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diff --git a/old/53178-h/53178-h.htm b/old/53178-h/53178-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index d91b99d..0000000 --- a/old/53178-h/53178-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9516 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Stories and Sketches, by Our Best Authors. - </title> - - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover-image.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1, h2, h3 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -h1 -{ - text-align: center; - font-size: x-large; - font-weight: normal; - line-height: 1.6; -} - -h1 small -{ - font-size: small; -} - -.center -{ - text-align: center; -} - -.spaced -{ - line-height: 1.5; -} - -.space-above - -{ - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.big -{ - font-size: large; -} - -img.border -{ - border: 1px solid; -} - -/* no @media - this is the default for all media */ -img.dropcap - { - float: left; - margin: 1em 0.5em 0 0; - } - -.dropletter - { - visibility: hidden; - display: none; - } - -@media handheld - -{ img.dropcap - { - display: none; - } - - .dropletter - { - visibility: visible; - display: inline; - } -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -.pagebreak {page-break-after: always;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.ph2 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -table.centered { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -td.title { text-align: left; vertical-align: top; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} -td.page { text-align: right; vertical-align: top; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} -td.author { text-align: right; vertical-align: top; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -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) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img class="border" style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" src="images/cover-image.jpg" id="coverpage" width="500" height="659" alt="Cover for Stories and Sketches" /> -<div class="transnote covernote"> -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">STORIES AND SKETCHES.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 415px;"> -<img src="images/image2.jpg" width="415" height="604" alt="Stories and Sketches" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - - - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by<br /> -LEE & SHEPARD,<br /> -In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">CONTENTS.</h2> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<table class="centered" border="0" cellpadding="5" style="max-width: 65%;" summary="CONTENTS"> -<tr><td class="title"></td> <td class="author"></td> <td class="page"> PAGE</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#The_Skeleton_at_the_Banquet"><span class="smcap">The Skeleton at the Banquet.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>Seeley Regester.</i></td> <td class="page">9</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#Let_those_Laugh_who_Win"><span class="smcap">Let those Laugh who Win.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>Samuel W. Tuttle.</i></td> <td class="page">37</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#The_Proper_use_of_Grandfathers"><span class="smcap">The Proper use of Grandfathers.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>Fitz Hugh Ludlow.</i></td> <td class="page">61</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#At_Eve"><span class="smcap">At Eve.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>Gertrude Brodé.</i></td> <td class="page">77</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#Broken_Idols"><span class="smcap">Broken Idols.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>Richmond Wolcott.</i></td> <td class="page">93</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#Dr_Hugers_Intention"><span class="smcap">Dr. Huger's Intention.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>Louise Chandler Moulton.</i></td> <td class="page">105</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#The_Man_whose_Life_was_Saved"><span class="smcap">The Man whose Life was Saved.</span></a></td> <td class="author">*****.</td> <td class="page">121</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#The_Romance_of_a_Western_Trip"><span class="smcap">The Romance of a Western Trip.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>J. L. Lord.</i></td> <td class="page">157</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#The_two_ghosts"><span class="smcap">The Two Ghosts of New London Turnpike.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>Mrs. Galpin.</i></td> <td class="page">185</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#Down_by_the_Sea"><span class="smcap">Down by the Sea.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>Hattie Tyng Griswold.</i></td> <td class="page">229</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#Why_Mrs_Radnor_Fainted"><span class="smcap">Why Mrs. Radnor Fainted.</span></a></td> <td class="author">*****.</td> <td class="page">249</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#Under_a_Cloud"><span class="smcap">Under a Cloud.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>William Wirt Sikes.</i></td> <td class="page">265</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#Coming_from_the_Front"><span class="smcap">Coming from the Front.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>Richmond Wolcott.</i></td> <td class="page">281</td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#A_Night_in_the_Sewers"><span class="smcap">A Night in the Sewers.</span></a></td> <td class="author"><i>Chas. Dawson Shanly.</i></td> <td class="page">293</td></tr> -</table> - - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="The_Skeleton_at_the_Banquet" id="The_Skeleton_at_the_Banquet"><span class="smcap">The Skeleton at the Banquet.</span></a></h2> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-d.jpg" -width="51" height="86" alt="d" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">D</span>R. 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Dr. Graham?"</p> - -<p>The doctor bowed assent.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -him, was a source of unexpressed surprise and suspicion.</p> - -<p>"What do you think is the matter with your sister?" -he unconcernedly asked, taking his overcoat from the -wardrobe.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -which I now propose to direct your attention,—mental -disease," he added, after a moment's hesitation.</p> - -<p>"A case of insanity?" bluntly asked the doctor.</p> - -<p>"Heaven forbid! And yet I must not conceal from -you that I fear it."</p> - -<p>"Give me some of the symptoms. Insanity in strong -development, or aberration of faculties, or hallucination?"</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>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;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>An hour passed rapidly. Then the steward announced -dinner; but it was not until they were about seating -themselves at table that <i>the patient</i> 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.</p> - -<p>"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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -Don't you think it a beautiful holiday? My mother -always kept it with plenty of wax candles and flowers."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 <i>ought</i> -to be. Her pink-silk robe adapted itself to her soft<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"I pray you watch her! Did you not notice that -slight incoherency?" he remarked, in a whisper, leaning -over toward the doctor.</p> - -<p>The doctor had noticed nothing but the playful badinage -of a happy girl.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid her loveliness blinds my judgment. I -<i>must</i> see what there is in all this," he answered to himself, -deprecatingly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -Calcutta currie, he ate nothing of the leading dishes or -<i>entrées</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -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 <i>cannot</i> produce.</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -most beautiful women, in many respects, I have ever -seen. I am dark and thin,—a very Frenchman in tastes, -temperament, and habits."</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"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. <i>She</i> does not know -it. It killed her mother. Imagine, doctor, <i>imagine</i>, 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,—<i>now</i>!"—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"We are forgetting that this is Christmas night. Fill -your glass, my friend, with <i>this</i> 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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"After our mother's death," continued St. Victor, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>The girl moved uneasily, casting a beseeching look at -the speaker.</p> - -<p>"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 <i>me</i>."</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"I have heard that persons threatened with certain -mental afflictions never suspect their own danger."</p> - -<p>Dr. Graham did not know if the young lady overheard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>Her eyes were filled with tears, her voice choked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>He paused, as if his mind were again on the vine-clad -hills of the "blessed isle." Then he spoke, suddenly,—</p> - -<p>"Edith, have some of this?"