BOOK II.

SOPHISTICATION.

I.

In the bitterness of my humiliation and distress at the perfidy of Roger

Dale I came near running away from home. My youthful imaginations, as I

have already mentioned, were of a realistic order, and it had been a

favorite scheme with me to become a shop-girl. So when this sorrow

overwhelmed me, I thought seriously of going out into the world to seek

my fortune in some such capacity. It was only my father's kindness

during those dreadful first days that deterred me from carrying out some

romantic plan of escape. I felt sore and mortified, and ready to take

any steps that would separate me from my old surroundings.

Aunt Helen did her best to comfort me, but I was in no frame of mind to

talk it all over, which was, I knew, her main idea of solace,--that and

frequent offers of tempting food. On the other hand, my father made no

allusion to the wretched incident during the fortnight he remained at

Tinker's Reach. He treated me exactly as if nothing had happened,

except that every morning after breakfast he proposed a walk through the

woods or up the mountain. Indifferent to everything as I was at the

moment, I had a consciousness that this exercise was beneficial to me,

and I was grateful at heart. Anything was better than harping over and

over again on the same string the story of my wrongs. Walking

interrupted this in a measure, though during the long tramps which I had

with my father we rarely talked, and I usually in monosyllables. In this

manner we explored the outlying country within a radius of twenty miles,

and when night came I was so fatigued that I was apt to sleep, and

consequently was spared the pale cheeks and dull eyes that for the most

part afflict those who have undergone an experience similar to mine.

One of the reasons why I did not run away from home was my lack of

funds. I was penniless, for all my money was with the securities I threw

into the sea. I was inclined, however, to congratulate myself upon this

extravagant proceeding, for the reason that had I acted less impulsively

I might not have detected Roger's selfishness until it was too late. But

when just before my father went away he handed me a roll of bank-bills,

the color rose to my cheeks, and I began to reflect upon the enormity of

my offence. He told me that he had ordered a saddle-horse to be sent to

me from town, which he hoped I would use regularly, and that in the

autumn he proposed to take me with him on a journey to California.

I listened in silence; but I rode the horse, and found him just the

companion I required. He could not talk, and yet was sufficiently

spirited to prevent me from self-absorption. My father also sent me a

box of books, which embraced a variety of literature. Although there

were some light and amusing sketches among them, novels of sentiment and

poetry had been excluded. On the other hand he had picked out the latest

and most authoritative publications relating to history, science,

biography, and travel, by which I soon found myself engrossed and

diverted. I read voluminously, and when this supply was exhausted I

wrote home for more.

This was my interest during the remainder of the summer, and when autumn

came I was conscious of having undergone a mental change. Whereas I was

formerly trusting, credulous, and optimistic, at least toward all except

myself, I was become suspicious even of the seal of sincerity, weighed

words, and applied the scalpel of analysis to others' motives as well as

to my own.

But this cynical phase did not last long, and gave way in turn to a much

more serious view of life than I had hitherto taken. The trip which I

made to California with my father did much to promote this. We were

absent from home eight weeks, and we visited all the principal cities

and saw the chief sights of the West. My father was assiduous in his

kindness. He took pains to explain to me the immense value and

importance of the wool and the wheat and the cattle and the ore which

were the staple products of the States and Territories through which we

passed. He showed me on the map the immense net-work of railways by

means of which these industries, if not consumed at home, were carried

to the seaboard either of the Atlantic or the Pacific, and made

profitable to the producer by exportation to foreign lands. He tried to

interest me in such commercial and economic questions, so that, as he

said, I need not like most women remain in entire ignorance regarding

the vital interests of the world. Although I was still stolid and

indifferent in manner, I listened attentively to his instructions and

appreciated the service he was doing me.

One evening shortly after our return, Aunt Helen said to me, with a

prefatory cough which was apt to be a sign that she regarded the topic

to be broached as delicate,--

"Virginia, it is time for you to be thinking about your party dresses.

Of course it is too late now to send to Paris; but I fancy it is

possible to get tolerable things here, if one is ready to pay a little

more."

"I shall not require party dresses. I am not going anywhere this

winter," I answered quietly.

As I have just intimated, Aunt Helen was somewhat apprehensive regarding

my plans, owing to a few hints which I had let fall at Tinker's Reach.

She had suggested my sending an order to Paris about a fortnight

subsequent to my last interview with Mr. Dale, but I declined

emphatically to do so. It was evident, however, from her expression that

my resolve was a source of surprise and dismay to her.

"Not go anywhere? Why, people will think you are ill."

"My looks will belie that, Aunt Helen."

"It will seem so odd and peculiar. A girl always enjoys her second

winter more than the first. Just when you have come to know everybody

too! I hope you will reconsider this, dear. You had better order the

dresses at any rate," she continued; "you might want to go when the time

comes, and then it would be too late."

I shook my head decisively: "I am sorry to disappoint you, but my mind

is made up."

Aunt Helen coughed again. "You are not disappointing _me_; it is only on

your own account that I feel badly. You will make a great mistake,

Virginia. Of course, dear, you have passed through a very unpleasant

experience, which I am all the more able to appreciate from having had,

as you are aware, sorrows of a similar kind. But painful as such

experiences are for those called upon to undergo them, they are, I

regret to say, far from uncommon; and if a young person who has suffered

a disappointment were to turn his or her back on all entertainments,

what, pray, would become of society?"

"Society will get along very well without me," I answered.

Aunt Helen knitted rapidly in silence, and the color mounted to her

cheeks.

"You will make a great mistake, Virginia," she repeated,--"a great

mistake. No young lady of your age can afford to make herself

conspicuous by acting differently from other people. Do you wish to be

called eccentric and peculiar?"

"I don't much care," said I with a spice of wickedness. "It might be

rather attractive, I should think, to be different from everybody else."

"I can imagine who has been putting such ideas into your head. In my

opinion one strong-minded woman in the family is quite enough," she said

with a toss of her head.

I knew that she referred to Aunt Agnes, who had returned from Europe a

few weeks before; therefore I said,--

"I have not exchanged a word with anybody on the subject."

"What _is_ the reason, then, that you persist in being so contrary?" she

exclaimed in a thoroughly worried tone, laying down her work on her lap.

"Because I have awakened to the fact that the little circle in which we

move does not constitute the world," I answered, rather nettled by her

solicitude. "I live as completely hedged about by conventions as the

sleeping Beauty by the growth of a hundred years."

She opened her eyes in amazement. "All women in every circle except the

very lowest are hedged about by conventions," she replied severely.

"What is it you wish to do?"

"I don't know that I wish to do anything. I am waiting for something to

suggest itself."

"Does your father know of this?" she asked.

"Of what?"

"Of your intention to give up society."

"I have not thought it important enough to mention it to him."

"Important enough? I shall feel it my duty to inform him. We shall hear

next that you have gone on the stage, or done something equally

extraordinary."

"What do you mean?" I inquired with a wondering laugh.

"I have merely taken you at your own words. You have expressed

dissatisfaction with the circle in which you live, and wish to try

another. The only place where people are thoroughly unconventional is on

the stage."

It was useless to discuss the matter further. Aunt Helen was not to be

brought to look at it from my point of view, and I was resolute in my

determination. I wished to meet and know a different set of people from

those of the fashionable world. My ideas on the subject were vague. I

had spoken the truth in saying that I was waiting for something to

suggest itself.

There were of course plenty of earnest and interesting people, if one

knew how to discover them. Naturally I often thought of Aunt Agnes, but

pride interdicted me from applying to her. I felt that she had, to quote

her own words, once for all made overtures to me, which I had declined,

and that I could not bear the humiliation of going to her and confessing

my ingratitude. When she came to spend the evening with us just after

her return from Europe, her first remark to me had been: "Well, a pretty

mess you and your Aunt Helen have made of it!" Beyond this she made no

allusion to what had occurred, but she answered all my questions

regarding her travels with the curtness of one who mistrusts the

interest of the questioner.

However, as we had not met since, I felt in duty bound to pay my

respects to her, and accordingly dropped in one day about luncheon time.

