Little returned to London. Passing through London one day he met a
dog-fancier. "Buy a nice poodle, sir?"
Something in the animal attracted his attention. "Fido!" he gasped.
The dog yelped.
Little bought him. On taking off his collar a piece of paper rustled
to the floor. He knew the handwriting and kissed it. It ran:--
"TO THE HON. AUGUSTUS RABY--I cannot marry you. If I marry any one"
(sly puss) "it will be the man who has twice saved my life,--Professor
Little.
"CAROLINE COVENTRY."
And she did.
LOTHAW;
OR,
THE ADVENTURES OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN SEARCH OF A RELIGION.
BY MR. BENJAMINS.
CHAPTER I.
"I remember him a little boy," said the Duchess. "His mother was a
dear friend of mine; you know she was one of my bridesmaids."
"And you have never seen him since, mamma?" asked the oldest married
daughter, who did not look a day older than her mother.
"Never; he was an orphan shortly after. I have often reproached
myself, but it is so difficult to see boys."
This simple yet first-class conversation existed in the morning-room of
Plusham, where the mistress of the palatial mansion sat involved in the
sacred privacy of a circle of her married daughters. One dexterously
applied golden knitting-needles to the fabrication of a purse of floss
silk of the rarest texture, which none who knew the almost fabulous
wealth of the Duke would believe was ever destined to hold in its
silken meshes a less sum than L1,000,000; another adorned a slipper
exclusively with seed pearls; a third emblazoned a page with rare
pigments and the finest quality of gold leaf. Beautiful forms leaned
over frames glowing with embroidery, and beautiful frames leaned over
forms inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Others, more remote, occasionally
burst into melody as they tried the passages of a new and exclusive air
given to them in MS. by some titled and devoted friend, for the private
use of the aristocracy alone, and absolutely prohibited for publication.
The Duchess, herself the superlative of beauty, wealth, and position,
was married to the highest noble in the Three Kingdoms. Those who
talked about such matters said that their progeny were exactly like
their parents,--a peculiarity of the aristocratic and wealthy. They
all looked like brothers and sisters, except their parents, who, such
was their purity of blood, the perfection of their manners, and the
opulence of their condition, might have been taken for their own
children's elder son and daughter. The daughters, with one exception,
were all married to the highest nobles in the land. That exception was
the Lady Coriander, who, there being no vacancy above a marquis and a
rental of L1,000,000, waited. Gathered around the refined and sacred
circle of their breakfast-table, with their glittering coronets, which,
in filial respect to their father's Tory instincts and their mother's
Ritualistic tastes, they always wore on their regal brows, the effect
was dazzling as it was refined. It was this peculiarity and their
strong family resemblance which led their brother-in-law, the
good-humored St. Addlegourd, to say that, "'Pon my soul, you know, the
whole precious mob looked like a ghastly pack of court cards, you
know." St. Addlegourd was a radical. Having a rent-roll of
L15,000,000, and belonging to one of the oldest families in Britain, he
could afford to be.
"Mamma, I've just dropped a pearl," said the Lady Coriander, bending
over the Persian hearthrug.
"From your lips, sweet friend," said Lothaw, who came of age and
entered the room at the same moment.
"No, from my work. It was a very valuable pearl, mamma; papa gave
Isaacs and Sons L50,000 for the two."
"Ah, indeed," said the Duchess, languidly rising; "let us go to
luncheon."
"But your Grace," interposed Lothaw, who was still quite young, and had
dropped on all-fours on the carpet in search of the missing gem,
"consider the value--"
"Dear friend," interposed the Duchess, with infinite tact, gently
lifting him by the tails of his dress-coat, "I am waiting for your arm."
CHAPTER II.
Lothaw was immensely rich. The possessor of seventeen castles, fifteen
villas, nine shooting-boxes, and seven town houses, he had other
estates of which he had not even heard.
Everybody at Plusham played croquet, and none badly. Next to their
purity of blood and great wealth, the family were famous for this
accomplishment. Yet Lothaw soon tired of the game, and after seriously
damaging his aristocratically large foot in an attempt to "tight
croquet" the Lady Aniseed's ball, he limped away to join the Duchess.
"I'm going to the hennery," she said.
"Let me go with you, I dearly love fowls--broiled," he added,
thoughtfully.
"The Duke gave Lady Montairy some large Cochins the other day,"
continued the Duchess, changing the subject with delicate tact.
"Lady Montairy,
Quite contrairy,
How do your cochins grow?"
sang Lothaw gayly.
The Duchess looked shocked. After a prolonged silence, Lothaw abruptly
and gravely said:--
"If you please, ma'am, when I come into my property I should like to
build some improved dwellings for the poor, and marry Lady Coriander."
"You amaze me, dear friend, and yet both your aspirations are noble and
eminently proper," said the Duchess; "Coriander is but a child,--and
yet," she added, looking graciously upon her companion, "for the matter
of that, so are you."
CHAPTER III.
Mr. Putney Giles's was Lothaw's first grand dinner-party. Yet, by
carefully watching the others, he managed to acquit himself creditably,
and avoided drinking out of the finger-bowl by first secretly testing
its contents with a spoon. The conversation was peculiar and
singularly interesting.
"Then you think that monogamy is simply a question of the thermometer?"
said Mrs. Putney Giles to her companion.
"I certainly think that polygamy should be limited by isothermal
lines," replied Lothaw.
"I should say it was a matter of latitude," observed a loud talkative
man opposite. He was an Oxford Professor with a taste for satire, and
had made himself very obnoxious to the company, during dinner, by
speaking disparagingly of a former well-known Chancellor of the
Exchequer,--a great statesman and brilliant novelist,--whom he feared
and hated.
Suddenly there was a sensation in the room; among the females it
absolutely amounted to a nervous thrill. His Eminence, the Cardinal,
was announced. He entered with great suavity of manner, and, after
shaking hands with everybody, asking after their relatives, and
chucking the more delicate females under the chin with a high-bred
grace peculiar to his profession, he sat down, saying, "And how do we
all find ourselves this evening, my dears?" in several different
languages, which he spoke fluently.
Lothaw's heart was touched. His deeply religious convictions were
impressed. He instantly went up to this gifted being, confessed, and
received absolution. "To-morrow," he said to himself, "I will partake
of the communion, and endow the Church with my vast estates. For the
present I'll let the improved cottages go."
CHAPTER IV.
As Lothaw turned to leave the Cardinal, he was struck by a beautiful
face. It was that of a matron, slim but shapely as an Ionic column.
Her face was Grecian, with Corinthian temples; Hellenic eyes that
looked from jutting eyebrows, like dormer-windows in an Attic forehead,
completed her perfect Athenian outline. She wore a black frock-coat
tightly buttoned over her bloomer trousers, and a standing collar.
"Your Lordship is struck by that face," said a social parasite.
"I am; who is she?"
"Her name is Mary Ann. She is married to an American, and has lately
invented a new religion."
"Ah!" said Lothaw eagerly, with difficulty restraining himself from
rushing toward her.
"Yes; shall I introduce you?"
Lothaw thought of Lady Coriander's High Church proclivities, of the
Cardinal, and hesitated: "No, I thank you, not now."
CHAPTER V.
Lothaw was maturing. He had attended two woman's rights conventions,
three Fenian meetings, had dined at White's, and had danced vis-a-vis
to a prince of the blood, and eaten off of gold plates at Crecy House.
His stables were near Oxford, and occupied more ground than the
University. He was driving over there one day, when he perceived some
rustics and menials endeavoring to stop a pair of runaway horses
attached to a carriage in which a lady and gentleman were seated.
Calmly awaiting the termination of the accident, with high-bred
courtesy Lothaw forbore to interfere until the carriage was overturned,
the occupants thrown out, and the runaways secured by the servants,
when he advanced and offered the lady the exclusive use of his Oxford
stables.
Turning upon him a face whose perfect Hellenic details he remembered,
she slowly dragged a gentleman from under the wheels into the light and
presented him with ladylike dignity as her husband, Major-General
Camperdown, an American.
"Ah," said Lothaw, carelessly, "I believe I have some land there. If I
mistake not, my agent, Mr. Putney Giles, lately purchased the State
of--Illinois--I think you call it."
"Exactly. As a former resident of the city of Chicago, let me
introduce myself as your tenant."
Lothaw bowed graciously to the gentleman, who, except that he seemed
better dressed than most Englishmen, showed no other signs of
inferiority and plebeian extraction.
"We have met before," said Lothaw to the lady as she leaned on his arm,
while they visited his stables, the University, and other places of
interest in Oxford. "Pray tell me, what is this new religion of yours?"
"It is Woman Suffrage, Free Love, Mutual Affinity, and Communism.
Embrace it and me."
Lothaw did not know exactly what to do. She however soothed and
sustained his agitated frame and sealed with an embrace his speechless
form. The General approached and coughed slightly with gentlemanly
tact.
"My husband will be too happy to talk with you further on this
subject," she said with quiet dignity, as she regained the General's
side. "Come with us to Oneida. Brook Farm is a thing of the past."
CHAPTER VI.
As Lothaw drove toward his country-seat, "The Mural Enclosure," he
observed a crowd, apparently of the working class, gathered around a
singular-looking man in the picturesque garb of an Ethiopian serenader.
"What does he say?" inquired Lothaw of his driver.
The man touched his hat respectfully and said, "My Mary Ann."
"'My Mary Ann!'" Lothaw's heart beat rapidly. Who was this mysterious
foreigner? He had heard from Lady Coriander of a certain Popish plot;
but could he connect Mr. Camperdown with it?
The spectacle of two hundred men at arms who advanced to meet him at
the gates of The Mural Enclosure drove all else from the still youthful
and impressible mind of Lothaw. Immediately behind them, on the steps
of the baronial halls, were ranged his retainers, led by the chief cook
and bottle-washer, and head crumb-remover. On either side were two
companies of laundry-maids, preceded by the chief crimper and fluter,
supporting a long Ancestral Line, on which depended the family linen,
and under which the youthful lord of the manor passed into the halls of
his fathers. Twenty-four scullions carried the massive gold and silver
plate of the family on their shoulders, and deposited it at the feet of
their master. The spoons were then solemnly counted by the steward, and
the perfect ceremony ended.