</p> - -<p>She smiled, shaking her head.</p> - -<p>"But you <i>must</i>. I insist. You need it. Don't you -agree with me, doctor, that it is just what she requires?"</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"Anything to please you, brother. I will choose -this every day if you think it good for me."</p> - -<p>He gave her a satisfied look. Then there was a brief -silence, which their guest was about to dissipate with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -a playful remark, when St. Victor turned abruptly to -the steward,—</p> - -<p>"Thompson," he cried, "now bring in the skeleton!"</p> - -<p>"What, sir?" stammered the astonished servant.</p> - -<p>"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—<i>there</i>!"</p> - -<p>Half-rising in his seat, he pointed to the vacant space -behind his sister's chair.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -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,—</p> - -<p>"So, Edith, you did not know that you were going -mad? <i>I</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. <i>That</i> 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!"</p> - -<p>His eyes gleamed with a light at once of delight and -with malice; but he quietly added,—</p> - -<p>"But <i>I</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—<i>now</i>! 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -flesh. We've had enough of it now. Take it -away, Thompson,—hurry it away!"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>The skeleton had, in truth, appeared at the Christmas -feast.</p> - -<p>Laying his hand firmly upon the young man's wrist -the doctor said,—</p> - -<p>"Mr. Marchand, you're not well, to-night. You are -over-fatigued. Shall we go upstairs?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"You are right. I am not very well; my head aches; -I'm worn out with this trouble about Edith, doctor. -<i>Do</i> 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."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"O doctor! why did you do it?"</p> - -<p>"To save your life, Miss Marchand."</p> - -<p>"Poor St. Victor! His fate is on him at last."</p> - -<p>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?"</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Poor St. Victor! So young, so gifted, so blest with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -worldly goods; his fate was upon him, as Edith had -said.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>His care was, too, required for Miss Edith. Her life -was so interwoven with that of her brother, that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>"No, poor child, most emphatically, I do <i>not</i>. 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?"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"I will remain, my dear child, so long as there is need -of my services."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">LET THOSE LAUGH WHO WIN.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="Let_those_Laugh_who_Win" id="Let_those_Laugh_who_Win"><span class="smcap">Let those Laugh who Win.</span></a></h2> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-m.jpg" -width="61" height="84" alt="m" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">M</span>R. 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.</p> - -<p><i>Ecce testem!</i></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He had an only son,—Augustus Fitz Clarence Pompadour,—who -was heir-apparent to the very considerable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>roué</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -to his father the income of the estate. In case, however, -Augustus should marry before his father <i>did</i>, 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 <i>e</i> in the word "<i>did</i>;" thus making the -contingency turn upon Augustus' marrying before his -father <i>died</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>His condition of mind at the beginning of this history -might be expressed logically somewhat as follows:—</p> - -<p>First, he must get married.</p> - -<p>Second, Augustus must <i>not</i>.</p> - -<p>And Augustus, by analogous reasoning on identical -premises, <i>mutatis mutandis</i>, had arrived at a dual conclusion.</p> - -<p>First, he must get married.</p> - -<p>Second, his father must <i>not</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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, <i>née</i> Trelauney." By the same token -her daughter was discovered to be "Miss Terpsichore -Taragon."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -in her chin, and enabled her to look archly without -apparent intention.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>to</i> them, and -walked aimlessly about the room for a few moments -with her hands above her head, to send the blood <i>out</i> of -them. Then picking up her handkerchief daintily, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>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 <i>this</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>him</i>, I will -have that set of sables, and those diamonds I saw at -Tiffany's."</p> - -<p>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?"</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -the street with a young lady whom we know—but the -illustrious parent did not—to be Miss Terpsichore Taragon.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -last moment. "And so from hour to hour we ripe and -ripe ... and thereby hangs a tale."</p> - -<p>With the foregoing paragraph, I bridge over an -"hiatus, as it were," of several months.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -with her comely cheek resting upon her plump -hand, and, at last, arrived at a conclusion.</p> - -<p>"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 <i>sure</i> of Mr. Pompadour; but I will keep a -close watch upon them."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"'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—</p> - -<p>"Mr. Pompadour," announced the servant.</p> - -<p>"The devil!" echoed Augustus Fitz Clarence.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"I saw you out riding yesterday, Mr. Pompadour," -said the cheerful widow, pleased that her first shot had -taken effect. "And what a <i>beautiful</i> horse! and you -ride <i>so</i> gracefully!"</p> - -<p>"Thank you, madam," said Mr. Pompadour, stiffly; -"I think I may say, without vanity, that I do ride tolerably -well."</p> - -<p>"And you," to the son, "now your father is present, -I must call you <i>Mr.</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Terpy, dear," said her mother, "<i>do</i> show Mr. Pompadour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -some of your drawings. My dear little girl is -<i>so</i> 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.</p> - -<p>"Are you fond of engravings, Mr. Pompadour?" -asked the young lady, sweetly.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The distinguished gentleman who wrote so graphically -about the "Elbows of the Mincio," must confess that -<i>our</i> Quadrilateral is only second to that which he has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -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 <i>téte-à-téte</i>, and the gentlemen fled.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> - -<p>She had, it must be obvious, set her heart upon having -those diamonds from Tiffany's.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Good gracious, Mr. Pompadour!" exclaimed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -widow, with well-feigned alarm, at the same time picking -a thread off her dress, "<i>Do</i> get up, somebody may come -in!"</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>A form passed the window. This time Mrs. Taragon -was really frightened. "I will," she said hurriedly; -"now get up, and sit down."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Miss Taragon," he said, at length, abruptly, "were -you ever in love?"</p> - -<p>She started like a frightened bird. The rich blood -fled to her heart, and left her face pallid as marble.</p> - -<p>"I—I—don't know," she stammered. "Why do you -ask me such a question?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>And so he talked on in an impetuous strain, of mingled -prayer and protestation, which was stereotyped -long before the invention of printing.</p> - -<p>Terpsichore's heart beat wildly. The color came and -went in her cheeks, and she turned her head away to -conceal her emotion.</p> - -<p>The wreath lay finished in her lap; and at last, with -a bright smile, she placed it on his forehead; and, clasping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -his hand in both her own, she kissed him on the forehead. -And now we might as well leave them alone -together.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<i>ex post facto</i> character.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Mother, dear," she said, dropping the net in her lap, -"you look tired; why don't you go to bed?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, darling," said the widow, cheerfully, "I don't -feel a bit weary. But your eyes look red, and I think -<i>you</i> had better retire."</p> - -<p>"No, mamma, not yet," she replied. "I want to finish -this net. I have done so little upon it lately."</p> - -<p>A slight shade of vexation crossed the face of the -widow.</p> - -<p>"If you had devoted yourself to the net," she said, -spitefully, "it would have been finished."