She was not alone; and her visitor, who was a young woman some five

years my senior, stopped short in her animated conversation as I

entered, and swept down upon me with a wealth of facial expression in

response to my Aunt's guttural--

"My niece!"

"This is too pleasant, Miss Harlan. I have heard about you so often, and

wished to meet you. Now that we are acquainted, I do hope we shall be

friends."

"This is Miss Kingsley, Virginia. You will not do amiss to follow in her

footsteps," said Aunt Agnes, by way of setting me down where she

considered I belonged, for I had not so far mortified the flesh as to

alter my street costumes. As a consequence I was the pink of neatness in

a new bonnet which contrasted itself already in my mind with the

over-trimmed attire of my aunt's guest. I noticed that Miss Kingsley

looked me over from head to foot with a sweeping glance as she spoke.

But I felt humble-minded, and disposed to seize any straw that might

help me to realize my desire for new acquaintances. So I smiled sweetly,

as though undisturbed by my aunt's severity, and greeted Miss Kingsley

with more effusion than it was my wont to display toward strangers.

"I have heard that Miss Virginia Harlan is very clever," she said,

opening and shutting her eyes in rapid succession, which I soon found

was usual with her when she wished to be gracious, and which had much

the effect of heat lightning on the beholder. "Weren't you at Tinker's

Reach last summer?" she continued.

"She was," answered Aunt Agnes in a stern tone.

"Then you will be able to tell me if it is Mr. Dobbs or Dobson of

Philadelphia, who is engaged to our Miss Bentley. I wrote it Dobbs, as

seeming rather more distinguished. I agree with Mr. Spence that

monosyllables are the most sympathetic."

"I am very sorry to say his name is Dobson," I answered.

Miss Kingsley sighed. "What a pity! Mere accuracy and art come so often

into collision that it is difficult at times for us artists to do

justice to both. I expended much thought on that item."

I felt greatly puzzled. It was evident she took it for granted that I

knew who she was. But Aunt Agnes in attempting to enlighten me made my

confusion all the greater.

"I presume, Virginia, that you are aware that Miss Kingsley is 'Alpha'?"

"'Alpha'?" I faltered.

"You must certainly have often read her column in the 'Sunday

Mercury'?"

I looked embarrassed, for I never had. But the source of the item which

had appeared about me in that newspaper was now apparent.

Miss Kingsley blushed, and giggled convulsively. "No offence. Quite

natural, I'm sure. You have much better things to do than to read my

articles, Miss Virginia. I only thought you might have happened to read

Mr. Spence's 'Sonnet to Alpha' in our last issue."

I was obliged to admit that I had not; and feeling that it was as well

to make a clean breast of my ignorance, I acknowledged that I had never

heard of Mr. Spence.

Miss Kingsley gave a little gasp, and looked amused.

"Virginia! I am astonished," exclaimed Aunt Agnes. "Your father gave me

to understand that you had been spending a portion of the summer in

self-improvement. Mr. Spence is one of the most original thinkers in the

community. I cannot believe it possible that you have never heard of

him."

"Perhaps Miss Virginia may have read some of his poems or philosophy

without knowing the author," suggested Miss Kingsley. "You must surely

have heard of his 'Essay on the Economy of Speech,' which in my opinion

is the most sympathetic thing he has done."

"One of the most valuable contributions to the literature of pure

thought that we have had in many years," said Aunt Agnes.

I shook my head.

"Permit me," said Miss Kingsley, fumbling in a little reticule on her

lap and taking therefrom one of several cards, which she handed to me.

"This is a schedule of his new course of lectures on Moderation. He

regards moderation as the most valuable virtue of our civilization, and

is devoting his life to the promulgation of its importance."

The printed card read as follows:--

LECTURES.

HAWTHORNE ROOMS.

SIX SUCCESSIVE SATURDAYS,

BEGINNING DECEMBER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.

_BY CHARLES LIVERSAGE SPENCE._

* * * * *

MODERATION.

December 28. General View of the Subject.

January 4. Tension and Torpor of the Nerves.

" 11. The Economy of Speech.

" 18. The Use and Abuse of Raiment.

" 25. Overeating and Undereating.

February 1. Exuberance and Poverty in the Soul.

"They must be very interesting," said I. It was something at any rate to

get a peep into the charmed circle, even if I were too illiterate

to share its membership; and I was eager to know more of the

poet-philosopher, as I rightly judged him to be from Miss Kingsley's

words.

"They are eminently suggestive," said she.

"You know him well I suppose."

"Mr. Spence? Yes. If I may say so," she simpered, with a rapid movement

of her eyes, "your aunt and I were among the first to find him out."

"Is he young?"

"Just thirty. He celebrated his birthday only a fortnight ago. It was on

that occasion that his 'Sonnet to Alpha' first saw the light."

"Is he good-looking?" I inquired somewhat ill advisedly, for Aunt Agnes

made a gesture of impatience.

"His face is intellectual rather than handsome," answered Miss Kingsley.

"Its expression is very striking and versatile. Fine, piercing eyes and

waving hair, which he wears long. An intense individuality. But I should

scarcely call him beautiful; interesting and highly sympathetic in

appearance seems to me a more accurate description."

"If you mean by 'good-looking' to inquire if he is a fop, Virginia, you

had better be undeceived on that score at once," said Aunt Agnes, with a

toss of her head. "I don't suppose Mr. Spence has ever danced the German

in his life."

"He is very particular about late hours," said Miss Kingsley; "that is a

part of his system. He believes in moderation in all things, sleep as

well as the contrary. He almost invariably retires before eleven, but he

rises after eight hours of rest. He considers either more or less as

deleterious to health. I am inclined to think though, if Miss Harlan

will excuse my correcting her," she continued turning to Aunt Agnes,

"that he has once or twice in his life danced the German; for he has

told me that in order to develop his theory intelligently he has been

obliged to study extremes. The happy mean cannot of course be estimated

so intelligently by one who is without personal experience of the

overmuch or undermuch he reprobates. Those are his own phrases for

expressing excess or undue limitation, and to me they seem exquisite

specimens of nomenclature. But as I was saying, Mr. Spence has in the

course of his investigations sampled, if I may so speak, almost every

sensation or series of sensations to which human nature is susceptible.

For instance, he once spent the night in a tomb, so as to experience

what he has so exquisitely styled in a poem on the subject 'the

extremity of doleful comprehension.' You were alluding to the lines only

yesterday, Miss Harlan."

"They are Miltonic in their grim power," said Aunt Agnes.

"Then again, he lived upon dog and horse during the time of the Commune

at Paris. He says it was worth the experience of an ordinary lifetime as

illustrating the crucial test of discomfort. So in like manner he has

experienced the extremes of luxury and pleasure. I have been given to

understand that he even felt it his duty to intoxicate himself upon one

occasion, in order to be able to demolish more conclusively the

arguments of either form of intemperance; for he considers total

abstinence as almost, if not quite, on a level with over indulgence.

One's instinct of course shrinks at first from the idea of a deliberate

clouding of the senses being ever pardonable, but the more one examines

the matter the more innocent does it appear; and I freely admit that I

have come to regard an offence against morals committed in the interest

of science as not only excusable, but in some cases a positive duty."

"But," said Aunt Agnes, taking up the thread of her previous remark for

my further edification, "however Mr. Spence may have conducted himself

in the past for the sake of discipline, his habits to-day are

essentially sober and serious."

"Oh, dear, yes!" exclaimed Miss Kingsley; "he is intensely in earnest,

and discountenances all mere vanities of life. And yet, withal, it is

his aim to pursue the happy mean. He believes in rational amusements,

and is very sympathetic in congenial society. If you have no pleasanter

engagement for next Wednesday evening, Miss Virginia, I shall be charmed

to have you take tea with me at my rooms in the Studio Building. I

expect Mr. Spence and one or two other friends to be present."

"With great pleasure," I answered; and I felt quite elated by the

invitation. My ambition to form new associations was about to be

realized apparently.

