispatch in cipher, the -Provost Marshal very deliberately wrote a pass, read it over two or -three times, and then, looking at every one in the room but me, asked -"Who's this for?" as if I had not been standing at his elbow with my -hand held out for half an hour. - -I left the official premises in a highly exasperated state of mind. -In the mean time the train had been plunging backward and forward in -a wild and aimless way, and I was unable to find the car my valise -was in. After much wear and tear of muscle and temper and trousers, -in climbing over boxes and bales of hay, I discovered it, and found -that it had been taken possession of by a crowd of roystering blades -on furlough, whose canteens were full and fragrant, and in whose talk -and manner appeared the signs of a boisterous night ahead, with the -possibility of a fight or two by way of special diversion. As I was -no longer in "the military service of the United States," I was, of -course, a peaceable citizen, so I took my quarters in a more peaceful -car. It was a cattle-car and not remarkably clean; but the company was -good, and through the lattice-work around the upper part of the car one -could get a view of the surrounding country; though looking through it -gave one a sensation very much like being in a guard-house. - -"Will we never get off?" was the question asked dozens of times,--asked -of nobody in particular, and answered by a chorus of incoherent growls -from everybody in general, while some humorous young man suggested -that if any one wanted to get off, he'd better do it before the train -started. - -"Now we're off!" - -"No we're not," said the humorous young man, "but it's more'n likely we -will be before we get to Chattanooga." - -This was not particularly encouraging to timid travellers, in a country -abounding in guerrilleroes, and where accident insurance companies were -unknown. - -Between Atlanta and Marietta we passed line after line of defensive -works, protected by _abattis_ and _chevaux-de-frise_,--feed-racks, I -heard a bronzed veteran of rural antecedents call them,--built by the -rebels at night, only to be abandoned on the next night to the great -Flanker. While they wrought line upon line, Sherman and his boys in -blue gave them precept upon precept, here a little and there a great -deal. All this rugged country is historic ground. The tall, tufted -pine-trees stand as monuments of the unrecorded dead, and every knoll -and tangled ravine bears witness to a bravery and heroic endurance that -has never been surpassed. - -Leaving Marietta,--deserted by its inhabitants and turned into an -immense hospital,--we approached Kenesaw, so lately crowned with cannon -and alive with gray coats, now basking in the afternoon sunlight, as -quiet and harmless as a good-natured giant taking his after-dinner -nap. We approached it from the inside, to gain which side the compact -columns of Logan and Stanley and Davis hurled themselves against its -rugged front so fearlessly, but, alas, so fruitlessly, on that terrible -27th of June. - -Farther on we came to Alatoona Pass, taken at first without a struggle, -but afterward baptized in blood and made glorious by a successful -defence against immense odds. - -It was sunset when we reached Kingston,--a straggling row of -dilapidated shanties. As the train was to stop some time, I started -out in search of supper. There was no hotel, so I had to depend upon -sutlers, or peripatetic venders of pies. I entered one sutler's store, -and found a few fly-specked red handkerchiefs and some suspenders. -Another contained nothing but combs and shoe-blacking. Turning away -mournfully, I espied an aged colored man limping up the street with -a basket on his arm. I rushed madly at him, and, finding that he -had apple-pies, was soon the happy possessor of a brace of them. I -congratulated myself and gratefully sat down upon a stone to eat, -and--well, _such pies_! It was utterly impossible to tell what the -crust was made of. In taste and toughness it resembled a dirty piece of -towel. The interior--"the bowels of the thing," as some one inelegantly -called it,--consisted of a few slices of uncooked immature apple and a -great many flies cooked whole. The cooks were altogether too liberal -with their flies. I am not particularly well versed in the culinary art -myself, but I venture boldly to say that the flies that were in those -two pies would have sufficed, if judiciously distributed, to season two -dozen pies with the same proportion of apple in them. - -And of such was my supper at Kingston. The whistle sounded, and we -got aboard and were off for Chattanooga. Night fell peacefully upon -Kingston and its dirty peddlers of unwholesome pies, as a curve in the -road hid it and