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THE SOUTHERN WORLD, OCTOBER 15, 1882.
10
l§om§ <£ir L clq.
BEAUTY AND TBUT1I.
From the white womb of ancient Truth
The Beautiful waa born,
Invented with Immortal youth,
And radiant aa the morn;
With blazing atars about her brow,
Alt nature her domain,
Enthroned In the eternal Now,
Blie ahares her mother’a reign.
Inacparateand celestial pair,
They tench the human heart
Through their sublime Interpreter,
Divine, Immortal Art I
—Chablkh W. UunwKB.
Written specially for The Bouthern World.
“ KOY’M WIFE.”
BV KNTEKAY, LEXINGTON, KY.
It was more like November tit an still early
in October—such a heavy dampness |>ervaded
the scene out of the narrow little window of
the narrow little house of the narrowest
town of New England. A young man, look
ing moodily out upon the gathering dark
ness, seemed in no way capable of a philo
sophic acceptation of the situation into
which chance, rather Providence—we must
not grow sceptical if we do live in an age of
doubt—had suddenly placed him. The fact
was, Mr. Edward Benedict was heartily dis
gusted with the >whole surroundings; the
miserable little boarding-house, which was
the only lodging he could secure for so short
u time, hud proved itself a snare and a delu
sion, at a total variance from the glowing
description which had entrapped his youth
ful imagination; and then, that querulous
old gentluman, Mr. llermau Benedict, who
so unceremoniously demanded the instant
attendance of his nephew, grew daily more
obstinate and aggressive in liis requests.
It was rather hard on a young fellow just
out of college to bo called away from the
city at the most delightful of times when he'
felt himself about to create something of a
sensation, in a social way, and it is depress
ing to one’s spirits to have only a stack of
musty law books for company.
However, eveu in the most monotonous of
existences, there sometimes glows a ray of
light, and in tho life of Mr. Edward Bene
dict this illumination took the form of the
afternoon mail, which certainly was some
thing to look forward to. Frequently there
was a letter from Haywood, one of his old
colloge chums, which would set a fellow up
f his thoughts were black as ink; hcnlways
said that Haywood was a genius, though he
did hide his light under u bushel.
On this eventful afternoon the mail was
somewhat retarded, and the young man was
becoming impatient; it had grown almost
quite dark when he returned from the ollicc
with the precious “bundle of letters.” There
was one from Denham, another college asso
ciate, one from his tuilor, (“ pestiferous don
key ”) one from his mother, Mrs. l.e.ewaril
Benedict, and one, which he meant to keep,
like the good wine, for the lust, from his
cousin, Grace St. Clair.
Being a dutiful son he first opened his
mother’a letter, almost knowing before he
broke tho seal what it contained; he knew
that she hoped her dear boy would be re
spectful and affectionate to his uncle and
not take offence at his. irritable ways, and
that he could reflect upon the advantage he
would gain by a sacrifice of his own pleasure
in feeling be hud conferred his presence upon
ono win* really needed his assistance,—all
very fine indeed, but not genuine, the con
sciousness of a prospect of a half a million or
so in the future being in her case, as well us
his, a far more iiowerful Incentive to unsel
fish action than the promptings of religious
duty.
It was after tea, when ho returned to liis
room, that in dressing-gown and slippers he
applied himself to the perusul of Grace's
most acceptable missive.
“Dear Ned,” it began in the large angular
hand-writing which fashionable young wo
men affect, “ you poor boy, I think of you
every hour in the day,” (Urace was really
quite patronizing—a man does not wish to
be called a boy wlieu he is tweuty-three.)
“It is perfectly lovely at this great old
country place, and the Haines’ are such very
charming people that I have never once re
gretted that I accepted their invitation,
though at the time 1 was sorry to leave the
city, it was giving up a delightful reality for
an uncertainty, as everything was starting
off quite gay and festive.
As this can only be a short letter, I must
tell my news in brief. To begin—there are
about forty, more or less, of us in all. Mr.