"I have hopes that Mr. Spence will consent to illustrate his theory of

the Economy of Speech on that evening," continued Miss Kingsley. "As yet

the science is in embryo, and naturally but a very small number of

people are sufficiently familiar with the practical details of the

theory to make it advisable to adopt it in general conversation. But

with sympathetic friends he may feel disposed to make the experiment."

"You are extremely fortunate, Virginia," said Aunt Agnes, with emphasis.

"I should try in vain to be worthy of such an opportunity; but I am very

much obliged to you, Miss Kingsley," I answered humbly.

"You will soon learn," she said, rising to go. "I am so glad to have had

the pleasure of meeting you at last. I have alluded to you in my column

on one or two occasions, but this is the first time I have had the

gratification of seeing you in person. Perhaps you can tell me," she

continued, still holding my hand, "whether there is any truth in the

reported engagement of our Miss Leonard to Mr. Clarence Butterfield. And

if you happen to know who are to be the bridesmaids at the wedding of

Miss Newton, of Philadelphia, to our Mr. Lester, I shall consider it

very friendly of you to tell me."

This made me feel very uncomfortable, for I could not decide on the spur

of the moment whether it would be more charitable to my friends to tell

the truth, or to remain silent and let their affairs be garbled.

"I want to put in something," she urged, noticing my hesitation. "I

shall either contradict or confirm the report of the engagement in our

next issue. Of course, artistically it makes little difference to me

which; but it is much more satisfactory to the immediate friends to have

an item correct,--just as the friends of a person who sits for a

portrait prefer to have the likeness speaking, whereas to the painter it

is much more important whether the _tout ensemble_ is a work of art. To

obtain a portrait one can always have recourse to the photographer; and

so to insure mere accuracy in a social jotting, it is easy to pay for it

as an advertisement. But artists stand upon a different footing. Am I

clear? And I trust that you agree with me. It will do just as well on

Wednesday; and if you should hear any other items of interest in my

line, please note them. You have no idea of the competition I have to

encounter. Some artists go so far as to invent their material, but it is

not considered strictly professional. Well, I must run along. Don't

forget, Wednesday at eight," and Miss Kingsley whisked out of the room,

leaving me in a dazed condition.

The collection of social gossip was apparently her regular business,

which she not only was ready to acknowledge, but gloried in,--just as a

merchant might take pride in his bargains, or a lawyer in his arguments.

There was a certain savor of self-reliance and proprietorship in her use

of the word "our," by which it was evident to me, though I was sadly

puzzled at first, that she distinguished Bostonians from those who lived

elsewhere. But horrified as I was by the general idea of such a calling,

I could not help feeling amused, and even rather admired Miss Kingsley's

independence and enterprising spirit. She was a shade vulgar to be sure,

but in my present frame of mind I was disposed to rank intellectual

superiority above mere refinement of manner. I believed that Miss

Kingsley, although but a few years older than myself, could put me to

the blush in the matter of literary attainments and general information.

Aunt Agnes was plainly of that opinion, for she aroused me from my

reflections by the remark,--

"A rare opportunity is afforded you, Virginia, for mental discipline. I

can see that Miss Kingsley has taken a fancy to you. She is not a person

who goes off at a tangent. She must have discerned capabilities for

culture in you, or she would never have invited you to one of her

entertainments. To you, who are accustomed to society fine speeches that

mean nothing, it will probably occur that she is asking you on my

account. Nothing of the sort. There is not an ounce of affectation in

her. She has asked you because she wants you; and I can only add that if

you neglect after this to seek improvement, you will be guilty of a

deliberate sacrifice of talents for which there can be no excuse. Yes,

talents. There is no use in mincing matters; you have talents. I have

always thought so, which is the reason why I have taken so much trouble

to keep you from evil courses. Your father has given me to understand

that you have begun to listen to the voice of experience. I tried to

save you from experience by counsel, but you scoffed at my words. You

have providentially had your eyes opened before it was too late. You

have suffered, and I do not wish to add to your mortification by

reproach. Let by-gones be by-gones, and I trust to hear no more of Mr.

Gale and his associates."

"Dale, Aunt Agnes," I said firmly.

She shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "What difference does it make

whether it is Dale or Gale? You heard what Miss Kingsley said just now

about the unimportance of accuracy in trivial matters. You knew

perfectly well whom I meant. Let me caution you again, Virginia, against

an undue estimate of ceremony and form. It is the spirit that is of

value, not the mere letter. Especially should you bear this in mind in

the society of such people as you will meet on Wednesday evening. The

world is a large place, and only in the circle in which you have been

brought up is excessive regard paid to insignificant details. Sensible

people have other things to think about."

"Does Mr. Spence belong to Boston?" I asked, anxious to find out all I

could about the celebrity.

But this remark was not more happy than the last Aunt Agnes pursed up

her lips and said,--

"If you mean, was he born in Beacon Street, no, he was not. Dreadful as

it may seem to you, I know nothing of either his father or his mother.

But you will learn when you are a little wiser, that genius in order to

be recognized and admired is not obliged to produce parents."

"You misunderstood me, Aunt Agnes. I merely wished to know if he were a

foreigner or not."

"He has lived everywhere I believe, and is cosmopolitan, as all great

men are. He is one of the few characters really worth knowing in our

community. His philosophic and hygienic thoughts surpass his poetry in

worth, in the opinion of the best judges."

"And Miss Kingsley,--does she write at all?"

"Certainly. Did she not tell you that she is the compiler of the weekly

column of fashionable items in the 'Sunday Mercury'?"

"Yes," said I, "but that is scarcely literature."

Aunt Agnes did not answer for a moment. "You have judged hastily,

and consequently have misjudged. If you were to ask me whether I

think Miss Kingsley's present occupation is proportionate to her

abilities, I should answer 'no.' She would herself admit that it was

hack-work,--though, mind you, even hack-work can be redeemed by an

artistic spirit, as she has so adequately explained to you. All young

women have not independent fortunes, and such as are without means are

obliged to take whatever they can find to do in the line of their

professions. I agree with your implication that society items do not

constitute literature, but they are stepping stones to higher things.

Which is the more creditable, pray, to collect and chronicle the social

customs of the age in which you live, foolish as they may be, or to be

one of the giddy and frivolous creatures whose doings are thus compiled

as a warning to posterity, or to excite its jeers? The one is work,

earnest though humble; the other, a sheer dissipation of the energies of

life."

I felt that this was aimed at me; but as I made no response, Aunt Agnes

continued:--

"Do not mistake my meaning now, and say that I wish you to become a

collector of fashionable information. On the contrary, I should much

regret to see you anything of the kind. By the very circumstance that

Providence has given you the means to pick and choose, you are marked

out for work of a less superficial order. But you must not under-value

others who are less able to consult their own preferences. Miss Kingsley

is a young woman of decided capabilities for original composition. Mr.

Spence has spoken to me of her in terms of the highest praise. Because

she is obliged for her support to cater to the popular taste for social

intelligence, it by no means follows that she does not employ her spare

hours to better advantage. I shall not violate any confidences I may

have received, in saying that Miss Kingsley is capable of literary

production of a high order."

"But," said I after a moment's silence, "you cannot approve of the

custom of putting the private affairs of people into print, Aunt Agnes?"

"It is preferable at least to wasting the best years of one's life in

fashionable folly," she replied with some asperity.

As I saw it would be hopeless to pursue the conversation on this head

without danger of further disagreement, I rose to take my leave. But

when I stooped to kiss her, she took me by the hand and said with much

seriousness, but with a purpose to be kindly,--

"I have much greater hopes, Virginia, I frankly confess, regarding the

stability of your character than when I last conversed with you. You may

depend on whatever assistance lies in my power; but let me impress upon

you that the cultivation which your talents befit you to attain, cannot

be reached without strenuous exertions on your own part."

"I shall do all I can to make the most of my advantages, Aunt Agnes, you

may depend upon it; and I thank you heartily for your offer of help. I

hope I have done with frivolity forever."

"My niece marry a whipper-snapper like that Mr. Gale, indeed! Tell me!"

I had not the hardihood to correct her again, and so we parted.

