LOVE, HONOR AND OBEY.
It was the 26th day of April. The air smelled of balmy spring, a warm
sun was overhead, a gentle breeze stirred the leaves amid which the
birds sang, and the whole earth seemed a happy place. I jumped out of
bed to look over the new suit, which I had, after much time and thought,
managed to get together. It was of dark plum-colored stuff, soft to the
touch, and became me as well as any coat and breeches I ever had. I laid
out a new pair of boots, the pliable leather black and shiny, spread out
my cloak on the bed, and was ready to dress for the wedding. I strapped
my sword on, feeling that I was now in proper trim for the occasion. The
weapon was the same good one which had stood me in such stead all along.
It had received many a hard knock, the scabbard was not as free from
dents as when I had it from the maker, it was rather rusty, too, I
thought, the blade being stained here and there.
I sent to the innkeeper for some rags and rotten stone, that I might
polish the steel up. Master Aleworthy appeared himself with the stuff.
When he saw my fine looks (for I do myself that credit) he would not let
me burnish up the weapon, but insisted on doing it for me. A very proper
attempt he made of it, too, for, when he had finished it shone like a
new shilling.
“Now for breakfast,” he said.
“Not for me,” I replied, “there will be plenty of fodder when this
affair is over.”
“But, Sir Francis, ’twill be a long time to then.”
“Short enough,” was my answer.
I strode out across the fields to the Captain’s house, hoping I might
get a glimpse of Lucille. But if she had been hard to see a week ago,
she was ten times more so now. At every door I tried I was bidden to
take myself off, and call again. Finally, being somewhat vexed, I called
to one saucy hussy:
“Know, madame, that I am to wed to-day. That I am the groom.”
“Aye, I know it,” she responded, as cool as you please. “You will be
sent for when you are wanted.”
With that I had to be content, kicking my heels up and down the garden
path. Noon was the time. It wanted two hours yet.
It seemed a month that I was in the garden. At last some one beckoned to
me, and I was admitted in to see Lucille.
I would have gone up, before them all, to kiss her heartily, but she
held me off with her little hands, while a chorus of protests from all
the women told me I must respect the manner in which she was adorned.
Indeed, she made a handsome appearance. The dress was of soft,
gray-white, shimmering silk, with pieces of lace as long as my gun
barrel all about it, hung on after the manner of the clinging vine that
twines about a tree. The sleeves had it in, I think, also, the neck,
while there was a plenty trailing down the front and lower edge. She
wore a crown of glossy green leaves, a single white flower in her dark
hair.
The plan was for the party to go to the block house in carts, half a
score of which, festooned with evergreens, were in waiting. Instead of
letting Lucille and me go on together, which seemed to me to be the most
sensible way, she rode with James Blithly, a great booby of a chap,
while I had to sit in the cart with Mistress Alice Turner, a sweet
enough maid. She was talkative, and I was not so, on the way, I had to
keep answering “yes” and “no” to her questions.
It looked as though all the Colony and the folk from ten miles around
had come to the wedding. There were nearly three hundred people in view
when we neared the place where Dominie Worthington was awaiting us.
There were a number of Indians and their squaws, friendly, all of them,
who had gathered to see how the pale faces took their brides. They
laughed, smiled and greeted me with “How, Cap’n,” while some held out
their pipes, which, as was their custom, I puffed a few whiffs from, to
show that we were at peace, though indeed, the ceremony lacked much of
the solemnity usually associated with it.
The block house at last. The drum beat as Carteret, in my honor, drew
the men up in double file. Lucille and I, with those who were to attend
us, dismounted from the carts, marching between the lines of
soldier-colonists into the main room. Then I was allowed to move up
beside Lucille, while both of us looked about in wonder.
Never had such a bower for the plighting of love been constructed
before. The rough hewn walls had been covered with green boughs, red
berries gleaming amidst the foliage. On the floor the boards were hidden
from view by furs in such quantity that they overlapped. The stag
antlers, fastened here and there, served as hooks, whereon were
suspended bows, arrows, swords, guns, powder-horns, Indian shields,
curious stone hatchets, and many of the red-men’s household implements.