them from our reproachful gaze. - -As the darkness increased, and we went dashing at break-neck speed -over a road that had had little or no care bestowed upon it since -the opening of the campaign, I thought of the humorous young man's -remark, and of how unpleasant and inconvenient it would be to have -this long train thrown off and its contents, as Meister Karl hath it, -"pepperboxically distributed" in the adjacent ditch. - -And then to have one of Wheeler's men take advantage of a fellow, as -he lay there with a broken leg, and rob him of the few dollars he -had borrowed to go home on! Well, we had been taking our chances for -the last three years, and it was no new thing to take them now. With -this comforting reflection, I sat down on my valise, and, wrapped -in my great-coat, awaited the coming of "the balmy." It was rather -unsatisfactory waiting. Something in my head kept going rattlety-bang, -jerkety-jerk, bumpety-bump, in unison with the noise of the cars; and -when I did get into a doze, I was harassed by the dim shadow of a -fear that we were about to leave the track and go end-over-end down -an embankment. At last weariness overcame me, and I slept soundly, -half-lying on the dirty floor, half-leaning on my valise, coiled up -in one of those attitudes in which only an old campaigner can sleep -at all; I woke amid an unearthly whizzing of steam, to find the train -standing still, and myself mysteriously entangled with various arms -and legs that didn't belong to me. I extricated myself and looked out. -Through the thick darkness of the early morning there glared upon me -the light of what seemed to be innumerable fierce, unwinking eyes. -I began to think that I had taken the wrong train and brought up in -the lower regions; but a little reflection and rubbing of the eyes -disclosed to me that we had reached Chattanooga in safety, and that -those fierce eyes were the head-lights of the locomotives that had -arrived during the night, and were now blowing off their superfluous -steam in that wild, unearthly manner. As soon as it was daylight -I inquired about trains going North, and learned that there was no -telling when a train would go, as Forrest was said to be in the -neighborhood of the road. So there was nothing to do but to go to the -Crutchfield House and wait. Alas for the man whose purse is slim, under -any circumstances! Alas and alas for him if he was obliged to wait -in Chattanooga at Crutchfield prices! It was a dollar that he had to -pay for each scanty meal, a dollar for the use of a densely populated -bed, and a dollar must be deposited with the clerk to secure the -return of the little towel he wiped his face on. Besides the pecuniary -depletion that he suffered, he was bored to death with weary waiting, -with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Chattanooga was far from being -a cheerful place, especially in the rainy season, when nothing was -visible out of doors except the lonesome sentinels pacing their beats -in dripping ponchos, and with guns tucked under their arms, and here -and there a team of steaming mules, struggling to draw a creaking, -lumbering wagon through the detestable clay. - -For amusement, there was a billiard-room, where one had to wait eight -hours for a chance to play. If he failed to see any fun in this, -he could step into another room, and squander his currency for, -and bemuddle his brains with, a sloppy sort of beverage that the -gentlemanly proprietor would assure him was good, new beer. I would -rather take his word than his beer. At night, if his tastes ran that -way, for a small outlay one could witness what was called a dramatic -exhibition, but which was really more anatomical than dramatic. - -In this enlivening village, an ever-increasing crowd of us was -compelled to wait for five long days. Resigned officers were far from -being resigned, and officers on leave were vexed and impatient because -it was impossible to leave. - -At length the joyful news spread that a train would leave for Nashville -at two o'clock in the afternoon. I rushed to the depot, and was just -fairly aboard a car, when some one, more forcibly than politely, told -me to "git out o' that car." As he spoke as a man who had authority, -and knew it, I got out, and learned that I was on the wrong train, and -in a fair way to have been carried to Knoxville. I forgave the man his -abruptness of speech, and went in search of the right train. Catching a -glimpse of Capt. S., whom I knew to be going North, in one of the cars, -I got in without farther question; and soon a fearful jerk, that piled -us like dead-wood in one end of the car, started us towards Nashville. -Rattling along at the usual reckless rate, we found ourselves, soon -after dark, at