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 What need of more? What need of elaborate circumlocutions in order that the heart should speak truth?

The heart of those children knew of no such circumlocutions, it spoke thus, and therefore spoke sublimely, nobly, and solemnly, because it spoke the truth.

“I wished to have thee for my wife, and I did not know whether thou wert willing to be my wife, and that fretted me”, said Frank.

“If you had not come for me, I should have had to think where Bartos should delve a grave. And I had already chosen a spot. Where else than yonder”, and she pointed towards her mother’s grave.

And both their hearts heaved with feelings different than a moment before: the sentiment of unexpected bliss exhausted them, and bliss is burdensome before we are accustomed to it.

They took one another by the hand and went into the little house to tell Bartos what they had just told one another.

“I wish to have Staza for my wife and am come to speak about it”, said Frank by way of salutation when they entered.

Bartos measured Frank from head to heal and said, “Good, Staza, go away.”

When Staza was gone, Bartos said, “You know, I suppose, Frank, that Staza is a child not born in wedlock.”

“But all the same, a child”, responded Frank.

“That she does not know, neither do I know, nor perhaps does anybody know, who was her father.”

“Is there any need to know it?” inquired Frank.

“That people will talk about this and will say, ‘Look! there goes Frank Loyka arm in arm with his wife’, and they will laugh at her origin.

“Why should a man trouble himself about an origin?”

“Every one thinks his or her origin the important thing and acts accordingly.”

“And do they mend matters thereby?”

“They do not. But it goes against them when it comes about as in her case.”

“And was she created against the will of the Creator?”

“That I do not know; but if you wish to have her for your wife you ought to be told about it.”

“I see no difference between her and others, and what I see is that she is dearer to me than all the world, let her origin be what it may.”

“Good! call her!”


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 And Bartos himself called Staza. “You have led one another by the hand”, he said; “lead one another by the hand for all your life.” And this strong man who had not his equal, at these words wellnigh gave way.

After this he said, “I found thee, dear Staza, long have I had thee with me, and now Frank has claimed thee. What have we to do? He has a greater right to thee than I have. He is young and loves thee.”

At these words Staza threw herself on Bartos’s breast, and there sobbed out her great happiness, wept there also her thanks to him for being a father to her and her sorrow at leaving him.

“One thing more, oh! Bartos”, said Frank.

“What, pray?”

“You know that my parents dwell in the farmhouse and will dwell there with me for many a long year, let us hope; the pension house is therefore empty; will you not settle there and be our neighbour—mine and Stazas?”

At these words Bartos again measured Frank from head to heels and said: “I pensioned off! No, dear boy. Here I am lord and master, and am little skilled in accepting pensions or returning thanks for them. It is possible that you would like to have me there. But we cannot tell, and I should never manage to pry into your eyes every day to see whether you still liked to have me there. Do you think I shall be low-spirited here alone? I have a large family, as yet I have never felt oppressed or low-spirited among them. Who knows? Perhaps, I shall be needed here. The next time some father flies from his son’s harsh bounty and knoweth not whither to turn, he will come to Bartos. And what would he do if he did not find me here?”

Frank was silent. It was evident he deemed that Bartos judged him harshly.

“Do not be angry, boy”, said Bartos. “Possibly I shall come and visit you from time to time, to see how you treat your father. Do your best to show yourself at once a good hospodar and a good son—of that I must be first assured. Promise nothing. Even your brother promised and would have deprived your father of reason. I do not trust you little sons, because your fathers make themselves dependent upon you. But promise me one thing, invite me to your wedding.”

All was so unanswerably true which Bartos had said, that Frank did not utter a word in reply.

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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 “Do not be anxious about me,” he added, “now, Staza must be the dearest object of your care.” On this he kissed Staza and kissed Frank, and so the betrothal ended.

What they wished to say to one another, and what they had said to one another, how simple it was! How entirely the outcome of souls already united, and yet, before they had reached the goal of speech they had to undergo all the pleasing lapses, doubts, and problems of lovers—true passion follows no other course.

And now they both enjoyed the most charming rambles together. They led one another by the hand and went to visit those hedgerows, those bushes, all the haunts where their childish hearts had beat beside the quails. They visited their little chapels, in which as children they worshipped their Creator with the laverock. Everything was the same, and yet it was all different. On every hedge was more green and more glitter; the air seemed more alive with singing; every laverock piped a more fervid lay; every whisper of Nature was more touching.

And so everything was different, but it seemed as though only now all Nature manifested itself in its true essence, which none understand who have not looked upon the world with an eye enlightened by true love. Even Staza was different; even Frank was different. When they looked at one another they seemed to catch a glimpse of each other’s souls, of something inexhaustible and eternal. They seemed to catch a glimpse of each other’s soul and in their eyes gleamed the light of eternal blessedness, beautiful as the glory of a Saint; in their eyes gleamed the truth of eternal rapture made more beautiful by tears. Each of them was different, each seemed endued with angels’ wings, to flutter round the other; each of them was more exalted, and their thoughts were like prayers.

Staza’s love was not the least appreciably less fervent, less genuine, less holy because she was a child not born in wedlock. The divine breath hath not such narrow instincts as we poor humans. Only let the heart be right and the divine breath does not inquire what was its origin. The Son of God was a child not born in wedlock, and the divine love did not grow cold on that account, the divine love accepted him for its own Son. It is only we poor humans who, in out littleness, grow cold and shamefaced at the thought of a base origin, and yet the origin of us all is from no other source than from that eternal love from which every grain of wheat germinates, who threw that grain of wheat, for


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 whose delight it germinates into maturity—wherefore should we trouble ourselves about that?

What more have I to relate?

About three o’clock one afternoon, the sexton, Vanek, strode across the village green of Frishets with the great key in his hand in the direction of the chapel.

Those who stood at the window and saw him did not ask one another whether there was a fire or whether some one was dead. They knew why he went to the chapel just at that hour, and only said to one another, “So it will be at once.”

And here they walked out in front of their farmhouses, and seeing neighbours lounging about the other farms, took a few steps towards the centre of the green, and saluted each other just as they had spoken at home, “So it will be at once.”

All were dressed in holiday attire, even their faces were in holiday attire, the whole village was in holiday attire. Down the middle of the village green were posted branches of May with pennons streaming, the whole forming an arcade which stretched from the Loykas’s farm to the chapel. Even the Loykas’s house itself was smothered in pine-branches and looked as spick-and-span as on a high festival.

On this occasion Vena again marched with a basket in his hand; he had rosolek in the basket, and poured out and gave to drink to any one who desired. On this occasion he was in good humour as though he was going to be wedded himself. He poured out the liquor very briskly and continually invited the good folk to drink, “Now to their health, neighbours!”

“How, then, do you greet your new mistress, Vena?” they inquired.

“I greet her well,” said Vena, “and verily I say as thus, look you, “The Lord God grant you as many little dears for me to carry across the green as there are flasks here! That’s how I greet her!”

“And how many may that be?” said the neighbours, laughing.

“How can I tell until you have drunk out the lot”, said Vena, and constantly invited them to imbibe.

To look at him you would have said it was Vena’s own bridal day that was being celebrated. And nothing would have embittered his gay humour, only one question from neighbour Kmoch, Barushka’s father, vexed him. “How many wagons are required to bring home Staza’s marriage portion?” he inquired with a very saucy leer.


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 On this Vena vented his brimming choler in these words, “You have not wagons enough to carry home a single one of her good qualities. So you want to be sarcastic, do you? What do you know, ye peasant proprietors, of the essentials of a happy marriage? You barter your daughters on the market-place to the man who makes the highest bid. ‘A crown! two crowns! ten crowns! twelve crowns!’—those are your daughters. And so you would sneer, would you? He who throws down most of the dross is the heaven-sent husband. And then you shrink into your pension house when you have accomplished this feat of wondrous wisdom, and how many wagons are wanted to carry your pensioner’s portion? I would undertake to wheel you away, portion and all, on a handbarrow.”

Here Vena had worked himself into a frenzy, so that he did not know when he ought to conclude his declamation, although we must add in conclusion that all the neighbours condemned Kmoch’s ill-timed question.

“She will not be such a one,” continued Vena, “that her father must wander through the market-places like a beggar, because they tormented him under his own roof. There will be no need that the vejminkar should make his last will before she sets foot in his house, because afterwards he will be worried out of his five senses. And with such good qualities as she possesses Staza will need many wagons to carry all easily.”

Perhaps Vena would have declaimed at yet greater length had not the march of events deadened the effect of Kmoch’s insolent remark.

From the cemetery, whither Frank had driven to claim his bride, his best man rode at a gallop, and said that the happy pair would be at the village in a trice, that old Bartos had joined their hands by the graves of Staza’s mother and Frank’s grandfather and said, “Your love grew out of the grave; may it last beyond all graves.”

At this moment Vanek began to ring the bell in the chapel, and outside the village resounded the fiddles of well-known fiddlers, who were assisted by musicians from the whole surrounding district.

The neighbours on the village green flocked into the green arcade which formed an alley as far as the chapel, and awaited the young bride and bridegroom, only Kmoch turned away in another direction.


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2 perhaps in ome caes aited in its Operation by the external air) eems agreeable to divers things that may be oberv'd in uch Bodies and their manner of acting.