II.

Wednesday was only the day after to-morrow, but in the interim I bought

a copy of Mr. Spence's Poems and also his volume of Essays, which

contained "The Economy of Speech," "The Overmuch and the Undermuch," and

"The Equipoise of Passion," the last-named being an exposition of the

selfishness of unlimited love. His poems, which were for the most part

written in early youth, were in striking contrast to the essays in tone.

Indeed, in the extracts from the newspaper criticisms prefixed to the

volume of verse he was in several instances spoken of as the Baudelaire

of America. They were alternately morbid and convivial in style, and

were concerned largely with death, the rapture of the wine-cup, or the

bitterness of unreciprocated attachment. I was inclined to be shocked at

the outset, for I had never read anything of the sort before, as

Baudelaire was then merely a name to me. I even took the book to my own

room from an unwillingness to leave it lying on the parlor table. But

after the first surprise and qualms I found myself rather fascinated by

the unusual nature of the man. At one moment he appeared to be flushed

with ecstasy, and the next in the depths,--an alternative so opposed to

the tenor of his later philosophy that I was fairly puzzled, until I

reflected that these poems had undoubtedly been composed during his

novitiate, while he was testing the extremes of life. It was obvious, if

his verse was any criterion, that he had been very thorough in his

investigations, and that Miss Kingsley's estimate of his offences

against morality was not an over-statement, to say the least. But my

curiosity was aroused to meet a person whose ideas and experiences were

so signally unlike my own, especially in view of the seeming total

transition of his sentiments as portrayed in his subsequent prose

writings. I thought them a little vague, but extremely interesting. The

skeleton of his system was unfolded in the essay on the "Overmuch and

the Undermuch." Therein he sought to show in a general way the

advantages of moderation. Nothing overmuch was the key-note of his

theory,--an aphorism which found an analogy in the old Greek motto

~ouden agan~, which he adduced to prove the antiquity of the

virtue, little as it had been practised. He represented moderation as

the great principle upon which the future progress of civilization

depended. Without heed to the restrictions which it imposed, human

nature must despair of perfection. He ventured to predict that rigorous

self-restraint, continued through successive generations, would

appreciably lengthen the average duration of life, and although without

more sufficient data it would be incautious to make extravagant claims,

it seemed to him by no means improbable that death might in the end be

conquered, or at least indefinitely postponed. The science was as yet

embryonic, and until the general interest of the world in its

development had been awakened, investigation in order to be trustworthy

must needs be slow.

Treating the subject in detail, he applied his theory to various

departments of life. His own investigations he alleged to be still very

incomplete, and in this first volume he had only touched upon two

subdivisions,--conversation and love, the presentation of his ideas

regarding which were contained in the essays already spoken of, "The

Economy of Speech," and "The Equipoise of Passion." In the first named

of these he laid down as a broad general statement that some people talk

too much and others too little. Here, as in other functions, either

extreme was disastrous. Prolixity of speech produced avoidance of the

offender, and silence tended to syncope of the language. The causes of

either fault were in his opinion far to seek, and lay less in the nature

of the individual than in the essence of orthography and diction.

Tautology was the blemish of written and vocal speech. Too many symbols

were used to express an idea, and nothing was left to the imagination of

the reader or hearer. Redundancy of expression was the _vade mecum_ of

the bore, and on the other hand there was no reason to believe that the

sound of their own words was the cause why many people were so silent.

It was common to hear that a man was afraid to hear himself talk. By

reducing therefore the signs of speech, a stimulus would be given to the

reserved and a curb imposed upon the verbose.

The primary principle employed to effect this was ellipsis, but an

accurate understanding of the intelligence of the hearer was requisite

in order to become proficient. The alphabet was not disturbed or

abbreviated. The radical change was in the dismemberment of sentences.

And here it was obvious that a greater number of words could be omitted

without destroying the sense with a clever listener than with a dull

person. His statistics showed that two individuals thoroughly conversant

with the system could discourse rationally upon intricate topics by the

use of single words and even single monosyllables in place of entire

sentences; and this led him to believe that as the race grew in

intelligence, speech would finally become a rudimentary organ and cease

to be. Nor was this inconsistent with his general theory; for in his

opinion the gradual tendency of all mere physical attributes was to

coalesce with mind. In an analogous way the time would come when mankind

instead of eating too much or too little would not eat at all. But the

first stage in this gradual evolution must be a repression of extremes

resulting in moderation. It was to effect a recognition of this that his

labors were directed.

I expected to be even more interested in the essay on "The Equipoise of

Passion," remembering the intense character of his amatory verse. But

the philosophical terms were so numerous that I found myself at a loss

as to his meaning at times. His treatment of the subject was quite

different; for whereas (he explained) speech was a physical attribute

and destined to give place to some other method of affinity, love was

psychical in its essence, and hence immortal. But he maintained that

moderation should control spirit no less than matter, and that either

undue exaltation or a lack of sentiment were inconsistent with the

noblest type of altruism.

Love in order to be perfect must be rational and cognizant, as he

expressed it. The beloved object should be enthroned, but without

exaggeration, and yet with ecstasy. The defect of love as it at present

existed was that it was either an hallucination or a bargain. This

should not be; but on the other hand the equipoise of passion like the

equipoise of religion,--of which it was in his opinion the peer, and

with which it was in a certain sense blended,--was attainable only by

exceptional souls. The equipoise of speech or of raiment or of appetite

was within the grasp of an average human being, but only a few spirits

in a generation enjoyed the perfection of love. This was the crown of

his philosophy; but it was here that he felt the need of further

investigation before endeavoring to demonstrate the remedy by means of

which this number might be increased, so as finally to include all

earnest souls. An immature statement would impair the authority of the

more elemental truth he had sought to establish; but he hoped in a

subsequent volume to complete the exposition of this last step in his

system.

III.

I rapped at Miss Kingsley's door on Wednesday evening with some

trepidation, but with a sense of pleasurable excitement. I felt that her

entertainment was sure to be very unlike those to which I was

accustomed. In the first place, the idea of combining home and business

quarters in one apartment was new to me, and seemed slightly

incongruous. The Studio Building was large, and she had doubtless a host

of neighbors who lived in the same manner; but they were a class with

whom I was wholly unacquainted. Miss Kingsley's rooms were in the top

story where, as I reflected, she could enjoy fresh air and escape the

everlasting tinkling of the horse-cars and rattle of vehicles in the

street below.

She opened the door herself, and her face assumed its most radiant

expression as she recognized me.

"This is too delightful, Miss Harlan!"

I found myself face to face with several people whom she hastened to

introduce. The only familiar name was that of Mr. Paul Barr, which I

instantly recollected to have seen on the dedicatory page of Mr.

Spence's volume of poems. The inscription read, "To my soul's brother,

Paul Barr," and hence I gazed at the stranger with interest.

From Mr. Barr I got the impression of a handsome but dishevelled looking

man of large stature, with a coal-black beard and dark piercing eyes,

which he bent upon me ardently as he bowed his figure in what might well

be styled a profound and lavish obeisance. He wore a velveteen coat and

a large cherry neck-tie, the flowing ends of which added to his general

air of disorder. The other names--to which I gave slight heed, for their

owners were not especially significant in appearance--were Mr. Fleisch,

a short, small German with eye-glasses, and Mrs. Marsh, a fat, genial

matron of five-and-forty.

All this I took in at a glance, for Miss Kingsley conducted me

immediately into her boudoir (as she called it), to lay aside my wraps.

"Has he not soulful eyes?" she asked.

"Who?" said I, though I knew to whom she must refer.

"Mr. Barr."

"What is he?" said I.

"A Bohemian, dear," she replied in a tone of satisfaction.

"Really?"

I had long wished to meet a member of that mysterious brotherhood, of

which of course I had heard and read.

"Yes. He is a poet-painter, and a great friend of Mr. Spence. Have you

never seen his pictures? Even Mr. Spence admits that they possess the

_abandon_ of genius, although he disapproves of _abandon_. Their views

to-day are totally dissimilar, but yet their friendship is sympathetic

as ever. Is it not inspiring?"