Stevenson, Alabama. Here we were to stay all night; -for the managers of affairs still had the fear of Forrest before -their eyes, and dared not run trains at night. It was raining, and -the darkness of Erebus covered the face of the earth. Notwithstanding -this, Capt. S. and myself plunged out into the night, determined to get -something to eat, or perish in the attempt. After wandering blindly for -a while,--tumbling into ditches, and falling over boxes and barrels, -that turned up where they were least expected,--we finally brought up -among the ropes of the tent of a sutler. We entered, and found the -proprietor dozing over a dime novel. We were sorry to disturb him -in his literary pursuits; but we were hungry, and had to be fed. We -eagerly demanded various articles of food, which he sleepily informed -us he hadn't got. Questioning him closely as to the edible part of his -stock in trade, we learned that it consisted of some Boston crackers -and a little cheese. We filled our haversacks with these, regardless of -expense. Having bought so generously, the proprietor became generous -in turn, and, bringing forth a square black bottle, proffered it to us -with the remark: "You'll find that a leetle the best gin this side o' -Louisville. Take hold!" The captain took hold; but the silent, though -expressive comment, that was written on his countenance when he let -go, induced me to decline with thanks. A decent regard for the man's -feelings prevented any audible expression; but, as soon as we were out -of the tent, the captain solemnly assured me that he was poisoned, and -that he would utter his last words when he got comfortably fixed in -the car. Getting back to the car was almost as perilous an undertaking -as finding the sutler's store; but, fortunately, we were guided by -the voice of Capt. W. crying, in heart-rending tones, "Lost child! -lost child!" Capt S. interrupted one of his most pathetic cries by -striking him in the pit of the stomach with a loaded haversack, and -demanding to be helped aboard. Once more snugly ensconced in our car, -we proceeded to sup right royally on our crackers and cheese. S. forgot -all about his last words until some time near the middle of the night, -when he woke me to say that he had concluded to postpone them till -he got home, where he could have them published in the county paper. -Barring this interruption, I slept soundly all night, having more room -than on the trip from Atlanta, and not having the thunder of a running -train sounding in my ears. - -At breakfast-time we drew out the fragmentary remainder of our last -night's repast, and were about to take our morning meal, when we -discovered that both crackers and cheese had a singularly animated -appearance. Symptoms of internal commotion manifested themselves in all -of us except S., who thought that, as the gin had not killed him, he -was proof against anything. His stoic composure acted soothingly upon -the rest of us, and we concluded that it was too late to feel bad, and -consoled each other by repeating the little rhyme,-- - - "What can't be cured - Must be endured." - -By eight o'clock the fog lifted, and we started on our journey -northward. Wild and contradictory stories were afloat in regard to -the whereabouts and doings of the terrible, ubiquitous Forrest. -Revolvers were brought out and capped and primed afresh, and watches -and rings were hidden in what were deemed inaccessible parts of the -clothing. There was considerable anxiety in regard to the bridges over -Elk and Duck rivers, and when we had passed them both safely, the -train quickened its speed, every one breathed more freely, and the -belligerent men put away their fire-arms. - -We hastened on without accident and with decreasing fear, though the -_débris_ of broken and burned cars that lined the road-side, suggesting -some unpleasant reflections, and at the close of the day entered the -picket lines at Nashville, and were safe. - -Then came a foot-race, from the depot to the hotel, for a prize -that nobody won, for all the hotels in the city were already full -from cellar to garret. Capt. S. and I sat down upon the cold, hard -curb-stone and mingled our weary groans, while W., more plucky and -better acquainted with the city, went in search of a boarding-house. -Having returned, with the cheering intelligence that he had found beds -and supper, we followed him gladly, and, after eating a supper, the -quantity of which I would not like to confess, retired to our rooms, -and were soon--to use the captain's elegant language--"wrapped in that -dreamless, refreshing slumber that only descends upon the pillow of the -innocent and beautiful." - - - - -A NIGHT IN THE SEWERS. - - - - -A NIGHT IN THE SEWERS. - -[Illustration] - - -Perhaps