There are differing Hypothees (and all of them Mechanical, propos'd by the Moderns) to olve the Phænomena of Electrical Attraction. Of thee Opinions the Firt is that of the learned Jeuite Cabeus, who, though a Peripatetick and Commentator on Aritotle, thinks the drawing of light Bodies by Jet, Amber, &c. may be accounted for, by uppoing, that the teams that iue, or, if I may o peak, ally, out of Amber, when heated by rubbing, dicus and expell the neighbouring air; which after it has deenbeen [sic] driven off a little way, makes as it were a mall whirlwind, becaue of the reitance it finds from the remoter air, which has not been wrought on by the Electrical Steams; and that thee, hrinking back wiftly enough to the Amber, do in their returns bring a- long

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 Here I must touch off a good side in the neighbours of Frishets, namely that they awaited the young couple in perfect good faith. Frank, by his behaviour towards his father, had so firmly installed himself in their esteem that nothing could shake him in it. We cannot indeed disguise the fact that with all of them it somewhat ran counter to their ideas of what should be when he chose for his wife an illegitimate orphan, for in these matters no one was better or worse than his neighbours, and every one said secretly to himself, “For my part, I could not have done it.” But as it was Frank who did it they made their peace with him, and as it was Staza who was the object of his choice they made their peace with her as well.

And so the happy pair were escorted by such a goodly company as never was seen before in Frishets, and a festival was celebrated the like of which few a short time before ever expected to see again originate from Loyka’s farm. People collected on foot and in carriages from all parts of the neighbourhood—not only in honour of Frank’s bridal day, but also in honour of old Loyka’s recovery, who had for so many years wandered among them without health and without mind.

What more have I to relate?

Beside the coach-house in the two chambers the legends and ballads of old times, which had been banished for so many years, took root once more. And Loyka’s court-yard beamed like the face of a happy listener.

If we wish to take a peep for a moment, we can do so. The farm is again free of access to every one: the cloth-pedlar and the tinkers come for a night’s lodging, musicians often turn aside thither, and listeners, male and female, come from the village to hear them play.

Again Frank listened to the song or the story in these chambers, and led Staza thither—how well-known and beloved wherever they are seen!

And, if we wish, we can take a peep at Loyka sometimes in the morning when the servants are preparing themselves for their work afield.

Old Loyka with his pipe in his mouth promenades about the court, inspects the implements, and the servants salute him with, “The Lord God give you good morrow, pantata.”

Old Loyka thanks them. “As God wills, my children”, says he.

“Are we to go to-day to work in the meadow, pantata?”

“Have you asked your young master? Go where he tells you.” Rh


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 “He said we were to ask you.”

“Well, well, then go to the meadow. But always ask your young master.”

“Look, here he comes.”

And here Frank comes forward. “What do you think? Must they go to the meadow?”

And Frank knows so many reasons why they must go to the meadow and nowhere else, that old Loyka is all smiles, to think that he is still competent to manage the estate.

“Well, well,” he adds, “then go to the meadows to be sure.”

Then Stazicka [little Staza], as all on the farm call her, comes and says that they must go to breakfast. Old Loyka chucks her under the chin, and looks into her sparkling eyes. “Good child, good child”, says he. Then he lets go her chin, and takes her by the hand. “This very day come a year you will not come for me alone, little Staza.”

“Why should I not come for you, papa.”

“Tut: come, of course, you will, but with my grandchild in your arms.”

On this little Staza blushes, and thinks to herself, full of fond anticipation, “This very day come a year.”

Or suppose we pay them a visit, come a year, at harvest. The harvesters once more make the farm their first halting-place when they go a-harvesting, and old Loyka promenades among them with pipe in mouth.

“I come from the young pantata,” says the spokesman of the harvesters, “in order that you should select us yourself, pantata, because you know us now as he says; and I also think it is best.”

“Well, well,” says old Loyka, “how could we fail to know one another after so many years.”

And after this he chooses according to his taste, and as seems best.

“This summer we shall have a merry harvest”, says the harvester.

“This summer! so I believe you. And when Staza leads off the dance for you! Such a mistress has not been seen on the farm as Stazicka.”

“She is a worthy mistress, pantata. Once Annette came here with us—you know, pantata, mnuh! her only fault is she does not know how she came into the world. And women being but women, they would not endure her among them. ‘How, then, is


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 it her fault?’ said your little Staza. ‘We do not drive away an animal when it nestles against us; in what is Annette worse than an animal?’ And as you know, pantata, she took her as nurse to your pretty grandchild.”

“Just so, just so”, smiled old Loyka.

But the whole farm was quite on foot when there for a time came on a visit the grave-digger Bartos. “I begin to be aweary among the dead,” said he, “and since the living like me, I gladly come a while among them. Well, and you like to have me with you?”

And it was a wonder they did not carry him on their shoulders, that is to say, if they could have born his weight. And as they could not do this, they hung upon him. Frank and Staza and the little fellow which Staza took from Annette that she might proudly exhibit it.

“Why am I made so strong, I wonder,” Bartos would say, “if I may not fling you off.” And he prepared jestingly to drive them before him that he might free himself from them. But it was worst of all when he prepared to depart. Here even old Loyka fastened on him, and all held him, that he should still remain with them. And here Bartos, the grave-digger, for a time feigned to chevy them away, just as though he would shake them off. And we must say what then happened seldom happened—it being the only occasion when the Herculean Bartos succumbed. Frank, Staza, Loyka, and the little boy overpowered him, and sometimes the little boy alone prevailed.

“Well, well”, laughed old Loyka, and then when at even the musicians came there was in the farm a most charming idyll.

Long had they sought this idyll, long had they wandered in search of it, but they found it at last. And this idyll ends as it began:—

Odpocinte v pokoji


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 INITIALS IN SATIN STITCH.

JANUARY FASHIONS FOR YOUNG MISSES.

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869A.pdf/21


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24

THAT JUNE. due to her to tell her, first, of our intention. Let-us do nothing underhanded.”

“Then shall I call her?”

“I suppose there is nothing else to be done,” said Mr. Vivian, wearily, but as if he only half assented to the proposition.

Mrs. Vivian moved toward the door, but before she had reached it, her husband started to his feet.

“Stop,” he said. “I have it.”

His whole face had lightened up.

“I have it,” he said. “My dear, have you never seen mice about? They generally infest every house.”

“Mice!” Mrs. Vivian laughed. “Why, my dear, are you crazy? Mice don’t eat twenty- dollar notes.”

“But have you ever seen mice in this room?” persisted Mr. Vivian.

“I have heard them, at night, occasionally, but I have never seen them. But what can that have to do with the money?”

“I am certain now. I should have searched everywhere, in any event; but now I feel sure the mice have done it. Don’t look so incredulous, my dear. A mouse wouldn’t eat a bank- note, she would rather have a bit of cheese, but she might think the note’ would make a very nice nest for her little ones. We must have the carpets up.”

“Oh! Mr. Vivian, what do you mean? Take up the carpets, and have the room to clean again, and everything upside down——”

“My dear, I will begin at the most likely place: by the hearth, say. I will take out the tacks myself, aud very carefully: there shall be no dust made, I assure you. Perhaps we will not have to look far.”

“Mrs. Vivian knew, when her husband spoke in this mild, yet decided manner, that there was nothing to do but to yield gracefully. She went, therefore, to a closet, and brought out the tack- hammer.

Mr. Vivian, clergyman as he was, did not disdain to get on his hands and knees, aad begin to draw the tacks. He had loosened the carpet for about a yard, when he cried suddenly,

“Ah! here is a mouse-hole, at any rate.”

Mrs. Vivian, by this time, began to catch the infection of his excitement. She leaned over him breathlessly.

“I will feel down the hole,” said her husband. “The handle of the hammer is thin, and this iron at the end will catch the note, if it is here. Ha! there’s a rustle; gently now. Bless my soul, if this isn’t the very note.”

Sure enough, there it was! A crisp, twenty- dollar bill, with the ink-stain on one end. A bit of one corner was gone, about a quarter of an inch, but otherwise the note was perfect.

“Mistress Mouse: found she could not drag the note to her nest, it was too stiff, it has stuck half-way, she has torn off the end, you see, in her struggles,” said Mr. Vivian, rising to his feet and triumphantly holding up and shaking the crisp, rustling note.

Mrs. Vivian burst into tears.

“To think,” she said, at last, “that I came so near discharging Jane unjustly. I never again will believe my own eyes.”

“My dear,” answered Mr. Vivian, “we were both to blame. We ought to have had more faith in Jane, It will teach us, I hope, never to be hasty in forming opinions. Especially should we be careful not to condemn others, without, at least, ample evidence.”

THAT JUNE.

BY MARION WINSLOW. Through cloudy years the glow comes back, OF nat bright June day's mellow light; I watch the sunlight’s golden trek, The happy swallow's Eastward flight.

Around me floats the azure haze, The carne eott, Meecy, elltory sheen, That robe those happy, careless dayn Of blue-eyed Juve aud sweet sixteen.

We wandered on, dear—you and I Our light laugh broke the quiet air: We went, see scarce know where of why, Save that the June-woods were so fair.

Up sunny slopes, through silent glade, Along the river's mosay bounds, Until we reached the woodland shale, With all its marvel of sweet sounds.

Oh! humming bes! Oh! einging birds! Tne-Wells that ring yonr life away? Bring hack ta me ths loving words That God with you that Summer day.

Ah mek A Gels geeevard ee Just whore we walked that golde doy; And burning tears from comttesa eyes, Have washed the lue-belts’ bloom away.

Yet these a little while doth parts From these green mounds sweet hopes are born: But this oad grave within my bonrt Hath never resurrection-worp.

�

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 The facts that many of the gods are invisible now, and have never been visible, furnish no argument against their existence. Existences can be made known to us by other senses than those of sight, such as odours and sound; while the wind, which is neither seen, heard nor smelt, is recognized by the impression which it makes on our bodies. The gods of the divine age are indeed no longer visible, but in that age they were visible. The sun-goddess must be excepted, for she is visible to all men even now. And as for the gods whose existence was never perceived by the eyes of men, they are known by their special modes of action upon men. All our knowledge comes to us in fact by our senses. We thus know that fire is hot and water cold, but of the nature of heat and cold we can discover nothing.