Frederick Haines,(Bessie’s younger brother,)
and his seven college friends, Bessie, and
myself constitute the young people; Bessie
and I are the only girls, and we like it.
I must tell you how we amuse ourselves—
we have been having charades, and with
great success, if the applause we received
from the audience was not more compli
mentary than genuine; last week, embold
ened by former triumphs, we attempted
theatricals. One of our number, gifted with
a talent for writing plays, produced one for
the benefit of the household, and another
equally remarkable personage, (you see we
are agiftedset,) took the leading part, that is
the part of Roy’s Wife, which is the name of
the play. Enclosed you will find a picture
of the star of the troupe as seen in the fasci
nating role of “Roy’s Wife.”
Here there was a sudden break in the let
ter, the writer evidently having been called
off suddenly before the completion of her
subject, there were only a few more hastily
penned words, as a close. Bdt there was a
P. 8., of count. “ Bessie has agreed to spend
the month of November with me, do ask
your uncle to get well, Bessie wants to know
you.”
Mr. Edward Benedict tossed aside this in
teresting missive with afalntsmileofamuse
ment, it was so thoroughly characteristic,
and then turned his attention to the small,
card-size photograph which it contained.
If any one had been present at the moment,
his very sudden change of expression might
have awakened conjecture. He arose with
an alacrity which had hitherto been most
pathetically wanting in hiB movements, and
stirred the fire into a brighter blaze, then,
with a look of puzzled interest depicted upon
his aristocratic features, he returned to the
picture. He ran hastily over in his mind the
list of his acquaintances, especially those he
had recently met in crowded ball-rooms, but
the look in the laughing gray eyes took hold
of him as a mystery, and for the life of him
he could not tell when and where he had
seen that face before. He thought it a,
strangely fascinating face, not hecause of its
beauty, he did not altogether like the style;
there was a gay carelessness in the turn of
the head, and a reckless profusion of golden
locks which did not accord very harmoni
ously with the fustidious taste of the young
man, but from that moment, on through the
long dreamy days that followed, itseemed to
have a strange power over his thoughts and
to counteract in no small degree the utter
stagnation of his existence. He would have
been ashamed to confess even to himself how
it grew into an almost life-like reality, and
enveloped bis thoughts as a mist At times
the expression seemed to change, and the
look of suppressed laughter transfused itself
into a tender, glowing interest, but when he
had come in from one of those lonely tramps
in which he spasmodically indulged, ho
would laugh at his own foolish fancy.
I feel it my duty to offer some explanation
for the remarkable conduct of this young
man ; the fact is, though he wus the victim
of an unusually imaginative disposition, he
would never, I know, under ordinary cir
cumstances, hnve been guilty of such a poetic
weakness, but close confinement in a dark
ened room, with a feverish invalid, for six or
eight hours in a day, has a rouiarkable power
of producing morbidity of ideas, and Mr.
Edward Benedict under this depressing in
fluence, was another man. So it came to
pass that he awoke one morning in October
to find that he had been doing a very foolish
thing, and awoke to find that be had no
longer the power of extricating himself front
a fancy, which he still had sense enough
left to know, was utterly idle. After that
lie made no further effort to battle with his
fate, he hung the picture up over his mantel
as the most convenient place to which his
eyes might turn. If he had been a sensible
man, which I am grieved to confess he was
not, he would have thrown that smiling
little piece of card-board into the flames and
thought no more of it, but, as it is hardly
necessary to relate, he was not a sensible
man, and so he went on dreaming and think
ing and wasting a great deal of valuable time,
indulging his imagination in fantastic rev
eries, changeful as the summer air.
One morning he received a letter from his
cousin, Miss St. Clair, announcing ber return
home, and requesting the pleasure of his
company the following week.
“ Bessie wants to know you,” she said, “ I
have told her so many pleasant things about
you, you really must come,” and Mr. Ed
ward Benedict felt the fates had grown sud
denly propituous when on the morrow he
took the afternoon train for the city. He
thought it the most natural thing in the
world that she should want to know him,
had he not been thinking of her every day
for a month past, and calling her Bessie in
his thoughts ? why they were old friends.