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"I am sure, mother," she said, quietly, "<i>you</i> can't -complain of my seeing too much company."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> - -<p>This shot told; for Mr. Pompadour had been very -attentive of late.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Taragon nearly tore a leaf out of her book.</p> - -<p>"At any rate," she retorted, "my visitors are respectable."</p> - -<p>Terpsichore's lip quivered. The remark was cruel, -but it roused her spirit.</p> - -<p>"If my company is not respectable," she said, with -an incipient sob, "it is the fault of his bringing up."</p> - -<p>Mr. Pompadour was hit this time, right between his -eyes. The widow blazed.</p> - -<p>"You—you—you minx," she said, angrily, "I believe -you'd like to see me dead, and out of your -way!"</p> - -<p>The remark was utterly irrelevant; but she saw it in -the book, and thought it would be dramatic.</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"Well, the coast is clear for Pompadour,—and she's -safe for to-night, any way."</p> - -<p>Which was a slight mistake.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -the same reason she did not scold him for rumpling her -bonnet. Hurrying into the carriage, they drove rapidly -away.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>The newly-married looked at each other in mute -surprise. "I'll bet a hat," exclaimed Augustus, suddenly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -"it's your mother; and they've come to get -married!"</p> - -<p>The Rev. Ebenezer spoke eagerly: "Did you send me -two messages this morning?"</p> - -<p>"No!" said Augustus; "of course I did not."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Can you hide us somewhere?" said Augustus, "till -you've 'done' the old gentleman?"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>When the ceremony was over, Augustus and Terpsichore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>"We happened here not knowing you were coming," -he said, addressing both; "wont you accept our congratulations."</p> - -<p>Suddenly Mrs. Pompadour <i>née</i> Trelawney, gave a -scream, and fell back in a chair, with symptoms of -hysterics. She had caught sight of the <i>ring</i> 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!</p> - -<p>Terpsichore sprang forward to assist her.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -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 <i>her</i>!"</p> - -<p>Mr. Pompadour "saw it," and uttered some words -which were not a blessing.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">THE PROPER USE OF GRANDFATHERS.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="The_Proper_use_of_Grandfathers" id="The_Proper_use_of_Grandfathers"><span class="smcap">The Proper use of Grandfathers.</span></a></h2> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-i.jpg" -width="50" height="86" alt="i" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">I</span>F 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -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 <i>vieilles moustaches</i> 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."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -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 <i>vis viva</i>, -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -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,—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>I have a little butcher, who is Cœur 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -for us also in our struggle, since we are not the lonely -anomalies of time.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -many, many falls ago—a strange delight comes over -him, and he seems to be going out chestnutting in the -morning of the world.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">AT EVE.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="At_Eve" id="At_Eve"><span class="smcap">At Eve.</span></a></h2> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-quotei.jpg" -width="60" height="87" alt="i" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">“I</span>T 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, John, all goes as well as usual. You are -late to-night."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> - -<p>She stopped in her work, and hung the towel over her -arm.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>She had turned away from him as she answered,—</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She said nothing.</p> - -<p>"When will you come back, Margery?" he asked, -after another pause.</p> - -<p>"I don't know, John."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> - -<p>"When do you think of going?"</p> - -<p>"On Monday morning, if you can spare the horse to -take me over."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -night. Margery turned away and shut the door again. -Then she bestirred herself to get breakfast.</p> - -<p>When John came down to it, Margery thought his -step sounded heavier than she had ever heard it before.</p> - -<p>"Will you go to church this morning, Margery?" he -asked, when the simple meal was over.</p> - -<p>"No, John, I guess not."</p> - -<p>"Well, Margery, I am going. I will come home as -soon as service is over; but I think it will do me good."</p> - -<p>"John, will you promise me to"——</p> - -<p>"What, Margery?"</p> - -<p>"This afternoon, after I have got ready to go, will -you come once more with me to the—the grave?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Margery, yes."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"I must go upstairs now, John, to get ready. I want -to take some of my clothes with me."</p> - -<p>He sat on the doorstep, holding his pipe, which had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"John, dear, I did not think it was so late. It is time -to go to the graveyard. Are you ready to come?"</p> - -<p>He looked up as if he had been dreaming, but rose -and said, "Yes, Margery."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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,—</p> - -<p>"O John, dear, dear John, please, please forgive me!"</p> - -<p>"Margery," he answered, in as firm a tone as he could -command, "don't talk so."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but, John, I did not want to go away only -because the house was so lonely, but because,—because,"—</p> - -<p>"Because what, Margery?" he asked, astonished.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>John's clasp about Margery relaxed, and his arms -sank down by his side. His tears were dried now, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"No, Margery," he said, slowly, "I only saw Mary -because,"—</p> - -<p>Margery raised her head.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Wont you forgive me, John? I will never, never go -away from you," she pleaded, while the tears streamed -down her face.</p> - -<p>He took her in his arms once more, and kissed her -lips.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>She felt her hand clasped closer in his.</p> - -<p>"Margery," he said then, "I think I had better tell -you about Mary."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> - -<p>"John, dear John, didn't I tell you I don't believe -that any more," she answered, with another pleading -look.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"O John, I will sew them. Poor Mary! and you -needn't tell her who sewed them."</p> - -<p>"That's right, Margery!"</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"John, I am glad I am going to stay."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"Read that, Margery."</p> - -<p>Margery read. Then the paper dropped, and with a -fresh burst of tears she once more threw her arms about -John's neck.</p> - -<p>In one corner of the paper that lay neglected on the -floor was the poem:—</p> - -<p style="margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: 28%;">"As through the land at eve we went,<br /> - And plucked the ripened ears,<br /> -We fell out, my wife and I,<br /> -Oh, we fell out, I know not why,<br /> - And kissed again with tears.<br /> -<br /> -"For when we came where lies the child<br /> - We lost in other years;<br /> -There above the little grave,<br /> -Oh, there above the little grave,<br /> - We kissed again with tears."</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> - - - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">BROKEN IDOLS.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="Broken_Idols" id="Broken_Idols"><span class="smcap">Broken Idols.</span></a></h2> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-n.jpg" -width="55" height="86" alt="n" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">N</span>OT 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> - -<p>And what was my reward?</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>And so another idol was smashed.</p> - -<p>Then came a reaction. I scorned the sex and sought -balm for my wounded feelings in the worst pages of -Byron.</p> - -<p>Having by this time attained the sophomoric dignity, -I discovered that the end and aim of existence was to -be <i>fast</i>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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 <i>genius</i>,—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.</p> - -<p>I have been making these confessions to show that I, -too, as well as the handsome and healthy young lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -whose essay furnishes my text, have had some joys that -are vanished and some hopes that are buried.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">"A sunshiny world, full of laughter and leisure."