There is a tradition in China that the left and right eyes of Puanku became the sun and moon, which is, however, usually discredited because the natives of that country, being admirers of false knowledge, assign the origin of these two luminaries to the Positive and Negative Essences. The real truth is that the sun and moon were produced when Izanagi no kami washed his eyes after returning from his search after Izanami no kami in the nether world. The tradition has evidently travelled to China, and assumed the perverted form in which we find it there, during the lapse of ages.

Motoöri disclaims any intention of endeavouring to resuscitate pure Shintô so far as to make it the rule of life in the present day. His only object is to present the age of the gods in its real form. All that comes to pass in the world, whether good or bad in its nature, is the act of the gods, and men have generally little influence over the course of events. To insist on practising the ancient “way of the gods,” in opposition to the customs of the present age, would be rebellion against that “way,” and equivalent to trying to excel it. If men in their daily practice obey the laws made from time to time by the authorities, and act in accordance with general custom,

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text: A Strange, Sad Comedy

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy


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 they are practising Shintô. It was with this reservation that he vindicated the ancient practice of intermarriage among children of the same father by different mothers, and not in order to recommend its revival.

The Kenkiôjin, or “The madman thrust into an iron collar,” is likewise a controversial work in reply to the Shôkôhatsu, which was apparently an attack upon the ancient records. The latter is a rare book, and we have not been able to procure a copy, but to judge from the short quotations contained in the Kenkiôjin the points in dispute have no direct bearing upon the essential principles of Shintô.

From the central truth that the Mikado is the direct descendant of the gods, the tenet that Japan ranks far above all other countries is a natural consequence. No other nation is entitled to equality with her, and all are bound to do homage to the Japanese Sovereign and pry tribute to him. These truths are enlarged upon in great detail by MotöoriMotoöri [sic] in a work entitled Giojiu Gaigen, “Indignant words about Ruling the Barbarians,” written in 1778. It takes the form of a review of the relations between Japan and other countries from the earliest period down the time of Iyeyasu, as recorded in the histories of both countries, but does not touch upon the subject of the intercourse with Christian states in the 16th and 17th centuries, probably because Christianity was a forbidden question.

That on the earliest occasion when the Mikado exchanged letters and envoys with the Chinese Sovereign, the first step should have been taken by the former is a source of deep annoyance to Motoöri. This deplorable event occuredoccurred [sic] in the year 707 under the Empress Suiko, when an envoy was sent to China to fetch a Buddhist Sûtra which Shôtoku Taishi remembered to have possessed during a previous state of existence, when he was learning the sacred mysteries in that country. It is true that the Chinese histories contain notices of tribute bearers from Japan much earlier than this date, but these envoys, whatever may have been their character,

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text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 1

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 1


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 2

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 2


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 3

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 3


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 4

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 4


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 5

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 5


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 6

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 6


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 7

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 7


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 8

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 8


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 9

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 9


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 10

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 10


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 11

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 11


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 12

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 12


text: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 13

title: A Strange, Sad Comedy/Chapter 13


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 certainly were not commissioned by the sovereign. As for their paying tribute, the statement is due to the inordinate vanity of the Chinese, who fancy themselves superior to all surrounding nations, whereas they are no better than barbarians themselves, and are bound to acknowledge the supremacy of Japan. The Nihongi speaks also of the despatch of Japanese to China in 464 and 468, but Motoori thinks that they were not accredited to any Chinese sovereign. One of the Chinese histories has an account of the mission sent by Suiko, and gives what purports to a letter from that Empress, in which appears the famous phrase, “The Tenshi (son of Heaven) of the place where the sun rises sends a letter to the Tenshi of the place where the sun sets.” If the Empress Suiko really sent such a letter, she treated the Chinese sovereign with far too much civility, and if she had addressed him with some such phrase as, “The Heavenly Emperor notifies (choku) to the king of Go (Wu),” he ought to have been filled with gratitude, instead of which he is represented by the Chinese historiographer as having been offended at being treated as an equal. But the truth is that Suiko Tennô wanted to get something from him, and therefore condescended to flatter his vanity. The Nihongi relates that this Empress showered civilities upon the envoy who brought the Chinese Emperor’s answer, but Motoöri does not care to dwell on this fact.

Uninterrupted intercourse seems to have continued between the two Courts for about two centuries, and then to have ceased during a period of about thirty years. It was unworthy of Japan to enter into relations with a base barbarian state, whatever might be the benefits which she expected to obtain. It resulted in too many cases to the shipwreck of the vessels and the profitless deaths of the envoys by drowning. Had the Chinese ruler paid due reverence to the Mikado as a being infinitely superior to himself, the objection would have been less. After the end of the tenth century the Mikados appear to have ceased sending envoys to China, and Motoöri remarks that “so long as Japan wanted anything from China, she

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 A BOARDING-SCHOOL ROMANCE.

BY ELLA RODMAN.

Miss DRUMMOND was very much agitated.

So much so, indeed, that she had quite broken the symmetry of the procession on which she prided herself, and advanced hastily from the rear to the middle of the line, dragging by the hand her youngest boarding-pupil, pretty little Minnie Somerville, aged five, whose father died before she was born, whose mother married again, and then died, whose step-father took to himself a second wife; and the poor baby, who now belonged to no one in particular, was consigned to the tender mercies of Miss Drummond, proprietress of Southbrook Seminary.

Dragging this infant with her, and quite unmindful of the lovely calm of a June morning, and the beautiful service in which she had just been engaged, the wary maiden, who had spied danger ahead, made at once for what she considered the weakest portion of her forces, or the portion most liable to attack; gazing, with eyes full of thunder and lightning, at the two daring men-creatures so comfortably propped against a tree, and evidently attitudinizing for the express benefit of these miserable girls—the miserable girls seeming, by some force of attraction, to turn toward them as they walked, very much as heliotropes turn to the sun.

It was quite a picture: the pretty stone-church in the distance, from which Miss Drummond never allowed her flock to emerge until the congregation had all departed; the long, winding walk of elms, clothed with tender June greenness; the ‘rose-bud garden of girls,” two and two, like the animals in Noah’s Ark—quite an old rose-bud in front, as old as twenty, who was talking and smiling assiduously to her companion, a stout girl with large feet, and eyes that saw nothing but the two gentlemen; then came a hatchet-faced girl in a huge sombrero, and a plain-featured one in a trying turban; and, just about the center, where she made the most show, and attracted the most attention, that dangerous Miss, Berks, called by her intimates, "Pansy.”

She was one of those girls who are always in the center, place them where you will; and now, as Miss Drummond tried to see her with the eyes of the two young men, the troubled spinster found her most inconveniently lovely, from the bewitching straw hat, with its wreath of pansies and veil of floating gossamer, to the beautifully-slippered foot, which the minx was just lifting the skirt of her white dress to display. She had mistrusted those great, half-closed eyes, that looked for all the world like two soft, dark pansies, as soon as she saw them— they seemed to speak of breakers ahead; but these pretty, stylish girls were very ornamental, and the sum per annum for Miss Berks’ tuition was not to be despised.

There was a sort of mystery in her arrival— her coming had evidently been very hurried, and the lady who accompanied her, and called herself her aunt, was so agitated as to seem scarcely conscious of what she was saying. What if the young lady had been turned out to pasture in this quiet New England village, because she had proved quite unmanageable to her friends at home?

The idea was not pleasant to Miss Drummond, as she contemplated the two attractive-looking youths who stared persistently at the fair procession, and seemed to be saying, each in his own mind, “Come one, come all! this tree shall fly From its firm base as soon as I!” Dogs, too! the wretches were, doubtless, staying at the hotel, and, perhaps, meant to make a summer of it.

This was a fine state of things! when she had purposely selected this quietest of all country villages as a desirable field for educational purposes because of its very dullness, in addition to its beauty—Southwood being one of those remarkable places that progress backward instead of forward; and all who came to enjoy the shade of its elms, were regaled with stories of former gayeties when there had been a law-school and a boys’ academy in the place, both of which institutions were now defunct. Especially was this hard on Miss Drummond’s young ladies, who frequently wished that their sojourn at Southbrook happened thirty or forty years ago.

People in predicaments of all sorts think with the rapidity of drowning men; and those, and many more ideas had ebbed and flowed in Miss Drummond’s brain, while she was walking through the avenue of elms as close as possible to Miss Pansy Berks.

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 overlooked the insolent pretensions of the Chinese sovereigns, but now being no longer in a position to gain by the interchange of courtesies, she rejected all further overtures of friendship.”

The failure of the expeditions sent against Japan by Kublai Khan and the Taikô’s conquest of Corea of course afford much matter for reflections of a gratifying nature, which are only clouded by the disgraceful conduct of the Shôgun Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, who in writing to the Ming sovereign addresses him as Your Majesty (heika), and in one of his letters uses the title ‘King’ (kokuô) in speaking of himself, of the Shôgun Ashikaga Yoshihisa, in sending envoys to ask for money (such sums as 50,000 and 100,000 strings of cash at a time), and by the unfortunately obsequious language used by the Taikô and some of his generals in writing to the Chinese officials about the negotiations for peace. But the responsibility in these last cases lay with the priests, who being the only men in those days with the slightest tincture of learning, had charge of the correspondence.

The most remarkable point about this long tirade against China is that Japan was indebted to her for all the arts and sciences that make life better than nonentity, for a complete system of government and laws, and even for the very system of writing which enabled the writer to record his arrogant and spiteful feelings.