He arrived a day earlier than he was ex
pected, and his cousin, Miss St. Clair, had
not yet come in from her afternoon walk
when he called. It had been a damp, cheer
less day enough, and the richly curtained,
fire-lit room seemed warm and inviting;
there were shadows lurking in the corners,
it was like the picture of a room. Mr. Ed
ward Benedict felt as if he was once more
himself, now that he was back in his old sur
roundings, he thought with a shudder of the
dreariness which had been accompanying
(his hour for the last five weeks.
A slight movement from a young woman
sitting in the opposite part of the room, sud
denly disturbed his thoughts, and caused
.him to turn, surprised in his pleasant con
templation of the scene about him ; in that
moment the young lady looked up from her
book, and a faint flush came into her cheeks,
but she arose and greeted him formally in
spite of her momentary embarrassment. She
was rather a -mall personage, with light hair
very smoothly arranged, and a clear blonde
complexion of exquisite freshness. She wore
a wnite neckerchief quaintly folded across
her chest; there was an air of Quakerish
simplicity amounting almost to primness,
in her whole appearance.
The young man made his bow and intro
duced himself iu an exceptionally graceful
manner, but the elegant composure of his
bearing seemed suddenly to desert him when
she said very quietly, with a winning smile:
“I am Miss Haines.” Then she added, “I
believe your cousin has told me everything
about you. We ought to be quite good
friends.’’
Afterwards, Mr. Edward Benedict ap
peared strangely preoccupied and as uninter
esting as he was uninterested. Miss Haines
seeing the utter futility of her efforts soon
ceased in her endeavor to be agreeable, and
relapsed into a dignified silence, not with
out a slight tinge of resentment and injury
depicted upon her dainty features.
It was all a mystery, but he could find no
explanation. The thought suggested itself
that this might have been Grade's idea of a
joke, but he instantly rejected the supposi
tion as absurd. He did not believe there
was any one else in her acquaintance by the
name of Miss Bessie Haines; in fact, he was
quite certain there was not, and yet not
even all the effects of the most heightened
stage costume could have transformed the
elegantly refined young lady into the care
less, golden-haired beauty he had been wor
shiping so devoutly for the past five weeks.
He suddenly became conscious that he
was being asked a question in a cold, inqui
ring way, and recollecting himself, he turned
with a spasmodic determination to the
present.
There was a slight coquetry in her man
ner; as she looked up, an expression, a
swift glance, which instantly disappeared,
brought back the old memory with a more
perplexing force. He was quite relieved
when the door opened, and Miss St Clair
appeared on the threshold. She was agree
ably surprised to see him, and held out both
her hands in a cordial welcome.
“Do sit down. You have been ill,” she
said, regarding him intently, os she unbut
toned her gloves, “and it is a mercy you
aren’t dead, down there in that stupid old
town. And how is your undo? Do you
think the prospect is brightening?” she
said, with a perceptible elevation of the
eyebrows and a low laugh. “Well,” she
continued, not waiting for a reply, and with
a suddenness of manner peculiar to her,
"we have been wanting you here awfully,
haven’t we, Bessie ? But you have taken an
unfair advantage. I meant to introduce
you myself. Did you get my letters?”
“I did, and I shall always feel an undying
gratitude for your remeiubVance. Is there
anything you would like to have me do for
you? But for those interesting productions,
I think I would have fulfilled your encour
aging prediction and come to an untimely
end."
“Oh, that would have been sad. Don’t
you think I am a good correspondent? No
one else does?”
“Then It was just a delicate little compli
ment to me ? The weight of my obligation
has grown oppressive.”
Miss Haines arose and left the room very
quietly. It was then that Mr. Edward Bene
dict for the first time really noticed her
graceful beauty, and with remorse reflected
upon the unoourteous lack of interest into
which he had been betrayed.
“Have I misrepresented things?” asked
Oracle, glancing after her. “Is she not
pretty? And is she not everything I have
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly I" Oracle stared.