Gay colored baskets added to the color of the scene.
A little wooden altar had been made, but it was almost hidden from view
by trailing, green vines. The men-at-arms filed in, taking their places
on either side of the chamber. Then came the town-folk, and the friendly
Indians, squaws, and even settlers from Newark, so that the place was
well nigh filled.
Dominie Worthington took his place. Lucille and I stood together, with
Alice Turner and James Blithly on either side. Then, ere he began to say
the words that would unite us, Master Worthington lifted up his voice in
prayer.
Then came the promises, the pledges--“Love, Honor and obey”--“till death
do you part”--solemn yet sweet. “Whom God hath joined together, let not
man put asunder.”
We were man and wife.
Then indeed came happy confusion and laughter. We were overwhelmed,
Lucille and I. But Carteret charged down on us, in the nick of time, to
rescue us from the friendly enemy that swarmed about us. How quick was
the journey back to the Captain’s house, and what a feast was there
spread out for all who wished to come.
So often was the health of Lucille and myself proposed and drunk, that I
lost track of those who did me the honor to touch glasses. There was gay
laughter, songs and talk, merrymaking among the young people, and over
all good-fellowship and much cheer, with Lucille happiest of the women,
and I of the men. It grew night, but hundreds of candles chased the
gloom away.
So it had come about, after many days, with force and with arms I had
won my bride.
We were to go to the home I had prepared. Lucille kissed Madame Carteret
and others of her women friends, while I had my own cart and horses
brought up to the door.
There were farewells by the score, laughter and tears from the women,
cheers from the men. The driver spoke to his team, they leaped forward.
Lucille and I had begun our life’s journey together.
It was not far to the house. The door was opened on a blaze of candles.
“Welcome home, sweetheart,” I said, kissing her.
“Oh, Francis,” she exclaimed, looking about. “It is perfect. How good of
you to do all this for me.”
“Do you like it?”
“It is more than I dreamed.”
A little wind, coming in the windows, flickered the candles. The breeze
seemed to sigh in contentment at our happiness. The servants closed the
door. We were alone--my wife and I.
THE END.
=“More Ex=Tank Tales”=
By CLARENCE LOUIS CULLEN.
With Introduction by the Author.
_12mo, 250 Pages. Cloth Bound. Price, One Dollar._
--------------
Some readers will wonder what is meant by “More Ex-Tank Tales.” In
explanation would say that the stories compiled in the book under the
above title appeared in the _New York Sun_ from time to time, and they
have achieved well-merited notoriety. They are sketches about men who
have indulged in spirituous liquors to such an extent as to cause their
comrades to term them “tanks.” Having overcome the desire for
intoxicating beverages (reformed in fact), they take great pleasure, and
give the same to the reader, in recounting some of their adventures.
Following is the =_Table of Contents_=:
TALE THE FIRST.--Wherein Ex-Tank No. 18 Marvelously Winneth Out as ye
Auctioneer of Antiques.
TALE THE SECOND.--In Which Ex-Tank No. 17 Meeteth Up With ye Renowned
Singer and Yodler, “Fritz” Emmet, and the Consequences.
TALE THE THIRD.--Wherein Ex-Tank No. 11 Ascertaineth the Advantages of
Being Mistaken for ye Wearer of the Senatorial Toga.
TALE THE FOURTH.--Which Sheweth Ex-Tank No. 28 as the Natural and
Successful Enemy of ye Guileful Gold Brick Purveyor.
TALE THE FIFTH--Wherein is Depicted the Woe of Ex-Tank No. 7 Growing Out
of His Being Mistaken for ye Doppelgaenger.
TALE THE SIXTH.--Wherein Ex-Tank No. 10 Mournfully Portrayeth the
Difficulties he Encountered in Forsaking ye Golden Pacific Sands.
TALE THE SEVENTH--In Which Ex-Tank No. 23 Sheweth the Possibilities
Lurking in the Involuntary Handling of ye “Ringer.”
TALE THE EIGHTH--Describeth, Through the Lips of Ex-Tank (Ultlander) No.
