Newspaper Page Text
2
THE SUNNY SOUTH
wood-mosses. This east wind takes me home.
I’m not sure but when the fog lifts we shall
see white cips in the valley.”
•‘I dare say there are some very good peo
ple down there,” said Arnold, with delibera
tion, “but all the same I should welcome an
inundation. Think what a climate this
would be if we had the sea below us, knock
ing against the rocks on still nights, and bel
lowing at us in a storm! ’
“Don't speak of it! It makes me long for
a miracle, or a judgment, or something that’s
not likely to happen."
“Meantime, I want you to come down the
trail, and pass judgment on my bachelor
quarters. I can’t stand the boarding house
any longer! By Jova. I’m like British foot
men in Punch: "what with them legs o’ mut
ton and legs o’ pork, I’m a’most wore out! I
want a new baniraal inwented!’ I’ve found
an old girl down in the valley who consents
to look after me and vary the monotony of
my dinners at the highest market price. She
isn’t here yet, but the cabin is about ready.
I want you to look it over. I’m a perfect
barbarian about color! You can’t put it on
too thick and strong to suit me. I dare say
I naed toning down.”
They were slipping and sliding down the
muddv trail, brushing the rain-drops from
the live-oak scrub as they passed. A subtle
underlying content had lulled them both of
late into an easier companionship than they
had ever found possible before, and they
were gay with that enjoyment of wet weather
which is like an intoxication after seven
months of drought.
“Now I suppose you like soft, harmonious
tints and neutral effects. You’re a bit of a
conservative in everything, I fear.”
“I think I should like plenty of color here:
the monotony of toe landscape and its .own
deep, low tones demand it. A neutral house
would fade into an ash heap under this sun,
or jar like a flat note in a major chord.”
“Good! You have a willing mind, I see.
You’ll like my dark little den, with its bar
baric reds and blues.”
They were at the gate of the little cottage
overlooking the valley. The gleam of sun
light had faded and the fog curtain rolled
back. The house did indeed seem very dark
as they entered. It was only a little after
four o’clock, but the cloudy twilight of a
short November day was iuidenly descend
ing upon them. The school-mistress looked
shyly around, while Arnold tramped about
the rooms and drew up the ehades.
They were in a small, irregular parlor,
wainscoted and floored in redwood, and
lightly furnished with bamboo, which com
municated by a low arch with the dining
room beyond.
“I have some flags and spu -s and old tro
phies to hang up there,” he said, painting to
the arch; “and perhaps I can get you to sew
the rings on the curtain that’s to hang un
derneath. I don’t want too much of the so
ciety of my angel from the valley, you
know; besides, I want to shield her from the
vulgar gaze, as they do the picture of the
Madonna.”
“It will serve you right if she never comes
at all!'’
“Oh, she’s anxious to come. She’s longing
to sacrifice herself for twenty-five dollars a
month. Did 1 tell you, by the way, that I’ve
had a rise in my salary? Tbere is a rise in
the work, too, which rather overbalances the
increase of pay, but that’s understood. For
a good many years it will be more work
than wage, but at the other end I hope it
will be more wage than work. You don’t
seem to be very much interested in my af
fairs. If you knew how seldom I speak of
them to any one but yourself, you might per
haps deign to listen.”
“I am listening; but I'm thinking, too,
that it’s getting very late.”
“See, here is my curtain!” he said, drag
ging out a roll of heavy stuff. He took it to
the window, and threw it over a Chinese
lounge that stood beneath. “It’s an old
serapa I picked up at Guadalajara five years
ago. The beauty of having a house is that
au the old rubbish you have bored yourself
with for years immediately becomes respect,
able and useful. I exnect to become so my-
—if Yon don't say that you like my cur-
tainrj£ — -r - /- ». J k-- i
“I shit* it is very pagan looking, and
rather tT-t"
“Wen, I shan’t make a point of the dirt I
dare say the thing would look just as well if
it were clean. Won’t you try my lounge?’
he said, as she looked restlessly towards the
door. “It was invented by the only race
who make a science ol loafing. It takes an
American back some time to relax enough
to appreciate it”
Miss Frances half reluctantly drew her
cloak about her, and yielded her Northern
slenderness to the long Oriental undulations
of the couch. Her head was thrown back,
showing her fair throat and the sweet up
ward curves of her lips and brows.
Arnold gazed at her with too evident de
light
“You look like a homesick Sultana—a re
bellious one, you know. Why won’t you sit
stillf You cannot deny that you have never
been so comfortable in your life before.”
“It’s a very good place to ‘loaf and cele
brate’ one’s self,” she said, rising to a sitting
position; “but that isn’t my occupation at
present. I must go home. It is almost dark.”
“There is no hurry. I’m going with you.
I want you to see bow the little room lights
np. All this redwood glows like mahogony
in the sunlight. I’ve never seen it by fire
light, and fll have my house-warming to
night!”
“Oh, no, indeed 1 I must go back. There’s
the flve-o’doek whistle, now!”
“Well, we’ve an hour yet. You must get
warm before you go.”
He went out, and quickly returned with
an armful of wood and shavings, which he
crammed into the cold fire-place,
“What a litter you have made! Di you
think your mature angel from the valley will
stand that sort of thing?”
As she spoke, the rain descended in vio
lence, sweeping across the piazza, and oblit
erating the fast fading landscape. They
could scarcely see each other in the darkness,
and the trampling on the roof overhead made
speech an effort. Almost as suddenly as it
had opened upon them the tumult ceased,
and in the silence that followed they heard
the heavy spattering of drops from the eaves.