Of Motoöri’s other works relating to Shintô the most important are his commentaries on the Oho-barui no kotoba (1795) and the Idzumo Kuni-no-miyatsuko Kamuyogoto (1798) the Jindai Udzu no Yamakage, which is a development of his criticisms on the first two books of the Nihongi called the Jindai no maki, and the Jindai Shôgo (1789). This last is a compilation from those parts of the Kojiki and Nihongi which describe the age of the gods and certain other ancient books, written in the mixture of Chinese characters and Hiragana called Kana-majiri, with a few explanatory notes.

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 It is intended to give a clearer account of the ancient traditions than either of the original works on which it is based, by eliminating the Chinese order of characters, and substituting purely Japanese sentences. To these may be added the Tenso tojô Bemben (1767), a reply to two writers, one of whom had tried to prove that the capital of Amaterasu was at Nakatsu in Buzen, the other that it was in the province of Yamato, and the Ise Nigû Sakitake no ben, the objects of which are to refute the heretical notion that Amaterasu is not the sun, and to show that the deity of the Gékû, who is identified by some writers with Ame-no-mi-naka-nushi by others with Kuni-no-toko-tachi, is in reality Uke-mochi no kami, the goddess of food.

The Rekichô shôshi kai, in six volumes published two years after his death, is of great value to the student of ancient Japanese history. It contains an amended text of all the mikotonori, or Imperial messages, which ate recorded in the Shoku-Nihongi during the period which elapsed from the abdication of Jidô Tennô in 696, down to 791, the 10th year of Kuammu Tennô. These messages were delivered on various occasions, such as the recognition of the heir-apparent, the abdication of the Sovereign, the creation of an Empress, the punishment of criminals of rank, the outbreak of rebellions, the granting of lands to distinguished subjects, and several were pronounced in connection with the execution of a new kind of dance by the Princess who afterwards became Kôken Tennô. Another was composed for a thanksgiving service for the discovery of gold in Japan, celebrated in 749 at the temple of Tôdaiji in Nara, when the Empress Kôken was present with her whole court, and worshipped the great image commonly called Daibutsu. The style is in many cases pure Japanese, and these messages, together with the norito preserved in the Yengi shiki form the only native prose compositions which are of older date than the 8th century.

Like the other members of this pure Shintô School, Motoöri devoted a great deal of attention to the study of the

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 ancient language, and composed numerous works of great value in this department of learning. Mr. Aston has given the titles of several of these in the list appended to his Grammar of the Written Language, to which may be added the Kokinshiu Tôkagami, a commentary on the collection of poetry entitled Kokinshiu, notes on the Genji monogatari under the title of G.M. Tama no Ogushi, the Chimei Jion Tenyôrei, on the etymology of local names, the Manyô Tama no Ogoto and Manyôshiu haikun, and the Uiyama-bumi, a general introduction to Japanese studies. The Tamakushige is a highly interesting work on the philosophy of government written in 1787, in which the abuses that were even then beginning to sap the foundations of the feudal system are laid bare with an unsparing hand. A summary of its contents might be of value to those who are interested in modern Japanese politics, but would be foreign to the scope of this paper.

Motoöri’s style, less ornate than that of Mabuchi, is clear and correct, though sometimes wanting in terseness, and his controversial writings give evidence of his logical powers in dealing with his own premissespremises [sic]. He may be said almost to have created the modern literary Japanese language, and the influence of his example is seen even in the lighter literature of the present day. The violence of his prejudices in favour of everything native and antique is probably due to a reaction against the dominion of Chinese ideas and forms of expression, which at the time he thought and wrote bade fair to extinguish every trace of Japanese nationality. No author can be studied to such advantage by those who wish to acquire a mastery of written Japanese.

Hirata Atsutane, the fourth in chronological order of those scholars whom I have named as the founders of this school, was born in 1776 at the town of Kubota in Dewa, the capital of that remote district in the north of Japan commonly called Akita. His father was Ôwada Seibei, a samurai of the Satake family, who traced back his descent to the sun-goddess through Kuammu Tennô,

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26

Α BOARDING- SCHOOL ROMANCE. The gentlemen had doffed their straw hats at the first approach of the fair students, and remained bareheaded until they had passed. That silly Martha Hemp, the fat girl with the large feet, must attempt to pat the little curly dog that frolicked around the larger one—an attempt so awkwardly made, that the young men involuntarily smiled; and poor Martha had bread and water for her Sunday dinner as a punishment for her forwardness.

Just once had Miss Drummond noticed a sudden start, and an expression almost of fear on the pretty features of Pansy Berks; beyond this, however, she seemed quite unconscious of the admiring glances directed toward her. The girls in the rear had behaved remarkably well; and a pert Miss of twelve, who tried to copy Miss Drummond, and was disliked by the school accordingly, even tossed her head and frowned severely as she passed the strangers.

“That girl,” thought the troubled preceptress, as Pansy came to the dinner-table in the same white dress, and a very becoming shade of paleness on her rounded cheek, “is entirely too pretty; I wish I had known a little more about her before I received her. I must watch her sharply.”

Miss Drummond had cleared her throat, and almost uttered her usual form of address, “Young ladies,” when, hastily recollecting that it might be better to ignore the subject altogether, she skillfully turned her intended speech into something else.

The pretty ones, who had immediately appropriated the lawless glances that so troubled the worthy spinster, indulged in stifled laughter at the failure of their threatened lecture; while the plain ones were quite disappointed that their trifling companions had escaped so easily.

At their afternoon siesta, there were such snatches of conversation as,

“Elegant, I think!”

“Which one, the shorter?”

“No; the one that smiled so saucily.”

“Splendid eyes!”

“So aristocratic!”

“Which is it to be, Pansy?”

“Do hush! there’s one of the teachers!”

“That horrid child!”

“Old drum,” etc., etc.

All this went on in one of the rooms, where three or four rose-buds, doffing their dresses, had tumbled upon the beds to “have a good time.”

Miss Drummond may have suspected something of this, but you cannot hang a person on suspicion; and she preferred taking her own nap to wandering about the corridors on an investigating tour. She had, moreover, the comfortable conviction, based upon her experience in the article of girls, that, if not engaged in this particular manner, they were doing something equally objectionable.

The next morning, Miss Drummond received a fresh shock.

Two cards were brought to her in the school- room, with the announcement that two gentlemen awaited her appearance in the parlor. The shock, however, did not come until she stood face to face with the visitors; for, expecting to see respectable fathers of families, who had called with a view to placing their daughters in her care, she had arranged her mouth in ‘prunes and prism” shape, and entered, with a dignified inclination of her head, to encounter the two worthies who had so boldly regarded her flock the day before.

The cards bore the names of “Frederick Willmore,” and “Clifford Willmore, Jr.,” brothers, she presumed, (Miss Drummond was fond of “presuming,”) and she wondered for which of her lambs they had come to make overtures— such unmitigated brass was equal to anything.

It was plainly written in the lady’s face that she recognized her visitors, and that her voice was still for war; the elder of the two gentlemen, Mr. Frederick Willmore, therefore, took it upon himself to smooth her ruffled plumes as soon as possible.

“I hope,” said he, with great suavity of manner, and a becoming diffidence in the presence of so superior a person, “that Miss Drummond will not consider our visit premature, nor intrusive, when I have explained its object. I think I have not been misinformed, madam, that you are a devoted worshiper at the shrine of science?”

Miss Drummond looked very hard at the speaker; his phraseology was agreeable to her ear, for science was her speciality, a hobby that she rode to the verge of madness, and she had even been complimented with the soubriquet of “the Drummond light;” but she had not expected any allusion of this sort from such a quarter, and, therefore, she looked very hard, indeed, at the gentleman, who seemed to regard her with a mixture of admiration, respect, and diffidence.

He was not at all disagreeable to look at; and although only twenty-three, a slightly bald spot on the top of his head, and an expression of quiet gravity, added at least ten years to his age, and quite destroyed all suspicion of flightiness. His companion was evidently younger,

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 the fiftieth Mikado from Jimmu, and enjoyed a hereditary pension of a hundred koku of rice. Atsutane was the fourth son of a family of eight children. At the age of eight he entered the school of a professor of Chinese named Nakayama Seiga, and three years later commenced the study of medicine under his uncle Ôwada Ringen. Up to his twentieth year he chiefly devoted himself to Chinese studies, and practised fencing under various teachers, but he longed to distinguish himself in some way more worthy of his abilities, and in the beginning of 1795 he suddenly quitted his father’s house, leaving a letter behind him bidding farewell to his relations. He had chosen the 8th of the month for his departure, apparently on account of the popular belief that a person who leaves home on that day never returns. With a riô in his purse he started for Yedo, where, after his arrival, avoiding the society of his fellow-clansmen and friends, he sought on all sides for a virtuous and learned teacher. Sometimes he obtained employment as an under-teacher, and in his worst extremity was reduced to seeking a livelihood by manual labour. In this manner he passed four or five years, suffering great hardship and privation. In 1800, at the age of twenty-five, he became the adopted heir of Hirata Fujibei, a retainer of the daimiô of Matsuyama in Bitchiu, and took up his residence in the yashiki of Honda Shiuri on Kagura-zaka in Yedo.

It was in the following year that Atsutane first became acquainted with the writings of Motoori, and was seized with an enthusiastic love for the study of Japanese antiquity. In the seventh month he formally enrolled himself among Motoori’s pupils, about two months before the death of the elder scholar. His first essay in the new branch of learning to which he had devoted himself was an attack upon the writings of Dazai Shuntai (b. 1680, d. 1747), in a book entitled Kabôsho, which he wrote in 1803, and in the following year he began to take pupils. It was in 1804 that he drew up a table of Chinese characters relating to the practise of the five virtues. These he enumerates as Reverence, Righteousness, Benevolence,

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 Wisdom and Valour, and nineteen characters are included under each heading. It is a more curious than valuable production.

