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10 TBE SOUTHERN WORLD, JULY 1,1882, W on H A NIIEAF OF Bit'llKAT CtBAIR. BY EBON K. BKXFOBD. He saw the wheat wulUnK, All (Olden In the sun, Andstrong and stalwart reaper* Went by him, one by one. "Oh, could I reap In liarveet I” Ilia heart made bitter cry; "1 can do nothing, nothing, Ho weak, alas! am I.” At eve, a fainting traveler Hank down beside his door— A cup of cool, sweet water To iiuench his thirst he bore. And when refresh’ll and strengthened, The traveler went his way. Upon the poor man’s threshold A golden wheut-sheaf lay. When came the Lord of Harvest, He cried: “Ob, Master, kind! One sheaf have I to offer, And that 1 did not bind; I gave a cup of water To one athirst, and he Left at my door In going, The slieaf I offer Thee.” Then said the Lord of Harvest: “Well pleased with this am I; One of My angels left It With thee us he passed by. Thou mayst not join the reapers U)Kin the harvest plain. Hut who so helps a brother Hinds sheaves of richest grain.” THE WEDDING MARCH. An Artist’s Story. “No. 329—A Wedding March.” Such was the number and name of a picture in the Academy, of a certain year which shall, for }>olitic and personal reasons, be left un- designuted. The picture was one of my painting; and I, Reginald Tracey, had been fortunate enough to attain three very im portant ends hy its production. Firstly, it was deemed excellent enough by the hang ing committee to be placed on tiie line, and it faced you in a very prominent manner os you entered Room No. V. Secondly, this prominent position secured for my picture a large share of attention, which resulted in its finding a purchaser almost as soon as the Kxhibition doors opened. But thirdly, it served the actual purpose for which I painted it, and which led me to choose my subject. That purpose involved just the least bit of lomance; and although the clever critics praised the picture, and even hinted that "Mr. Tracey had been singularly fortunate in his treatment of a somewhat unusual and difficult theme,” etc.; not one of them so much as guessed that it was a picture with a purpose. As the sequel may serve to show, that purposu sprang from and ended in what I am pleased to call my little romance. It was a charming day, that on which I went to Rockhampton to sketch the water- meadows and to see my old friend, I)r. Jos. Brooke—Jim, I generally called him—who hud settled us a practitioner in that town. The whole place was steeped in sunlight; and the deep shadows cast by the old houses in the narrow streets by the waterside re minded one of nothing so much as the black ness of the shades in some old Dutch town, where Rembrandt must have learned the special art that hears the impress of his ge nius to-day. The old church of Rockhamp ton is a fine bit of Norman architecture. Ris ing architects declare that there are no purer pillars of that style, or better preserved arches, with their queer faces squeezed into the corners thereof, and which seem to im press the Rockhampton juveniles on Sun days quite as much os the service. Passing through the church-yard, I found myself at lost at the church. With little hope of find ing tiie door open I lifted the latch, when at once it yielded to my touch. As I passed within the green baize doors within the porch, I heard the sound of the organ; so stealing quietly into the grateful shade and coolness of tbo church, I ensconced myself in the biggest pew I could find and listened. How soothing was the effect of the music and surroundings on that glorious day I I could not see the player, who was concealed by the curtains in front of the organ-loft, but intuitively I guessed it was a lady who played. 1 imagined that only a woman’s delicate touch could have made that “Kyrie” speak in these tones; and there was more gentleness than power in tbe “Stabat Mater” into which the player glided. Then 1 re member the “Wedding March” succeeded; and after half an hour's private hearing of tho musters, I quietly slipped out of church, once again into tbe glad sunlight that played around the grave-stones, and mode the world so fair to see. After lunching at my hotel, the Red Lion, I went to see Dr. Jim. It appeared that the fair player of the church was a Miss Spal ding, and tbe only daughter of a well-to-do and retired merchant, who had settled at Rockhampton some eighteen months before; and Jim, I found, had been paying bis ad dresses to tbe young lady. Her father had married for the second time and bad thus given Miss Spalding a