Lothaw sighed. He sought out the gorgeously gilded "Taj," or sacred
mausoleum erected to his grandfather in the second story front room,
and wept over the man he did not know. He wandered alone in his
magnificent park, and then, throwing himself on a grassy bank, pondered
on the Great First Cause, and the necessity of religion. "I will send
Mary Ann a handsome present," said Lothaw, thoughtfully.
CHAPTER VII.
"Each of these pearls, my Lord, is worth fifty thousand guineas," said
Mr. Amethyst, the fashionable jeweler, as he lightly lifted a large
shovelful from a convenient bin behind his counter.
"Indeed," said Lothaw, carelessly, "I should prefer to see some
expensive ones.
"Some number sixes, I suppose," said Mr. Amethyst, taking a couple from
the apex of a small pyramid that lay piled on the shelf. "These are
about the size of the Duchess of Billingsgate's, but they are in finer
condition. The fact is, her Grace permits her two children, the
Marquis of Smithfield and the Duke of St. Giles,--two sweet pretty
boys, my Lord,--to use them as marbles in their games. Pearls require
some attention, and I go down there regularly twice a week to clean
them. Perhaps your Lordship would like some ropes of pearls?"
"About half a cable's length," said Lothaw, shortly, "and send them to
my lodgings."
Mr. Amethyst became thoughtful. "I am afraid I have not the exact
number--that is--excuse me one moment. I will run over to the Tower
and borrow a few from the crown jewels." And before Lothaw could
prevent him, he seized his hat and left Lothaw alone.
His position certainly was embarrassing. He could not move without
stepping on costly gems which had rolled from the counter; the rarest
diamonds lay scattered on the shelves; untold fortunes in priceless
emeralds lay within his grasp. Although such was the aristocratic
purity of his blood and the strength of his religious convictions that
he probably would not have pocketed a single diamond, still he could
not help thinking that he might be accused of taking some. "You can
search me, if you like," he said when Mr. Amethyst returned; "but I
assure you, upon the honor of a gentleman, that I have taken nothing."
"Enough, my Lord," said Mr. Amethyst, with a low bow; "we never search
the aristocracy."
CHAPTER VIII.
As Lothaw left Mr. Amethyst's, he ran against General Camperdown. "How
is Mary Ann?" he asked hurriedly.
"I regret to state that she is dying," said the general, with a grave
voice, as he removed his cigar from his lips, and lifted his hat to
Lothaw.
"Dying!" said Lothaw, incredulously.
"Alas, too true!" replied the General. "The engagements of a long
lecturing season, exposure in travelling by railway during the winter,
and the imperfect nourishment afforded by the refreshments along the
road, have told on her delicate frame. But she wants to see you before
she dies. Here is the key of my lodging. I will finish my cigar out
here."
Lothaw hardly recognized those wasted Hellenic outlines as he entered
the dimly lighted room of the dying woman. She was already a classic
ruin,--as wrecked and yet as perfect as the Parthenon. He grasped her
hand silently.
"Open-air speaking twice a week, and saleratus bread in the rural
districts, have brought me to this," she said feebly; "but it is well.
The cause progresses. The tyrant man succumbs."
Lothaw could only press her hand.
"Promise me one thing. Don't--whatever you do--become a Catholic."
"Why?"
"The Church does not recognize divorce. And now embrace me. I would
prefer at this supreme moment to introduce myself to the next world
through the medium of the best society in this. Good by. When I am
dead, be good enough to inform my husband of the fact."
CHAPTER IX.
Lothaw spent the next six months on an Aryan island, in an Aryan
climate, and with an Aryan race.
"This is an Aryan landscape," said his host, "and that is a Mary Ann
statue." It was, in fact, a full-length figure in marble of Mrs.
General Camperdown!
"If you please, I should like to become a Pagan," said Lothaw, one day,
after listening to an impassioned discourse on Greek art from the lips
of his host.
But that night, on consulting a well-known spiritual medium, Lothaw
received a message from the late Mrs. General Camperdown, advising him
to return to England. Two days later he presented himself at Plusham.
"The young ladies are in the garden," said the Duchess. "Don't you
want to go and pick a rose?" she added with a gracious smile, and the
nearest approach to a wink that was consistent with her patrician
bearing and aquiline nose.
Lothaw went and presently returned with the blushing Coriander upon his
arm.
"Bless you, my children," said the Duchess. Then, turning to Lothaw,
she said: "You have simply fulfilled and accepted your inevitable
destiny. It was morally impossible for you to marry out of this
family. For the present, the Church of England is safe."
MUCK-A-MUCK.
A MODERN INDIAN NOVEL.
AFTER COOPER.
CHAPTER I.
It was toward the close of a bright October day. The last rays of the
setting sun were reflected from one of those sylvan lakes peculiar to
the Sierras of California. On the right the curling smoke of an Indian
village rose between the columns of the lofty pines, while to the left
the log cottage of Judge Tompkins, embowered in buckeyes, completed the
enchanting picture.
Although the exterior of the cottage was humble and unpretentious, and
in keeping with the wildness of the landscape, its interior gave
evidence of the cultivation and refinement of its inmates. An
aquarium, containing goldfishes, stood on a marble centre-table at one
end of the apartment, while a magnificent grand piano occupied the
other. The floor was covered with a yielding tapestry carpet, and the
walls were adorned with paintings from the pencils of Van Dyke, Rubens,
Tintoretto, Michael Angelo, and the productions of the more modern
Turner, Kensett, Church, and Bierstadt. Although Judge Tompkins had
chosen the frontiers of civilization as his home, it was impossible for
him to entirely forego the habits and tastes of his former life. He
was seated in a luxurious arm-chair, writing at a mahogany ecritoire,
while his daughter, a lovely young girl of seventeen summers, plied her
crochet-needle on an ottoman beside him. A bright fire of pine logs
flickered and flamed on the ample hearth.
Genevra Octavia Tompkins was Judge Tompkins's only child. Her mother
had long since died on the Plains. Reared in affluence, no pains had
been spared with the daughter's education. She was a graduate of one
of the principal seminaries, and spoke French with a perfect Benicia
accent. Peerlessly beautiful, she was dressed in a white moire antique
robe trimmed with tulle. That simple rosebud with which most heroines
exclusively decorate their hair, was all she wore in her raven locks.
The Judge was the first to break the silence.
"Genevra, the logs which compose yonder fire seem to have been
incautiously chosen. The sibilation produced by the sap, which exudes
copiously therefrom, is not conducive to composition."
"True, father, but I thought it would be preferable to the constant
crepitation which is apt to attend the combustion of more seasoned
ligneous fragments."
The Judge looked admiringly at the intellectual features of the
graceful girl, and half forgot the slight annoyances of the green wood
in the musical accents of his daughter. He was smoothing her hair
tenderly, when the shadow of a tall figure, which suddenly darkened the
doorway, caused him to look up.
CHAPTER II.
It needed but a glance at the new-comer to detect at once the form and
features of the haughty aborigine,--the untaught and untrammelled son
of the forest. Over one shoulder a blanket, negligently but gracefully
thrown, disclosed a bare and powerful breast, decorated with a quantity
of three-cent postage-stamps which he had despoiled from an Overland
Mail stage a few weeks previous. A cast-off beaver of Judge
Tompkins's, adorned by a simple feather, covered his erect head, from
beneath which his straight locks descended. His right hand hung
lightly by his side, while his left was engaged in holding on a pair of
pantaloons, which the lawless grace and freedom of his lower limbs
evidently could not brook.
"Why," said the Indian, in a low sweet tone,--"why does the Pale Face
still follow the track of the Red Man? Why does he pursue him, even as
O-kee-chow, the wild-cat, chases Ka-ka, the skunk? Why are the feet of
Sorrel-top, the white chief, among the acorns of Muck-a-muck, the
mountain forest? Why," he repeated, quietly but firmly abstracting a
silver spoon from the table,--"why do you seek to drive him from the
wigwams of his fathers? His brothers are already gone to the happy
hunting-grounds. Will the Pale Face seek him there?" And, averting
his face from the Judge, he hastily slipped a silver cake-basket
beneath his blanket, to conceal his emotion.
"Muck-a-Muck has spoken," said Genevra, softly. "Let him now listen.
Are the acorns of the mountain sweeter than the esculent and nutritious
bean of the Pale Face miner? Does my brother prize the edible
qualities of the snail above that of the crisp and oleaginous bacon?
Delicious are the grasshoppers that sport on the hillside,--are they
better than the dried apples of the Pale Faces? Pleasant is the gurgle
of the torrent, Kish-Kish, but is it better than the cluck-cluck of old
Bourbon from the old stone bottle?"
"Ugh!" said the Indian,--"ugh! good. The White Rabbit is wise. Her
words fall as the snow on Tootoonolo, and the rocky heart of
Muck-a-Muck is hidden. What says my brother the Gray Gopher of Dutch
Flat?"
"She has spoken, Muck-a-Muck," said the Judge, gazing fondly on his
daughter. "It is well. Our treaty is concluded. No, thank you,--you
need NOT dance the Dance of Snow Shoes, or the Moccasin Dance, the
Dance of Green Corn, or the Treaty Dance. I would be alone. A strange
sadness overpowers me."
"I go," said the Indian. "Tell your great chief in Washington, the
Sachem Andy, that the Red Man is retiring before the footsteps of the
adventurous Pioneer. Inform him, if you please, that westward the star
of empire takes its way, that the chiefs of the Pi-Ute nation are for
Reconstruction to a man, and that Klamath will poll a heavy Republican
vote in the fall."
And folding his blanket more tightly around him, Muck-a-Muck withdrew.
CHAPTER III.
Genevra Tompkins stood at the door of the log-cabin, looking after the
retreating Overland Mail stage which conveyed her father to Virginia
City. "He may never return again," sighed the young girl as she
glanced at the frightfully rolling vehicle and wildly careering
horses,--"at least, with unbroken bones. Should he meet with an
accident! I mind me now a fearful legend, familiar to my childhood.
Can it be that the drivers on this line are privately instructed to
despatch all passengers maimed by accident, to prevent tedious
litigation? No, no. But why this weight upon my heart?"
She seated herself at the piano and lightly passed her hand over the
keys. Then, in a clear mezzo-soprano voice, she sang the first verse
of one of the most popular Irish ballads:--
"O Arrah, ma dheelish, the distant dudheen
Lies soft in the moonlight, ma bouchal vourneen:
The springing gossoons on the heather are still,
And the caubeens and colleens are heard on the hills."