Arnold crossed to the window, where Miss
Frances stood shivering a little, with her
hands clasped before her.
“I want you to light my fire,” he said.
“Why not light It yourself?” She drew
away from his outstretched hand. “It seems
to me you are a bit of a tyrant in your own
house.”
He drew a match across his knee and held
it towards her: by its gleam she saw his pale
unsmiling face and a look in his eyes she re
membered.
“Do you refuse me such a little thing—my
first guest? I ask it as a most especial grace 1”
She took the match, and knelt with i* in
her hands; but it only flickered a moment,
and went out. “It will not go for me. You
must light it yourself.”
He knelt beside her and struck another
match. “We will try together,” he said,
placing it in her fingers and closing his own
about them. He held the trembling fingers
and closing his own about them, they
guarded the little spark against the shaving.
It kindled; the flame breathed and bright
ened and curled upward among the crooked
mansanlta stumps, lighting the two pale
young faces bending before it. Miss Frances
rose to her feet, and Arnold, rising too,
looked at her with a growing dread ana long
ing in his eyea
“You said to-day that you were happy,
because in fancy you were at home. Is that
the only happiness possible to yon, here'
Could we not make a home of this on our
way to something better, as the birds flying
north rest on a little island in the sea? Your
beloved East would never have existed if
some woman had not exiled herself for the
sake of some man. The men were better
worth daring for in those days, perhaps, but
nothing braces a man like a woman’s trust.”
“You have always bad mine.”
“But I want something morel”
“You said once that I reminded you of her:
is that the reason yon— Am I consoling
youl*
“Good God? I don’t want consolationl
Do you suppose I care for the shadow of a
thing that never existed, when the reality of
all I have longed for is before met I wish
yon had as little as I have outside of this
room where we two stand together!”
“I don’t know that I have anything,” she
siid under her breath.
“Then,” said he, taking her in his arms, “I
don’t see but we are ready to enter the king
dom of heaven. It seems very near to me.”
They are still in exile; they have joined
the band of lotus-eaters who Inhabit that re
gion of the West which is pervaded by a sub
tle breath from the Orient, blowing across
the seas between. Mrs. Arnold has not yet
made that first visit East which is said by
her Californian fri-mds to be so disillusion
ing, and the old home still hovers, like a
beautiful mirage, on the receding horizon.
SIR
PAUL BRADMIRE.
A Tale Founded on Facts which Excited
and Profoundly Agitated the Aristoc
racy and Gentry of all Britain.
BY ALFRED DI KE.
(Author of “ Either, the Jewett.”)
CHAPTER VIII,—(Confirmed)
They got to Westminster Abbey and en
tered it, and here she tried to show off and
fascinate him by her cleverness. In the
Poet’s Corner they read the name of Dr.
Johnson and Angelica apostrophized:
“Where now dear, old moralist, whither
has thy spirit fled? D >st thou talk of thy
Rasselas, and thy Rambler,and of the Hebri
des, and the Thrales, and of Boswell where
thou art? Art thou proud of thy worldly
fame? Do they honor thee for thy genius
and writings where thou art? No; that coin
may pass on earth,but it is not current there.
For what do they praise thee then? For thy
charity, for thy benevolence. When thou in
thy poverty placed pennies in the hands of
little friendless, houseless, supperess children
and closed them up in their little fists as they
slept at night on stalls in the open air, to buy
them a breakfast when they wakened, thou
didst a greater work than thy Rambler, or
thy Rasselas, That work follows thee, but
the other two stay behind. Vanity of vani
ties are all the rest.”
Felix listened without saying a word, but
watched her countenance and declared he saw
mockery lurking in it.
Tnen they came to Goldsmith’s tomb, when
she broke out again:
“And where art thou, dear, kind-hearted,
envious, thriftless, idiot-genius,as they called
thee, whose epitaph says thou touchedst
nothing that thou didst not adorn? Where
art thou? Thou knoweet now what thou
madest thy Edwin say from Dr Young:
‘ Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.”
Then they rambled on to the tombs of Fox
and Pitt when she lifted up her hands and
said:
Oh, bow dreadful is the word rival\ That
sound muttered in hell must stir up the mem
ories of hatreds, and horrors, and sufferings,
that no other words can approach, for it
goads on in its implacable rage to vengeance,
cruel and merciless, where no vengeance is
due. It involves jealousy, and that involves
hatred often the most intense; it involves en
vy often of the brightest virtues, and ‘who
can stand before envy? it involves malice,
and often the darkest deeds of malice. But
where are ye, the famous rivals? What
home have ye found? what resting-place?
Fox, have they cards and dice where thou
art? Pitt, have they port-wine where thou
tarriest? But suppose something was neces
sary; will your earthly fame supply it? If
not' fearful* is the retrospect, because irre
mediable; and do you not cry out thereof
the world’s ephemeral triumphs louder than
Soloman, • Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.’”
Then they went to the chapel of Henry
VII, that exquisite mnnsnlonm, when she
said:
-“Good day-to'youii 1 niaji
who made of twain oneroea,
white, and thus, with Elizabeth of York,join
ed to Lancaster, composed rivalry that shed
oceans of blood. Hail to your majesty! Do
you and Richard ever meet, and if so, do
you talk about Bosworth? Your majesty
won a crown there, but you didn’t carry it
with you, and how do you fare without one?
Do you think now the game was worth the
candle? Doubtful. I think if you and the
Humpback had it all to go over, you would
meni your manners some. Wouldn’t you
like to try it?”