“Not unless she numbers among the many
accomplishments you have attributed to her
the power of metamorphosis,” he said.
“I don’t understand. Can you reconcile
it to your dignity to stoop to an explana
tion ?”
Mr. Benedict arose and handed her a small
card-size picture which he took from an
inner pocket, and as her eye fell upon it,
Miss St. Clair seemed much amused.
“Why, Edward Benedict,” she said, when
she had ceased laughing, “did I never ex
plain that to you ?”
“You certainly never did, and I was not
aware that it required an explanation until
to-day.”
He was trying to look unconscious, but I
don’t think he succeeded very well.
“It is easy enough explained,” said Grace,
still looking at him and smiling. “Do you
remember Bessie’s brother Fred?”
“Perfectly; but I really ”
“That picture which you have been so ten
derly guarding is——"
Mr. Edward Benedict arose and walked to
the window. He thought they kept their
rooms uncomfortably warm.
“You know he is extremely handsome,”
said Grade, coming to his side, "and every
one thinks it was a misfortune he was not a
girl because of his youth and beauty. He is
pretty as a girl."
Grade waited, but Mr. Benedict seemed
absorbingly interested in the vehicles passing
in the street.
“When we got up those wonderful theatri
cals I wrote you of,” she continued after a
short pause, "we wanted a girl for the lead
ing part Bessie would not take it, and I
was not equal to the occasion, and so—it was
a farce, you know, in every sense of the
word—and-so,” with a laugh, she said, “we
dressed Fred up as a girl. He is a perfect
boy and did not mind.”
The young man seemed still deeply inter
ested in the scene without.
“Isn’t Bessie pretty?" asked Miss St. Clair
as she stirred the fire into a brighter blaze,
and Mr. Benedict answered mechanically,
“Very pretty."
When a man has made a fool of himself,
he is rather uncomfortable. I make the as
sertion with all confidence, knowing that in
most coses it will be corroborated by ex
perience.
Mr. Benedict returned the next day unex
pectedly to that quiet little village, which
had been despised and so joyfully taken
leavo of twenty-fonr hours previous. I
think he was a sadder and a wiser man.
The first thing he did on entering his
room was to take forth an envelope and
without so much as a glance at what it con
tained, he consigned what had been its pre
cious contents to the furv of the flames.
In the days that followed he was so re
markably silent and civil that his uncle, Mr.
Herman Benedict, noting the absence of the
old petulanco which had hitherto character
ized his nephew, took courage and began to
entertain serious hopes that the “young
scapegrace” would turn out something
worthy after all.
As his uncle continued in ill health, young
Benedict did not return to the city for some
months; but when the spring opened, hav
ing been asked by his friend, Mr. Frederick
Haines, to spend a fortnight with a party of
young people in the country, he accepted
the invitation, and gladly bade farewell to
the dispiriting scenes which had surrounded
him for months.
He could now look back with amusement
—for he had quite outgrown his foolish fancy
—upon the tender memories of the past
He felt the monotony was going to be de
lightfully changed, and was conscious of a
bright anticipation for the future, which is
but the very essence of youth.
They were a gay party when they all as
sembled in the merry springtime at the old
mansion.
When Miss Bessie Haines came in to re
ceive her guests, there was one among them
who sent a worm glow into her cheeks as he
pressed her hand, and Mr. Edward Benedict
no longer manifested a want of interest, or
appreciation of her girlish beauty. As she
moved away he smiled, perhaps at a certain
recollection which her presence had recalled.
They resorted to every means of amuse
ment in the happy days that followed, and
one evening they represented, with a slight
change of actors, a play which had been
written on a former occasion by one of their
number.
And it came to’ pass that not long after
wards, those who had witnessed the closing
scene of this delightful little comedy were
called upon to be present at a genuine mar
riage service, and so lavish were the good
wishes bestowed upon the two united souls,
that if there be power in the predictions of
friendship, the future must have brought
them “all the joy that they could wish."