But as the ravishing notes of her sweet voice died upon the air, her
hands sank listlessly to her side. Music could not chase away the
mysterious shadow from her heart. Again she rose. Putting on a white
crape bonnet, and carefully drawing a pair of lemon-colored gloves over
her taper fingers, she seized her parasol and plunged into the depths
of the pine forest.
CHAPTER IV.
Genevra had not proceeded many miles before a weariness seized upon her
fragile limbs, and she would fain seat herself upon the trunk of a
prostrate pine, which she previously dusted with her handkerchief. The
sun was just sinking below the horizon, and the scene was one of
gorgeous and sylvan beauty. "How beautiful is Nature!" murmured the
innocent girl, as, reclining gracefully against the root of the tree,
she gathered up her skirts and tied a handkerchief around her throat.
But a low growl interrupted her meditation. Starting to her feet, her
eyes met a sight which froze her blood with terror.
The only outlet to the forest was the narrow path, barely wide enough
for a single person, hemmed in by trees and rocks, which she had just
traversed. Down this path, in Indian file, came a monstrous grizzly,
closely followed by a California lion, a wild-cat, and a buffalo, the
rear being brought up by a wild Spanish bull. The mouths of the three
first animals were distended with frightful significance; the horns of
the last were lowered as ominously. As Genevra was preparing to faint,
she heard a low voice behind her.
"Eternally dog-gone my skin ef this ain't the puttiest chance yet."
At the same moment, a long, shining barrel dropped lightly from behind
her, and rested over her shoulder.
Genevra shuddered.
"Dern ye--don't move!"
Genevra became motionless.
The crack of a rifle rang through the woods. Three frightful yells
were heard, and two sullen roars. Five animals bounded into the air
and five lifeless bodies lay upon the plain. The well-aimed bullet had
done its work. Entering the open throat of the grizzly, it had
traversed his body only to enter the throat of the California lion, and
in like manner the catamount, until it passed through into the
respective foreheads of the bull and the buffalo, and finally fell
flattened from the rocky hillside.
Genevra turned quickly. "My preserver!" she shrieked, and fell into
the arms of Natty Bumpo, the celebrated Pike Ranger of Donner Lake.
CHAPTER V.
The moon rose cheerfully above Donner Lake. On its placid bosom a
dug-out canoe glided rapidly, containing Natty Bumpo and Genevra
Tompkins.
Both were silent. The same thought possessed each, and perhaps there
was sweet companionship even in the unbroken quiet. Genevra bit the
handle of her parasol and blushed. Natty Bumpo took a fresh chew of
tobacco. At length Genevra said, as if in half-spoken revery:--
"The soft shining of the moon and the peaceful ripple of the waves seem
to say to us various things of an instructive and moral tendency."
"You may bet yer pile on that, Miss," said her companion, gravely.
"It's all the preachin' and psalm-singin' I've heern since I was a boy."
"Noble being!" said Miss Tompkins to herself, glancing at the stately
Pike as he bent over his paddle to conceal his emotion. "Reared in this
wild seclusion, yet he has become penetrated with visible consciousness
of a Great First Cause." Then, collecting herself, she said aloud:
"Methinks 'twere pleasant to glide ever thus down the stream of life,
hand in hand with the one being whom the soul claims as its affinity.
But what am I saying?"--and the delicate-minded girl hid her face in
her hands.
A long silence ensued, which was at length broken by her companion.
"Ef you mean you're on the marry," he said, thoughtfully, "I ain't in
no wise partikler!"
"My husband," faltered the blushing girl; and she fell into his arms.
In ten minutes more the loving couple had landed at Judge Tompkins's.
CHAPTER VI.
A year has passed away. Natty Bumpo was returning from Gold Hill,
where he had been to purchase provisions. On his way to Donner Lake,
rumors of an Indian uprising met his ears. "Dern their pesky skins, ef
they dare to touch my Jenny," he muttered between his clenched teeth.
It was dark when he reached the borders of the lake. Around a
glittering fire he dimly discerned dusky figures dancing. They were in
war paint. Conspicuous among them was the renowned Muck-a-Muck. But
why did the fingers of Natty Bumpo tighten convulsively around his
rifle?
The chief held in his hand long tufts of raven hair. The heart of the
pioneer sickened as he recognized the clustering curls of Genevra. In
a moment his rifle was at his shoulder, and with a sharp "ping,"
Muck-a-Muck leaped into the air a corpse. To knock out the brains of
the remaining savages, tear the tresses from the stiffening hand of
Muck-a-Muck, and dash rapidly forward to the cottage of Judge Tompkins,
was the work of a moment.
He burst open the door. Why did he stand transfixed with open mouth
and distended eyeballs? Was the sight too horrible to be borne? On
the contrary, before him, in her peerless beauty, stood Genevra
Tompkins, leaning on her father's arm.
"Ye'r not scalped, then!" gasped her lover.
"No. I have no hesitation in saying that I am not; but why this
abruptness?" responded Genevra.
Bumpo could not speak, but frantically produced the silken tresses.
Genevra turned her face aside.
"Why, that's her waterfall!" said the Judge.
Bumpo sank fainting to the floor.
The famous Pike chieftain never recovered from the deceit, and refused
to marry Genevra, who died, twenty years afterwards, of a broken heart.
Judge Tompkins lost his fortune in Wild Cat. The stage passes twice a
week the deserted cottage at Donner Lake. Thus was the death of
Muck-a-Muck avenged.
TERENCE DENVILLE.
BY CH--L--S L--V--R.
CHAPTER I.
MY HOME.
The little village of Pilwiddle is one of the smallest and obscurest
hamlets on the western coast of Ireland. On a lofty crag, overlooking
the hoarse Atlantic, stands "Denville's Shot Tower"--a corruption by
the peasantry of D'Enville's Chateau, so called from my
great-grandfather, Phelim St. Kemy d'Enville, who assumed the name and
title of a French heiress with whom he ran away. To this fact my
familiar knowledge and excellent pronunciation of the French language
may be attributed, as well as many of the events which covered my after
life.
The Denvilles were always passionately fond of field sports. At the
age of four, I was already the boldest rider and the best shot in the
country. When only eight, I won the St. Remy Cup at the Pilwiddle
races,--riding my favorite bloodmare Hellfire. As I approached the
stand amidst the plaudits of the assembled multitude, and cries of,
"Thrue for ye, Masther Terence," and "O, but it's a Dinville!" there
was a slight stir among the gentry, who surrounded the Lord Lieutenant,
and other titled personages whom the race had attracted thither. "How
young he is,--a mere child; and yet how noble-looking," said a sweet
low voice, which thrilled my soul.
I looked up and met the full liquid orbs of the Hon. Blanche Fitzroy
Sackville, youngest daughter of the Lord Lieutenant. She blushed
deeply. I turned pale and almost fainted. But the cold, sneering
tones of a masculine voice sent the blood back again into my youthful
cheek.
"Very likely the ragged scion of one of these banditti Irish gentry,
who has taken naturally to 'the road.' He should be at school--though
I warrant me his knowledge of Terence will not extend beyond his own
name," said Lord Henry Somerset, aid-de-camp to the Lord Lieutenant.
A moment and I was perfectly calm, though cold as ice. Dismounting, and
stepping to the side of the speaker, I said in a low, firm voice:--
"Had your Lordship read Terence more carefully, you would have learned
that banditti are sometimes proficient in other arts beside
horsemanship," and I touched his holster significantly with my hand. I
had not read Terence myself, but with the skilful audacity of my race I
calculated that a vague allusion, coupled with a threat, would
embarrass him. It did.
"Ah--what mean you?" he said, white with rage.
"Enough, we are observed," I replied; "Father Tom will wait on you this
evening; and to-morrow morning, my lord, in the glen below Pilwiddle we
will meet again."
"Father Tom--glen!" ejaculated the Englishman, with genuine surprise.
"What? do priests carry challenges and act as seconds in your infernal
country?"
"Yes!" I answered, scornfully, "why should they not? Their services
are more often necessary than those of a surgeon," I added
significantly, turning away.
The party slowly rode off, with the exception of the Hon. Blanche
Sackville, who lingered for a moment behind. In an instant I was at
her side. Bending her blushing face over the neck of her white filly,
she said hurriedly:--
"Words have passed between Lord Somerset and yourself. You are about
to fight. Don't deny it--but hear me. You will meet him--I know your
skill of weapons. He will be at your mercy. I entreat you to spare
his life!"
I hesitated. "Never!" I cried passionately; "he has insulted a
Denville!"
"Terence," she whispered, "Terence--FOR MY SAKE?"
The blood rushed to my cheeks, and her eyes sought the ground in
bashful confusion.
"You love him then?" I cried, bitterly.
"No, no," she said, agitatedly, "no, you do me wrong. I--I--cannot
explain myself. My father!--the Lady Dowager Sackville--the estate of
Sackville--the borough--my uncle, Fitzroy Somerset. Ah! what am I
saying? Forgive me. O Terence," she said, as her beautiful head sank
on my shoulder, "you know not what I suffer!"
I seized her hand and covered it with passionate kisses. But the
high-bred English girl, recovering something of her former hauteur,
said hastily, "Leave me, leave me, but promise!"
"I promise," I replied, enthusiastically; "I WILL spare his life!"
"Thanks, Terence,--thanks!" and disengaging her hand from my lips she
rode rapidly away.
The next morning, the Hon. Captain Henry Somerset and myself exchanged
nineteen shots in the glen, and at each fire I shot away a button from
his uniform. As my last bullet shot off the last button from his
sleeve, I remarked quietly, "You seem now, my lord, to be almost as
ragged as the gentry you sneered at," and rode haughtily away.
CHAPTER II.
THE FIGHTING FIFTY-SIXTH.
When I was nineteen years old my father sold the Chateau d'Enville and
purchased my commission in the "Fifty-sixth" with the proceeds. "I say,
Denville," said young McSpadden, a boy-faced ensign, who had just
joined, "you'll represent the estate in the Army, if you won't in the
House." Poor fellow, he paid for his meaningless joke with his life,
for I shot him through the heart the next morning. "You're a good
fellow, Denville," said the poor boy faintly, as I knelt beside him:
"good by!" For the first time since my grandfather's death I wept. I
could not help thinking that I would have been a better man if
Blanche--but why proceed? Was she not now in Florence--the belle of
the English Embassy?