some of my fair readers will consider me a disagreeable person -for telling them something I know about kid gloves. Perhaps they will -not believe me when I tell them that in Paris and elsewhere there -exists--or did exist not very long ago--an extensive trade in the -skins of common rats, and that these skins, when dressed and dyed, -are converted into those delicate coverings for the hands, commonly -called "kid" gloves, and supposed to be manufactured from the hides of -immature goats. - -I was acquainted with a dog-dealer in Paris, a Dane, whose name was -Beck. To him I went one day, bent upon obtaining a terrier dog of good -intellect and agreeable manners, who should be a companion to me in -my "lodgings for single gentlemen," and whose gambols might serve to -amuse me in my lighter hours, when, after work, I would make little -pedestrian excursions in the neighborhood, for the sake of exercise -and air. Beck's kennel was comprised in a small yard, at the back of a -rickety house; and, when I entered it, persuasion was hardly needed -to induce me to stand as near the centre of the enclosure as possible, -in order to keep at chain's length from what the French call _boule -dogues_, several of which ill-looking canines formed a portion of -Beck's stock in trade. - -"Here," said Mr. Beck, in reply to a question of mine and in pretty -good English, "here in this box I have a small dog of a kind quite -fashionable now. They call him a Skye terrier, and I have given him the -name of 'Dane,' because he comes from far north, like myself, and has -long yellow hair." - -"With these words, Mr. Beck laid hold of a chain, and drawing it -sharply, jerked out from among some straw a creature made up, -apparently, of tow and wire, with a pair of eyes like black beads -glittering through the shocks of hair that fell over its head. The -animal seemed cowed, and I did not think much of him at first sight. - -"He has had bad usage," said Mr. Beck; "first time I saw him was -yesterday, when he burst in at my backdoor, with a horseshoe fastened -to his tail. There, you see I have nailed the shoe over the door of his -box. He will be a lucky bargain for whoever buys him, you may depend -upon that." - -"Good upon rats?" asked I. - -"Know nothing about him," replied Mr. Beck, honestly; "never saw him -before yesterday. They all take the water kindly though, these Skyes -do, and if you want to try him at rats, I can put you in the way of -it." - -Somehow I took to the ragged little beast, and so I paid Mr. Beck -sixty francs for him, and ten more for the little wooden kennel with -the horseshoe nailed upon it. I have a great regard for horseshoes -as insurers of luck; because once, when I had picked up one on the -road, and carried it home in my pocket, I found a letter on my table, -informing me that I had come in for a small legacy, through the death -of an aged kinswoman whom I had never seen. - -What with good treatment and diet, the frequent bath and the free use -of the comb, it was not many days before master Dane became a very -presentable dog, and had quite recovered his pluck and spirits. He -bullied, and banished forever to the house-top, a large tortoiseshell -cat, that had hitherto commanded the garrison, and I thought, one day, -that I should like to try him at rats. So out I sallied with him in -search of Mr. Beck, who had promised to put me in the way of getting -some sport of the kind. - -That versatile gentleman was not in his kennel when I called, but his -wife told me that I would find him in the "skinnery" attached to the -establishment; and, asking me to follow her, she ushered me into a -long, low apartment, lighted with a row of circular windows. The odor -of the place was very pungent and disagreeable. There were several -wooden tanks ranged along one wall of the room, and, on lines stretched -along by the windows, a number of small skins were hung to dry. Mr. -Beck, assisted by a couple of tan-colored boys, was busily engaged in -stirring the contents of the tanks. A dead rat on the floor immediately -engaged the attention of Dane, who seized it in his teeth, shook it -savagely for a moment, and then pitched it away from him, apparently in -disgust at finding it already dead. - -"What do you make of the rat-skins?" inquired I, after I had looked on -for a while. - -"Money," rejoined Mr. Beck, curtly; "but the man I dress them for makes -them into gloves,--ladies' gloves, of the primest quality." - -"Ladies have rats about them in more ways than one, then," said I. -"Where do you get the raw material?" - -"The rat-hunters supply me. Their hunting-grounds lie all under the -streets of Paris. Would you like to have a day in the sewers with your -terrier? Simonet will be here