The Kijin Shinron, completed first in 1806 and revised for publication in 1820, is intended to prove that the ordinary Chinese philosophers have misunderstood the teachings of Confucius with regard to supernatural beings, and to show by quotations from the Confucian Analects and other writings that he believed in their actual existence. Hirata in this work refutes the opinions of Chinese and Japanese scholars with regard to the non-existence of gods, and demonstrates the correctness of the opposite view. We have not time to analyze the work more minutely, and have had recourse to the bibliographical list of Hirata’s writings printed at the end of the Niugaku Mondô for this brief notice of it.

In 1807 he resumed practice as a physician, and the study of medicine. During this year he commenced the compilation of the Chi-shima Shiranami, or White Waves of the Kurile Islands, which contains an account of the incursions of the Russians under Davidoff and Chwostoff against the Japanese possessions in Sagalien and Itorup in the previous year. It was intended also to be a manual of the way to “Restrain Barbarians” and of Maritime Defence. It is to be regretted that this interesting work still remains unprinted.

The year 1811 was un extremely fruitful one. Early in the spring he began to revise the lectures on Shintô, Chinese philosophy and Buddhism which during the two previous years he had delivered to his pupils, and produced in succession the Kodôtaii, Summary of the Ancient Way; Zoku-Shintô Taii, Summary of the Vulgar Shintô; Kangaku Taii, Summary of Chinese Learning, the same as that which was afterwards published under the title of Sai-jaku Gairon; the Butsudô Taii, Summary of Buddhism, subsequently renamed Go-dô Ben; Idô Taii, Summary of the Medical Art, printed under the title of Shidzu no Iwaya; the Kadô Taii, Summary of the Art of Poetry, and the Tamadasusi, which he

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 from beginning to end some years later. Of the works in this list the first, second and last are alone of interest to the student of Shintô, but as the Zoku Shintô Taii is a hostile criticism of the sects comprehended by the author under the name of vulgar Shintô I shall not ask my readers to go through a summary of its contents. It will be more useful to consider it on some future occasion in connection with the works of the writers against whom it is directed.

The Summary of the Ancient Way treats of the following subjects, firstly, the reason why the subject-matter of his teaching is called the Ancient Learning (Kogaku), secondly, the origin of this study, with a brief account of those who founded it and spread it abroad in the world, thirdly, the foundations upon which it is based, fourthly, the age of the gods, fifthly, the reasons why the gods are entitled to the gratitude of mankind, sixthly, why Japan is ‘the country of the gods,’ seventhly, how it is certain beyond a doubt that every Japanese is a descendant of the Gods, eighthly, the uninterrupted continuance of the imperial line from the beginning of the world, together with proofs of the superiority of Japan over all other countries in the world, both materially and morally, ninthly, the truth that the Japanese, being natives of ‘the country of the Gods,’ are born with a naturally perfect and true disposition, which from the most ancient times has been called Yamato-damashii or Yamato-gokoro, and tenthly, how the traditions of the Age of the Gods, and of their actions, appear to the ordinary man to be mysterious and difficult of belief; and the refutation of this error;—in the course of which exposition the real ‘way’ will be disclosed.

Japanese learning may be divided into several branches, firstly, the Way of the Gods; secondly, poetry; thirdly, law; fourthly, romances; fifthly, history and sixthly, archæology. Under these there are subdivisions, such as the various schools of what is commonly called Shintô,

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] success. Many European fruit-trees likewise succeed very well upon those heights, on account of the mild temperature of their atmosphere. It was necessary for us to procure a new order from the Governor before we could undertake this expedition; but Dauribeau, who had offered to request it for us, brought us information that the Governor had shortly received new instructions from the Council at Batavia, according to which he could not permit us to go to any great distance from the town; a walk of three or four hours, being all that was allowed us. I went several times to see a spring situated at the distance of about 7,500 toises to the westward. A great quantity of petroleum rises to the surface of its water, and is carefully collected by the inhabitants, who mix it with pitch. Abundance of pumice-stone is found in the surrounding country.

Citizen Riche and I lodged in the same house. We generally went out together to pursue our researches, and returned in the evening to Sourabaya with the new specimens we had collected. It was always with regret that we found our labours suspended by the approach of night. But on the 19th of February 1794, about four o'clock in the morning, Chateauvieux, the commandant of the place, came with a troop of thirty soldiers under arms, to inform us, in the name of Dauri-


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A BOARDING - SCHOOL ROMANCE.

27 with a bright, laughing face, and a very manly figure.

Mr. Frederick Willmore informed the lady that they were uncle and nephew; that their object was science, which took the form of chemical lectures and experiments -the nephew was a most useful assistant, and had made some remarkable experiments of his own; and it rested entirely with Miss Drummond whether, for a consideration, uncle and nephew should give her flock the benefit of a scientific lecture.

Miss Drummond listened and considered. Chemicals, with horrid, pale-blue lights, that make every one look livid and dreadful; snapping explosions, and all sorts of sudden and unexpected sputterings and noises, were very dear to her heart—a chance like this had not offered before, and might not offer again; the men were perfectly civil on a near approach -and before the interview was concluded, a lecture had been arranged for that very evening. There was no difficulty about terms; the gentlemen mentioned a reasonable sum, and Miss Drummond, who believed that the imparting of knowledge, as a general thing, was very badly paid, made no attempt at a reduction.

The visitors took a respectful leave, with a promise of punctuality, and grateful thanks for Miss Drummond's patronage.

As soon as it was convenient to say it, the younger gentleman remarked, "You didn't think it necessary, uncle Fred, to offer the old lady a sample of my cologne? or to inform her of the horribly-burned finger I got with that resin? I have 'made some remarkable experiments,' haven't I?"

Uncle and nephew laughed together at varìous recollections of this sort; but the former suddenly grew grave, as he said,

"I only hope that I may not blow the whole concern up, tonight! I shouldn't like that, especially with Heart's-case in the case."

Master Clifford looked unutterable things at the bare suggestion; but when they returned to their quarters, and rummaged their stores of bottles and powders, the evening arrangements afforded such amusement, that the landlord stole up once or twice to investigate the meaning of the explosive "ha! has!" that reached them below, but stole back again without being any the wiser.

When school was over, Miss Drummond unfolded to her pupils the entertainment in store for them that evening; but took good care not to inform them that the gentlemen they had encountered the day before were to be the lecturers.

The result was a general commotion.

Excitement was so scarce at Southbrook Seminary, that anything like a break in the monotony was hailed with rapture. The men were, probably, fossil remains- such men always were - but, nevertheless, they were better than nothing; and it was perfectly delightful to have something to dress up for. A few timid ones had a horror of the explosions, and threatened to run away if there was electricity; but when the servant-maid, who was questioned, gave a highly-colored report of the gentlemen's appearance, their fears were quite forgotten in the general ecstasy.

"Think of it, girls! those magnificent individuals, whom we admired so yesterday, condescending to go about lecturing! I really believe they are humbugs of some sort—perhaps princes in disguise, come to carry the choicest of us off. You needn't flame up so, Pansy Berks, just as if it could be you! But what have you been doing to yourself, tonight? I declare, you are lovelier than ever—isn't that scandalous, girls? Just look at her!"

And holding her off at arms' length, the mischievous girl enjoyed the flush that overspread Pansy's peach-blow cheeks, contrasting so prettily with the golden hair, that a single knot of lilac ribbon set off to great advantage.

"What business have you with black eyes and golden hair, I should like to know?" continued the rattlebrain. "You've appropriated the charms intended for at least half a dozen of us, and should be indicted for the crime. Pay a fine, you selfish girl! of at least one kiss apiece."

All rushed at her in a sort of tempest of admiration; and Pansy's cheeks burned; and she laughed nervously at the strangling embraces that were showered upon her. She seemed strangely excited that evening.

Then drawers were tumbled out, and trunks overhauled; and heads were tied up with ribbons in a marvelous fashion, as though the owners feared they might come apart. There was a perfect buzz of, "How do I look?" "Isn't that sweet?" "Perfectly lovely!" "What a fright!"

"Young ladies, not so much trifling. Dressing hair should not be the business of life." This was Miss Drummond's voice speaking through the ventilator.

"Easy to talk, when she has just one hair behind, and one at each side! Can't take her long," answered some sauce-box's voice in the dormitory.

Her companions giggled, after the fashion of school-girls generally; and braided, and frizzed,

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Works

 * Fermilab Frog FAQs

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330 beau and the principal officers of our expedition, that we were under arrest. Shortly after we learnt that several others of our companions had shared the same fate, without being able to divine the cause of so arbitrary an act of authority; but we were soon informed that intelligence which Dauribeau had received from Europe, had determined him to hoist the white flag, and put himself under the protection of the Dutch, who were then at war with France. He had undoubtedly already then formed the project, which he afterwards carried into execution, of selling the vessels of our expedition. To insure his success, it was necessary for him to get rid of all those persons under him who he knew would strongly disapprove of such a measure. We were therefore delivered into the hands of the Dutch as prisoners of war, to the number of seven, namely, Legrand, Laignel, Willaumez, Riche, Ventenat, Piron, and myself, and conducted to Samarang by a march of 200,000 toises, over roads bad in the extreme, and in the rainy season. We were obliged to use boats to cross several large plains, inundated by the torrents descending from the mountains situated to the southward, and which form a part of the great chain which runs through the whole land of Java from east to west.