But Napoleon had returned from Elba. Europe was in a blaze of
excitement. The Allies were preparing to resist the Man of Destiny.
We were ordered from Gibraltar home, and were soon again en route for
Brussels. I did not regret that I was to be placed in active service.
I was ambitious, and longed for an opportunity to distinguish myself.
My garrison life in Gibraltar had been monotonous and dull. I had
killed five men in duel, and had an affair with the colonel of my
regiment, who handsomely apologized before the matter assumed a serious
aspect. I had been twice in love. Yet these were but boyish freaks
and follies. I wished to be a man.
The time soon came,--the morning of Waterloo. But why describe that
momentous battle, on which the fate of the entire world was hanging?
Twice were the Fifty-sixth surrounded by French cuirassiers, and twice
did we mow them down by our fire. I had seven horses shot under me,
and was mounting the eighth, when an orderly rode up hastily, touched
his cap, and, handing me a despatch, galloped rapidly away.
I opened it hurriedly and read:--
"LET PICTON ADVANCE IMMEDIATELY ON THE RIGHT."
I saw it all at a glance. I had been mistaken for a general officer.
But what was to be done? Picton's division was two miles away, only
accessible through a heavy cross fire of artillery and musketry. But
my mind was made up.
In an instant I was engaged with an entire squadron of cavalry, who
endeavored to surround me. Cutting my way through them, I advanced
boldly upon a battery and sabred the gunners before they could bring
their pieces to bear. Looking around, I saw that I had in fact
penetrated the French centre. Before I was well aware of the locality,
I was hailed by a sharp voice in French,--
"Come here, sir!"
I obeyed, and advanced to the side of a little man in a cocked hat.
"Has Grouchy come?"
"Not yet, sire," I replied,--for it was the Emperor.
"Ha!" he said suddenly, bending his piercing eyes on my uniform; "a
prisoner?"
"No, sire," I said, proudly.
"A spy?"
I placed my hand upon my sword, but a gesture from the Emperor bade me
forbear.
"You are a brave man," he said.
I took my snuff-box from my pocket, and, taking a pinch, replied by
handing it, with a bow, to the Emperor.
His quick eye caught the cipher on the lid. "What! a D'Enville? Ha!
this accounts for the purity of your accent. Any relation to Roderick
d'Enville?"
"My father, sire."
"He was my school-fellow at the Ecole Polytechnique. Embrace me!" And
the Emperor fell upon my neck in the presence of his entire staff.
Then, recovering himself, he gently placed in my hand his own
magnificent snuff-box, in exchange for mine, and hanging upon my breast
the cross of the Legion of Honor which he took from his own, he bade
one of his Marshals conduct me back to my regiment.
I was so intoxicated with the honor of which I had been the recipient,
that on reaching our lines I uttered a shout of joy and put spurs to my
horse. The intelligent animal seemed to sympathize with my feelings,
and fairly flew over the ground. On a rising eminence a few yards
before me stood a gray-haired officer, surrounded by his staff. I
don't know what possessed me, but putting spurs to my horse, I rode at
him boldly, and with one bound cleared him, horse and all. A shout of
indignation arose from the assembled staff. I wheeled suddenly, with
the intention of apologizing, but my mare misunderstood me, and, again
dashing forward, once more vaulted over the head of the officer, this
time unfortunately uncovering him by a vicious kick of her hoof.
"Seize him!" roared the entire army. I was seized. As the soldiers
led me away, I asked the name of the gray-haired officer. "That--why,
that's the DUKE OF WELLINGTON!"
I fainted.
* * * * *
For six months I had brain-fever. During my illness ten grapeshot were
extracted from my body which I had unconsciously received during the
battle. When I opened my eyes I met the sweet glance of a Sister of
Charity.
"Blanche!" I stammered feebly.
"The same," she replied.
"You here?"
"Yes, dear; but hush! It's a long story. You see, dear Terence, your
grandfather married my great-aunt's sister, and your father again
married my grandmother's niece, who, dying without a will, was,
according to the French law--"
"But I do not comprehend," I said.
"Of course not," said Blanche, with her old sweet smile; "you've had
brain-fever; so go to sleep."
I understood, however, that Blanche loved me; and I am now, dear
reader, Sir Terence Sackville, K. C. B., and Lady Blanche is Lady
Sackville.
SELINA SEDILIA.
BY MISS M. E. B--DD--N AND MRS. H--N--Y W--D.
CHAPTER I.
The sun was setting over Sloperton Grange, and reddened the window of
the lonely chamber in the western tower, supposed to be haunted by Sir
Edward Sedilia, the founder of the Grange. In the dreamy distance
arose the gilded mausoleum of Lady Felicia Sedilia, who haunted that
portion of Sedilia Manor, known as "Stiff-uns Acre." A little to the
left of the Grange might have been seen a mouldering ruin, known as
"Guy's Keep," haunted by the spirit of Sir Guy Sedilia, who was found,
one morning, crushed by one of the fallen battlements. Yet, as the
setting sun gilded these objects, a beautiful and almost holy calm
seemed diffused about the Grange.
The Lady Selina sat by an oriel window, overlooking the park. The sun
sank gently in the bosom of the German Ocean, and yet the lady did not
lift her beautiful head from the finely curved arm and diminutive hand
which supported it. When darkness finally shrouded the landscape she
started, for the sound of horse-hoofs clattered over the stones of the
avenue. She had scarcely risen before an aristocratic young man fell
on his knees before her.
"My Selina!"
"Edgardo! You here?"
"Yes, dearest."
"And--you--you--have--seen nothing?" said the lady in an agitated voice
and nervous manner, turning her face aside to conceal her emotion.
"Nothing--that is nothing of any account," said Edgardo. "I passed the
ghost of your aunt in the park, noticed the spectre of your uncle in
the ruined keep, and observed the familiar features of the spirit of
your great-grandfather at his usual post. But nothing beyond these
trifles, my Selina. Nothing more, love, absolutely nothing."
The young man turned his dark liquid orbs fondly upon the ingenuous
face of his betrothed.
"My own Edgardo!--and you still love me? You still would marry me in
spite of this dark mystery which surrounds me? In spite of the fatal
history of my race? In spite of the ominous predictions of my aged
nurse?"
"I would, Selina"; and the young man passed his arm around her yielding
waist. The two lovers gazed at each other's faces in unspeakable
bliss. Suddenly Selina started.
"Leave me, Edgardo! leave me! A mysterious something--a fatal
misgiving--a dark ambiguity--an equivocal mistrust oppresses me. I
would be alone!"
The young man arose, and cast a loving glance on the lady. "Then we
will be married on the seventeenth."
"The seventeenth," repeated Selina, with a mysterious shudder.
They embraced and parted. As the clatter of hoofs in the court-yard
died away, the Lady Selina sank into the chair she had just quitted.
"The seventeenth," she repeated slowly, with the same fateful shudder.
"Ah!--what if he should know that I have another husband living? Dare
I reveal to him that I have two legitimate and three natural children?
Dare I repeat to him the history of my youth? Dare I confess that at
the age of seven I poisoned my sister, by putting verdigris in her
cream-tarts,--that I threw my cousin from a swing at the age of twelve?
That the lady's-maid who incurred the displeasure of my girlhood now
lies at the bottom of the horse-pond? No! no! he is too pure,--too
good,--too innocent, to hear such improper conversation!" and her whole
body writhed as she rocked to and fro in a paroxysm of grief.
But she was soon calm. Rising to her feet, she opened a secret panel
in the wall, and revealed a slow-match ready for lighting.
"This match," said the Lady Selina, "is connected with a mine beneath
the western tower, where my three children are confined; another branch
of it lies under the parish church, where the record of my first
marriage is kept. I have only to light this match and the whole of my
past life is swept away!" she approached the match with a lighted
candle.
But a hand was laid upon her arm, and with a shriek the Lady Selina
fell on her knees before the spectre of Sir Guy.
CHAPTER II.
"Forbear, Selina," said the phantom in a hollow voice.
"Why should I forbear?" responded Selina haughtily, as she recovered
her courage. "You know the secret of our race?"
"I do. Understand me,--I do not object to the eccentricities of your
youth. I know the fearful destiny which, pursuing you, led you to
poison your sister and drown your lady's-maid. I know the awful doom
which I have brought upon this house! But if you make way with these
children--"
"Well," said the Lady Selina, hastily.
"They will haunt you!"
"Well, I fear them not," said Selina, drawing her superb figure to its
full height.
"Yes, but, my dear child, what place are they to haunt? The ruin is
sacred to your uncle's spirit. Your aunt monopolizes the park, and, I
must be allowed to state, not unfrequently trespasses upon the grounds
of others. The horse-pond is frequented by the spirit of your maid,
and your murdered sister walks these corridors. To be plain, there is
no room at Sloperton Grange for another ghost. I cannot have them in my
room,--for you know I don't like children. Think of this, rash girl,
and forbear! Would you, Selina," said the phantom, mournfully,--"would
you force your great-grandfather's spirit to take lodgings elsewhere?"
Lady Selina's hand trembled; the lighted candle fell from her nerveless
fingers.
"No," she cried passionately; "never!" and fell fainting to the floor.
CHAPTER III
Edgardo galloped rapidly towards Sloperton. When the outline of the
Grange had faded away in the darkness, he reined his magnificent steed
beside the ruins of Guy's Keep.
"It wants but a few minutes of the hour," he said, consulting his watch
by the light of the moon. "He dare not break his word. He will come."
He paused, and peered anxiously into the darkness. "But come what may,
she is mine," he continued, as his thoughts reverted fondly to the fair
lady he had quitted. "Yet if she knew all. If she knew that I were a
disgraced and ruined man,--a felon and an outcast. If she knew that at
the age of fourteen I murdered my Latin tutor and forged my uncle's
will. If she knew that I had three wives already, and that the fourth
victim of misplaced confidence and my unfortunate peculiarity is
expected to be at Sloperton by to-night's train with her baby. But no;
she must not know it. Constance must not arrive. Burke the Slogger
must attend to that.
"Ha! here he is! Well?"
These words were addressed to a ruffian in a slouched hat, who suddenly
appeared from Guy's Keep.
"I be's here, measter," said the villain, with a disgracefully low
accent and complete disregard of grammatical rules.
"It is well. Listen: I'm in possession of facts that will send you to
the gallows. I know of the murder of Bill Smithers, the robbery of the
tollgate-keeper, and the making away of the youngest daughter of Sir
Reginald de Walton. A word from me, and the officers of justice are on
your track."