</p> - -<p>In worthy action and healthy enjoyment you will find -a cure for all your imaginary woes and all your maudlin -fine feelings.</p> - -<p>In two little lines lies the clue to an honorable and -happy life:—</p> - - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 2em;">"Thou shalt find, by <i>hearty striving</i> only<br /> - And <i>truly loving</i>, thou canst truly live."</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">DR. HUGER'S INTENTION.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="Dr_Hugers_Intention" id="Dr_Hugers_Intention"><span class="smcap">Dr. Huger's Intention.</span></a></h2> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-d.jpg" -width="51" height="86" alt="d" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">D</span>R. 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 <i>would</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> - -<p>He went often to Judge Minturn's after that—not <i>too</i> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p style="margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 25%;">"Oh, that I were beside her now!<br /> - Oh, will she answer if I call?<br /> - Oh, would she give me vow for vow,—<br /> - Sweet Amy,—if I told her all?"</p> - -<p>he hummed, half unconsciously, as he walked on.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -by this time, he had rung the bell, and was inquiring for -her of the tidy girl who answered his summons.</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> - -<p>"How did you know it?"</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"I am glad that anything should have made you think -of me."</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>The doctor looked into her radiant face.</p> - -<p>"Is it possible that you are ill?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"That <i>you</i> must tell me," she said, quietly. "My -heart feels strangely, sometimes; it beats too rapidly, -I think, and sometimes very irregularly. I have lived<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>"I must have my stethoscope. I will go for it. Are -you sure you can bear the truth?"</p> - -<p>She smiled,—a cool smile touched with scorn.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>She raised her dark eyes, and looked full in his face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"I told you I did not like to trust my own judgment; -but that <i>is</i> my opinion."</p> - -<p>"And if you are right I shall be likely to live—how -long?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"Just as often,—the oftener the better," she answered,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>He understood by her manner that it was time to go, -and took his leave.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>she</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -the woman he had resolved to marry was so -unlike her; yet he could not banish the imperious face -which haunted his fancy.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"I must go now. I dare not stay and talk to you. I -will come again to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"Yes, to-morrow."</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"God bless you, Francis Huger."</p> - -<p>The next day he went again to Rock Cottage. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"God bless you, Francis Huger."</p> - -<p>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. <i>She</i> 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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -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:—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>"Madame Pauline Angereau Colchester is dead. I -obey her wish in sending you these tidings."</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 70%;">"<span class="smcap">Lisette.</span>"</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> - - - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">THE MAN WHOSE LIFE WAS SAVED.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="The_Man_whose_Life_was_Saved" id="The_Man_whose_Life_was_Saved"><span class="smcap">The Man whose Life was Saved.</span></a></h2> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<h3 style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;">I.</h3> - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-o.jpg" -width="56" height="87" alt="o" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">O</span>N 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -of Mlle. Lisa, or to abate in any particular the ardor -of her knitting.</p> - -<p>Lisa Ledru was the daughter of the <i>proprietaire</i> 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.</p> - -<p>Madame Ledru's house had been for years the abode -of <i>militaires</i>. 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 <i>tête-à-tête</i> 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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 <i>adorata</i>.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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"—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Ulysse, Ulysse," cried Lisa, gladly availing herself -of this welcome diversion, "here is a note for you."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>François, with a soothing sense of present preferment, -was about to make a good-natured reply, when the colloquy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -was terminated by a sonorous voice from an -upper window shouting, "Ulysse!"</p> - -<p>"<i>Mon colonel.</i>"</p> - -<p>"Saddle one of my horses immediately."</p> - -<p>"Impossible to use either to-day, <i>mon colonel</i>; one -limps, and I have taken Mars to the blacksmith's, for he -cast a shoe this morning."</p> - -<p>"<i>Sapeisti!</i> 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"—</p> - -<p>Victor de Villefort looked irresolutely out of the -window, and twirled his blonde mustache. He was a -man between thirty and forty perhaps, <i>distingué</i> in manner -and bearing, and gifted with a charming sympathetic -voice.</p> - -<p>"Here is a note for you, <i>mon colonel</i>," 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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"I wear the roses for the sake of François, the gardener -of Madame la Contesse d'Hivry, who brings them -to me."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> - -<p>"But is it fickleness, <i>mon colonel</i>, to like what belongs -to the Contesse d'Hivry?" inquired Lisa, lowering -her eyes with assumed <i>naïveté</i>.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>The baron in question was a retired <i>militaire</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> - - -<h3 style="margin-top: 2.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">II.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -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 <i>frisé</i>, 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 "<i>furia Francese</i>," 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"I always share your wishes, dear countess, and am -too happy when I may share your pleasures."</p> - -<p>"That is almost a compliment, I should say, and you -think yourself incapable of paying one. Why do you -never pay compliments?"</p> - -<p>"I will tell you, if you will, in return, tell me why the -portrait of Monsieur Armand is always so near your -favorite seat."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Then I will tell you why I rarely pay you compliments,—because -I like you too well."</p> - -<p>"So you can only compliment those whom you dislike?"</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, those to whom I am indifferent."</p> - -<p>"But Colonel de Villefort," exclaimed the countess, -gravely tying on her white bonnet before the mirror<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -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 -"<i>Ancienne Noblesse</i>," plainly attired, and looking curiously -and, perhaps, disdainfully from their small exclusive -<i>coterie</i>, 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 "<i>Service des -chaises</i>." Others were plying a brisk trade among the -children by the sale of cakes, plaisirs, and parlor balloons.</p> - -<p>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 "<i>petits soins</i>," -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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -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 "<i>le -grand Monarque</i>," 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 -"<i>le grand Monarque</i>," 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"How gay you are now," said Victor, acountess, 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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"You knew her, then?" asked Victor.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I knew Pauline D'Arblay, slightly, but I have -never seen her since her marriage, as Pauline Dusantoy."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"In Algiers, I suppose," replied Victor, "where her -husband, General Dusantoy, has been for years past."</p> - -<p>"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 <i>gens d'arme</i>, 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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -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 <i>insouciant</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -only a good name, my sword, <i>et voila tout</i>! 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."