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354 bearing on the case. It can scarcely be coincidence that the two ponies which have suffered so far are those which are nearest the stove end of the stable. In future the stove will be used more sparingly; a large ventilating hole is to be made near it and an allowance of water is to be added to the snow hitherto given to the animals. In the food line we can only exercise such precautions as are possible, but one way or another we ought to be able to prevent any more danger of this description.

Saturday, July 15.—There was strong wind with snow this morning and the wind remained keen and cold in the afternoon, but to-night it has fallen calm with a promising clear sky outlook. Have been up the Ramp, clambering about in my sealskin overshoes, which seem extraordinarily satisfactory.

Oates thinks a good few of the ponies have got worms and we are considering means of ridding them. ‘Bones’ seems to be getting on well, though not yet quite so buckish as he was before his trouble. A good big ventilator has been fitted in the stable. It is not easy to get over the alarm of Thursday night—the situation is altogether too critical.

Sunday, July 16.—Another slight alarm this morning. The pony ‘China’ went off his feed at breakfast time and lay down twice. He was up and well again in half an hour; but what on earth is it that is disturbing these poor beasts?

Usual Sunday routine. Quiet day except for a good deal of wind off and on. The Crozier Party must be having a wretched time.

Monday, July 17.—The weather still very unsettled


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28

A BOARDING - SCHOOL ROMANCE. and crimped—and finally descended, quite a charming bevy, with the “queen rose,” that happened to be a Pansy, in their midst.

The school-room is illuminated; and the youthful-looking lecturers, bowing profoundly, advance to the platform usually occupied by Miss Drummond, and display quite a formidable show of apparatus. A becoming expression of gravity sits upon their faces; and after a short pause, Mr. Frederick Willmore takes the lead, and begins to handle his subject in a very interesting manner.

His hearers wonder that they ever thought chemistry dull; but when he mentions the astounding fact that “A man is, chemically speaking, forty-five pounds of carbon and nitrogen, diffused through five and a half pailfuls of water”—Miss Drummond glances triumphantly around, as though she would say, “Do you hear that? Is it a rational proceeding for a woman to break her heart for forty-five pounds of carbon and nitrogen, and five and a half pails of water?”

There were the usual experiments—the rapid pouring of one glass of liquid into another; powder thrown into flames, queer blue lights, sputterings and explosions; little shrieks from the audience, and queer shadows on their faces— Miss Drummond, in particular, assuming a pleasing aspect, not unlike the Witch of Endor; when suddenly there came total darkness, and a general consternation.

“Do not move, if you please,” said the lecturer’s voice with perfect coolness, “this will be of short duration, and is necessary to produce a particular effect.”

At the same moment, Pansy Berks felt something tightly pressed in her hand; and, shaking all over, she quickly transferred the paper to her pocket. The lights reappeared by degrees, and with them a queer figure that frightened the timid ones nearly out of their wits. It was difficult to decide what it was composed of, but flame seemed to emanate from it; and seen at first, in total darkness, the effect was quite startling.

Miss Drummond graciously expressed herself pleased with the lecture; and even invited the gentlemen to favor them with a second one. At first they seemed unwilling; but after a little consultation between themselves, they promised a course of varied experiments for the next week, and left their audience in a state of pleasant excitement.

The girls were all raving about the younger Mr. Willmore, the one who didn’t speak, but helped with the experiments. He was certainly very handsome; and there was so much in his face, it was difficult to realize that he was only a boy of eighteen. A great, six-foot fellow, too, with shoulders that looked capable of bearing the world—and such a smile!

“How he did look at you, Pansy!” exclaimed her rattlebrain friend. “I can’t believe there’s a mite of a chance for any of us!”

Pansy stooped suddenly for something that she had not dropped; her complexion was undergoing: as many changes as the chemical lights. The girls thought her a little queer in the matter of the handsome strangers; and it began to be whispered about that she must be engaged.

The next day, Miss Drummond’s procession was out for a walk, and came close upon the lecturers; so close, in fact, that Miss Berks’ veil was blown in the face of one of them, who restored it to her own fair hands with a grateful bow, as though she had done him the greatest possible favor.

Miss Drummond tried to lecture the young lady for not managing her veil properly—she had not seen something suspiciously like a letter, that went with the veil; but it seemed so absurd a cause of complaint, that she made very little of it.

The second lecture came off at the appointed time, and was attended by another eclipse of kerosene. Again, Miss Berks felt a rustling, something slipped into her hand; and again, she put it away for future reference.

And one fine morning, not long after, Miss Pansy was not to be found—she had ‘folded her tent like the Arabs,” and glided in darkness away. Miss Drummond received a note in a masculine hand, which read as follows:

“Honored Madam—I have only taken what legally belonged to me; and at some future time Mrs. Clifford Willmore will make all necessary explanations.

Your obedient servant,

“C. WILLMORE.”

When Miss Drummond had read this over three times, she began to realize that an elopement had taken place, and that those dangerous-looking black eyes had justified all her fears.

Such a scene of excitement as followed this discovery! Scholars and servants were severely interrogated; but Miss Berks had taken no one into her confidence, and none could throw the least light upon her movements. There had been a halo of romance about her from the very first, but this last chapter quite reached the climax—if they only knew which of the two she had run away with!

In a very aristocratic suburb of a large city,

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A BOARDING - SCHOOL ROMANCE.

29

there was a particularly aristocratic street, or “lane,” as everything was called there, where nobody who had anything to do with buying and selling ever presumed to establish themselves.

The grandest of all the “places” on this exclusive lane was owned and occupied by Mr. Willmore—father to Clifford, and brother to Mr. Frederick Willmore. It was a beautiful home— picturesque, solid, and comfortable; and wealth and taste had gone hand-in-hand in the designing of the house, and laying out of the grounds.

Next door, which was a few squares off, a very pretty cottage, that did not aspire to be a ‘place,” was the residence of Miss Lingle, a single lady of comfortable means, whose solitude was enlivened by a very pretty little niece, with black eyes that made sad havoc with the susceptible hearts of all the boys in the neighborhood. They had comical ways of showing their admiration: such as prowling around the lane in bodies of four or six, watching, at night, for Miss Pansy’s shadow on the window-blind; and bestowing gratuities of from ten cents upward on an old colored man who did Miss Lingle’s garden chores, for any bits of information respecting the whereabouts or occupations of “the young Missus.”

This gang of admirers seemed to take comfort in perching themselves on the fence of an opposite lot, watching the in-goings and outgoings at the cottage, much to Pansy’s amusement, who was not at all disturbed by their proceedings, and was quite content to remain a child as long as her aunt desired.

Clifford Willmore, who was at the head of this youthful band, considered himself peculiarly fortunate in having the good-will of Miss Lingle, and being permitted to go in and out at the cottage very much as he pleased. Not a few airs of superiority did he assume on the strength of this; and he had informed his rivals in confidence that, as soon as Miss Pansy was seventeen, he intended to speak to her aunt. They took this very good-naturedly, without abating their own admiration in the least, and looked up to Clifford with equal pride and affection.

He was certainly a remarkable boy, and more manly at fourteen than many men, Those dark-gray eyes of his would flash and glitter with noble anger, or melt, with the softest love-glances; and his face was a perfect kaleidoscope of expression. While plunging with the greatest vim into all sorts of boys’ sports, he was no less devoted to study; and his course of reading was quite different from that pursued by boys generally. As he was the only child of wealthy parents, who looked upon him as a perfect prodigy, Master Clifford had his library, and his laboratory, and his printing-press, and whatever else his princeship might happen to consider necessary to his happiness.

He was not a bit spoiled, howevers but was quite as unselfish and pleasant-tempered as though he had been one of ten sons. His uncle, who was only four years his senior, was an excellent substitute for a brother; and when at home from college, succeeded in making the great house very lively.

Mr. Frederick Willmore did not wonder at the boys’ admiration for little Miss Heart’s-ease, as he called her; and declared that, if they had left him the ghost of a chance, he should certainly go in and try it. He was quite a venerable being, however, in Pansy’s eyes; and if that small damsel had been conscious of possessing a heart, she would certainly have bestowed it upon his nephew.

This same nephew had ventured to present his lady-love and her aunt with two bottles of cologne of his own manufacture, of which Miss Lingle kindly said that she had seen worse, and Pansy pronounced it “lovely.” Clifford’s scientific experiments, however, were pursued under difficulties; and burned fingers, and face, and threatened eyes, frequentiy testified that his enthusiasm exceeded his knowledge.

He seemed to flourish, in spite of these misadventures; and the years sped on and brought him to his eighteenth birthday, and Pansy to her sixteenth. They both came on the same day; and Miss Lingle gave a very pleasant little party to celebrate the double event.

It was certainly Clifford’s duty to be very happy on this auspicious occasion, when good wishes were showered upon him as thickly as nots in autumn; but he was not happy, and the party seemed to him just the stupidest gathering he had ever attended. A scowl and a smile struggled together on his handsome face whenever he caught sight of his divinity; for Pansy seemed to have suddenly blossomed into full beauty, and floated about like a lovely flower, bestowing pleasant smiles and words upon several brainless whiskerandoes from the city, whom Clifford longed to shake out of their patent-leather boots.

He caught the young lady somewhere in a vestibule, as she was on the wing, and proceeded to administer quite a scolding for her want of devotion to himself. It was a most eloquent, and rather a novel, outbreak; but Miss Pansy, instead of ‘owning her faults, her

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30

A BOARDING - SCHOOL ROMANCE. evil behavior,” tossed her little golden head, and laughed at him!

He was quite beside himself with anger and jealousy, and resolved to establish a claim as soon as possible to have and to hold this wayward young maiden.