Felix watched her countenance and saw
that all she said was mere declamation for ef
fect. He said:
“But is worldly fame all vanity indeed?
Does it effect no good to any, after the fa
mous have passed away? Ana infamous men
are ever actuated by pure motives, though
self be indeed a powerful inciter, do they get
no credit for their labors in a future state?
Washington is more famous than any you
have named, and has he not done and left
behind him incalculable good to the human
race by his example as well as his deeds?
Tnat self was a motive power in his whole
career, it would be folly to deny, for self is
inseparable naturally and morally, from any
action, yet if self was not the impelling and
engrossing cause, but a sense of justice and
love of the right, do his deeds not follow
him? Whatever effects good in the world is
not vanity ; and the fame of the great does
great good in the world, for nothing more
excites coming generations to great deeds of
usefulness than the emulation of the fame of
the illustrious dead.”
“O, you inattentive listener and casuist!”
she replied. “I apostrophized these dead
children of fame, not as to the incidental or
even purposed good they may have wrought
on earth and left behind them; bat as to what
their fame avails them, the agents, in their
present place to which they have gone; and
the lives and deaths of men must determine
our judgment as to what that place is.”
Tney tarried and rambled about the Abbey
for some time, when Angelica with a facinat-
ing smile, said:
“Well my cicerone, as you are already un
der duress, I must take you under my escort
now to my hotel to gratify my vanity by
showing off my portifolio and crayons, and
perhaps your own vanity too.”
Felix said he felt that she was entitled to
the whole claim of cicerone, escort and suitor
too; and tnat Simon’s requirement was to be
practiced upon him and not by him upon
her.
They drove on, and as they went, she drew
up her sleeve so as to show her. beautiful
arm, and asked him what he thought of her
present, a magnificent bracelet sparkling
with gems.
“A present,” said Felix taking her hand in
his and examining it. “It is really a beauti
ful and costly gift, and I need not ask you
who is donor, but it is as beautiful and as
costly (he said he had a meaning in the word
costly—a dear bargain) as the hand which
he receives in exchange, and which orni-
ments the bracelet, more than the bracelet
ornaments that”
And he said to me when telling it this was
no flattery, for I really thought as I spoke;
for no gem or work of art sparkling with
gems could equal the exquisite beauty of
God’s workmanship in that hand and arm.”
She colored slightly, and it seemed a flush
of pleasure; her look was natural with
out the lurking guile; and the whole cortour
of her features presented a spectacle of en
chanting loveliness; so that if mv heart had
not found a resting place already, I might
have found her resistless, especially if I had
been as ignorant as she supposed, of her evil
practices since I last saw her. Then a cloud
came over that lovely face, and she said:
“Please don’t use flattery, but speak of me
as you think, for with all this levity I show
my heart is very very sad. I know you
think me heartless for my treatment to your
friend, but it was not my doing. I had no
heart to give him, but was impelled by my
father to seem to care for him, I supposed ft
might give quiet at last to vain and distract
ing imaginations. And when Sir Paul ap
peared, my father deemed his a more eligible
offer and insisted on my taking it. There
was no sacrifice in giving up your friend, for
I never loved him; and no pleasure in taking
the new offer but simply a passive submission
to my cruel destiny, for if I cannot marry
they one I love, I become reckless and indif
ferent to my fate. Ah, 1 could consent to
live on a crust of bread and water with one
beloved rather than roll in splendor by such
a marriage as that forced on me. But my
father can give me £250,000 Stirling; with
such a fortune, ought I not to have been more
fortunate? Yet the tenderest love that eger
woman’s heart felt, meets no response:
all in vain. Ah, life is hateful to me,”
concluded, sobbing or pretending to, slid
Felix, for really I did hot see any tears when
she took her handkerchief from her face. I
wondered who the man was she loved, and if
she meant me. My curiosity was excited
and remembering that Simon White said, if
she said yes to the question of marriage by
me, she would not mean yes, I asked:
“But does the man you love, know that you
love him!”
“I suppose not,” shereplied, “and I should
not have said so muca, or have spoken so un
reservedly if I had not become so reckless
with wretchedness ”
“But would you marry him even now, if
be were to offer you marriage?’
She cast her eyes down for a full minute
without speaking, and then said:
“Would 1? Yes! have I not said it. Could
I ever cease to love him? Never, never! My
life is a mockery. How am I profited by any
gift, natural, or incidental?”
“We arrived at the hotel,” said Felix,
“and when alone in the parlor she brought
her portfolio, and showed me many drawings
executed with considerable skill, and her sub
jects were well chosen. She at length slipped
out one, and holding the back to me, said
“You are not to see this.”
“Why?” I asked.
“No matter,” she replied holding it off;
and this produced a scuffl,, when I saw a
door open behind Angelica, and Simon Whifp
winking and holding his arm like a reaping
hook to intimate 1 must put it around her
The earnest but comic expression of the cun
ning rascal’s face, so diverted me that I could
scarcely keep from bursting out laughing,
and after a wild chase of her around tqe
room, for she could spring like a fawn, d
found Simon’s way the only way to stop hen,
and threw my arm around her when after
some further struggle, she gave up the draw
ing. >
I looked at it with astonishment. It was a
miniature in water colors, and so striking a
likeness of myself, that I at once knew it
was taken for me.
“Who drew this,” I asked with wonder,
“surely you are not equal to this?’
“Ah,” she replied, “you are hard to con
vince that I am equal to anything above the
common herd. Why is it that you have so
low an estimate of my poor worth? I know
it is not much, but even that little you havfe
always underrated.”