step-mother. The old gentleman, as Jim called him, was an easy going man, kind-hearted in every way, gen erous to a fault, and looked kindly enough on Dr. Jim's suit. But as to Mrs. Spalding, Jim pronounced a decidedly unfavorable opinion. She was an ambitious, and, as he expressed it, scheming woman, who thought that Nelly should look somewhat higher than Dr. Brooke, of Rockhampton—and that she should at least marry money—with which latter commodity, Jim was, as ayoung doctor of course, by no means overburdened. With out actually discouraging Jim’s attentions, made things decidedly unpleasant for the lovers. Mr. Spalding, good, easy man, was completely under the dominion of his wife. Hence, Jim confessed, he was in a somewhat unsettled state of mind. “You see, Regy," said Jim, “Nelly will not disobey her parents in any way. That she cares for me, she has confessed to me more than once. But when 1 press her to consent to be married at once, and to make me happy, she won’t hear of it.” “My dear Jim,” I responded, in my new found capacity of guide, counsellor and friend, “she is not tbe first girl who has had to struggle between love and duty; or at least what she conceives to be her duty.” “She is so thoroughly conscientious,” re plied Jim, “that Hear even to press her to take the step which would make me a happy man for life. When I ask her in my despair whether she will ever choose between her step-mother’s wishes and my love, she im plores me not to tempt her; and so,” added Jim, “here I am ; miserable os need be.” All this interested me exceedingly. She was evidently a girl of sterling worth, and with a high sense of the duty she believed she owed to her parents’ wishes. I thought over Master Jim’s love affair as I lay in bed that night, and came to the conclusion that the cose was a difficult one. You cannot al ways mold human minds to your own bent and purpose by simply speaking. Hence I came to the conclusion that Miss Spalding’s love for my old friend ought to be tested and tried in some other way. As my experience of human nature goes, there seems nothing like putting love, of all human emotions, to some rigid test. But how the tejit could be applied to the case in which I had thus been led to feel a special Interest I knew not. I confessed as I rolled over to sleep that I did not see my way clear to help them. Lit tle did I think that tbe morrow was to bring the means and the man. Tbe man was Jo- slab Blagden, Require, iron-founder, of the firm of Blagden, Bilge & Co., of Birming ham and elsewhere; the means was-my humble self. The day after my arrival at Rockhampton Jim proposed that I should drive with hint on his morning round, and added he; "We’ll call at Mount Grove on our way home.’ Mount Grove was the residence of Mr. Spal ding, and 2 o’clock fonnd us at the gate of a very nice villa residence, overlooking the river, and standing within its own nicely kept grounds. We were ushered into the drawing-room, where we found assembled certain persons whom Jim had not expected to see." Mr. Spalding received me courteously, as also did Mrs. Spalding. Miss Nelly greeted me most cordially, adding that she was much pleased to make the acquaintance of Dr. Brooke's old friend, of whom he so often spoke. In addition to the family circle of three, it was clear there were strangers pres ent. These latter were Mr. Joslah Blagden and his sister. Mr. Blagden did not impress me favorably. He was a stout, florld-com- plexioned man, remarkable for the extreme breadth of his white waistcoat and for the profusion of jewelry displayed thereon. “A safe man, my dear sir; a very safe man," Baid Mr. Spalding to me at lunch. “Why, 1 suppose his turn-over is about half a million a year—the iron trade, you know,” added the old gentleman by. way of explaining that Mr. Blagden was one of the metal-kings of England. “Self-made man too,” said Mr. Spalding; “began life as a foundry-boy.” From what 1 saw of Mr. Blagden within the next few weeks, his origin could have been pretty accurately guessed from the manner in which he imparted the “foundry- boy’s” manners into a sphere in which his Industry and success had led him. He was es sentially a vulgar man, who bullied his sister, a meek, silent little woman, with a good heart and a kind nature, as I discovered later on. As we drove home from lunch that day Jim was strangely depressed. I guessed his thoughts pretty accurately, for he burst out into a tirade against Mrs. Spalding on our arrival at borne. “I shouldn’t wonder, Regy,” said he, “if that fellow Blagden