Perhaps, as Miss Lingle sat in the shadow of her red damask curtains, the next afternoon, and listened to the boyish eloquence poured into her ears on behalf of her little niece, her thoughts may have drifted back through the years to some sunny day in the past, when lover’s words were uttered not for another, but for herself. Perhaps this gave a tremor to her voice as she answered the boy kindly, bidding him say nothing of the kind to Pansy, who was quite too young yet to listen to love-making— but to wait patiently for a year or two; and then, if Pansy were willing, and his parents gave their consent, why they might think of it.

Miss Lingle knew that, in a worldly point of view, this would be a most desirable match for her little girl, and this very consciousness made her all the more cautious. Perhaps she felt an excess of delicacy on the subject; but she was resolved that neither parents nor neighbors should be able to say that she had tried to secure the heir of the Willmores for Pansy.

Clifford fumed and fretted over fancied slights from Pansy, and plagued Miss Lingle and himself whenever he had a chance; and finally, he took a severe cold by plunging into the river to rescue a small boy of depraved instincts, whose drowning would have been a blessing to his family, and the world at large. Violent fever soon set in; the great house was still and darkened; and the bright, boy-face was seen no more in his accustomed haunts.

Miss Lingle was kind and neighborly, and much troubled about her favorite; while Pansy, in a shy way, felt dreadfully for Clifford. It seemed so unnatural that he should be sick and helpless; but in a startingly short time word came to Miss Lingle that Mr. Willmore’s heir was dying, and she was requested to bring her niece at once to the house.

The poor child was white with terror, as they entered the sick-room; and there sat Clifford, propped up in bed, looking so wan and ghastly, and his great eyes seeking hers with such a hungry look. The fever had subsided; but the physicians said he was dying, and the only thing now was to give him all he wanted, and let him die in peace.

What the young gentleman pleased to want, at this unseasonable hour, was nothing less than the hand of Miss Pansy Berks. He had raved about it in his delirium; he could die happily, he said, if Pansy were only his wife for a few minutes; and his obedient parents, who would have made an attempt to get him the moon, if he had asked for it, immediately took measures to gratify this more reasonable desire.

Miss Lingle was astonished beyond measure at Mr. Willmore’s ‘urgent request that the marriage-ceremony should immediately be performed between the children.

‘It can do no harm,” said he, without giving her time to remonstrate; ‘a clergyman will come from town on the shortest notice, and the knowledge that any such ceremony has taken place can be strictly confined to those immediately engaged in it. It need never be known that the young lady is a widow; but I shall provide for her as I would for my own daughter; and the boy has so short a time to live, that it would be cruel to refuse him.”

Mrs. Willmore added her tears and entreaties; Pansy was too frightened and sorrow-stricken to offer any objection; and before evening, the boy and girl were pronounced “man and wife.”

When Pansy, in obedience to that faint voice, pressed a good-night kiss on Clifford’s brow, she never expected to see him again; and tormented with the recollection of various little girlish naughtinesses, in which she had lately indulged, she spent most of the night in crying and bewailing her sins.

But Clifford was alive the next morning, and the next, and the next after that; his hurried nuptials seemed to have had a favorable effect upon him; and, much to every one’s astonishment, he was soon pronounced out of danger.

Poor Miss Lingle! her feelings were quite indescribable in this perplexing dilemma; and when she fairly realized that the ungrateful youth was evidently determined to live, after all the trouble that had been taken to insure him a comfortable departure, she pounced upon Pansy in a state of distraction, and consigned her at once to boarding-school as the nearest approach to a Protestant convent.

Dreadful! she thought, to contemplate two infants, aged respectively sixteen and eighteen, actually presuming to call themselves married! (as they undoubtedly were) and dreadful to think of anything like coldness from Mr. and Mrs. Willmere, who, perhaps, would never have countenanced their son’s fancy, except in expectation of his speedy death.

So, Pansy, very much bewildered at the turn affairs had taken, was hurried off with great privacy to Southbrook Seminary; and with a

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title: Halek's Stories and Evensongs


text: Halek's Stories and Evensongs/Preface

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FAIR AND FALSE 31 very indistinct idea of what ought to be done under the circumstances.

When the youthful bridegroom was made fully aware that he could not be permitted: to see his wife, nor to hear from her, or even to know where she was, he was seized with a fit of virtuous indignation.

Mr. and Mrs. Willmore deeply regretted their haste; not that they had any objection to Pansy in herself—but who wanted a son married at eighteen? They quite approved Miss Lingle’s course; and poor Clifford found that lady inexorable.

At this juncture uncle Fred returned from college, ‘for good and all,” and deeply sympathized with his injured nephew. The two had many confidential discussions, and got up various ingenious schemes for the discovery of Miss Pansy’s whereabouts. Their efforts, however, were constantly crowned with failure, until one day the old colored man was waylaid with a letter for Miss Pansy Berks, Southbrook Seminary, Southbrook, Conn.

Master Clifford was seized with a sudden desire for traveling, which was hailed by his bewildered parents as a favorable sign; and they immediately prepared the troublesome youth for departure, and generously provided  him with no end of comforts and spending money.

Frederick Willmore was quite ready to accompany him—and the two started for the Lakes, but managed to do them up in an incredibly short time, and then switched off to the New England village.

Their plan was a very ingenious one, and their joint fondness for chemistry enabled them to carry it through without blundering. They were astonished at their own success in obtaining an entrance so easily into Miss Drummond’s stronghold; and the letter placed in Pansy’s hand, in that moment of darkness, was too moving an epistle to be disregarded.

It urged upon the young bride the propriety of transferring herself without delay from Miss Drummond’s protection to her husband's; and the writer strongly hinted at his determination, in case of her refusal, to catch another fever, and die in earnest.

Pansy was terribly frightened; but she loved Clifford, and she had an idea that, somehow, wives were expected to do as their husbands told them. She didn’t really know whether she was married or not; but Clifford and his uncle declared that she was—and it was certainly rather a queer thing to keep a married lady at boarding-school. It couldn’t be exactly wicked to run away with one’s own husband.

A very dainty, timid little note was lodged in Mr. Frederick Willmore’s hands while Pansy disentangled her veil; but the note expressed, though in somewhat obscure language, that “Barks was willin’;” and Clifford threw his hat in the air in a perfect gale of delight. This unusual style of doing things was quite exhilarating—ten times better than being married quietly and respectably; and the two arch-conspirators laid their heads together again on the grand subject of getting Pansy off.

This was all arranged before the next lecture; and the second billet directed the trembling damsel just what to do. Pansy did it; and found herself at midnight whirling rapidly off beside Clifford to the train that was to take her straight back to her astonished aunt and parents-in-law. lt wasn’t just pleasant, at first, for the seniors to find that their nicely-laid little plan had been defeated; but Pansy cried, and Mr. Willmore, Senior, had her in his arms before he knew it, and Clifford and his mother came together by the force of mutual attraction—and the two headstrong children were kissed and forgiven.

Miss Drummond had almost resolved to receive no more pretty pupils, and quite resolved to admit no man upon the premises, come in what guise he would, when a very sweet, explanatory letter from the anathematized Miss Berks, mollified her ruffied feelings. She even went so far, in her address to the “young ladies,” as to say that, although she must condemn running-away of all kinds as generally prejudicial to the well-being of society, there might be extenuating circumstances in the case of a bride running away with her husband.

FAIR AND FALSE.

BY FANCY WILD. BRIGHT as the diamonds are, Is her eye of the softest blue; She shines as a beaming star, But her love and heart are untrue.

And her words, though soft as the skies Of the fairest of Summer days, Are only deception and lies, That leads the fond heart astray.

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text: Halek's Stories and Evensongs/In Lordly Halls


text: Halek's Stories and Evensongs/Our Grandfather


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Page:Everywoman's World, Volume 7, Number 7.djvu/34

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promptly picked them off, generally with disastrous consequences to the beans.

Readers of "Anne of Green Gables" will remember the Haunted Wood. It was a gruesome fact to us three young imps. Well and Dave had a firm and rooted belief in ghosts. I used to argue with them over it with the depressing result I became infected myself. Not that I really believed in ghosts, pure and simple; but I was inclined to agree with Hamlet that there might be more things in heaven and earth than were commonly dreamed of—in the philosophy of Cavendish authorities, anyhow.

The Haunted Wood was a harmless, pretty spruce grove in the field below the orchard. We considered that all our haunts were too commonplace, so we invented this for our own amusement. None of us really believed at first, that the grove way haunted, or that the mysterious "white thing" which we pretended to see flitting through it at dismal hours were aught but the creations of our own fancy. But our minds were weak and our imaginations strong; we soon came to believe implicitly in our myths, and not one of us would have gone near that grove after sunset on pain of death. Death! What was death compared to the unearthly possibility of falling into the clutches of a "white thing"?

In the evenings, when, as usual, we were perched on the back porch steps in the mellow summer dusk, Well would tell me blood-curdling tales galore, until my hair fairly stood on end, and I would not have been surprised had a whole army of "white things" swooped suddenly on us from round the corner. One tale was that his grandmother having gone out one evening to milk the cows, saw his grandfather, as she supposed, come out of the house, drive the cows into the yard and then go down the lane.

The "creep" of this story consisted in the fact that she went straightway into the house and found him lying on the sofa where she had left him, he having never been out of the house at all. Next day something happened to the poor old gentleman, I forget what, but doubtless it was some suitable punishment for sending his wraith out to drive cows!