Burke the Slogger trembled.
"Hark ye! serve my purpose, and I may yet save you. The 5.30 train
from Clapham will be due at Sloperton at 9.25. IT MUST NOT ARRIVE!"
The villain's eyes sparkled as he nodded at Edgardo.
"Enough,--you understand; leave me!"
CHAPTER IV.
About half a mile from Sloperton Station the South Clapham and Medway
line crossed a bridge over Sloperton-on-Trent. As the shades of
evening were closing, a man in a slouched hat might have been seen
carrying a saw and axe under his arm, hanging about the bridge. From
time to time he disappeared in the shadow of its abutments, but the
sound of a saw and axe still betrayed his vicinity. At exactly nine
o'clock he reappeared, and, crossing to the Sloperton side, rested his
shoulder against the abutment and gave a shove. The bridge swayed a
moment, and then fell with a splash into the water, leaving a space of
one hundred feet between the two banks. This done, Burke the
Slogger,--for it was he,--with a fiendish chuckle seated himself on the
divided railway track and awaited the coming of the train.
A shriek from the woods announced its approach. For an instant Burke
the Slogger saw the glaring of a red lamp. The ground trembled. The
train was going with fearful rapidity. Another second and it had
reached the bank. Burke the Slogger uttered a fiendish laugh. But the
next moment the train leaped across the chasm, striking the rails
exactly even, and, dashing out the life of Burke the Slogger, sped away
to Sloperton.
The first object that greeted Edgardo, as he rode up to the station on
the arrival of the train, was the body of Burke the Slogger hanging on
the cow-catcher; the second was the face of his deserted wife looking
from the windows of a second-class carriage.
CHAPTER V.
A nameless terror seemed to have taken possession of Clarissa, Lady
Selina's maid, as she rushed into the presence of her mistress.
"O my lady, such news!"
"Explain yourself," said her mistress, rising.
"An accident has happened on the railway, and a man has been killed."
"What--not Edgardo!" almost screamed Selina.
"No, Burke the Slogger!" your ladyship.
"My first husband!" said Lady Selina, sinking on her knees. "Just
Heaven, I thank thee!"
CHAPTER VI.
The morning of the seventeenth dawned brightly over Sloperton. "A fine
day for the wedding," said the sexton to Swipes, the butler of
Sloperton Grange. The aged retainer shook his head sadly. "Alas!
there's no trusting in signs!" he continued. "Seventy-five years ago,
on a day like this, my young mistress--" But he was cut short by the
appearance of a stranger.
"I would see Sir Edgardo," said the new-comer, impatiently.
The bridegroom, who, with the rest of the wedding-train, was about
stepping into the carriage to proceed to the parish church, drew the
stranger aside.
"It's done!" said the stranger, in a hoarse whisper.
"Ah! and you buried her?"
"With the others!"
"Enough. No more at present. Meet me after the ceremony, and you
shall have your reward."
The stranger shuffled away, and Edgardo returned to his bride. "A
trifling matter of business I had forgotten, my dear Selina; let us
proceed." And the young man pressed the timid hand of his blushing
bride as he handed her into the carriage. The cavalcade rode out of
the court-yard. At the same moment, the deep bell on Guy's Keep tolled
ominously.
CHAPTER VII.
Scarcely had the wedding-train left the Grange, than Alice Sedilia,
youngest daughter of Lady Selina, made her escape from the western
tower, owing to a lack of watchfulness on the part of Clarissa. The
innocent child, freed from restraint, rambled through the lonely
corridors, and finally, opening a door, found herself in her mother's
boudoir. For some time she amused herself by examining the various
ornaments and elegant trifles with which it was filled. Then, in
pursuance of a childish freak, she dressed herself in her mother's
laces and ribbons. In this occupation she chanced to touch a peg which
proved to be a spring that opened a secret panel in the wall. Alice
uttered a cry of delight as she noticed what, to her childish fancy,
appeared to be the slow-match of a fire-work. Taking a lucifer match in
her hand she approached the fuse. She hesitated a moment. What would
her mother and her nurse say?
Suddenly the ringing of the chimes of Sloperton parish church met her
ear. Alice knew that the sound signified that the marriage party had
entered the church, and that she was secure from interruption. With a
childish smile upon her lips, Alice Sedilia touched off the slow-match.
CHAPTER VIII.
At exactly two o'clock on the seventeenth, Rupert Sedilia, who had just
returned from India, was thoughtfully descending the hill toward
Sloperton manor. "If I can prove that my aunt Lady Selina was married
before my father died, I can establish my claim to Sloperton Grange,"
he uttered, half aloud. He paused, for a sudden trembling of the earth
beneath his feet, and a terrific explosion, as of a park of artillery,
arrested his progress. At the same moment he beheld a dense cloud of
smoke envelop the churchyard of Sloperton, and the western tower of the
Grange seemed to be lifted bodily from its foundation. The air seemed
filled with falling fragments, and two dark objects struck the earth
close at his feet. Rupert picked them up. One seemed to be a heavy
volume bound in brass.
A cry burst from his lips.
"The Parish Records." He opened the volume hastily. It contained the
marriage of Lady Selina to "Burke the Slogger."
The second object proved to be a piece of parchment. He tore it open
with trembling fingers. It was the missing will of Sir James Sedilia!
CHAPTER IX.
When the bells again rang on the new parish church of Sloperton it was
for the marriage of Sir Rupert Sedilia and his cousin, the only
remaining members of the family.
Five more ghosts were added to the supernatural population of Sloperton
Grange. Perhaps this was the reason why Sir Rupert sold the property
shortly afterward, and that for many years a dark shadow seemed to hang
over the ruins of Sloperton Grange.
THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN.
BY AL--X--D--R D--M--S
CHAPTER I.
SHOWING THE QUALITY OF THE CUSTOMERS OF THE INNKEEPER OF PROVINS.
Twenty years after, the gigantic innkeeper of Provins stood looking at
a cloud of dust on the highway.
This cloud of dust betokened the approach of a traveller. Travellers
had been rare that season on the highway between Paris and Provins.
The heart of the innkeeper rejoiced. Turning to Dame Perigord, his
wife, he said, stroking his white apron:--
"St. Denis! make haste and spread the cloth. Add a bottle of
Charlevoix to the table. This traveller, who rides so fast, by his
pace must be a Monseigneur."
Truly the traveller, clad in the uniform of a musketeer, as he drew up
to the door of the hostelry, did not seem to have spared his horse.
Throwing his reins to the landlord, he leaped lightly to the ground.
He was a young man of four-and-twenty, and spoke with a slight Gascon
accent.
"I am hungry, Morbleu! I wish to dine!"
The gigantic innkeeper bowed and led the way to a neat apartment, where
a table stood covered with tempting viands. The musketeer at once set
to work. Fowls, fish, and pates disappeared before him. Perigord
sighed as he witnessed the devastations. Only once the stranger paused.
"Wine!" Perigord brought wine. The stranger drank a dozen bottles.
Finally he rose to depart. Turning to the expectant landlord, he
said:--
"Charge it."
"To whom, your highness?" said Perigord, anxiously.
"To his Eminence!"
"Mazarin!" ejaculated the innkeeper.
"The same. Bring me my horse," and the musketeer, remounting his
favorite animal, rode away.
The innkeeper slowly turned back into the inn. Scarcely had he reached
the courtyard before the clatter of hoofs again called him to the
doorway. A young musketeer of a light and graceful figure rode up.
"Parbleu, my dear Perigord, I am famishing. What have you got for
dinner?"
"Venison, capons, larks, and pigeons, your excellency," replied the
obsequious landlord, bowing to the ground.
"Enough!" The young musketeer dismounted and entered the inn. Seating
himself at the table replenished by the careful Perigord, he speedily
swept it as clean as the first comer.
"Some wine, my brave Perigord," said the graceful young musketeer, as
soon as he could find utterance.
Perigord brought three dozen of Charlevoix. The young man emptied them
almost at a draught.
"By-by, Perigord," he said lightly, waving his hand, as, preceding the
astonished landlord, he slowly withdrew.
"But, your highness,--the bill," said the astounded Perigord.
"Ah, the bill. Charge it!"
"To whom?"
"The Queen!"
"What, Madame?"
"The same. Adieu, my good Perigord." And the graceful stranger rode
away. An interval of quiet succeeded, in which the innkeeper gazed
wofully at his wife. Suddenly he was startled by a clatter of hoofs,
and an aristocratic figure stood in the doorway.
"Ah," said the courtier good-naturedly. "What, do my eyes deceive me?
No, it is the festive and luxurious Perigord. Perigord, listen. I
famish. I languish. I would dine."
The innkeeper again covered the table with viands. Again it was swept
clean as the fields of Egypt before the miraculous swarm of locusts.
The stranger looked up.
"Bring me another fowl, my Perigord."
"Impossible, your excellency; the larder is stripped clean."
"Another flitch of bacon, then."
"Impossible, your highness; there is no more."
"Well, then, wine!"
The landlord brought one hundred and forty-four bottles. The courtier
drank them all.
"One may drink if one cannot eat," said the aristocratic stranger,
good-humoredly.
The innkeeper shuddered.
The guest rose to depart. The innkeeper came slowly forward with his
bill, to which he had covertly added the losses which he had suffered
from the previous strangers.
"Ah, the bill. Charge it."
"Charge it! to whom?"
"To the King," said the guest.
"What! his Majesty?"
"Certainly. Farewell, Perigord."
The innkeeper groaned. Then he went out and took down his sign. Then
remarked to his wife:--
"I am a plain man, and don't understand politics. It seems, however,
that the country is in a troubled state. Between his Eminence the
Cardinal, his Majesty the King, and her Majesty the Queen, I am a
ruined man."
"Stay," said Dame Perigord, "I have an idea."
"And that is--"
"Become yourself a musketeer."
CHAPTER II.
THE COMBAT.
On leaving Provins the first musketeer proceeded to Nangis, where he
was reinforced by thirty-three followers. The second musketeer,
arriving at Nangis at the same moment, placed himself at the head of
thirty-three more. The third guest of the landlord of Provins arrived
at Nangis in time to assemble together thirty-three other musketeers.
The first stranger led the troops of his Eminence.
The second led the troops of the Queen.
The third led the troops of the King.