37, the Manifold Woes of Him Who First Butteth into ye Burg of New
York.
TALE THE NINTH.--Wherein Ex-Tank (Hoodoo) No. 13 Hath a Good Word to Say
of ye Slumbersome Burg, Philadelphia-by-Schuylkill.
TALE THE TENTH--In Which Ex-Tank No. 22 Narrowly Escapeth the Dangers of
ye Vasty Deep.
TALE THE ELEVENTH.--Wherein Ex-Tank No. 14, by Means of ye Raffling
Stunt, Returneth to His Home Like Santa Claus.
TALE THE TWELFTH.--Wherein Ex-Tank No. 12 Starts on a Journey from
Denver to Manhattan Beach.
Sent by mail, postpaid to any address, upon receipt of price, $1.90.
Address all orders to
=J.S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.=
=_It is possible_=
That you are tired of hearing and reading about the =Letters of this one
and that one=, but we desire to call your attention to the fact that
=“THE LETTERS OF MILDRED’S MOTHER TO MILDRED”=
are entirely different from any that you have thus far read. Mildred is
a girl in the chorus at one of New York’s famous theatres, and her
mother is a woman who “travels” with a friend by the name of Blanche.
The book is written by =E.D. Price=, “The Man Behind the Scenes,” one
well qualified to touch upon the stage side of life.
The following is the Table of Contents:
Mother at the Races. Mother at a Chicago Hotel. Mother Goes Yachting.
Mother Escapes Matrimony. Mother Meets Nature’s Noblemen.
Mother Joins the Repertoire Company. Mother in the One Night Stands.
Mother and the Theatrical Angel. Mother Returns to Mildred.
Read what Blakely Hall says of it:
“I don’t know whether you are aware of it or not, but you are turning
out wonderful, accurate and convincing character studies in the
Mildred’s Mother articles. They are as refreshing and invigorating as
showers on the hottest July day.”
The book is well printed on fine laid paper, handsomely bound in cloth,
with attractive side stamp, and has already run into its third edition.
For sale everywhere, or it will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any
address upon receipt of price, $1.00. Address all orders to
=J.S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.=
Don’t Fail
To Read
=RESURRECTION,=
BY
=COUNT LEO TOLSTOI,=
and considered by critics to be his =MASTERPIECE=.
=Special Limited Edition.=
Bound in Paper Covers, Price 50 Cents.
Sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price.
---------------------
FOR SALE EVERYWHERE!
---------------------
=J.S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.=
=THE KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS.=
By HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ,
Author of “Quo Vadis,” “With Fire and Sword,” Etc.
--------------
Translated Direct from the Polish by BASIL DAHL.
--------------
_1 vol. 12mo. 400 pages. Price, Bound in Paper
Cover, 50 Cents; Bound in Cloth, $1.00._
A book that holds your almost breathless attention as in a vise from the
very beginning, for in it love and strife, the most thrilling of all
worldly subjects, are described masterfully.--_The Boston Journal._
It seems superior to “Quo Vadis” in strength and realism.--_The
Churchman._
Presenting scene after scene of exceptional power and beauty.--_Saturday
Evening Post_, Philadelphia.
The rushing life of the tale is as resistless as a force of
nature.--_San Francisco Call._
We say “great” advisedly, for Mr. Sienkiewicz here equals in force,
variety and tremendous exposition of primitive passions, his famous
Polish trilogy, “With Fire and Sword,” “The Deluge,” and “Pan
Michael.”--_The Outlook._
The construction of the story is beyond praise. It is difficult
to conceive of any one who will not pick up the book with
eagerness.--_Chicago Evening Post._
--------------
Price, bound in paper covers, 50 cents; handsomely bound in cloth, one
dollar. Sent by mail, postpaid, to any address, on receipt of price.
Address all orders to
J.S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
P.O. Box 2767. 57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK
=When Shiloh Came,=
=BY=
=Ambrose Lester Jackson.=
--------------
=_12mo, 320 Pages. Bound in Extra Cloth, $1.50._=
--------------
=Seven Full-page Illustrations by the Author.=
--------------
This book is not a religious novel of the style and quality usually
offered to the public. It is rather a prose poem, in which the splendid
decadence of an ancient idolatry is pictured with rare felicity by a new
writer of brilliant promise.