</p> - -<p>"<i>Mon pauvre ami</i>," 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.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -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, <i>chère contesse</i>" 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -was heroic on my part; but I could stay no longer, and I -have never seen them since. And now you understand, -<i>chère contesse</i>, why I have never married."</p> - -<p>"I understand for the past? Yes," said Mathilde, -rising from her seat; "but the future"—her sentence -terminated in a shrug.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"You are tired, dear Mathilde," said Victor. "You -are pale; I have wearied you with my long stories, -<i>Appuyez vous bien sur moi</i>," and he drew her arm -through his, as they turned their steps homeward.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"<i>Mon colonel</i>," 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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>After parting with Victor, Mathilde entered the -<i>salon</i>, 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 <i>balcon</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -heart, and sink into comparative poverty? The souvenir -of a single phrase, however, in the tender inflection -of a manly voice,—"<i>Appuyez vous bien sur moi</i>," -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.</p> - -<p>"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 <i>tête-à-tête</i> between the coquettish Lisa, and her -gardener, the enamored François.</p> - -<p>"Yes, madame," said Lisa, "can I be of any service?"</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -Mathilde would go to the <i>Terrain de Manœuvre</i>, to -see her hero "<i>en grande tenue</i>," in the staff of the General.</p> - -<p>"What a beautiful moonlight, Lisa! Will you walk -with me towards the lake? Fetch my shawl first from -the house."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"What has happened?" asked Mathilde, with ill-feigned -unconcern.</p> - -<p>"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 <i>militaire</i>, 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 <i>militaire</i>,—is -it not, madame?"</p> - -<p>"Well, did he get a horse?" asked Mathilde, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -severity which astonished Lisa, in the unconsciousness -of her childish babble.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Who can she be?" asked the countess with an anxiety -impossible to repress. "Did he take this direction -when he rode away?"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"'Tis the baron's horse,—and the colonel, madame. -<i>Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!</i> What has become of him? -Let me run for Ulysse."</p> - -<p>"And I will go on to the lake," said the countess; "perhaps."</p> - -<p>"Not alone, madame," exclaimed Lisa.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> - - -<h3 style="margin-top: 2.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">III.</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> 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.</p> - -<p>"O François," exclaimed Lisa, "how glad I am to see -you! Has Mme. la Contesse really gone?"</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -once tasted of the grapes that I picked for her this morning, -and placed so neatly in a little basket."</p> - -<p>And poor François groaned audibly over this conclusive -proof of the countess's changed and melancholy -condition.</p> - -<p>"Ah, poor madame, she has been so ill! But why -did she go, then?" asked Lisa.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>Whilst Victor and his affairs were thus discussed below-stairs -with the intelligence and fairness usually developed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -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 "<i>entrez</i>," the bright face of Mlle. Lisa appeared -at the open door.</p> - -<p>"<i>Bon jour</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>"Gone!" said Victor, with unfeigned astonishment. -"Where has she gone?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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, <i>mon ami</i>, 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."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Colonel de Villefort was still weak and easily moved, -and a choking sensation in the throat made him quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>"<i>Mon colonel</i>, may I say a word?" asked Ulysse, -awkwardly, turning the door-knob to keep himself in -countenance. "Mlle. Lisa"—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, <i>Mon colonel</i>," said Ulysse, glowing -with exultation and triumphant pride.</p> - -<p>"Now pack my portmanteau. I shall go to Paris -to-morrow in the early train."</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">THE ROMANCE OF A WESTERN TRIP.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="The_Romance_of_a_Western_Trip" id="The_Romance_of_a_Western_Trip"><span class="smcap">The Romance of a Western Trip.</span></a></h2> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-t.jpg" -width="51" height="85" alt="t" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">T</span>HE two following letters, received by me in the -year 1852, will explain themselves.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p style="margin-top: 2em;">"<span class="smcap">My dear W——</span>: 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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"The month of May, in our northern climate, needs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -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.'</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -those one might expect to meet in the wild and sparsely -settled district in which I was now travelling.</p> - -<p>"'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.'</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -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."</p></blockquote> - -<blockquote> -<p style="margin-top: 2em;">"<span class="smcap">My dear W——</span>: 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -with fruitless thought, I determined to await the course -of events, and to trust to time for additional light.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -a rose-bush, which Helen wished transplanted, when her -father remarked,—</p> - -<p>"'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.'</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -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,—</p> - -<p>"'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.'</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"I slept but little that night, and was in the grounds, -when my host came out for a stroll in the morning air.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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?'</p> - -<p>"'The twenty-second,' I replied.</p> - -<p>"'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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -ball had only inflicted a flesh-wound in the shoulder, it -would soon heal. The explanation was plausible, and -no one doubted his word.'</p> - -<p>"'Was there any mark upon the ring by which you -could identify it?'</p> - -<p>"'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.'</p> - -<p>"'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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -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;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -yet for a brief time we must submit to the infliction of -his presence, and allow him to visit Helen as heretofore.'</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -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.'</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"When our nuptials are performed, then will end my -western trip and its attending romance."</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> - - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">THE TWO GHOSTS OF NEW LONDON<br /> -TURNPIKE.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="The_two_ghosts" id="The_two_ghosts">THE TWO GHOSTS</a><br /> -<small>OF</small><br /> -<span class="smcap">New London Turnpike</span>.</h2> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-t.jpg" -width="51" height="85" alt="t" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">T</span>HERE 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -all the beasts and dragons, and to assign them appropriate -places in the future, with the utmost certainty and -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The other was a less open face, sharper in its outlines, -and with more angles than curves. Had it been less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"All hands aboard at nine o'clock's the order," replied -Philo, taking off his cap, and turning his face to the -wind.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"'<i>Come back.</i>' 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.</p> - -<p>"Yes,—I understand," answered Philo. "We shan't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -both come home, <i>of course</i>; but there's hopes for both of -us, and a pretty strong chance for one of us at least."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>Philo was already developing the great Yankee trait -of penny-catching, for even then he had saved quite a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"No," replied the cousin, soberly. "There's enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>"But think of my getting what Aunt Betsy ought to -have," remonstrated Jack, sturdily.