in a few minutes, and you can go the -rounds with him if you will." - -Just what I wanted, and so I sat upon a bench and waited, and presently -a man came in. He was a low-sized, squat fellow of about forty, -with heavy, round shoulders, and bowed legs; and his head and face -were almost entirely covered with a thatch of tangled red hair, out -from which there peered a couple of greenish eyes of very sinister -expression. He had a leathern sack slung over his shoulder, and carried -in his hand a long wand of birch, brushy, with the twigs left upon it -at one end. - -"On the rounds, eh, Simonet?" said Mr. Beck, addressing this -agreeable-looking gentleman; "well, here's a monsieur who would like -to go with you. He wants to try his terrier at the rats. You can make -your own bargain with him." - -Then looking at me, he continued,-- - -"Better leave your coat with my old woman, who'll give you a clean -_blouse_ instead." - -Madame took my coat, and gave me a strong _blouse_ and a somewhat -greasy cap; and in this guise I went forth with Simonet, who -immediately plunged into the thick of the city slums. After having gone -some distance, we entered a dismal and dirty office, in which a man, -turning over some piles of documents, after a few whispered words with -my guide, handed him a bunch of heavy keys, and we again went out into -the streets. Entering a paved court-yard, a declivity led us down to -a sort of tunnel, the entrance to which was barred by a heavy, grated -door, which Simonet opened with one of the keys, locking it again as -soon as we had got in. - -"We are in one of the main sewers now, monsieur," said he, in a -squeaky, rat-like voice; "you must be careful to keep close by me, and -not stray away into any of the branches." - -It was pitch dark, as I looked before me into the tunnel,--dark, and -awful, and silent, but for the gliding, oozing sound of slowly-flowing -water. Simonet produced a lantern, which he lit, and I could see by the -dim light thrown from it that we were in a vast stone passage, through -the centre of which there ran a dark, deep stream. Between the wall -and the stream on either side there was a broad pathway, or ledge, and -along this the rat-hunter motioned me to follow him. Soon we reached a -turn in the tunnel, and here Simonet, after searching about upon the -wall for a moment, found a rusty nail in it, upon which he hung his -lantern. Then producing a couple of torches from his sack, he lighted -them, and handed one to me. - -"There is a birch wattle hid away somewhere here," said he,--"ah, -yes!--here it is, take it monsieur, and use it just as you shall see me -do when we get among the rats. Keep close to me, else you may get lost -in the drains." - -Dane grew very excited, now, and ran ahead of us a good way, and -presently we heard a great rushing and squeaking, and the suppressed -snarling of the little dog as he worried the rats. Then we saw many -rats running hither and thither, some of them so scared by the light -of the torches, as they came near us, that they leaped into the water, -while others ran up the wall, from which we quickly knocked them with -our wattles. Simonet did not put them into his bag, but left them where -they fell, saying that his custom was to pick them up on his way back. - -The dog behaved wonderfully well, fighting and shaking the rats that -fell in his way with great fierceness and pluck. At last, when we had -killed about a hundred of them, we thought it time to rest. Simonet -produced a short, black pipe, and, as I was filling mine, he cast a -wistful look at my tobacco-pouch, thinking, probably, that the article -contained in it must be of a quality superior to that of the cheap -stuff smoked by him; so I poured half the contents of it into his hand, -and he filled his pipe from it, with a grin of satisfaction on his ugly -face. - -"It will soon be time for us to turn back," said he, after a while; -"the best place for rats is a little way further on, and it will be too -late to try it if we don't go forward now." - -On we went, slashing right and left at the rats, most of which, I -noticed, were of a very black color here, as if belonging to a peculiar -colony that existed in this part of the tunnel. As we rounded a corner, -however, a very large white rat ran past us, and disappeared down -a cross-gallery that led away to the left. Wishing to secure this -animal as a trophy, I hallooed the terrier upon its tracks, and was -about following the chase, when Simonet laid his hand upon my arm, and -whispered, in a tone of entreaty,-- - -"Don't risk your life, monsieur! He who follows the white rat of -the sewer is likely never to find his way back alive. There's a -blight about the creature, and old stories are