"Mr. Spence is coming, I hope?"

"Oh, yes. I expect him every moment, and I have made Mr. Barr promise to

get him to give us an exposition. Not knowing how you might feel,

Virginia (may I call you Virginia? It seems so much more natural after

having heard your aunt always speak of you in that way. Thank you, dear.

And if you will call me Lucretia, I shall feel much flattered),--not

knowing how you might feel about coming where there was no matron, I

asked Mrs. Marsh to join us. We do not regard it of importance, and you

will not a little later; but just at first it is perhaps as well. Do

you know Mr. Fleisch by reputation? He plays with an artistic charm,

rare even in this musical epoch. He is a follower of Mr. Spence, and is

seeking to apply his principles of moderation to music with striking

success. Ah! you must excuse me, dear, it is his knock."

I understood that she referred to Mr. Spence, and I waited an instant to

put a finishing touch to my toilet before following her into the other

room. For I had still something of the old Adam, or rather of the old

Eve, left in me; so that I must confess my eagerness for culture was not

without a spice of coquetry, half unconscious though it were.

Mr. Spence from his appearance was fairly entitled to be called a

moderationist. He had nothing of the splendid savagery of Mr. Paul Barr,

whose luxuriant and matted head of hair now struck my attention, nor the

student-like insignificance of Mr. Fleisch. He was neither tall nor

short, stout nor inadequately spare; and he was in evening dress like

anybody else. Had I met him without knowing who he was, I should never

have imagined him a celebrity. This was my first impression, but a

second look at his face revealed firm though thin lips, and small

nervous eyes that were full of fire when in movement. It was not

however until I heard him speak that I recovered from my disappointment.

"Be it so," was all he said in reply to some remark addressed to him;

but the enunciation of the words was so musical, so soft and winning,

yet so clear and authoritative, that I was spell-bound for an instant

and quite lost my composure as Miss Kingsley, becoming aware of my

presence, proceeded to make us acquainted.

The backs of all the company except Mr. Spence had been turned to me,

for Mr. Barr was fulfilling his promise of persuading his friend to

introduce his system of speech as the order of the evening. The ecstatic

expression of Miss Kingsley's face, as well as the few words I had heard

him utter, were sufficient to show that he had been successful; but

winking her eyes more rapidly than ever she whispered in my ear with an

imitation as I thought of her master's style,--

"It is to be."

Almost immediately Mr. Spence, whose bow I had thought rather formal and

like that of the rest of the world, came up to me and said:--

"Welcome, Miss Harlan, to our circle. I know your aunt,--a massive woman

intellectually, and my benefactor. As I think our hostess has already

intimated to you, it is the wish of some of the company that I should

give a practical illustration of certain views regarding the essence of

speech peculiar to me, of which it may be you have heard from your

kinswoman or others, and which are a corollary of the general truth or

virtue known to the outside world as moderation. I have, however, some

delicacy in inflicting so great an incubus--for it must seem such to the

uninitiated--upon one who like you is of the _beau monde_ and used to

its smooth ways. I speak knowingly, for I too in my day belonged to the

_beau monde_, and am familiar with the easy, however volatile, flow of

speech incident thereto."

"Do not mind me, I pray," said I. "Indeed, I have read your essays as

well as your poems, Mr. Spence, and am very anxious to understand your

system practically."

"Be it so," he replied. "I did not wish to inflict myself unduly. Art

should be sensitive. Do you not agree with me, Miss Harlan?"

"How exquisite!" I heard Miss Kingsley whisper to Mr. Fleisch, with whom

she was standing a few feet distant gazing at the master.

It was Mr. Paul Barr who answered the question for me:--

"No, Miss Harlan, Art should be aggressive; Art should be ardent. I do

not agree with Mr. Spence. In fact, we never agree upon any subject. But

we are friends, life-long, bosom friends. Shake, Charles, shake! we have

not given the grip and pressure of amity to-night."

He spoke in a deep, sonorous base, and extended to his friend a hirsute

hand.

"It is true we belong to different schools, Mr. Barr and I, Miss

Harlan," said Mr. Spence. "He believes in the supremacy of the

untrammelled, as his poems and pictures show; I, on the contrary, give

my voice to equipoise. But, as he has well said, we are devoted

friends."

"You shall judge between us," continued Paul Barr addressing me. "Which

is better, the free undulation of self, or eternal tension?"

"A fine antithesis," murmured Miss Kingsley.

"_Mein Gott!_ but it is not true, that free undulation of self. It

deceives, it deludes: it is a--what word is it I am seeking?--a--eh--I

have it,--boomerang,--a boomerang that plagues the inventor," said Mr.

Fleisch.

"Refuted, well refuted!" said Mr. Spence. "Fleisch has hit the mark. The

overmuch is indeed a boomerang. Thanks, Bernard, for the epigram," he

added, turning to the little German.

Everybody clapped their hands except myself and Mr. Barr. I preferred to

remain neutral. As for the artist, he stood stroking his beard fiercely

with his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

At this moment the door opened, and a maidservant announced tea.

Mr. Spence looked at Miss Kingsley interrogatively. "From this moment,

please," said she.

He shrugged his shoulders and sighed; and as we walked in to tea

together Miss Kingsley whispered that he was about to practise his

theory.

"Of course, Virginia dear, every one will understand that you are a

novice, and you will be at liberty to talk in your natural manner. The

rest of us are expected to assist Mr. Spence as far as possible. I am

all in a flutter; I know I shall break down."

The room in which we took tea was a veritable snuggery. The servant

found it difficult to get round the table, and there was a strong smell

of the frying-pan owing to the vicinity of the tiny kitchen. But these

inconveniences, if they were so to be called, merely added to my zest

and enjoyment. Here, indeed, was agreeable and talented society! Aunt

Agnes was right,--my associates hitherto had been frivolous and

volatile. The world of fashion was a sham. What a contrast,--I could not

help making it,--between the insipid speeches of my former friends and

the clever talk of this purely literary circle, where ideas and

scholarship were recognized and crowned.

Mr. Spence and Mr Barr sat on either side of Miss Kingsley, and I

glanced from the one to the other, debating with myself whether I

preferred the bold strong beauty of the artist, or the subtile and more

delicate traits of feature of the philosopher. For though I had begun by

regarding Mr. Spence almost as commonplace in appearance, the

earnestness of his manner and the serious fervor of his eyes gave him an

expression of having a deep and genuine belief in his own theories,

which when compared with the impetuous but more volatile air of Paul

Barr commended him to my respect and admiration even while I was

flattered by the gallantries of his rival.

It was Mr. Barr who first broke the silence after we sat down to table,

by asking me if I had not passed the summer at Tinker's Reach. As he

spoke in the ordinary guise, I was surprised until it occurred to me

that as a member of another school he could hardly be expected, even

from courtesy or friendship, to practise doctrines to which he could not

subscribe.

"Yes," said I.

"Malaria," began Mr. Spence.

There was a little murmur of expectation, and Mr. Fleisch brimming over

with excitement said, "Bad drainage."

"No excuse. Sea near. Inhabitants should agitate question," continued

Mr. Spence.

"Everybody appearance of health notwithstanding," exclaimed Miss

Kingsley.

"Overmuch ozone," said Mr. Spence.

"Unhealthy stimulus. Reaction later," added the little German.

"Are we clear? Air of Tinker's Reach you know; so clever," whispered

Miss Kingsley leaning toward me behind Mr. Spence's chair. "Sure I shall

break down."

I nodded to give her encouragement. All this was somewhat bewildering,

but I was able to follow the conversation. I was conscious too of Mr.

Barr's eyes fixed upon me with intensity. He would eat hurriedly for a

moment, and then fold his arms and listen with his brow almost buried

in his black bristly beard, and his glance centred on me.