</p> - -<p>"It's best," said Philo.</p> - -<p>"And to hear you talk as if you was bound straight -for Davy Jones' locker," pursued Jack.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Then we'd better make our wills in form, if that's -your wish," said Philo, rising from the log.</p> - -<p>"We'll make all fast to-morrow," remarked Jack, -cheerfully; "though it makes one feel queer to be doing -such business at our age."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Philo.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She turned rosy at sight of Jack, who came instantly -out of his solemn mood, and, in the frank, saucy way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -the momentous <i>pop</i>, 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 <i>on business</i>, with such decided emphasis -that the 'squire immediately took the cue, and prepared -himself to be especially benignant and paternal.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>'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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Jack plunged desperately into the middle of the subject, -and then tried to swim out toward the introduction.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Why, no. Didn't think it was worth while, as you -was at home," answered Jack.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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"—</p> - -<p>"Why, it isn't about Molly, at all!" cried Jack in -bewilderment.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"No—no—certainly not—not in the least!" gasped -he, catching after his dignity, as a man drowning grasps -at straws.</p> - -<p>"We came to see if you could attend to making out -our wills, this evening," said Philo.</p> - -<p>The 'squire looked from one to the other with such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -dazed incredulity that both the young men applied -themselves to explanations which brought his senses -back into the world of facts.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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: "<i>The Last Will and Testament of -Philo Avery</i>;" following it up with the regular formula -for such cases made and provided.</p> - -<p>"<i>In the name of God, Amen.</i></p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And when all this was done, the cousins exchanged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>For three years is a long time for some thoughts and -impulses to mature in, and day after day out at sea, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -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 <i>if</i> -anything should happen, or <i>supposing</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>if</i>, acknowledged at first only as a remote and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -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 <i>if</i> 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 <i>if</i>. 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 <i>if</i>.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>if</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And thus this corrupting temptation, that is the root -of all evil, had crept upon these two noble young hearts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -distorting and defiling them with its slow taint. And -even now, either of them might truthfully have questioned,—</p> - -<p style="margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 25%;">"What shall I be at fifty,<br /> - If nature keeps me alive,<br /> - If life is so cold and bitter,<br /> - When I am but twenty-five?"</p> - -<p>It would be too dreary a task to follow them year by -year. Let us make leaps and take glimpses at them by -intervals.</p> - - - -<p style="margin-top: 2.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><i>Twenty-five.</i> What we have seen.</p> - - -<p style="margin-top: 2em;"><i>Thirty.</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -"Jack" for "John" or "Mr. Avery," which is a hint -that we ought to do so, too.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - -<p style="margin-top: 2.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><i>Thirty-five.</i> No great variation.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - - -<p style="margin-top: 2.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><i>Forty.</i> Decided changes.</p> - -<p>'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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"You dropped in just the right time, <i>Cousin</i> 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."</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>And this was John's first intimation. Will any woman -blame her if she <i>had</i> 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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - -<p style="margin-top: 2.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><i>Fifty.</i> Both of our old bachelors are beginning to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - -<p style="margin-top: 2.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><i>Sixty.</i> Ditto—only more so.</p> - - -<p style="margin-top: 2.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><i>Seventy.</i> The Ghosts?</p> - - -<p>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 <i>denouement</i> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Be you Philo Avery?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered the ancient, with evident suspicion.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -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:—</p> - -<p>"John Avery died last night. Funeral at ten o'clock -to-morrow morning."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -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 -<i>Zophar Tupper</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Philo." The tone is broken and distant.</p> - -<p>Trembling and choked, he tries to answer. The blood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -rushes to his face and almost blinds him, and he stammers -out,—</p> - -<p>"John Avery,—aren't you dead?"</p> - -<p>"Are you?" asks the wraith.</p> - -<p>"I—I—I don't know," says Philo, and he didn't.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Thank God!" shouts Philo Avery.</p> - -<p>"<i>Thank God!</i>" responds John Avery, fervently.</p> - -<p>"How came you here?" asks Philo, still a little incredulous -as to the real mortality of his companion.</p> - -<p>"On my way to attend your funeral," says John.</p> - -<p>"Why, no,—that can't be,—I'm going to yours."</p> - -<p>"Heavens!" exclaims John.</p> - -<p>"I guess it's a hoax," suggests Philo.</p> - -<p>John takes out a letter and reads aloud: "<i>Philo Avery -died last night. Funeral at ten o'clock to-morrow morning.</i>"</p> - -<p>"Just like mine, except the name," says Philo. "So -you thought I was a ghost."</p> - -<p>"Didn't know what else you could be. You looked -queer enough for one," replied John.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> - -<p>"It must have been somebody that knew about the -wills," said John, when they had grown calm.</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Philo; "and what cursed things they -have been?"</p> - -<p>"Cursed—for both of us," said John.</p> - -<p>"Have you got it along with you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, of course,—have you?" answered John, reddening -faintly.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"What a contemptible old screw I've been!" exclaimed -John, penitentially, as the insurance table came -into his mind.</p> - -<p>"No worse than I," said Philo, thinking of all his -drudging, grovelling years.</p> - -<p>"Why, do you know I've wished you dead," burst -out John.</p> - -<p>"Well, suppose you have,—I've done the same by -you," answered Philo.</p> - -<p>"May God forgive us both."</p> - -<p>"<i>Amen</i>," said Philo, solemnly.</p> - -<p>"And help us in the future," continued John.</p> - -<p>"Amen again," said Philo.</p> - -<p>The muffled clatter of a horse's hoofs sounded through -the fog, and presently the twinkling face of Jack Niles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"I believe it was you," said Philo, looking at the mischievous -lad with sudden prescience.</p> - -<p>"I know 'twas," said John.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">DOWN BY THE SEA.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="Down_by_the_Sea" id="Down_by_the_Sea"><span class="smcap">Down by the Sea.</span></a></h2> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-t.jpg" -width="51" height="85" alt="t" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">T</span>HERE 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p style="margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 20%;">"All houses wherein men have lived and died<br /> - Are haunted houses. Through the open doors<br /> - Phantoms unseen upon their errands glide<br /> - With feet that make no noise upon the floors."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -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</p> - - -<p style="margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 10%;">"The wondrous valley hidden in the depths of Gloucester woods<br /> - Full of plants which love the summer blooms of warmer latitudes,<br /> - Where the Arctic birch is broided by the tropic's flowery vines,<br /> - And the silver-starred magnolia lights the twilight of the pines."