Another story was that a certain dissipated youth of the community, going home one Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning, from some unhallowed orgy, was pursued by a lamb of fire, with its head cut off and hanging by a strip of skin or fame. For weeks afterward I could not go anywhere alter dark without walking with my head over my shoulder, watching apprehensively for that fiery apparition

NE evening Dave came down to me in the apple orchard at dusk, with his eyes nearly starting out of his head, and whispered that he had heard a bell ringing in the then deserted house. To be sure, the marvellous edge was soon taken off this by the discovery that the noise was simply a newly-cleaned clock striking the hours, which it had never done before. This furnished the foundation of the "Ghostly Bell" chapter in "The Story Girl."

But, one night we had a real ghost scare—the "real" qualifying "scare," not "ghost." We were playing at twilight in the hayfield south of the house, chasing each other around the fragrant coils of new-cut hay, Suddenly I happened to glance up in the direction of the orchard dyke. A chill began galloping up and down my spine, for there, under the juniper tree, was really a "white thing," shapelessly white in the gathering gloom. We all stopped and stared as though turned to stone,

"It's Mag Laird," whispered Dave in terrified tones.

Mag Laird, I may remark, war a harmless creature who wandered begging over the country side, and was the bugbear of children in general and Dave in particular. As poor Mag's usual apparel was dirty, cast-off clothes of other persons, it did not seem to me likely that this white visitant were she. Well and I would have been glad to think it was, for Mag was at least flesh and blood while this—!

"Nonsense!" I said, trying desperately to be practical. "It must be the white calf."

Well agreed with me with suspicious alacrity, but the shapeless, grovelling thing did not look in the least like a calf.

"It's coming here!" he suddenly exclaimed in terror.

I gave one agonized glance. Yes! It was creeping down over the dyke, as no calf ever did or could creep. With a simultaneous shriek we started for the house, Dave gasping at every step, "It's Mag Laird," while all that Well and I could realize was that it was a "white thing" after us at last!

We reached the house and tore into Grandmother's bedroom, where we had left her sewing. She was not there. We swung round and stampeded for a neighbour's, where we arrived trembling in every limb. We gasped out our awful tale and were laughed at, of course. But no persuasion could induce us to go back, so the French-Canadian servants, Peter and Charlotte, set off to explore, one carrying a pail of oats, the other armed with a pitchfork.

They came back and announced that there was nothing to be seen. This did not surprise us. Of course, a "white thing" would vanish, when it had fulfilled its mission of scaring three wicked children out of their senses. But go home we would not until Grandfather appeared and marched us back in disgrace. For what do you think it was?

A white tablecloth had been bleaching on the grass under the juniper tree, and, just at dusk, Grandmother, knitting in hand, went out to get it. She flung the cloth over her shoulder and then her ball fell and rolled over the dyke. She knelt down and was reaching over to pick it up when she was arrested by our sudden stampede and shrieks of terror. Before she could move or call out we had disappeared.

So collapsed our last "ghost," and spectral terrors languished after that, for we were laughed a for many a long day.

But we played house and gardened and swung and picnicked and climbed trees. How did we love trees! I am grateful that my childhood was spent in a spot where there were many trees, tress of personality, planted and tended by hands long dead bound up with everything of joy or sorrow that visited our lives. When I have "lived with" a tree for many years it seems to me like a beloved human companion.

EHIND the barn grew a pair of trees I always called "The Lovers," a spruce and a maple, and so closely intertwined that the boughs of the spruce were literally woven into the boughs of the maple. I remember that I wrote a poem about them and called it "The Tree Lovers." They lived in happy union for many years. The maple died first; the spruce held her dead form in his green, faithful arms for two more years. But his heart was broken and he died, too. They were beautiful in their lives and in death not long divided; and they nourished a child's heart with a grace-giving fancy.

In a corner of the front orchard grew a beautiful young birch tree, I named it "The White Lady," and had a fancy about it to the effect that it was the beloved of all the dark spruces near, and that they were rivals for her love. It was the whitest straightest thing ever seen, young and fair and maiden-like.

On the southern edge of the Haunted Wood grew a most magnificent old birch. This was the tree of trees to me. I worshipped it, and called it "The Monarch of The Forest." One of my earliest "poems"—the third I wrote—was written on it, when I was nine. Here is all I remember of it.

The last line was certainly a poetic fiction. Oliver Wendell Holmes says

But even a tree does not live forever. The Haunted Wood was cut down, The big birch was left standing. But, deprived of the shelter of the thick-growing spruces, it gradually died before the bitter northern blasts from the Gulf. Every spring more of its boughs failed to leaf out. The poor tree stood like a discrowned, forsaken king in a ragged cloak. I was not sorry when it was finally cut down. "The land of dreams among," it resumed its sceptre and reigns in fadeless beauty

Every apple tree in the two orchards had its own individuality and name—"Aunt Emily's tree," "Uncle Leander's tree," the "Little Syrup tree," the "Spotty tree," the "Spider tree," the "Gavin tree," and many others. The "Gavin" tree bore small, whitish-green apples, and was so called because a certain small boy named Gavin, hired on a neighbouring farm, had once been caught stealing them. Why the said Gavin should have imperiled his lost his reputation by electing to steal apples from that especial tree I could never understand, for they were hard, bitter, flavourless things, good neither for eating or cooking.

EAR old trees! I hope they all had souls and will grow again for me on the hills of Heaven. I want, in some future life, to meet the old "Monarch" and the "White Lady," and even poor, dishonest little "Gavin's tree" again.

When I was eight years old Cavendish had a very exciting summer, perhaps the most exciting summer it ever had, and of course we children revelled in the excitement. The Marcopolo was wrecked on the sandshore.

The Marcopolo was a very famous old ship and the fastest sailing vessel of her class ever built. She had a strange, romantic history, and was the nucleus of many traditions and sailors' yarns. She had finally been condemned in England under the Plimsoll Bill. Her owners evaded the Bill by selling her to a Norwegian firm, and then chartering her to bring a cargo of deal plank from Quebec. On her return she was caught in a furious storm out in the Gulf, sprung a leak, and became so water-logged that the captain determined to run her on shore to save crew and cargo.

That day we had a terrible windstorm in Cavendish. Suddenly the news was spread that a vessel was coming ashore. Every one who could rushed to the sandshore and saw a magnificent sight!—a large (Continued on next page)

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text:
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 BY THE SEA.

BY FRANK LEE BENEDICT.

It was the dullest of dull November days, and Grafton Warner moodily paced up and down the long veranda, and looked out toward the sandy beach; between him and it the South Bay lying turbid and dark under the solemn sky; beyond, glimpses of the white surf dashing up from the sea with a hoarse murmur, as if the waters were discontented as most human things.

It was down on the sandy shore of Long Island, Grafton had joined a party of fellows for a week’s shooting of ducks and yellow legs, with even a promise of wild geese; but he bad been there several days, and so far the expedi- tion had proved a failure. His companions were not among his intimates, nor did he sympathize much with them, exccpt in the matter of sport. They lived for business or their professions, and knew scarcely more about a life such as Grafton had led, than if they had been cowled monks in a cloister.

It was sober old Richard Roylston, who had persuaded Warner to jointhem. He liked Graf- ton from boyish associations, and, perhaps, had more influence over him than anybody else. He had known of a scrape Warner was getting him- self into, just from idleness and general reck- lessness, and so had coaxed him to leave town. The other men wondered among themselves why Roylston had brought him, and regarded the elegant dandy as a rather sulky, tiresome individual.

Not that Grafton was in the slightest degree effeminate; a good shot, capital gymnast, amus- mg and witty when he chose, but thoroughly spoiled. He was completely the creature of impulse, and it was a mere chance whether a good or bad one was uppermost. Honorable where men were concerned, utterly faithless with women; more imagination than heart, which, of course, led him always to suppose that he was in earnest; idle, rich, handsome— you can understand that he must have made his fair share of trouble during the twenty-eight or thirty years that he had walked this mortal vale!

Suddenly the ill-shaped, creaking old stage came round the turn of the road and jolted in at the open gates. Grafton looked out through the cloud of smoke he was just puffing from his great meerschaum—his storm-pipe, as it was called by those who knew his moods—and catching sight of two women, mentally anathe- mathized them as a pair of cats.

Up came the old rattletrap to the steps, and Grafton could do no less than move forward and open the door.

“Why, Mr. Warner!” exclaimed a voice.

Grafton looked. An elderly feminine face, decorated with puffs of gray hair, was staring into his, and he recognized old Mrs. Annesly, whom he had not seen for the last three years.

He knew what was coming, or, rather who— her niece, whom he had not met for the same length of time; whom he had left a girl of eighteen, loving him with all the romance and poetry of that age, and whom he had devoutly hoped not to see again, for his conscience had never been quite at ease where she was concerned.

He had gone further than mere flirtation with her; had actually been engaged; but he could not trust himself so far as marriage. Moreover, he was so circumstanced at the time that such a step would have left him unpleasantly situated in another quarter, and Grafton had a horror of scenes, like all selfish people.

So he had left Maud Annesly; had told her that fate parted them, and all that pretty nonsense which men talk when they want to break a vow—and she had let him go. She had let him go; but he knew that he had broken her heart, and no memory had ever so mournfully haunted him as the misery in her eyes, the despair in her voice, when she acquiesced in his wish. He remembered how, in her anguish, she had so far forgotten her woman’s place as to tell him that she would wait—months, years, patiently, believing him if only he could say that he would return. Then her humiliation, when she found that she had shamed herself in vain; the scorn, the wounded pride for herself, not for him, she had faith in him—yes, it was not pleasant to remember.

And here she was again! What a diabolical chance! Would she faint—make a scene? All these recollections, followed by the last selfish thoughts, flashed like lightning through his mind, while he was helping Mrs. Annesly to emerge from the old cart, and get up the steps.

He turned, but before he could reach the carriage-door, out stepped the younger lady,

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/27


text: Halek's Stories and Evensongs/The Domestic Teacher