FeUx was about to unfold the bottom of the
picture which was doubled over, when sh*
caught his hand, and tried, or affected to tdjr
to snatch the picture from him, but he hem
her back with one hand, and unfolded it wi»
the other, and read in pencil writing. *
“I love thee! I love thee! O, what is life
without thee?” v
He looked at her but designedly, or natur
ally she looked upon the floor, and she
breathed with a quick respiration. He
thought again of what Simon said, ‘if she
says ‘yes’ she don’t mean ‘yes’;’ and he felt
assured she would not turn off Sir Paul Brad-
mire for him. “But what does she mean?’
he asked himself.
Tney both for a moment were silent; he
from confusion, and she from that, or from
some game of policy.
“Tell me,” he said at length, “what does
this writing mean? Be candid with me.
Does it mean that you thus tenderly love me,
or does it mean nothing?”
“You cannot expect me to answer that
question,” she replied.
“Why?’ asked Felix. “If it means noth
ing is it not easy to say so? and if you are
silent, what am I to infer?”
“You will judge me, I suppose, as you
have always dona* by misjudging.
Moat lacUes Would be highly offended
be angry
rill you tail me nothing?” asked Felix.
“I will teu you anything, or answer any
thing if it be couched in a form that places
both of us on an equal footing. When you
ask such questions, the answer can only be
in reply to your preceding declarations.”
This is plain sailing, thought Felix; she is
urging me to a declaration of love. Then he
thought, “Simon knows this girl thoroughly
so far as we have gone, but what is she at
now? Is it merely the poor vanity of get
ting me to make a declaration of love that
she may have the pleasure of turning me off,
or is it only for excitement, or can it be pos
sible that she does love me? Well, well. I’ll
try to be a match for her, since I am rather
inclined to think she is only amusing herself
with me, and that picture is merely a de
coy.”
He therefore said: “Angelica, for you told
me to call you Angelica.”
“Yes, yes,” she interposed, “call me An
gelica, and nothing else.”
“Tnen I acknowledge my question was out
of the usual order of things, but I do not like
the idea of making a prop wition which I felt
then, and do now, would be rejected: for I
am sure you would not turn off Sir Paul
Bradmire to marry me. And, therefore, I
cannot believe that your partiality expressed
for me has any serious meaning in it. Iti
plain terms, then, and upon your honor (for
upon your answer I must always regard you),
will you give up Sir Paul and take me?”
She hesitated, evidently in the deepest per
plexity, and at length said:
“Do not despise me, Felix, dear Felix!
That line under your picture speaks truth. I
love you, only you, and O! how dearly; and
never, never can I cease to love you. May
my right hand cease to know its cunning,
and my tongue cleave to the roof of my
mouth if ever I reject you. My heart is
yours, wholly yours; but I am a slave to
others. Give me time to think of the means
of freeing myself from the chains that bind
me, and from the wi ath of my father. You
do not know him. But if I am sacrificed
like Jeptha’s daughter, at the altar 1 can only
give my hand. My heart is, and ever must
be yours. Give me time without visiting me,
for that will merely exasperate, and I will
let you know the result of my fearful strug
gle. I am like the fabled fly in the spider’s
web ”
“Well,” said Felix, when telling it to me
afterwards, “you perceive I did not say once
that I loved her, and she could not have con
sidered the manner in which the question was
asked as a declaration of love, for it merely
asked fer her declaration in regard to me,
and I felt certain she would either refuse to
give up Sir Paul, or get off by an evasion as
she did. Whether she really loved me or
not, 1 have not been able to determine, but
1 believe she loved me as much as she could
any one, and that was not enough to operate
as any check upon her ambition: and there
fore I do not believe she had any serious
thought of giving up the honor of being called
Lady Bradmire for me. But, though my
question was onesided, she seemed to jump
at it as the only apology offered her, for the
broad declaration of her love for me.”
Many people think that Felix did misjudge
her, and that her whole course in regard to
him, proves that she did love him with a
wild, intense love; and that if Felix had
manifested as fervid a love for her, and had
pressed it. she would have given up Sir Paul
for him. And I believe, with all others, that
if she could have married Felix, the awful
tragedy that followed her marriage never
would have happened. Felix said, and says
now, he never could get to the bottom of that
adventure.
As he took up his hat to go, he saw Simon
motioning to him with rapid gestures, and
by kissing the door-post intimating to him to
kiss her. Well, he thought, Simou wants to
oe sure of his ten guideas, and as it will do
no one any harm, and I have the curiosity to
know mora, I’ll try it in the most civil way
in the world. As she took his offered hand,
she said:
“Farewell, Felix, and if a prayer of mine
can find its way to heaven, I say, though we
never meet again, God bless you. dear boy.
Try to think kindly of me, and O, ifprayers
ever avail anything, pray fer me. Will you
sometimes think of me?”
Felix said, for the life of him, he could
not help being touched with this appeal, and
“Will you kiss me?”
“Yes,” she said, and as he kissed her, she
threw her arm around his neck and Kissed
him back twice: and so they parted.
Now some will say this was duplicity to
wards Alice, but Felix had no duplicity
about him, for he told Alice the whole affair
the next day in the general clearing up they
made of all the slanders forged against Alice.
As Felix left the hotel he found Simon out
side waiting for him.
“Well,” he said, “yer did firstrate. I did
not think yer had the sense, fur yer seemed
to be stupid Uke: but yer sometimes find
more in a fiddle when you pluck the strings
than the darned little thing looked like. But
yer eould’nt hev come out so withoutin me
to back you, I swan yer’d been gobbled up
but for that.”