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"That is my name, sir," she answered, not opening -the door or bidding him enter.</p> - -<p>"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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -and I think your place will just suit me. I have recommendations, -if you wish."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>Agnes Wayland was a lady, and she would not have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -been guilty of a rudeness for the world, so she hastened -to reply,—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"And I have not only looked upon it," said the minister, -very softly and benignantly, "but I have dropped -a tear upon it."</p> - -<p>"That is something that I have never done."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Mine, sir, was broken before the child died," and, as -she said this, she arose hastily and left the room.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"You seem very cheerful, sir," said Agnes Wayland, -in a quick, impetuous way, "and yet you have had -trouble, it seems."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>Her voice was cold and rigid, and a pallor as of death -was upon her face as she paused for a reply.</p> - -<p>"A good God, madam! and whom he loveth he chasteneth!"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"My dear friend, you know not what you say. I beseech -you, do not blaspheme your God."</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -study for fifteen years, and it has brought me no consolation -yet."</p> - -<p>"But you have found God in it,—have you not? You -do not deny a God?"</p> - -<p>"I have found a God in it certainly, but only a God -who has separated me eternally from all I love."</p> - -<p>"My dear friend, I assure you, you have not yet found -the true God, if you believe this."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He had deserted her, and with the blue-eyed woman -had sailed for a distant land. Never since that time,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Oh, if God would only, only let me meet you once -more! O my God, why cannot I forgive and be forgiven?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Mortimer Wayland!" she exclaimed at last, grasping -the table for support. "Why come you here?"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>Then Dr. Ashly would have left them; but the woman -called him back.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>Agnes Wayland went softly up to him, and put her -arms around his neck, as she said,—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">WHY MRS. RADNOR FAINTED.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="Why_Mrs_Radnor_Fainted" id="Why_Mrs_Radnor_Fainted"><span class="smcap">Why Mrs. Radnor Fainted.</span></a></h2> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-y.jpg" -width="55" height="85" alt="y" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">Y</span>OU have seen hazel eyes,—have you not? I -don't mean the quiet nut-brown ones, you meet -every day, but <i>bona fide</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 17%;">"Down through her limbs a drooping languor crept,<br /> - Her head a little bent, and on her mouth<br /> - A doubtful smile dwelt like a clouded moon<br /> - In a still water."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Radnor had fainted!</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"Pray, pray, take them away, sir, or your wife will die."</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>Then her eyes opened,—those wonderful eyes, that -were then almost startling in their blackness. She looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>She sighed again, as she kissed my cheek, and then I -heard her footsteps die away in the long corridor.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"My love,—why will you? The dew is very heavy." -Then a stir and the sound of a closing door.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Sit here," said Anne, pointing to a place at her -side.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -my own soul, you will not wonder if my lip falters or I -fail to dwell on the more painful portions of it."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -and then, in the purple twilight, singing dreamy German -music, of which they were both passionately fond.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"'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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -darling, tell me that you are not indifferent to me,—that -you will be my wife.'</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"'Speak to me, Eleanor,' he said, more eagerly, bending -over her as he spoke.</p> - -<p>"I saw her face flush, and an almost imperceptible -shrinking from him, that made him quickly draw back.</p> - -<p>"'Speak, Miss Orne,—Eleanor, I implore you.'</p> - -<p>"'Oh, why have you said this to me?' she answered, -faintly. 'I cannot hear you, Mr. Alexander. I am to -be married next month.'</p> - -<p>"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,—</p> - -<p>"'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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> - -<p>"'O James, James, I love you!' she said, piteously; -and then I had just time to break her fall.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"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 <i>her</i>, Anne, for my sake,—will you not?'</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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,—</p> - -<p>"'It is an unpleasant subject to me, dear Anne. I fear -I have much to blame myself for. <i>I</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.'</p> - -<p>"'But it may not yet be too late,' I said, eagerly; for -God knows I loved James Alexander with no selfish -love.</p> - -<p>"'Yes, it is too late,' she replied mournfully. 'I shall -never allude to it again, Anne; but I tell you now, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -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 <i>was</i> 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.'</p> - -<p>"Then there was silence between us for a space. At -last she spoke again,—</p> - -<p>"'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.'</p> - -<p>"I was about to reply, but she laid her hand on my -mouth.</p> - -<p>"'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?'</p> - -<p>"But her words ended with a sigh that contrasted -strangely with the forced lightness of her tone.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Do not go on," I said, with my own eyes and voice -full of tears.</p> - -<p>She raised her head quickly.</p> - -<p>"I had schooled myself to it, dear, before I came, and -I must finish. I am telling you of another's life, not -mine.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -remorse. The sun has set, dear, we will go -home."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Agnus Dei</i> of the -Twelfth Mass.</p> - -<p>We paused, and Anne said quietly,—"She has never -sung since he died until now."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Kyrie Eleison," said Anne, in a hushed voice. "Let -us go in."</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> - - - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">UNDER A CLOUD.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="Under_a_Cloud" id="Under_a_Cloud"><span class="smcap">Under a Cloud.</span></a></h2> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-o.jpg" -width="56" height="87" alt="o" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">O</span>NE 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 <i>Staats-Zeitung</i>. 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, "<i>Sind Sie Deutsch?</i>" by way of experiment.</p> - -<p>"No, sir," he replied, "I am not German, but I speak -and read the language."</p> - -<p>I drew a chair near him, as he laid aside the newspaper, -with the air of one willing to enter into conversation.</p> - -<p>"Where did you pick up your German?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"I picked it up," said the young man, with an air of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -some pride in the statement, "where I picked up my -Latin and Greek,—at college."</p> - -<p>At this I ran my eye over him curiously. He had -not the appearance of a scholar.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"So I should imagine."</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>He spoke with a bitter irony, that ill-concealed a sort -of shame in the confession.</p> - -<p>"May I ask in what capacity?" said I.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"You are married, then?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir,"—with sudden reserve.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> - -<p>He took it with a respectful inclination of the head.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>And I went my own way.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>This is also my case.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Sounds of music and dancing fell on my ear. They -came from the beer-saloon of the morning. Curiosity -impelled me to enter.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>The violinist was my acquaintance of the morning.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"At work, eh?" I remarked, with a miserable effort -to seem cheerful and easy.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. You have found me out. You know now -how I keep the wolf from my door."