The fight commenced. It raged terribly for seven hours. The first
musketeer killed thirty of the Queen's troops. The second musketeer
killed thirty of the King's troops. The third musketeer killed thirty
of his Eminence's troops.
By this time it will be perceived the number of musketeers had been
narrowed down to four on each side.
Naturally the three principal warriors approached each other.
They simultaneously uttered a cry.
"Aramis!"
"Athos!"
"D'Artagnan!"
They fell into each other's arms.
"And it seems that we are fighting against each other, my children,"
said the Count de la Fere, mournfully.
"How singular!" exclaimed Aramis and D'Artagnan.
"Let us stop this fratricidal warfare," said Athos.
"We will!" they exclaimed together.
"But how to disband our followers?" queried D'Artagnan.
Aramis winked. They understood each other. "Let us cut 'em down!"
They cut 'em down. Aramis killed three. D'Artagnan three. Athos
three.
The friends again embraced. "How like old times," said Aramis. "How
touching!" exclaimed the serious and philosophic Count de la Fere.
The galloping of hoofs caused them to withdraw from each other's
embraces. A gigantic figure rapidly approached.
"The innkeeper of Provins!" they cried, drawing their swords.
"Perigord, down with him!" shouted D'Artagnan.
"Stay," said Athos.
The gigantic figure was beside them. He uttered a cry.
"Athos, Aramis, D'Artagnan!"
"Porthos!" exclaimed the astonished trio.
"The same." They all fell in each other's arms.
The Count de la Fere slowly raised his hands to Heaven. "Bless you!
Bless us, my children! However different our opinion may be in regard
to politics, we have but one opinion in regard to our own merits.
Where can you find a better man than Aramus?"
"Than Porthos?" said Aramis.
"Than D'Artagnan?" said Porthos.
"Than Athos?" said D'Artagnan.
CHAPTER III.
SHOWING HOW THE KING OF FRANCE WENT UP A LADDER.
The King descended into the garden. Proceeding cautiously along the
terraced walk, he came to the wall immediately below the windows of
Madame. To the left were two windows, concealed by vines. They opened
into the apartments of La Valliere.
The King sighed.
"It is about nineteen feet to that window," said the King. "If I had a
ladder about nineteen feet long, it would reach to that window. This
is logic."
Suddenly the King stumbled over something. "St. Denis!" he exclaimed,
looking down. It was a ladder, just nineteen feet long.
The King placed it against the wall. In so doing, he fixed the lower
end upon the abdomen of a man who lay concealed by the wall The man did
not utter a cry or wince. The King suspected nothing. He ascended the
ladder.
The ladder was too short. Louis the Grand was not a tall man. He was
still two feet below the window.
"Dear me!" said the King.
Suddenly the ladder was lifted two feet from below. This enabled the
King to leap in the window. At the farther end of the apartment stood
a young girl, with red hair and a lame leg. She was trembling with
emotion.
"Louise!"
"The King!"
"Ah, my God, mademoiselle."
"Ah, my God, sire."
But a low knock at the door interrupted the lovers. The King uttered a
cry of rage; Louise one of despair.
The door opened and D'Artagnan entered.
"Good evening, sire," said the musketeer.
The King touched a bell. Porthos appeared in the doorway.
"Good evening, sire."
"Arrest M. D'Artagnan."
Porthos looked at D'Artagnan, and did not move.
The King almost turned purple with rage. He again touched the bell.
Athos entered.
"Count, arrest Porthos and D'Artagnan."
The Count de la Fere glanced at Porthos and D'Artagnan, and smiled
sweetly.
"Sacre! Where is Aramis?" said the King, violently.
"Here, sire," and Aramis entered.
"Arrest Athos, Porthos, and D'Artagnan."
Aramis bowed and folded his arms.
"Arrest yourself!"
Aramis did not move.
The King shuddered and turned pale. "Am I not King of France?"
"Assuredly, sire, but we are also severally, Porthos, Aramis,
D'Artagnan, and Athos."
"Ah!" said the King.
"Yes, sire."
"What does this mean?"
"It means, your Majesty," said Aramis, stepping forward, "that your
conduct as a married man is highly improper. I am an Abbe, and I
object to these improprieties. My friends here, D'Artagnan, Athos, and
Porthos, pure-minded young men, are also terribly shocked. Observe,
sire, how they blush!"
Athos, Porthos, and D'Artagnan blushed. "Ah," said the King,
thoughtfully. "You teach me a lesson. You are devoted and noble young
gentlemen, but your only weakness is your excessive modesty. From this
moment I make you all Marshals and Dukes, with the exception of Aramis."
"And me, sire?" said Aramis.
"You shall be an Archbishop!"
The four friends looked up and then rushed into each other's arms. The
King embraced Louise de la Valliere, by way of keeping them company. A
pause ensued. At last Athos spoke:--
"Swear, my children, that, next to yourselves, you will respect the
King of France; and remember that 'Forty years after' we will meet
again."
THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD.
BY SIR ED--D L--TT--N B--LW--R.
BOOK I.
THE PROMPTINGS OF THE IDEAL.
It was noon. Sir Edward had stepped from his brougham and was
proceeding on foot down the Strand. He was dressed with his usual
faultless taste, but in alighting from his vehicle his foot had
slipped, and a small round disk of conglomerated soil, which instantly
appeared on his high arched instep, marred the harmonious glitter of
his boots. Sir Edward was fastidious. Casting his eyes around, at a
little distance he perceived the stand of a youthful bootblack.
Thither he sauntered, and carelessly placing his foot on the low stool,
he waited the application of the polisher's art. "'Tis true," said Sir
Edward to himself, yet half aloud, "the contact of the Foul and the
Disgusting mars the general effect of the Shiny and the Beautiful--and,
yet, why am I here? I repeat it, calmly and deliberately--why am I
here? Ha! Boy!"
The Boy looked up--his dark Italian eyes glanced intelligently at the
Philosopher, and as with one hand he tossed back his glossy curls, from
his marble brow, and with the other he spread the equally glossy Day &
Martin over the Baronet's boot, he answered in deep rich tones: "The
Ideal is subjective to the Real. The exercise of apperception gives a
distinctiveness to idiocracy, which is, however, subject to the limits
of ME. You are an admirer of the Beautiful, sir. You wish your boots
blacked. The Beautiful is attainable by means of the Coin."
"Ah," said Sir Edward thoughtfully, gazing upon the almost supernal
beauty of the Child before him; "you speak well. You have read Kant."
The Boy blushed deeply. He drew a copy of Kant from his blouse, but in
his confusion several other volumes dropped from his bosom on the
ground. The Baronet picked them up.
"Ah!" said the Philosopher, "what's this? Cicero's De Senectute, at
your age, too? Martial's Epigrams, Caesar's Commentaries. What! a
classical scholar?"
"E pluribus Unum. Nux vomica. Nil desperandum. Nihil fit!" said the
Boy, enthusiastically. The Philosopher gazed at the Child. A strange
presence seemed to transfuse and possess him. Over the brow of the Boy
glittered the pale nimbus of the Student.
"Ah, and Schiller's Robbers, too?" queried the Philosopher.
"Das ist ausgespielt," said the Boy, modestly.
"Then you have read my translation of Schiller's Ballads?" continued
the Baronet, with some show of interest.
"I have, and infinitely prefer them to the original," said the Boy,
with intellectual warmth. "You have shown how in Actual life we strive
for a Goal we cannot reach; how in the Ideal the Goal is attainable,
and there effort is victory. You have given us the Antithesis which is
a key to the Remainder, and constantly balances before us the
conditions of the Actual and the privileges of the Ideal."
"My very words," said the Baronet; "wonderful, wonderful!" and he gazed
fondly at the Italian boy, who again resumed his menial employment.
Alas! the wings of the Ideal were folded. The Student had been
absorbed in the Boy.
But Sir Edward's boots were blacked, and he turned to depart. Placing
his hand upon the clustering tendrils that surrounded the classic nob
of the infant Italian, he said softly, like a strain of distant music:--
"Boy, you have done well. Love the Good. Protect the Innocent.
Provide for The Indigent. Respect the Philosopher. . . . Stay! Can
you tell we what IS The True, The Beautiful, The Innocent, The
Virtuous?"
"They are things that commence with a capital letter," said the Boy,
promptly.
"Enough! Respect everything that commences with a capital letter!
Respect ME!" and dropping a half-penny in the hand of the boy, he
departed.
The Boy gazed fixedly at the coin. A frightful and instantaneous
change overspread his features. His noble brow was corrugated with
baser lines of calculation. His black eye, serpent-like, glittered
with suppressed passion. Dropping upon his hands and feet, he crawled
to the curbstone and hissed after the retreating form of the Baronet,
the single word:--
"Bilk!"
BOOK II.
IN THE WORLD.
"Eleven years ago," said Sir Edward to himself, as his brougham slowly
rolled him toward the Committee Room; "just eleven years ago my natural
son disappeared mysteriously. I have no doubt in the world but that
this little bootblack is he. His mother died in Italy. He resembles
his mother very much. Perhaps I ought to provide for him. Shall I
disclose myself? No! no! Better he should taste the sweets of Labor.
Penury ennobles the mind and kindles the Love of the Beautiful. I will
act to him, not like a Father, not like a Guardian, not like a
Friend--but like a Philosopher!"
With these words, Sir Edward entered the Committee Room. His Secretary
approached him. "Sir Edward, there are fears of a division in the
House, and the Prime Minister has sent for you."
"I will be there," said Sir Edward, as he placed his hand on his chest
and uttered a hollow cough!
No one who heard the Baronet that night, in his sarcastic and withering
speech on the Drainage and Sewerage Bill, would have recognized the
lover of the Ideal and the Philosopher of the Beautiful. No one who
listened to his eloquence would have dreamed of the Spartan resolution
this iron man had taken in regard to the Lost Boy--his own beloved
Lionel. None!
"A fine speech from Sir Edward to-night," said Lord Billingsgate, as,
arm-and-arm with the Premier, he entered his carriage.
"Yes! but how dreadfully he coughs!"
"Exactly. Dr. Bolus says his lungs are entirely gone; he breathes
entirely by an effort of will, and altogether independent of pulmonary
assistance."
"How strange!" and the carriage rolled away.
BOOK III.
THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD.
"ADON AI, appear! appear!"
And as the Seer spoke, the awful Presence glided out of Nothingness,
and sat, sphinx-like, at the feet of the Alchemist.