“But you forget,” replied Edix, “you said
all was natural, and not learned from
others.”
“So I did,” he said, “but I seed yer wor
going clean contrary to all natur, and I had
to put yer back on the right fix, face fore
most.”
“But look here, Simon, tell me the truth
now like an honest fellow. Does this girl
love me for I reaUy want to know?”
“Does yer want to know whether she tell—
ed me so ? EC so, I say, no.”
“No,” rejoined Felix, “I wish to know if
you have found out that she does.”
“Hear to him now ! I have told you all
I knows, and yer have had the whole game
on yer own hands, and sat haty taty wi her
and romped wi her, and kissed her, and
o4then ask me to tell yer ef so be she loves yer.
••f Can’t yer tell when a girl loves yer? Ef yer
will watch natur she’ll tell yer without yer
axin her any questions. Yer reckon a gal
could cheat me? She can’t do it. Natur is
t'ie onliest think yer can’t make a fact sim
blin on. And natur don’t talk in love mat
ters to affect you, but bekase yer hev affect
ed her; and natur has her own voice and
her own look,and if yer will mind both, yer
can’t mistake, fur thar is no fact simblin
that the most cunningest gal can make of
either on ’em. Natur sometimes talks the
loudest when she don’t talk at all. Natur
don’t think, and then move, but she moves,
and then thinks. Don’t yer know folks git in
love before they think on it ? And when
they think on it, they think all sorts
o’ tomfoolery, for they bargains for more
tomfoolery than they gits.”
“Well, well,” interrupted Felix, “but tell
me your judgment in the matter. Does she
really love me?”
“Didn’t I tell yer she loved yer? Would
she take all this trouble for nothink? No I
tell yer I know that. And thar be nary
uother man she would take it for. She aint
givy I know’s that all the time. She’s stingy
like her father and she was born so, and it is
her natur. Njw natur changes in some
thinks, fur cats and sich like feller critters,
be born blind, but their nature changes, and
ther eyes open, and they see; but a stingy
heart, bora so, never do open, and ginrilly it
tightens closer, and smaller, as the love o’
money grows bigger. But she gin me five
guineas at one time on yer account, which
be more’n she ever gin all the gither afore
for ten times the service, and she’ll gie me
ten guineas more, I know fur she be not done
wi yer vet, and she can’t do without me. I
swan I sometimes feel a little sorter o’ sorry
fur ’er, and if she wor only a little better,
and Miss Alice wor outin the way, I’d try to
make yer hev ’er. But I loike yer, .and I
loike Miss Alice better, and a good fellow and
a hangel of a sweet lady mustn’t be put out
fur sich as she. She hev made her bed outin
brick-bats and croesin-cut saws, and she
must sleep on it.”
“What,” said Felix, “do you know Alice?”
“Does I know’er ? Yes, long afore yer
ever seed her, and who ever seed her, and
kuowed her, that did’nt love her? Why she
wor the little angel o’ the hotel, and cast sun
shine wherever she went”
Felix thrust his hand in his pocket and
pulling out his purse, offered him two guineas
on the spot for his praise of Alice.
“Not so fast,” he said looking around ap-
ihensively. “She told me not to take a
now I’m sartin. So I thank yer, but put up
yer money, ’ceptin yerdo loike Nikeraeaue,
and put it off tur a more convenient season.
Fur it would be like killin the goose for two
eggs, as would lay ten.” Felix then went on
and Simon returned to the hotel to get his
ten guineas.
He found her still in the empty parlor with
her head bent down, and her face hidden be
tween her hands resting on a table. Ashe
entered she raised up and asked:
“What do you want?”
“Yer promise,” he replied.
“Ah! gold, gold,” she soliloqu'zed, “it is
the universal charm, and the universal want.
Oh! gold, thou art more worshiped, and earn
estly worshiped, than all the gods ancient,
or modern. But thou art a mocker, a tan-
talizer, a cheat, a juggler and a liar.”
“ ’Taint the gold that be all that, but the
love o’ it. Gun powder don’u do any harm,
nor think any harm but the folks as gets it,
and sets fire to it. ’Taint the gal that com
mits suercideonher sweetheart, but the tom
fool love of the sweetheart. Taint the
liquor that men drinks that does the mis
chief, but the love of it that makes folks
drink it. So yer see ’cis folks’ love, or ther
hate, that does every think on the face ’o the
yearth, ’ceptin thunder storms, and the luik,
and they comes o’ther own accord. So you
mustn’t love too much, or hate too much;
fur one is eatin too much honey, and the
other too much pizsn, and both will make yer
sick enough, and sometimes kill yer.’’
“Well,Simon,you are wisdom personified,”
she replied with a faint smile. “Bat what is
the remedy for loving too much? for I sup
pose so wise a man can tell the remedy as
well as the cause of the disease.”
“The remedy is the s&mi as after eating too
much honey or drinking too much spirits.
S op it. Ther drunkard sez to ther doctor,
‘Doctor,’ sez he, ‘I’m sick; I want yer to cure
‘Well,’ sez the doctor, 'quit drinkin’
wages of sin is death? or that ‘ the way of
the transgressor is hard? Who knows what
the transgressor suffers even when no human
eye beholds it, or human thought suspects it?
O Alice, Alice! I hate thee! yet would I give
up all my earthly possessions to be like thee.’