The book will be read with deep interest, because there is a certain
power in its pages that will impress and fascinate the mind. It contains
enough of plot, mystery, adventure, and the like, to hold the attention,
while the underlying thought of dissatisfaction with the heathen gods,
and expectation of something better, lifts it far above the level of
mere sensational fiction. Moreover, its locale is new. The usual
background of stories of the times antecedent, or subsequent, to the
birth of Christ, is either Rome, or Jerusalem; but the scene of this
charming romance is in that far removed region of the Orient known to
the ancients as Magog and Shem, and to modern geographers as
Beloochistan.
The prologue to the story is a masterpiece of poetic imagery; the story
itself is an idyl of surpassing beauty.
We anticipate a very large sale for this work among all denominations of
religious people.
It is handsomely bound in the highest style of the bookmaker’s art, and
is illustrated by seven full-page unique illustrations from original
designs by the Author who is not only an able author, but also an artist
of unequalled ability.
The book is for sale by all bookdealers everywhere, or it will be sent
by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price, $1.50.
☞ =Agents Wanted= to sell this book in every church and community, to
whom we offer very liberal terms. Address
=J.S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK=
_When an Author_
has finished his work he is sometimes at a loss to know just how or
where to get it published upon the best terms.
To all such we desire to offer our services _free of charge_ so far as
giving advice, information, hints and helps to get a publisher who will
publish and put the book on the market.
We are in want of first-class manuscripts, and if accepted will publish
them for authors upon very favorable terms, will purchase them outright,
or publish them on royalty.
We will examine manuscripts, and make some definite business proposition
for their publication within two weeks after receiving them.
We have been in the Publishing business twenty-five years, and authors
may depend upon fair and honorable treatment from us.
Correspondence solicited, and it will _be answered promptly_. Address
all manuscripts and communications to
J.S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
P.O. Box 767. 57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note
On p. 212, the printer transposed the third and fourth lines of the
paragraph beginning: “So we stood thus....”
As printed:
So we stood thus, perchance while a man might have counted a score
slowly. Around us was the waste of =[to go to pieces every second.
Between us, as pale as death,]= =[waters. Under our feet the quivering
Eagle, that was like]= was Lucille, the cause of both of us being there.
Perhaps she was dead, and our bitter words were spoken in vain.
Corrected:
So we stood thus, perchance while a man might have counted a score
slowly. Around us was the waste of =[waters. Under our feet the
quivering Eagle, that was like]= =[to go to pieces every second. Between
us, as pale as death,]= was Lucille, the cause of both of us being
there. Perhaps she was dead, and our bitter words were spoken in vain.
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
The following issues should be noted, along with the resolutions.
30.24 Lord prevent that they cast their eyes this Replaced.
way[?/!]”
55.26 I had to rout up Wil[l]is, Added.
127.26 as though they were [p/b]ut pebbles. Replaced.
149.23 and I wondered va[ug/gu]ely Transposed.
154.13 and your po[r]ker was a fine fat one Added.
164.21 when I asked if I was not [t]o hang Added.
174.17 to burn us like rats in a tra[y/p]. Replaced.
187.5 “Oh, the vill[ia/ai]n,” Transposed.
188.4 and Nanette ac[c]ompanied them. Added.
199.13 “I suppose I must,” he said sullenly[.] Added.
199.27 a voyage he couldn’t see the end of[.] Added.
231.17 from the charge of wit[c]hcraft Added.
257.15 and then we[b / b]reathed, it seemed Transposed.
262.11 or halt them for a[ ]time Added.
265.16 Messenger[s] were sent Added.
278.24 into a panic as quickly as possibl[y/e] Replaced.
295.25 they might not get near enough to charge[.] Added.
301.14 to ignite the hug[h/e] pile of brush Replaced.
304.26 “And who car[r]ied out the powder?” Added.
316.13 feeling his [s]teel pierce my side Added.
333.10 “With all my wor[l]dly goods I thee endow.” Added.