</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. St. John; and I do not forget that it <i>is</i> to -keep the wolf from your door. Still, I hope you are -thoroughly misplaced here,—I <i>hope</i> you are!"</p> - -<p>He grasped my hand with a quick, strong pressure.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>He took my pencil and wrote the address in my note-book.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow afternoon," said I, "I will call."</p> - -<p>The next day I found my way to the wretched tenement -house in North Clark street, where St. John lived,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -and climbed three pair of stairs to the door of his room. -I rapped, and the young man opened the door.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Mrs. St. John was engaged in the unpoetic occupation -of mending her husband's only coat. He was in his -shirt-sleeves.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>The little wife looked up with a demure and childlike -air.</p> - -<p>"He never offers to smoke, sir," said she, "because"—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"And now, sir," said St. John, "you shall hear the -story I promised you. I hope it wont bore you."</p> - -<p>"If it does I'll cry out," said I.</p> - -<p>The little wife laughed quietly.</p> - -<p>"I graduated; I married; I came to Chicago," began -St. John, sententiously.</p> - -<p>"<i>Veni, vidi, vici</i>," said I.</p> - -<p>"Quite the contrary; I <i>was</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"'Do you know anything about the newspaper business?' -was the first question put to me, by the first -publisher to whom I made application.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"'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.'</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"'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. <i>My</i> 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.'</p> - -<p>"Mr. Pyke was a rough one.</p> - -<p>"'Posted around town,' said he.</p> - -<p>"I told him I was a new-comer.</p> - -<p>"'Know short-hand?'</p> - -<p>"'No, sir.'</p> - -<p>"'What line are you strongest in?'</p> - -<p>"What line?' said I, not exactly understanding.</p> - -<p>"'Yes, what line? Speeches, fancy-work, police, -sensations, picking up items around town—or what?'</p> - -<p>"'I really don't know,' said I; 'I've never had any -experience, practically, in the newspaper business.'</p> - -<p>"At this Mr. Pyke turned round on me with a queer -look in his face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> - -<p>"'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 <i>e</i> box is!'</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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 <i>you</i>; -go on, please."</p> - -<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -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 <i>here</i>. 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 <i>her</i> down to this is almost unbearable at -times."</p> - -<p>"You have <i>not</i> dragged me, Brock," spoke up the little -wife; "I came of my own accord!"</p> - -<p>"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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"So that you could prove to Pyke that you know the -<i>e</i> box from the <i>x</i> box?" queried I.</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>"But you talk the words of bitterness when you talk -in that way, St. John. You can barter your knowledge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -of German for <i>cash</i>, and keep it too. Have you ever -sought for pupils!"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>He made me no protestation of gratitude,—such -protestations are usually humbug,—but I saw his gladness -in his face.</p> - -<p>The little wife sat squeezing her fingers for joy.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">COMING FROM THE FRONT.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="Coming_from_the_Front" id="Coming_from_the_Front"><span class="smcap">Coming from the Front.</span></a></h2> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<blockquote> -<p style="margin-left: 35%; margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">"<span class="smcap">Head-Quarters. Dep't and Army of the Tennessee.</span><br /> -"<i>East Point, Georgia, September 22, 1864.</i> </p> - -<p style="margin-left: 8%;">"SPECIAL ORDERS.<br /> - "No. 214.</p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">[EXTRACT.]</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p style="margin-left: 8%;"> "XI Having tendered his resignation, the following-named<br /> -officer is honorably discharged from the military service of the<br /> -United States, with condition that he shall receive no final payments<br /> -until he satisfies the Pay Department that he is not indebted<br /> -to the Government.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 8%;"> "1st Lieut. —— ——, Ills. Vol. Inf'try.<br /> - "By order of Maj. Gen'l O. O. Howard.<br /> - "(Signed) <span class="smcap">W. T. Clark</span>, <i>Ass't Adj't Gen'l.</i>"</p> -</blockquote> - -<div style="margin-top: 3em;"><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-t.jpg" -width="51" height="85" alt="t" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">T</span>HINK 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -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 <i>ra-tata-ta-ta</i> 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.</p> - -<p>But this troubles me little now. Time enough to attend -to it after I get home. That is all I can think of,—<i>home</i>, -and how to get there.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It was a terribly hot morning when I reached the depot -at Atlanta, amid a cloud of dust and a maze of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Now we're off!"</p> - -<p>"No we're not," said the humorous young man, "but -it's more'n likely we will be before we get to Chattanooga."</p> - -<p>This was not particularly encouraging to timid travellers, -in a country abounding in guerrilleroes, and where -accident insurance companies were unknown.</p> - -<p>Between Atlanta and Marietta we passed line after -line of defensive works, protected by <i>abattis</i> and <i>chevaux-de-frise</i>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> -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, <i>such pies</i>! 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -witness what was called a dramatic exhibition, but -which was really more anatomical than dramatic.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 40%; margin-top: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;">"What can't be cured<br /> - Must be endured."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>We hastened on without accident and with decreasing -fear, though the <i>débris</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> - - - -<h1 style="margin-top: 8em; margin-bottom: 8em;">A NIGHT IN THE SEWERS.</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p> - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="A_Night_in_the_Sewers" id="A_Night_in_the_Sewers"><span class="smcap">A Night in the Sewers.</span></a></h2> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img style="margin-bottom: 1.5em;" src="images/image1.jpg" width="100" height="18" alt="fancy line" /> -</div> - -<div><img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-p.jpg" -width="55" height="85" alt="p" /> -</div><p><span class="dropletter">P</span>ERHAPS 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -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 <i>boule dogues</i>, several -of which ill-looking canines formed a portion of Beck's -stock in trade.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Good upon rats?" asked I.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"What do you make of the rat-skins?" inquired I, -after I had looked on for a while.</p> - -<p>"Money," rejoined Mr. Beck, curtly; "but the man I -dress them for makes them into gloves,—ladies' gloves, -of the primest quality."</p> - -<p>"Ladies have rats about them in more ways than one, -then," said I. "Where do you get the raw material?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"On the rounds, eh, Simonet?" said Mr. Beck, addressing -this agreeable-looking gentleman; "well, here's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>Then looking at me, he continued,—</p> - -<p>"Better leave your coat with my old woman, who'll -give you a clean <i>blouse</i> instead."</p> - -<p>Madame took my coat, and gave me a strong <i>blouse</i> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -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 <i>détours</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -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 -<i>grille</i>, 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:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;">"I have lost my way in the sewers. You will find<br /> - me at the grating just opposite a large buoy marked X.<br /> - Come quickly."</p></blockquote> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - - -<div class="transnote"> - -<p class="ph2" style="margin-top: 3.5em; margin-bottom: 1em;">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</p> - -<p>Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's -original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -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-h.htm or 53178-h.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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