(TO BE CONTINUED,)
DON JOAQUIN
And His Flag;
OB THX
SPANISH BUCCANEER
BY LIEUT. FELIX.
licker and that’ll cure yer withouten physic.’
And he sez, ‘I knowed that withouten yer
tellin’ me.’ And so yer ought to know with
out my tellin’ ver what will cure love that
makes yer sick enough to heave at all crea
tion, even gold.”
“Well, Simon, here is your gold.”
She counted out the guineas and said:
“If you expect peace in this world, prac
tice your own precept—love nothing too
much, and hate nothing too much, and hate
nothing but evil at all.”
W ben Simon withdrew, she gazed through
the window upon vacancy and repeated the
language of Burke, “What shadows we are
and what shadows we pursue!” Tnen, after
a pause, she lifted^both hands and eyes and
said:
“Oh, God, if there be a God, tell me where
peace is to be found. But the zealot, the re
cluse, devotee and doctor of divinity will
cry, each pointing the same way, “tbere it
is to be found,” but I see by the actions of
all. and by tneir restiveness, they are like
Petrarch who, when prying about as if search
ing for something, he was asked what he was
seeking, replied ‘Peace, peace.’ I have gold
that the multitude priz; as the chief good; I
have youth and health; I have learning and
high accomplishments; I have beauty which
they tell me is faultless, and sprightliness
and elegance of manner that are said to be
charming, and yet I am wretched. The
lives of the very servants that wait upon me
are blissful compared with mine. What is it
then in my composition that works out
wretchedness? Is it the strength and fire of
passions that like Milton’s hell-hounds tear
the vitals of their mother? Or is it unbridled
fancy, or a wild and untutored imagination
creating ideal spectres of horrible shapes? Or
is it Hamas’s malady, who, though possess
ing riches, honors, power and splendor, only
second to the mightiest monarch of the
world, cried out in his anguish of wretched
ness, ‘AU these things profit me nothing as
1 mg as I see Mordecai, the Jew, sitting at
the king’s gate? Or is it the wretchedness of
the Arabian, who was miserable for the want
of a want, or because he could think of noth
ing that he wanted? Perhaps ’cis something
of all these making up a chaos of unrest. Ah,
poor throbbing, swelling, wretched heart,
it is not only anguish to feel what thou art,
but woe indeed to reflect when too latewhat
thou mightest have been. Ah, does it not
come home to the heart like truth that the
CHAPTER XL.
When Lieu’enant Hardy had concluded, he
moistened his throat with a sip of wine, and
almost unconsciously passed his arm around
Walter's neck. Tom Herngo drank two
glasses of wine, as if he was exceedingly dry;
but Patrick Murphy and Frasier, strange to
relate, never wet their lips, and passed their
bands in a careless way across their eyes, as
if there was moisture enough there, as indeed
there was, feeling as they did in the untu
tored fonts of their own generous natures for
their dear friend who sat opposite.
As for Byron, his head rested face down
ward on his outspread hands, and a tear
trickled through his closely-pressed fingers,
and as he raised his face and looked around
the board, where sympathizing eyes met his,
he said in a subdued tone:
“I thank thee, ever dear and venerated
shades of my fathers, for avenging the mur
der of my child.”
As he uttered these words his eyes rested
on the face of Walter, and striking the table
a blow that made the glasses ring, he started
back and exclaimed:
“Can it be possible that that boy was saved
from the clutches of the drowned pirate?”
“My friends,” resumed the commodore, “I
have a little—a very little—to add to what
Mr. Hardy has already related of the pirati
cal schooner. Steward, let the servants turn
in, and give us a light lunch. Now then, gen
tlemen 1 am your man,” settling back in his
his chair:
“After we had scaled the guns on both
sides of the ship the captain thought it un
necessary to lower the boats to pick ud the
chips that were floating about the mouth of
the channel; and, besides, it would have been
dangerous, since the sea was coming in sav
agely, boiling about the ship with a very un
certain depth of water around and under us;
and moreover, we had our hands full the
better part of the night in reeving new run
ning-gear, bending a new sail or two that had
flapped to pieces when everything was let go
by the run in ccming to anchor. But before
sunrise we were in cruising trim once more
and ready to cut and run in case it was ex
pedient, and get out of what we afterwards
learned to be the Garrotte gorge. But by
sun-up the wind fell awav info a flat calm,
and with the exception of the long triple row
of rollers heaving in now and then from sea
ward we lay snug and qniet. After break
fast the quarterboats were lowered, and Mr.
Hardy took one and I stepped into the other,
and we pulled in towards the j tws of the
channel between the lion shaped rock and the
ledge on the opposite side. A good many
fragments of tne wreck had escaped the re
acting current and gone out to sea, but float
ing about on the water were some of the tim
bers of the hull jammed into the jaws of the
ledge, shrouded in seaweed and kelp as if all
had grown there together. A little further
on was a part of the foremast and topmast
swimming nearly in the middle of the chan
nel, anchored, as it were, by one of the
shrouds twisted around a sharp rock.