has been invited down here as a suitor for Nelly. He's a friend of Mrs. Spalding’s, I know, because she her self comes from the ‘Black Country.’” Jim's state of mind, from the moment he broached this theory, may be better imag ined than described. For the next three weeks I am bound to say that his temper was well nigh unendurable. One evening at dinner at Mount Grove, I felt half afraid he was going to inflict personal chastise ment upon Mr. Blagden; a feat I should have much rejoiced to have seen skillfully performed, after the iron-master's course invectives against the medical profession, which had been called forth during some arguments concerning doctor’s fees. Nelly’s attitude towards Jim appeared to have un dergone no perceptible change. She was lov ing and gentle as before; but I fancied that Mrs. Spalding contrived dexterously to keep Miss Blagden and Nelly as frequently together as possible; and thus Jim’s teie-a- teiet were reduced to a miserable minimum. Worst of all, os Jim remarked to me one day, Nelly had confessed that her step-mother bad on more than one occasion hinted that Mr. Blagden’s visit and stay were not solely prompted by friendship to her parents. Mrs. Spalding was, in other words, a clever wo man, playing a nice little game of diplo macy, and while keeping on the most friendly terms with Jim, was, to my mind, furthering her own aim and ideas of a matri monial alliance for Nelly with the elderly iron-founder. I know that most of my readers will say that Miss Spalding should have settled the matter for herself, and have given Mr. Blagden to understand that his attentions were unwelcome and hope less. But as I remarked before, we are not all cast in one mould; and the most loving natures may sometimes be coerced by what seemed to be their duty, into self-sacrifice of the most unreasonable .kind, and which can only entail misery in the end. So things went on at Rockhampton, with diplomacy at Mount Grove, and despair at No. 14 High street, where Dr. James Brooke announced his willingness to relieve the af flicted daily from ten to eleven a. m., and from six to ten p. m. I had been sitting cogitating over matters one evening at the Red Lion—Jim having been called to a dis tant part of his parish—when an idea found ed, I believe, on a quotation from an old French author, occurred to me. The quo tation was to the effect, that “when moral suasion fails from any cause to change an opinion, it is lawful to appeal to the most trivial of our emotions.” Happy idea! thought I. I shall see whether or not 1 can work it to the advantage of Dr. James Brooke and—shall I add it?—to tiie confu sion of Josiali Blagden, Esquire. My plans were then rapidly matured. Morning, noon and night find me busy in the old church. I am hard at work on a canvas on which the interior of tiie edifice grows under my brush day by day. There are no sounds of the “Kyrie" now; nor are the jubilant strains of Mendelssohn heard, as on a bright sunny day not so far gone by. Nelly docs not come to practice her old favorites os of yore. Blagden, I know, hates music; and painters, os he once ex pressed it—in shocking bad taste—are usu ally “a seedy lot.” I remember Mr. Josiah's white vest and cable chain, with enough ap pendages attached thereto to setup a small jeweller in a thriving way of business. The aisle and gallery are now complete in my picture. I paint it as I sit in the aisle; in the distance you can see the altar and chan cel; and the vicar, who looks upon me oc casionally, says it is as like as can be. He is curious, however, to know the nature of the figures I have sketched roughly in. There is a group passing down the aisle from the altar-rails where the vicar can still be seen at his post; and there iFa figure standing alone and solitary in the pew, as if facing the advancing party. The vicar cannot quite fathom the design. The church he can understand; but tbe meaning of the picture pussies him. I bade him wait pa tiently for the solution of the mystery. When my study of the church was com pleted, I went home to the Red Lion, and there I painted in my figures. There was little need of models, for my sketch-book was full of studies. Turning to my picture, now progressing rapidly, I find that there are heads of two elderly men, and there is a careful sketch of a young man’s face like wise. There is a fair girl’s face and a ma tronly countenance, and another face which seemed not unlike that of Miss Blagden. At last, my task is completed. The picture is a mere “study," but it is a