The talk went on briskly. Mrs. Marsh presently joined in; and after the

discussion of the atmospheric conditions of Tinker's Reach was

exhausted, a criticism of a recent volume of poetry followed, in which

Mr. Fleisch and Mrs. Marsh took sides against the other two. At times I

lost the thread of the argument, but for the most part I understood them

perfectly. Mr. Spence was by far the most proficient. It was wonderful

how he was able to express frequently in a single word the idea of an

entire sentence. I listened with eager and increasing interest. Every

now and then Mr. Barr interrupted the conversation with a torrent of

words, sometimes by way of soliloquizing comment on the views expressed,

and occasionally addressed to me. In the latter case I always put my

fingers on my lips and smiled, a course which had the effect of

silencing him for the time being. Meanwhile everybody ate with appetite

of the good things provided; and the artist-poet, as though to show his

contempt for the doctrines of moderation, helped himself again and again

from a crystal pitcher of claret-cup that was at his elbow.

Of a sudden, to my great consternation, Mr. Spence looked directly at me

and said,--

"Paris?"

All my ideas seemed to desert me on the spot. But by a rapid inspiration

I shook my head and said,--

"Never."

"There. During Commune," continued my interrogator, and I saw from Miss

Kingsley's radiant and encouraging smile and nod that I had been right

in my assumption that he wished to know if I had ever been there.

"Really!" I said, emboldened.

"Grisly," said he.

"Cat!" almost hissed Mr. Fleisch in his excitement.

"Dog!" said Mrs. Marsh.

"Horse!" exclaimed Miss Kingsley.

Fortunately I recalled what Miss Kingsley had told me regarding Mr.

Spence's early experiences in search of extremes, so that I was not as

nonplussed as might perhaps have been expected by these ejaculations.

"Gruesome!" I said, with a determination to acquit myself creditably.

"Unsympathetic!" added Miss Kingsley, rather unnecessarily as I

thought.

"Not so bad. Lived on them for days," said Mr. Spence, still addressing

me. "Time of my novitiate."

"Where self undulates freely there is no novitiate, for all is

allowable," exclaimed Paul Barr fiercely; and he filled another goblet.

I almost felt afraid of his gaze, it had become so intense and ardent. I

tried not to look in his direction, though there was an originality and

fascination about him that made it next to impossible not to steal an

occasional glance across the table.

Mr. Spence held up his hand deprecatingly in answer to his friend's

tirade, while little Fleisch like a trusty retainer exclaimed once more

with fierceness,--

"Boomerang!"

Mr. Spence again turned to me, "Worse; night in tomb!"

"Beside corpse!" explained Mr. Fleisch.

The ladies shivered.

"Trifle," murmured Mr. Spence.

"Extremity of doleful comprehension!" said Miss Kingsley.

I felt that my opportunity had come. Carried away as I was by the

interest and excitement of the proceedings, I repeated from memory,

without embarrassment, the first five lines of Mr. Spence's poem

entitled "A Fragment (written after a night passed in the grave)."

"I lay a living soul within the tomb,--

A ghastly cabin damp with church-yard loam,

Where worms are rampant and where night enthrones

Darkness and horror, dust, decay, and bones;

Extremity of doleful comprehension."

There was a murmur of applause.

"Exquisitely apposite!" cried Mr. Fleisch, and for the first time he

surveyed me through his eye-glass with evident interest.

Mr. Spence bent forward in acknowledgement of the quotation. Mrs. Marsh

repeated after her neighbor,--

"Exquisitely apposite!"

"A fine passage and finely rendered," said Paul Barr; and he sighed

(though it was not obvious why), and emptied his glass.

I glanced at my hostess. To my surprise she was examining a tea-cup, and

as she looked up I saw that her face was no longer radiant. Our eyes

met, and in an instant the truth flashed upon me. She was jealous!

Without design I had too much absorbed the attention of the lion of the

evening. Or was it Paul Barr's glances that I had estranged?

For a moment I was both confounded and regretful, but in the next I had

decided that her resentment, if it were real, was unjustifiable. Any

success I had won was unpremeditated, and there was no reason why I

should be otherwise than natural, or decline to use to the best

advantage the talents which Heaven had given me. It was Mr. Spence

undoubtedly whom my hostess considered her especial property. She would

have earlier indicated her disapproval had the artist-poet been the

offender, for his glances had been unmistakable in their direction from

the first. I felt in no wise to blame. It was not my intention or

ambition to captivate either of these literary gentry; but if in my

endeavors to appreciate and sympathize with their thoughts and theories

I had been able to win their regard, was it for me to heed the envy of

one who grudged me this trifling tribute to my enthusiasm? Assuredly

not. Therefore I resolved to act exactly as if I were unconscious of

Miss Kingsley's disapprobation.

I was aroused from these reflections by hearing Mr. Fleisch call me by

name. He informed me in the curtailed speech we were using that he had

set to music the words of the poem from which I had quoted, and that

after tea he would, with the permission of the company, play it to us.

From him and Mr. Spence conjointly I then learned that he had followed

out the principles of moderation in a number of original productions.

Most musical scores were too long, he said,--just as many people talked

too much,--and he was seeking to popularize even classical works by

abbreviating them, after the fashion adopted by Mr. Spence in regard to

conversation. In this manner formidable pieces, like oratorios and

symphonies, could be made congenial and instructive to those who usually

found them tedious. In music as in literature the idea was the main

consideration, and in Mr. Fleisch's opinion the vehicle by which it was

conveyed should be as little cumbersome as possible. Acting on this

principle, he had in one instance reduced an entire symphony to eight

chords without destroying the charm. In music compression was possible

to a greater extent, he believed, than in any other art.

While Mr. Fleisch and Mr. Spence were devoting their attention to making

this new offshoot of the system clear to me, I was occasionally

distracted by the behavior of Miss Kingsley, who was audibly using my

name in the course of a whispered colloquy with Mr. Barr. The artist's

eyes still never strayed from my face, but his ear was open to his

neighbor's confidences; and I could gather--for it is difficult to avoid

listening where one is the subject of conversation--that she was

representing me as belonging to the world of fashion, and present merely

upon sufferance. I noticed too that, curiously enough, Mr. Spence seemed

attracted by the sound of my name, and would now and then secretly lend

an ear to what was being said upon his other side. In fact I soon made

up my mind that it was for his benefit Miss Kingsley was talking. She

hoped to undermine my influence by an unflattering description of my

doings in society. It was doubtless her cue to make her guests regard me

as a frivolous character.

Naturally I was indignant, and my pride was aroused. To be sure I was in

her debt for the opportunity she had given me of meeting these literary

friends, but that gave her no license to misrepresent me, in a light

which in my present humor was the most distasteful she could have

selected. Under the spur of pique I redoubled my graciousness toward Mr.

Spence and Mr. Fleisch, and likewise watched my opportunity to court the

artist with a smile, whereupon he sighed again and reached out his hand

for the crystal pitcher; but it was empty.

Miss Kingsley, however, was not one to quit the field without a

struggle. So successful were my efforts that she was forced to sit

silent and with a smile on her lip, from her obligations as a hostess;

but I knew she was preparing a revenge.

It came sooner than I expected. Taking advantage of a pause in the

conversation, caused by Mr. Spence leaning forward to explain to me on

paper the rudiments of an attempt he had been making to apply the

principles of the Economy of Speech to arithmetical problems, she

whispered in an aside to Paul Barr, but so loud as to be audible to

every one at table,--

"Three millions at least."

Impertinent as this reference to my worldly prospects was, I should not

have regarded it as of importance but for the strange behavior of Mr.

Spence, whose hand at the announcement shook in writing like an aspen

leaf. He looked up at me with an expression of mingled pain and inquiry,

which was so completely earnest that my own eyes drooped on meeting his.

An embarrassing silence ensued for an instant, and then with a bound

Paul Barr rose from his chair, and flinging himself down before the

piano began to dash off a wild, exuberant production that suggested the

lawless but triumphant paean of some heathen divinity.