Myriads of seagulls, cormorants, vultures
and eagles from shore were clustered on the
wreck as thick as beas in a hive, screaming,
croaking, and snapping at each other, while
tana of thousands more were hurrying in
frtjaa—, and elthsr swooped down over the
■pan. Tne water was sl!ve with* shari^Jeap^
iag out of the water, sometimes grasping the
blades of the cottar's oars. I pulled in toward
the Wieok o t e foremast. The birds did not
move at our approach, and one old red-eyed
vulture snapped on the boathook and left the
prints of his beak in the iron. My attention
however was attracted by one of the bow
men, who sang out: ‘Mr. Cromwell, here’s
the captain and his padre lying in the belly
of the topsail.’ I walked forward to the bow
of the cutter and looked in. There, sure
enough lay one drowned man and half the
body of another who had evidently been cut
in twain by a cannon-shot. The other corpse
was a large, burly, fat man, wrapped in a
black close cassock, with' a knotted rope to
confine it at the waist, and around his neck
was a string of black beads holding a gold
crucifix. The eyes of the one with half a
body had been picked out by the gulls, but
he still possessed a long tooth sticking from
under a fringe of moustache, which gave me
a pretty good idea of his temper without see
ing his eyes. The truck and shivered end of
the shivered maintopmast, with the piratical
flag still twisted around it, lay across his
chest. But as we approached an enormous
eagle seiz.nl it in his beak and tearing it into
tattered shreds fla w skyward with the re
mains of the parted halliards streaming be
low his talons. The mouth and eyes of the
pa Ire were wide open, as if he were chanting
a miserecorc'i 1 for his own soul.
‘ ‘As I stood gazing at these revolting objects,
a huge pelican, unmindful of all around—
mads one dashing swoop into the sail and as
he came up and spread his broad pinions, he
held in his pouch the crucifix, and as he slow
ly flapped his great wing and sailed aloft
with it, a host of gull’s, vultures, and cormor
ants took after him to steal his plunder.
Tne sharks many of them were resting their
cold, sharp noses on the back of the topsail
waiting like so many hungry wolves for a
bone. At last they cut through the sail, and
before you could think, the floating corpses
were within their serrated jaws.”
“Mr. Hardy pulled higher up the gorge,
and examined the rocks and pools on both
sides but saw nothing living or dead, and so
bout cutters and returned to the corvette.”
(Had Mr. Hardy landed at the base of the
flic rock where the current swept in under
thi lions paws, he might have seen the foot
prints of a man, and following the track a
few yards further he would have passed his
sword through a man lying bleeding in a
mangrove thicket, and found too, in his belt
a lot of gleaming jewels with a saphire gem
of priceless value on the finger of his bloody
right hand. But never mind, Mr. Hardy,
you will hear more of that man one of these
days, and you will have no cause for regrets,
though he may, and meanwhile let him
wander on in quest of fresh priz as over Span
ish South America.)
But to return to the Commodore’s story.
“Although I have some doubts,” he said
“as to whether the mangled body we saw in
the sail was that of Don Joaquin, the notori
ous pirate of the schooner Pindar, still, 1 felt
confident at the time, and do now, that it
was hardly possible for him or any one of his
crew to have escape 1 our broadside fire and
the ro:ksand wtte combined; so that evening
when the land breeze made, we tripped our
anchors and sailed away from the coast of
Dorion.”
“Come, my friends,” said Byron, in a low
tone of voice, “we must not push the Com
modore too far to-night for it is getting late
you know.”
“No hurry, Byron,” replied the Commo
dore.
“No.”
“Then Fll have the boat manned, Mr. Or
derly. My compliments to the officer of the
watch, and tell him to call awav the barge.”
As the guest left the table, Byron put his
arm arouni the Commodore’s left, and they
moved afc into the starboard stateroom.
“Mr. Cromwell, tell me more of that young
Walter,” urged Byron.
“There is nothing more to tell than that he
is my adopted nephew and the son of the
gentleman who occupies that state room op
posite. But I’ll tell you some day about his
father, who has led a yery singular life.”
“Well, you will bring young Walter with
you, my wife, Rosemond and her sister will
be glad to see you, good night.”
As the frigate’s bell struck eight the Com
modore’s guests went over the side and get
into the barge and pulled shoreward. At the
same time a light gig with handsome Walter
went along side the Rosemond, and Commo
dore Cromwell turned into his friend’s cot.
As the barge ran up the landing, a gold sov
ereign was slipped into the old Coxswain's
honest band.
CHAPTER XLI.
Sweet were the sounds of women’s voices
inside the \ ilia of Rosemond. Two lovely
women were sitting within the lofty saloon,
hand clasped in hand, gazing with pride
upon a lovely city-lily girl, a demi-blonde,
with large eyes, so blue that they seem al
most black, a pure forehead, crowned with
great plaits of gold brown hair, a ravishing
face, a round, white throat, and tiny shell-
like ears, in which quivered thin hoops of
gold; tall and willowy in figure, with limbs
of exquisite shape, drape i in a light mous
seline, coyly clinging in loose folds around
her budding bosom to the slender waist,
where it was clasped by a simple buckle of
pearl, below which it fell flowing in gauzy,
floating waves to her feet. This fair crea
ture is Rosemond.
“They are coming to-day, aunt. Uncle
Julius says that our dear old friend, Captain
Antrim, has just arrived at Kingston, and is
coming with them.”
“Who else, Rosemond?”
The girl held a letter before her face, per
haps to hide a blush.
“Why, he writes that the spring cart with
Bannous Clem, was to start over-might with
the traps; that means trunks, I suppose, and
that—”
“What?’
“Tnat there is a fine young officer, the
nephew of Commodore Cromwell—Oh, some
of Uncle Julius’nonsense, after all.”
No such great nonsense as you think,
Madomoiselle, when your uncle tells you to
keep that fluttering little heart safe within
your bodice, for there are theives in blue
jackets in the island of Jamaica.
“Ah, here comes .Clem!”
“Good Bannous Clem, what news of your
master?” asked Madame Byron.
“He will be here with his friends at sunset.