"I am come!" said the Thing.
"You should say, 'I have come,'--it's better grammar," said the
Boy-Neophyte, thoughtfully accenting the substituted expression.
"Hush, rash Boy," said the Seer, sternly. "Would you oppose your
feeble knowledge to the infinite intelligence of the Unmistakable? A
word, and you are lost forever."
The Boy breathed a silent prayer, and, handing a sealed package to the
Seer, begged him to hand it to his father in case of his premature
decease.
"You have sent for me," hissed the Presence. "Behold me,
Apokatharticon,--the Unpronounceable. In me all things exist that are
not already coexistent. I am the Unattainable, the Intangible, the
Cause, and the Effect. In me observe the Brahma of Mr. Emerson; not
only Brahma himself, but also the sacred musical composition rehearsed
by the faithful Hindoo. I am the real Gyges. None others are genuine."
And the veiled Son of the Starbeam laid himself loosely about the room,
and permeated Space generally.
"Unfathomable Mystery," said the Rosicrucian in a low, sweet voice.
"Brave Child with the Vitreous Optic! Thou who pervadest all things
and rubbest against us without abrasion of the cuticle. I command
thee, speak!"
And the misty, intangible, indefinite Presence spoke.
BOOK IV.
MYSELF.
After the events related in the last chapter, the reader will perceive
that nothing was easier than to reconcile Sir Edward to his son Lionel,
nor to resuscitate the beautiful Italian girl, who, it appears, was not
dead, and to cause Sir Edward to marry his first and boyish love, whom
he had deserted. They were married in St. George's, Hanover Square.
As the bridal party stood before the altar, Sir Edward, with a sweet
sad smile, said, in quite his old manner:--
"The Sublime and Beautiful are the Real; the only Ideal is the
Ridiculous and Homely. Let us always remember this. Let us through
life endeavor to personify the virtues, and always begin 'em with a
capital letter. Let us, whenever we can find an opportunity, deliver
our sentiments in the form of round-hand copies. Respect the Aged.
Eschew Vulgarity. Admire Ourselves. Regard the Novelist."
THE HAUNTED MAN.
A CHRISTMAS STORY.
BY CH--R--S D--CK--NS.
PART I.
THE FIRST PHANTOM.
Don't tell me that it wasn't a knocker. I had seen it often enough,
and I ought to know. So ought the three-o'clock beer, in dirty
high-lows, swinging himself over the railing, or executing a demoniacal
jig upon the doorstep; so ought the butcher, although butchers as a
general thing are scornful of such trifles; so ought the postman, to
whom knockers of the most extravagant description were merely human
weaknesses, that were to be pitied and used. And so ought, for the
matter of that, etc., etc., etc.
But then it was SUCH a knocker. A wild, extravagant, and utterly
incomprehensible knocker. A knocker so mysterious and suspicious that
Policeman X 37, first coming upon it, felt inclined to take it
instantly in custody, but compromised with his professional instincts
by sharply and sternly noting it with an eye that admitted of no
nonsense, but confidently expected to detect its secret yet. An ugly
knocker; a knocker with a hard, human face, that was a type of the
harder human face within. A human face that held between its teeth a
brazen rod. So hereafter, in the mysterious future should be held,
etc., etc.
But if the knocker had a fierce human aspect in the glare of day, you
should have seen it at night, when it peered out of the gathering
shadows and suggested an ambushed figure; when the light of the street
lamps fell upon it, and wrought a play of sinister expression in its
hard outlines; when it seemed to wink meaningly at a shrouded figure
who, as the night fell darkly, crept up the steps and passed into the
mysterious house; when the swinging door disclosed a black passage into
which the figure seemed to lose itself and become a part of the
mysterious gloom; when the night grew boisterous and the fierce wind
made furious charges at the knocker, as if to wrench it off and carry
it away in triumph. Such a night as this.
It was a wild and pitiless wind. A wind that had commenced life as a
gentle country zephyr, but wandering through manufacturing towns had
become demoralized, and reaching the city had plunged into extravagant
dissipation and wild excesses. A roistering wind that indulged in
Bacchanalian shouts on the street corners, that knocked off the hats
from the heads of helpless passengers, and then fulfilled its duties by
speeding away, like all young prodigals,--to sea.
He sat alone in a gloomy library listening to the wind that roared in
the chimney. Around him novels and story-books were strewn thickly; in
his lap he held one with its pages freshly cut, and turned the leaves
wearily until his eyes rested upon a portrait in its frontispiece. And
as the wind howled the more fiercely, and the darkness without fell
blacker, a strange and fateful likeness to that portrait appeared above
his chair and leaned upon his shoulder. The Haunted Man gazed at the
portrait and sighed. The figure gazed at the portrait and sighed too.
"Here again?" said the Haunted Man.
"Here again," it repeated in a low voice.
"Another novel?"
"Another novel."
"The old story?"
"The old story."
"I see a child," said the Haunted Man, gazing from the pages of the
book into the fire,--"a most unnatural child, a model infant. It is
prematurely old and philosophic. It dies in poverty to slow music. It
dies surrounded by luxury to slow music. It dies with an accompaniment
of golden water and rattling carts to slow music. Previous to its
decease it makes a will; it repeats the Lord's Prayer, it kisses the
'boofer lady.' That child--"
"Is mine," said the phantom.
"I see a good woman, undersized. I see several charming women, but
they are all undersized. They are more or less imbecile and idiotic,
but always fascinating and undersized. They wear coquettish caps and
aprons. I observe that feminine virtue is invariably below the medium
height, and that it is always simple and infantine. These women--"
"Are mine."
"I see a haughty, proud, and wicked lady. She is tall and queenly. I
remark that all proud and wicked women are tall and queenly. That
woman--"
"Is mine," said the phantom, wringing his hands.
"I see several things continually impending. I observe that whenever
an accident, a murder, or death is about to happen, there is something
in the furniture, in the locality, in the atmosphere, that foreshadows
and suggests it years in advance. I cannot say that in real life I
have noticed it,--the perception of this surprising fact belongs--"
"To me!" said the phantom. The Haunted Man continued, in a despairing
tone:--
"I see the influence of this in the magazines and daily papers; I see
weak imitators rise up and enfeeble the world with senseless formula.
I am getting tired of it. It won't do, Charles! it won't do!" and the
Haunted Man buried his head in his hands and groaned. The figure looked
down upon him sternly: the portrait in the frontispiece frowned as he
gazed.
"Wretched man," said the phantom, "and how have these things affected
you?"
"Once I laughed and cried, but then I was younger. Now, I would forget
them if I could."
"Have then your wish. And take this with you, man whom I renounce.
From this day henceforth you shall live with those whom I displace.
Without forgetting me, 't will be your lot to walk through life as if
we had not met. But first you shall survey these scenes that
henceforth must be yours. At one to-night, prepare to meet the phantom
I have raised. Farewell!"
The sound of its voice seemed to fade away with the dying wind, and the
Haunted Man was alone. But the firelight flickered gayly, and the
light danced on the walls, making grotesque figures of the furniture.
"Ha, ha!" said the Haunted Man, rubbing his hands gleefully; "now for a
whiskey punch and a cigar."
BOOK II.
THE SECOND PHANTOM.
One! The stroke of the far-off bell had hardly died before the front
door closed with a reverberating clang. Steps were heard along the
passage; the library door swung open of itself, and the Knocker--yes,
the Knocker--slowly strode into the room. The Haunted Man rubbed his
eyes,--no! there could be no mistake about it,--it was the Knocker's
face, mounted on a misty, almost imperceptible body. The brazen rod
was transferred from its mouth to its right hand, where it was held
like a ghostly truncheon.
"It's a cold evening," said the Haunted Man.
"It is," said the Goblin, in a hard, metallic voice.
"It must be pretty cold out there," said the Haunted Man, with vague
politeness. "Do you ever--will you--take some hot water and brandy?"
"No," said the Goblin.
"Perhaps you'd like it cold, by way of change?" continued the Haunted
Man, correcting himself, as he remembered the peculiar temperature with
which the Goblin was probably familiar.
"Time flies," said the Goblin coldly. "We have no leisure for idle
talk. Come!" He moved his ghostly truncheon toward the window, and
laid his hand upon the other's arm. At his touch the body of the
Haunted Man seemed to become as thin and incorporeal as that of the
Goblin himself, and together they glided out of the window into the
black and blowy night.
In the rapidity of their flight the senses of the Haunted Man seemed to
leave him. At length they stopped suddenly.
"What do you see?" asked the Goblin.
"I see a battlemented mediaeval castle. Gallant men in mail ride over
the drawbridge, and kiss their gauntleted fingers to fair ladies, who
wave their lily hands in return. I see fight and fray and tournament.
I hear roaring heralds bawling the charms of delicate women, and
shamelessly proclaiming their lovers. Stay. I see a Jewess about to
leap from a battlement. I see knightly deeds, violence, rapine, and a
good deal of blood. I've seen pretty much the same at Astley's."
"Look again."
"I see purple moors, glens, masculine women, bare-legged men, priggish
book-worms, more violence, physical excellence, and blood. Always
blood,--and the superiority of physical attainments."
"And how do you feel now?" said the Goblin.
The Haunted Man shrugged his shoulders. "None the better for being
carried back and asked to sympathize with a barbarous age."
The Goblin smiled and clutched his arm; they again sped rapidly through
the black night and again halted.
"What do you see?" said the Goblin.
"I see a barrack room, with a mess table, and a group of intoxicated
Celtic officers telling funny stories, and giving challenges to duel.
I see a young Irish gentleman capable of performing prodigies of valor.
I learn incidentally that the acme of all heroism is the cornetcy of a
dragoon regiment. I hear a good deal of French! No, thank you," said
the Haunted Man hurriedly, as he stayed the waving hand of the Goblin;
"I would rather NOT go to the Peninsula, and don't care to have a
private interview with Napoleon."
Again the Goblin flew away with the unfortunate man, and from a strange
roaring below them he judged they were above the ocean. A ship hove in
sight, and the Goblin stayed its flight. "Look," he said, squeezing
his companion's arm.
The Haunted Man yawned. "Don't you think, Charles, you're rather
running this thing into the ground? Of course it's very moral and
instructive, and all that. But ain't there a little too much pantomime
about it? Come now!"
"Look!" repeated the Goblin, pinching his arm malevolently. The
Haunted Man groaned.