As we returned to the other room I felt instinctively that my prestige

with Mr. Spence had been impaired by the whisper of Miss Kingsley. His

attentions ceased, and as a consequence Mr. Fleisch also neglected me. I

took a seat on the sofa by the side of Mrs. Marsh. In an opposite corner

my rival and the two moderationists were examining a manuscript without

apparent consciousness of my existence. The sudden transposition of

affairs made me sensitive. Paul Barr still sat at the piano executing

his delirious fantasy, and ever and anon looking back over his shoulder

at me. He at least was faithful. But it was not admiration I sought. I

wished for respect for my intelligence, and to be considered a promising

proselyte of culture. I seemed a few moments ago to have won this

recognition from the entire company, and now I was an outcast.

As fortune would have it, the mystery was explained a few minutes later

through the efficacy of Mrs. Marsh. We entered into conversation, and

almost immediately she volunteered certain details regarding Miss

Kingsley, brought about primarily by my inquiring her age.

"How old? Lucretia Kingsley will never see thirty again, no matter how

hard she tries to look younger. She's a fine-appearing girl though, and

a stylish dresser. She makes a pretty penny, I understand, out of the

work she does for the newspapers. Folks say,"--here she lowered

her voice; and let it be added at the same time that I felt some

compunctions at her not continuing to use the economic system, but in my

interest to learn her secret I was weak enough to let her go on,--"folks

say that she and Mr. Spence will hit it off together some day. I guess

she's thrifty, too, when she's not at her books. Did you notice how

worked up he was when your three millions were spoken of? I could see

he'd taken a fancy to you, but when that came out he had to drop you

like a hot cake."

"What do you mean?" I asked, too much astonished to be upset by her

colloquial style.

"It's the only part of his philosophy that I don't altogether take to,

for it doesn't seem quite natural to me to turn one's back on what

Heaven sends in the way of income. I'm an out-and-out convert to his

doctrines into the bargain. I used to believe in having a good time, and

all that sort of nonsense; but I've come to see that what he calls

equipoise is the true road to happiness, and that it's best to leave off

a bit hungry if you want to live to a green old age. I suppose you've

heard his lecture on 'Overeating and Undereating'? If you haven't, don't

fail to go the next time he delivers it. There's more good sound

medicine in two sentences of that than in all the apothecary shops in

creation. I went to hear him by accident too, for I'm not partial to

lectures as a rule. I had the dyspepsia bad, and had spent more money on

physic and the doctors than it would take to support Mr. Spence for the

rest of his born days. They all wanted one of two things,--either that I

should stuff myself or starve myself. One was for having me eat every

five minutes, and the next made me weigh everything that went into my

stomach. But Mr. Spence took the bull by the horns when he said, 'Some

people eat too much, and some eat too little. Preserve a happy medium!'

And that's what I've been doing ever since, and the consequence is I

could eat nails if I was pressed hard."

"But eating is quite a different thing from income," she continued,

relieving at last my impatience; "and I can't see the sense of his idea

that people shouldn't keep more than just enough money to live on. It's

a part of his system, as he calls it, I know; and if he says that human

nature would be better with less, I am not the one to gainsay him, for

there's no young man of his years in the city smarter than Mr. Spence,

and he may be right. I can say, though, that before this it has stood in

the way of his marrying. Only two years ago there was a young lady from

New York just crazy to get him. She was real elegant too, and folks say

he fancied her. But she was very rich, just as you are; and she wasn't

willing--and I don't blame her either--to give up every blessed cent

because he wanted her to. But he is bent on carrying his principles of

moderation into daily practice, and there's no use in resisting him.

It's rare he takes a liking so strong as he took to you to-night, and

perhaps it was best for both of you that the truth came out when it

did."

"Very much," I answered in a dazed tone.

Mrs. Marsh's confidences had mystified me more than ever. Of course I

could no longer doubt Miss Kingsley's jealousy; but it was not equally

apparent to me why Mr. Spence should have felt obliged to change his

behavior so precipitately because of my wealth. Surely he could tolerate

even if he did not advocate the possession of riches. I was young, and

had much to learn. It was possible that when I came to hear his

arguments, I might be convinced and ready to sacrifice my prospects of a

large income to the demands of a noble philosophy. If it were a question

of marriage, I could readily understand his insisting that his bride

should comply with his views in this respect. But I was merely a guest

of Miss Kingsley, an acquaintance whom he might never see again. His

conduct seemed to me irrational and strange. I could not believe that he

had cast me off because of an unwillingness to offend his hostess, for

he had appeared wholly absorbed in my presence until her impertinent

speech in regard to my property had put an abrupt end to his

complaisance.

Meanwhile Mr. Barr had finished his paean and seated himself near me.

There was no mistaking the glances he cast, and out of respect to

myself I chose to exhibit some coldness of manner in response to his

remarks, which were an ardent defence of passion and what he called

_verve_ in music, literature, and art. Keen enjoyment, he said, was

never to be found in restraint; and if extremes tended to shorten human

life, a short existence crowned with pleasure was preferable to

four-score and ten years of dull uniformity. The giant trees of the

forest, the reddest roses of the garden, and the fairest faces in

Christendom must be frowned on as noxious if the doctrine of moderation

was to prevail. For were not they extremes? Yet rob the world of them,

and where would a recompense be found for their loss? In ordinary

growths, in the every-day rose, in commonplace beauty? Heaven forbid!

and he pulled at his beard, and his fine eyes flashed in the fulness of

his excitement.

Mrs. Marsh looked shocked, and took up the cudgels against him in

defence of the opposite principles, so that I was able to keep silent

and wonder. He would fain deify passion, he said; and there were two

passions which no human agency could stem or curb,--the passion for

wealth, and the passion of love. Thereat he looked at me again, with so

much eloquence of expression that I had to blush and turn my head away.

Then the little German, Mr. Fleisch, sat down at the piano and performed

a series of pieces in illustration of what he had explained to me,

including a sonata in four bars, a symphony in three chords, and a song

without words, in paraphrase of Mr. Spence's "fragment" in celebration

of a night passed in the tomb. I was so thrilled and delighted by these

selections that I quite forgot my perplexities, and revelled in the

enjoyment of these new-found theories. Presently too Miss Kingsley came

over to sit by me, radiant and expressive as before. The coolness on her

part had completely vanished, and needless to say my heart felt lighter.

Resolving to be natural and to obtain as much benefit as possible from

an opportunity that I might never have again, I moved about the room and

managed to renew my conversation with Mr. Fleisch, who after a momentary

coldness seemed gratified at my expressions of interest in his musical

ideas. We recommenced the Economic system of speech, and presently were

joined by Miss Kingsley. I rapidly grew proficient; and so absorbed did

I become in an attempt made by us three to carry on connectedly an

entire conversation in single words, that I was startled at hearing a

voice just behind me say,--

"Carriage."

I turned, and found myself face to face with Mr. Spence. I understood

that he had come to announce to me the arrival of my coupe.

"Servant," he added.

This told me that my maid was waiting at the door.

Mr. Spence's face was courteous but grave, and his lips were firmly set.

During the time of my conversation with Mr. Fleisch and Miss Kingsley he

had been sitting apart with Mrs. Marsh, while Paul Barr had returned to

the piano and played a series of passionate and ardent music, the words

of which he sung in a deep bass. But at the knock of my maid he paused,

and now sat looking back over his shoulder at me with pathetic eyes.

"Home," I said to my hostess.

"Early."

"Horses."

"Sorry."

Her face expressed the regret at my departure which it seemed to me any

extra words would have impaired the artistic value of, so much of a

convert to the views regarding moderation had I become.

Miss Kingsley produced my wraps from her boudoir, which Paul Barr with a

brace of sighs assisted me to put on. I bade good evening to them all.

Mr. Spence made me a low but formal bow. I could see his lip tremble.

The instant after, as with Paul Barr at my side I began to descend the

stairs, a hurried step behind told me that the master was coming also. I

went down to my carriage with one on either hand, the artist-poet

pouring out a flood of words which I scarcely heeded, while Mr. Spence

in an occasional monosyllable endeavored to express the hope that he

might meet me again.