And Miss R >semond must place the gemmen’a
things in their rooms, and have some cots
made ready.”
Presently through the rich vegetation that
hid the uneven road, came the sound of
‘mrses feet and gay laughter. A few mo
ments later there appeared a cavalcade
mounted on mules and horses, making the
old woods ring with their merry talk and
laughter.
Ahead came Tom Frazier, on a small,
sure-footed pony, and beside him Mr. Piry
Bun, the reefer, on a high mule with a stub
mane, looking like a fly pennant on the mast
head of a frigate. Walter, Herngo and Pat
rick O'Murphy followed, and behind them
rode a tall, muscular'man on a mettled steed
which he controlled by (t touch of his finger.
At his side on the smallest of the donkey
breed, with his feet touching the ground,
clung stout Captain Joseph Antrim, the sail
or, while the rear was brought up by Byron
and Commodore Crom veil.
“Now you little reefer, look sharp when we
turn the curve of the mountain, and you’ll
catch a peep at Rosamonde, and don’t you
pinch that mule again on her stern or she’ll
pitch you into that cotton tree,” said Herngo
laughing.
As the Commodore and Byron were riding
slowly along side by side, the former said:
“Well, Byron, as I have toll you, I had
command of a brig and took a cruise on the
Court of Brazil. After that I was appointed
to a thirty-two gun frigate, to the East
Indies. When we returned home and were
paid off, I made a tour to Europe with that
boy’s father, Paul Handy, and—”
“But you promised to tell me somethiug
about him, Cromwell,” broke in Byron.
“Well, I will tell you all I know in a gen
eral way of his history. Surgeon Handy is
descended from an old and respectable fami
ly ; his plantation and my father’s were in
close proximity to each other. We had the
same tutor when we were children, and we
grewup from infancy to boyhood together.
Ste'iHh fCjwieia&te'ML ungovernable, oven an
a child, but he was the heir to a large estate,
and his father being dead, his weak-minded
mother humored and allowed no one to curb
him. As to myself, I was one of a numerous
family, and was put in the Navy and went
away on cruise after cruise and did not re
turn to the old plantation for seven long
yea re. I was a man then. I had seen some
active service and held a commission as a
lieutenant in the navy. Meanwhile Surgeon
Handy, who had at the time I left taken
a strong fancy for surgical operations, had
been sent to Malaga to begin his studies. How
he applied himself we do not know, but with
large letters of credit he spent a great deal of
money, and we heard that, with great talents
and wonderful skill in his profession, he was
yet unfitted for close application to his busi
ness, and plunged madly into the vortex of
dissipation around him* I beard, too, that
his extravagances had seriously impaired
bis fortune, and that his duels had been so
numerous and desperate as to make his name
a dread and scourge even in Malaga. On one
occasion at a wine room he cut a bullying
fellow’s head clean off with his own sabre for
striking a woman, and on another occasion
where he had detected a Spanish squire cheat
ing him at a game of cards, he shot his right
ear off for a bet. With this unenviable repu
tation, and at the earnest solicitations of his
agent, after many years of absence he re
turned to his ancestral home. Well, we met
as of old. It was Paul and Henry, and al
though hot-headed as ever, he still listened
patiently to what I said, and I could, in a
manner, control him. He paid very little at
tention to his property, and when he did go
to consult with his trustees, he would be sure
to get into some frolic, scrape or duel and
come home completely worn-out with fatigue
and dissipation.
“He was a fine, stern-looking young man
in those days, with great muscular power,
which, even with the strain put upon it by
gaming, drinking and other indulgences,
seemed not to be lessened. After one of his
visits to the city, where his long-forbearing
agents bad at last awakened him to a realiza
tion of his delinquencies, and when mortgage
upon mortgage were laid with all their ap
palling truth before him, he returned and
came to me. With all his vices and faults he
was truthful and generous to a fault. He
told me all, and how he would try and be a
better man, govern his passions, and soothe
the declining years of his too indulgent
mother.
“We both went systematically over the
papers, and were three days and nights at
the job; and when at last I snowed him that
he would still, with a little economy, have a
fair income, and would perhaps eventually
redeem his property, he fairly embraced me
in his hearty joy and gratitude.
“I put the papers away and said: ‘Now,
Paul, vou know I am engaged to be married,
and I have not seen my lady love for three
whole days. She has a sister, prettier than
my Cecdie, whom you have not seen since we
were boys together. Come: will you go with
me? We can pull ourselves across the river.’
He hesitated for a moment; and it would
have been better had he refused to accompany
me, for dreadful misfortune came of it
“Well, Paul went with me across the river.
There, on the bank, was an old French-built
stone house, where dwelt the last of a line of
French nobility which dated back to the days
of Charlemagne. It was an impoverished
family consisting of a wild, reckless brother
and two sisters, who, with a few acres of
land and some old servants,managed to make
both ends meet, and to support the establish
ment in a certain air of elegance and comfort
to which they had been accustomed. They
were of a proud and haughty race; the
brother was a disdainful and imperious gen
tleman. Smarting and brooding over the
lash of adversity which had scattered his
family, and rarely visiting his friends or
neighbors. His sisters, and they were twins,
were trustful, confiding, happy girls, and Ce-
cille had been my childish love. As we en
tered the room where Cecille was seated at a
large, old-fashioned organ, playing a sweet
air, and her sister bending over a table near
by, all absorbed in a book. Paul approached
her. It was not love at first sight, because
they had played together when children; but
it was such a love as only begins and dies
with man or woman. Her brother came in