"O, of course, I see her Majesty's ship Arethusa. Of course I am
familiar with her stern First Lieutenant, her eccentric Captain, her
one fascinating and several mischievous midshipmen. Of course I know
it's a splendid thing to see all this, and not to be seasick. O, there
the young gentlemen are going to play a trick on the purser. For God's
sake, let us go," and the unhappy man absolutely dragged the Goblin
away with him.
When they next halted, it was at the edge of a broad and boundless
prairie, in the middle of an oak opening.
"I see," said the Haunted Man, without waiting for his cue, but
mechanically, and as if he were repeating a lesson which the Goblin had
taught him,--"I see the Noble Savage. He is very fine to look at! But
I observe under his war-paint, feathers, and picturesque blanket, dirt,
disease, and an unsymmetrical contour. I observe beneath his inflated
rhetoric deceit and hypocrisy; beneath his physical hardihood, cruelty,
malice, and revenge. The Noble Savage is a humbug. I remarked the
same to Mr. Catlin."
"Come," said the phantom.
The Haunted Man sighed, and took out his watch. "Couldn't we do the
rest of this another time?"
"My hour is almost spent, irreverent being, but there is yet a chance
for your reformation. Come!"
Again they sped through the night, and again halted. The sound of
delicious but melancholy music fell upon their ears.
"I see," said the Haunted Man, with something of interest in his
manner,--"I see an old moss-covered manse beside a sluggish, flowing
river. I see weird shapes: witches, Puritans, clergymen, little
children, judges, mesmerized maidens, moving to the sound of melody
that thrills me with its sweetness and purity. But, although carried
along its calm and evenly flowing current, the shapes are strange and
frightful: an eating lichen gnaws at the heart of each. Not only the
clergymen, but witch, maiden, judge, and Puritan, all wear Scarlet
Letters of some kind burned upon their hearts. I am fascinated and
thrilled, but I feel a morbid sensitiveness creeping over me. I--I beg
your pardon." The Goblin was yawning frightfully. "Well, perhaps we
had better go."
"One more, and the last," said the Goblin.
They were moving home. Streaks of red were beginning to appear in the
eastern sky. Along the banks of the blackly flowing river by moorland
and stagnant fens, by low houses, clustering close to the water's edge,
like strange mollusks, crawled upon the beach to dry; by misty black
barges, the more misty and indistinct seen through its mysterious veil,
the river fog was slowly rising. So rolled away and rose from the
heart of the Haunted Man, etc., etc.
They stopped before a quaint mansion of red brick. The Goblin waved
his hand without speaking.
"I see," said the Haunted Man, "a gay drawing-room. I see my old
friends of the club, of the college, of society, even as they lived and
moved. I see the gallant and unselfish men, whom I have loved, and the
snobs whom I have hated. I see strangely mingling with them, and now
and then blending with their forms, our old friends Dick Steele,
Addison, and Congreve. I observe, though, that these gentlemen have a
habit of getting too much in the way. The royal standard of Queen
Anne, not in itself a beautiful ornament, is rather too prominent in
the picture. The long galleries of black oak, the formal furniture,
the old portraits, are picturesque, but depressing. The house is damp.
I enjoy myself better here on the lawn, where they are getting up a
Vanity Fair. See, the bell rings, the curtain is rising, the puppets
are brought out for a new play. Let me see."
The Haunted Man was pressing forward in his eagerness, but the hand of
the Goblin stayed him, and pointing to his feet he saw, between him and
the rising curtain, a new-made grave. And bending above the grave in
passionate grief, the Haunted Man beheld the phantom of the previous
night.
* * * * *
The Haunted Man started, and--woke. The bright sunshine streamed into
the room. The air was sparkling with frost. He ran joyously to the
window and opened it. A small boy saluted him with "Merry Christmas."
The Haunted Man instantly gave him a Bank of England note. "How much
like Tiny Tim, Tom, and Bobby that boy looked,--bless my soul, what a
genius this Dickens has!"
A knock at the door, and Boots entered.
"Consider your salary doubled instantly. Have you read David
Copperfield?"
"Yezzur."
"Your salary is quadrupled. What do you think of the Old Curiosity
Shop?"
The man instantly burst into a torrent of tears, and then into a roar
of laughter.
"Enough! Here are five thousand pounds. Open a porter-house, and call
it, 'Our Mutual Friend.' Huzza! I feel so happy!" And the haunted
Man danced about the room.
And so, bathed in the light of that blessed sun, and yet glowing with
the warmth of a good action, the Haunted Man, haunted no longer, save
by those shapes which make the dreams of children beautiful, reseated
himself in his chair, and finished Our Mutual Friend.
MISS MIX.
BY CH--L--TTE BR--NTE.
CHAPTER I.
My earliest impressions are of a huge, misshapen rock, against which
the hoarse waves beat unceasingly. On this rock three pelicans are
standing in a defiant attitude. A dark sky lowers in the background,
while two sea-gulls and a gigantic cormorant eye with extreme disfavor
the floating corpse of a drowned woman in the foreground. A few
bracelets, coral necklaces, and other articles of jewelry, scattered
around loosely, complete this remarkable picture.
It is one which, in some vague, unconscious way, symbolizes, to my
fancy, the character of a man. I have never been able to explain
exactly why. I think I must have seen the picture in some illustrated
volume, when a baby, or my mother may have dreamed it before I was born.
As a child I was not handsome. When I consulted the triangular bit of
looking-glass which I always carried with me, it showed a pale, sandy,
and freckled face, shaded by locks like the color of seaweed when the
sun strikes it in deep water. My eyes were said to be indistinctive;
they were a faint, ashen gray; but above them rose--my only beauty--a
high, massive, domelike forehead, with polished temples, like
door-knobs of the purest porcelain.
Our family was a family of governesses. My mother had been one, and my
sisters had the same occupation. Consequently, when, at the age of
thirteen, my eldest sister handed me the advertisement of Mr.
Rawjester, clipped from that day's "Times," I accepted it as my
destiny. Nevertheless, a mysterious presentiment of an indefinite
future haunted me in my dreams that night, as I lay upon my little
snow-white bed. The next morning, with two bandboxes tied up in silk
handkerchiefs, and a hair trunk, I turned my back upon Minerva Cottage
forever.
CHAPTER II.
Blunderbore Hall, the seat of James Rawjester, Esq., was encompassed by
dark pines and funereal hemlocks on all sides. The wind sang weirdly
in the turrets and moaned through the long-drawn avenues of the park.
As I approached the house I saw several mysterious figures flit before
the windows, and a yell of demoniac laughter answered my summons at the
bell. While I strove to repress my gloomy forebodings, the
housekeeper, a timid, scared-looking old woman, showed me into the
library.
I entered, overcome with conflicting emotions. I was dressed in a
narrow gown of dark serge, trimmed with black bugles. A thick green
shawl was pinned across my breast. My hands were encased with black
half-mittens worked with steel beads; on my feet were large pattens,
originally the property of my deceased grandmother. I carried a blue
cotton umbrella. As I passed before a mirror, I could not help
glancing at it, nor could I disguise from myself the fact that I was
not handsome.
Drawing a chair into a recess, I sat down with folded hands, calmly
awaiting the arrival of my master. Once or twice a fearful yell rang
through the house, or the rattling of chains, and curses uttered in a
deep, manly voice, broke upon the oppressive stillness. I began to
feel my soul rising with the emergency of the moment.
"You look alarmed, miss. You don't hear anything, my dear, do you?"
asked the housekeeper nervously.
"Nothing whatever," I remarked calmly, as a terrific scream, followed
by the dragging of chairs and tables in the room above, drowned for a
moment my reply. "It is the silence, on the contrary, which has made
me foolishly nervous."
The housekeeper looked at me approvingly, and instantly made some tea
for me.
I drank seven cups; as I was beginning the eighth, I heard a crash, and
the next moment a man leaped into the room through the broken window.
CHAPTER III.
The crash startled me from my self-control. The housekeeper bent
toward me and whispered:--
"Don't be excited. It's Mr. Rawjester,--he prefers to come in
sometimes in this way. It's his playfulness, ha! ha! ha!"
"I perceive," I said calmly. "It's the unfettered impulse of a lofty
soul breaking the tyrannizing bonds of custom." And I turned toward
him.
He had never once looked at me. He stood with his back to the fire,
which set off the herculean breadth of his shoulders. His face was
dark and expressive; his under jaw squarely formed, and remarkably
heavy. I was struck with his remarkable likeness to a Gorilla.
As he absently tied the poker into hard knots with his nervous fingers,
I watched him with some interest. Suddenly he turned toward me:--
"Do you think I'm handsome, young woman?"
"Not classically beautiful," I returned calmly; "but you have, if I may
so express myself, an abstract manliness,--a sincere and wholesome
barbarity which, involving as it does the naturalness--" But I stopped,
for he yawned at that moment,--an action which singularly developed the
immense breadth of his lower jaw,--and I saw he had forgotten me.
Presently he turned to the housekeeper:--
"Leave us."
The old woman withdrew with a courtesy.
Mr. Rawjester deliberately turned his back upon me and remained silent
for twenty minutes. I drew my shawl the more closely around my
shoulders and closed my eyes.
"You are the governess?" at length he said.
"I am, sir."
"A creature who teaches geography, arithmetic, and the use of the
globes--ha!--a wretched remnant of femininity,--a skimp pattern of
girlhood with a premature flavor of tea-leaves and morality. Ugh!"
I bowed my head silently.
"Listen to me, girl!" he said sternly; "this child you have come to
teach--my ward--is not legitimate. She is the offspring of my
mistress,--a common harlot. Ah! Miss Mix, what do you think of me
now?"
"I admire," I replied calmly, "your sincerity. A mawkish regard for
delicacy might have kept this disclosure to yourself. I only recognize
in your frankness that perfect community of thought and sentiment which
should exist between original natures."
I looked up; he had already forgotten my presence, and was engaged in
pulling off his boots and coat. This done, he sank down in an
arm-chair before the fire, and ran the poker wearily through his hair.
I could not help pitying him.
The wind howled dismally without, and the rain beat furiously against
the windows. I crept toward him and seated myself on a low stool
beside his chair.
Presently he turned, without seeing me, and placed his foot absently in
my lap. I affected not to notice it. But he started and looked down.
"You here yet--Carrothead? Ah, I forgot. Do you speak French?"
"Oui, Monsieur."