afloat of how it has -led rat-hunters away into dangerous parts of the sewers, like a -jack-o'-lantern, and then set upon them with a number of its kind, and -picked their bones clean!" - -Breaking away from the fellow, with a jerk that knocked the pipe out -of his hand, and sent it spinning into the black water below, I ran -down the by-sewer after the terrier, whose whimper, as though he -were yet in full chase, I could hear at a good distance ahead of me. -When I came up with him, which I did only after having taken several -turns, he seemed at fault, head up and tail down, and gazing, with a -very puzzled expression up at the vaulted roof. There was no white rat -to be seen, nor could I detect any aperture in the walls, into which -the creature could have made its escape. Then a sort of superstitious -fear fell upon me, as I thought of Simonet's warning, and, with a word -of encouragement to the dog, I hastened to retrace my steps, shouting -loudly every now and then, so as to let the rat-hunter know of my -whereabouts. But no responsive halloo came to my call. Not a sound was -to be heard but the hollow beat of my footsteps on the damp, mouldy -path, and the squeaking, here and there, of the rats, as we disturbed -them from their feast on some garbage fished up by them from the slimy -bed of the drain. Excited at the position in which I found myself, -I now began to make reckless _détours_ hither and thither, until, -thoroughly exhausted by my exertions, I leaned my back against the -wall, and tried to remember such marks as might have been observed by -me in the tunnel since I had parted from Simonet. The only marks of -the wayside that I could recall, however, were the dead rats left by -us upon the ledge as we passed, and of these I had seen none while I -was trying to retrace my steps. Arguing from this, and from the fact -that Simonet did not respond to my shouts, which I continued to utter -at intervals, I began to feel an extremely unpleasant nervous shiver -creeping over me, suggestive of all the horrors about which I had ever -read or dreamed. The little dog lay cowering at my feet, as if he, -too, were somewhat dejected at the prospect of being eaten alive by -avenging rats; and, to crown the situation, just as I had nerved myself -for another effort to recover the lost clue, my torch went out with a -malignant flicker, and I found myself in black darkness! - -Sinking down at the foot of the wall, I now gave myself up for lost. -Even had the torch not been quite burnt out, I had no means of -relighting it, having used my last match when we stopped to smoke, just -before I broke away from my guide. I think I must have become somewhat -delirious now; for I have a faint recollection of wild songs chanted, -and of yells that made the vaulted roof ring again. Then a heavy sleep -must have fallen upon me, which probably lasted for several hours; and -then I awoke to a dim consciousness of horror, as I began to realize -the terrible situation into which I had brought myself by my reckless -folly. My dog was still nestling close to me; and it may have been -to his presence, perhaps, that I owed the fact of my not having been -mangled by rats during my sleep. Rising with difficulty to my feet, -for I was stiff from lying so long upon the damp, cold ground, I once -more tried to shout; but my voice was utterly gone, from my previous -exertion of it, and I could not raise it above a whisper. Then, in -sheer desperation, I dragged myself along the wall, feeling the way -with my hands, and had not gone many paces when I felt an angle in the -masonry, on rounding which a ray of hope dawned upon me, as I discerned -a faint light, far, far away, at the end of what seemed to be all but, -an endless shaft of darkness. The prospect of escape infused new vigor -into my weary limbs, and I kept steering onward for the light, which -grew larger and larger as I approached it. At last I got near enough -to see that it came through a small _grille_, or iron door, which -terminated the branch of the sewer in which I was. When I reached the -grating, I saw that it looked out upon the river, between which and -it, however, there lay a deep indentation, or channel, of some fifty -or sixty yards in length. It was gray morning, and I could see boats -and steamers and ships, passing and repassing upon the river. Surely -deliverance was now at hand! but how was I to make my situation known? -My voice, as I have said, was utterly gone, and I had barely strength -left to wave my pocket-handkerchief from the grating. There I stood -for hours,--a prisoner looking wistfully through the bars of a dungeon -to which no wayfarer came. I had sunk down at the foot of the grating, -from mere exhaustion, when the whining of