careful study withal. The old church you recognize at a glance; the figure Well, we shall see. The vicar has been busily spreading a re port that I have been painting pictures of the church and there is curiosity to see them. I now propose that one fine day that a very few of my Rockhampton friends shall come to see my work. The circle is very select. I have invited’only Mr. and Mrs. Spalding, the great Josiah, Miss Blag den and Jim. I contrive with a diplomatic cunning for which I have not before given myself credit, that Nelly Spalding shall be admitted to a private view. She herself has been all anxiety to see the picture, and I pretend that by great favor she shall see it before any one else. Mine host of the Red Lion has prepared a nice little luncheon, even to some dry Pommery, “which the great Josiah”—as I have been accustomed to call him, possibly from the magnitude of his waistcoats—says he dotes upon. I make a malicious and unkind but perfectly just mental suggestion that in early life “the great Josiah" was better acquainted with the merit of “’alf-and-’alf ” than dry cham pagne Mine host has done his best; and now I wait my guests. I feel nervous and excited; why, I can hardly tell; but I con fess to myself that 1 shall be glad when my little symposium is over. Here at last. They troop up-stairs into the large room where my luncheon was spread. Mr. Josiah is looking very large to-day. There is an air of jubilant triumph about him as he bustled about Nelly, assist ing her in taking off her wraps and saying “nothings” which are anything but “soft," as the great man expresses them. To me, his air is simply patronizing. Mrs. Spalding is gracious as usual; and Mr. Spalding seems to regard the near prospect of lunch with more evident satisfaction than he does the prospect of an artistic treat. Mr. Blagden suggests that we had better step in to see the picture—lunch has evidently its attrac tions for “the great Josiah.” But I tell him I wait Dr. Brooke, at which announce ment he subsides. Then J suggest to Miss Nelly that, with her mother’s permission, she may now have the picture all to herself for a momentary peep. Mrs. Spalding who is deep with Miss Blagden in the mysteries of the manufacture of rhubarb-jam, readily consents. Nelly follows me into the room where my picture stands covered with a crimson cloth on my easel. I close the door and unveil it. Nelly glanced at it for a moment then grow ing deadly pale sinks half-fainting—not into my arms, but into those of Dr. James Brooke, who has most opportunely come upon the scene. In speechless astonish ment he gazes at me, but he too seems as if he was going to repeat Nelly’s procedure as as lie glances at the picture. “For heuveu’s sake, Regy," says Jim in a hoarse voice, “cover that picture up." Nelly opened her eyes in a moment or two, which seemed to me like an age. Jim had employed the interval in a fashion not un familiar to lovers, I believe. And when she did open her eyes it was to clasp Jim round the neck, and her words were few but de cided; “Jim, dear! I can never, never marry that man I I will do whatever you wish me to. But oh I they have tried me so! ” What is it in my picture that has so per turbed the lovers, and brought Nelly Spald ing to her senses? Simply the interior of tbo old church once again. A ray of sun light streaming through a chink in the stained window falls on tho sad, pale, tear ful face of a newly-made bride. The bride’s face is Nelly’s own; and tbe pompous bride groom is Josiah Blagden, the artistic treat ment of whose white waistcoat and chain has cost me no end of pains. Behind bride and bridegroom come the figures of Mr. and Mrs. Spalding; and in the distance the vicar is seen still standing within the altar rails. But the central figure after the bride herself is the young man, pale, motionless as a statue, who stands in a pew and whose ashy gaze is fixed on the bride. The face of the man in tho pew is that of James Brooke. The picture tells its own story to Nelly Spalding. It places the possibility of the future before her eyes as she has never dared to picture it to herself. It reflects in all its naked truth the fate to which through her indecision she may commit herself and Jim. And it tells its story so well that art con quers diplomacy in decision, and aids love in its triumph over the great Josiah himself. Footsteps on the stairs. I cover the picture again. Nelly stands beside Dr. Brooke; her cheek is pale and there are tears like dew- drops glistening in her eyes. The iron-mas-