my little dog attracted me, -and I gave him a caressing pat. He licked my face and whined again, -as much as to say, "Can't I be of some use to you?" This brought a -bright idea to my mind. Tearing a leaf from my note-book, I wrote the -following words upon it, with pencil:-- - - "I have lost my way in the sewers. You will find me at the grating - just opposite a large buoy marked X. Come quickly." - -Placing this inside my india-rubber tobacco-pouch, I bound it tightly, -with a strip from my pocket-handkerchief, to Dane's collar; and then, -taking the little fellow gently in my arms, and speaking a word or two -of dog-talk to him, I dropped him from the grating into the stream -below, which was running out fast enough to prevent him from trying to -return; nor was it long before I had the satisfaction of seeing him -swimming boldly out toward the river, as if he knew perfectly well what -he was about. I had no fears but that somebody in a boat would pick -him up before he was exhausted, because this kind of dog can live for -a great while in the water. Yet he was gone for a long, long time,--at -least, it seemed a long time to me,--and I saw the distant boats -passing and repassing, and the steamers and the ships, and heard the -cheery voices of the mariners, as I held on there by the iron grating, -half-dead. At last a boat, pulled by two men and steered by a third, -shot up into the channel; and the boatmen raised a joyful shout as I -waved my handkerchief to them from my prison-bars. The steersman held -my little dog upon his knee; but the faithful animal broke away from -him when he saw me, and would have jumped overboard in his eagerness to -reach me had he not been caught by one of the men. - -When the boat had come quite close under the grating, I saw that it -was manned by men of the river guard. They told me that one of their -number had gone round to report the matter to the proper authorities, -and that assistance would quickly be at hand, and one of them, standing -on the thwarts of the boat, reached up to me a flask of brandy and a -biscuit, after having partaken of which I felt sufficiently revived to -be very thankful for my escape from a horrible death. In less than an -hour keys were brought by an officer connected with the sewers, and I -was released from my disagreeable position, much to the joy of Dane, -who covered me with caresses after his honest doggy fashion; nor, -half-starved as the little animal must have been, would he touch a -morsel of biscuit until after he had seen me safe in the boat. - -The next thing to be done was to make a search for Simonet, who had not -made his appearance in the upper regions since we entered the sewers. -Men were sent after him, and he was found in a half-stupefied condition -just where I had left him, among the dead rats. He could give little or -no account of himself, save that his torch had gone out, just as he was -about starting in search of me, and that a stupor came over him, then, -and he sat down and fell asleep. This was all accounted for afterwards. -Having lost his pipe, as I have said, he sought to assuage his craving -for stimulants by chewing--or rather eating--quantities of the tobacco -with which I had furnished him, and this proved, on examination, to -have been taken by me, in mistake, from a jar in which opium had been -copiously mixed with the milder narcotic for experimental purposes. -Probably the little I had smoked of it in my pipe had somewhat affected -me; and Simonet averred that he thought it must have been the smell of -it that saved us from being eaten by the rats. A few franc pieces, a -new pipe, and a reasonable stock of the best tobacco, made a happy man -of that rare old gutter-snipe; but nothing could induce him to make any -further reference to the white rat, at the very mention of which he -would scowl horribly, and retire, as it were, behind the mass of red -hair with which his face was fringed. - -As for me, I believe more in horseshoes than ever, since the adventure -narrated above. I had a small one made in silver, for Dane; and this -the faithful animal wore suspended from his collar as a charm until he -went the way of all dogs, full of honors and of years. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: - -Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's -original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories and Sketches, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES AND SKETCHES *** - -***** This file should be named 53178-8.txt or 53178-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/1/7/53178/ - -Produced by Chris Whitehead, Chris Curnow and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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