Just as I reached the threshold a superb rose, which had been the only

ornament of my costume, chanced to fall from my corsage on the marble

floor. It lay nearest to Mr. Spence, who started to pick it up. But he

hesitated, and the consequent delay was taken advantage of by his rival,

who had darted forward at the same moment. Mr. Barr lifted the rose and

pressed it to his lips eagerly, twice and thrice. Then, without asking

my leave, he put it in his button-hole. It was he too who helped me

into my carriage. He bent low over the hand I gave him, while Mr.

Spence, still irresolute, bowed from the shadow of the door-way.

"May I have the honor of calling upon you?" asked Paul Barr.

"Certainly, if you wish. And, Mr. Spence, I shall be very glad to see

you also," I cried from the carriage window.

IV.

I felt next morning a little as if my experience of the previous night

were a dream. But as I thought over all that had occurred, what may be

called the romantic features seemed to dwindle in distinctness and

importance, and I dwelt chiefly on the mental profit I had derived from

these new associations. Once more I deplored the existence of the vain

and coquettish notions that had led me to construe as devotion the

enthusiasm of the clever men who had honored me with an explanation of

their original and interesting conceptions. It was clear that I was

still not wholly free from flippancy and nonsense.

I did not attempt to decide between the merits of the diametrically

opposed schools of thought represented by Mr. Spence and Mr. Barr. I was

sensible enough to understand that long study and reflection would be

requisite to qualify me to take sides intelligently. But yet I had

already a distinct preference. I felt that whatever the value of his

system, Mr. Spence was thoroughly and grandly in earnest. His whole soul

was in the spread and development of his peculiar doctrines. To obtain

their recognition he was willing to sacrifice luxury, comfort, and all

the pleasures of life. Everything else was a secondary consideration.

Already in the course of his thorough investigations he had endured

horrors and committed extravagances from which a nature so palpably

refined as his must have shrunk with loathing. It was novel and

delightful to me to meet a man so completely absorbed in a pursuit which

promised no reward beyond the amelioration of society,--a result of

which he could hope to live to see only the beginnings. For mere dollars

and cents he cared nothing. He had no ambition to grow rich; indeed, it

was one of his tenets that no one should retain more than a certain

amount of property,--doubtless enough to keep the wolf from the door,

and to permit the continuation of scholarship. How much more unselfish

and ennobling a life than that of the feverish money-getter, with all

his appliances of forge and factory, and export and import! I had found

an answer to my yearnings and my unrest in this untiring devotion to

abstract truth.

A part of this was true undoubtedly of Paul Barr as well. Ardor and zeal

were the very essence of his philosophy; but it was easy to divine by

looking at him--at least it appeared so to me--that he lacked the spirit

of persistent, unselfish scholarship which distinguished his rival. I

felt that he was superficial, and that he would rather sacrifice his

principles than his own interests.

All the more did I have faith in this instinctive preference for Mr.

Spence, from the fact that from the standpoint of the picturesque and

romantic everything was on the side of the artist-poet. Tall, dashing,

handsome, and brilliant, he was adapted and doubtless accustomed to

carry hearts by storm. No woman could receive his admiring glances

without that slight thrill and flutter of the heart which proves the

presence of a fascinating man. On the other hand the master--I liked to

think of him as such--was, as I have already intimated, commonplace in

appearance at the first glance, and save for his marvellous voice

distinguished for none of those graces which attract my sex. Perhaps it

would be more just to say that he sought to repress them rather than

that they did not exist, for when under the influence of enthusiasm for

his science his face was inspiring to look upon.

Such were the conclusions at which I arrived after sifting my

impressions. But never did my incapacity and dearth of knowledge appear

to me in a less complimentary light than at this time. I vowed again and

again to give myself up unreservedly to study, and first of all to

choose some special branch that would prevent my efforts from resulting

in merely desultory work. If so, what better field could I choose than

that in which there were fellow-workers already whom I knew, and with

whom I could sympathize? The more I thought about the subject the

stronger did the argument in favor of this selection appear. At last one

morning in an access of enthusiasm I sat down and wrote a note to Mr.

Spence, asking if he would be kind enough to call on me at his

leisure,--"on a matter of business," I added, so as to preclude any

possible misinterpretation on his part.

This was about a week after Miss Kingsley's tea. In the mean time I had

been to see Aunt Agnes twice, but had not found her at home. I was

curious to hear what Miss Kingsley would say concerning me, for I felt

by no means sure that her remarks would be wholly complimentary. Freely

as I blamed myself for my conceited notions at the time, regarding the

attentions of the two philosophers, I was not ready to absolve her from

the imputation of jealousy. It was difficult to explain her conduct on

any other ground, and I remembered what Mrs. Marsh had said as to tender

relations between her and Mr. Spence. Indeed, I felt some irritation

against her and a conviction that she was not likely to be altogether my

friend when we were not face to face. However, she had chosen to insert

my name in the next issue of the "Mercury" as having been present at a

small gathering at her "parlors" to meet "the distinguished scientist

and poet, Charles Liversage Spence,"--a notice which she doubtless

considered "sympathetic."

I stayed at home the whole of the day following that on which I wrote to

Mr. Spence, and was rewarded by receiving a visit from him in the

afternoon. He seemed little at his ease when he entered the room, and I

observed a number of details of dress and manner which showed that he

was not versed in the usages of fashionable life despite his early

experiences. These lapses, or rather differences, did not affect me

disagreeably,--indeed, I was well content that he should be as unlike as

possible the flippant youths of so-called society,--but they were much

more noticeable than when he was in the midst of such artistic

surroundings as he found at Miss Kingsley's.

I judged it best to enter at once on the matter I had at heart.

"You will pardon me I am sure, Mr. Spence, for taking up your valuable

time, when I tell you my reason for asking you to call upon me. I will

be frank, and say that I have been for some time anxious to find an

interest to which I could devote myself thoroughly and systematically,

and one that was wholly in sympathy with what I feel to be my tastes and

aspirations. I have a great deal of time at my disposal, and have become

weary of the amusements of society and of the merely superficial

character of my studies hitherto. The exercises to which I had the good

fortune to listen at Miss Kingsley's the other evening were almost a

revelation to me. They confirmed at least the opinion I had begun to

have, that outside of what the world calls fashionable circles there is

a class of people who like yourself find their happiness in intellectual

aims and pleasures. So much interested was I by what I heard then, that

I have decided, after some hesitation on the score of troubling you, to

offer myself as a student of your system of Moderation. It may be," I

added, speaking hurriedly in my desire to put the matter clearly before

him, and yet not to be prolix, "you do not care for the co-operation of

persons so little advanced as I; for I tell you honestly that though

tolerably proficient in what are known as accomplishments, I am ignorant

of all that appertains to serious knowledge. But believe me when I say

that I am thoroughly in earnest, and will devote myself to the cause

with all my heart, in case you think me able to be of assistance."

Mr. Spence heard me to the end without interruption. I had looked

straight before me, intent alone upon presenting my case in such a light

that while he knew the worst, he would not reject my request to become

one of his pupils. Nor did he reply at once. I glanced at him, and saw

that he was blushing; but he mastered his confusion, and said quietly:--

"Miss Harlan, I have received few compliments in my life more acceptable

than that comprised in what you have just said to me. It is precisely to

such alert and reflective minds as yours that I wish to make my theories

interesting. I am devoting the sum of my energies to the propagation of

what I regard as a truth vital to the well-being of humanity. You know

the leading features of my system already. I will not disguise from you

that an advocacy of them will expose you to publicity, it may be to

ridicule. Our converts are as yet few; and in order to be of service,

those who devote themselves to the work must be enthusiastic. I do not

say this because I doubt your sincerity or steadfastness; probably you

have considered these things already. But it is right that you should be

fully informed regarding the character of the cause you propose to

adopt."

"But I may decide not to adopt it in the end, Mr. Spence," I said, not

wishing to commit myself irrevocably. "I am very much interested in your

ideas, but I should prefer to be accepted merely as a student until I am

more familiar with them. As I have said, I am very ignorant of all such

matters, and need instruction. I have spoken to you rather to ask your

advice as to whom to select as a teacher, than to offer myself as an

active convert. The rest will come in time, I have no doubt, for I am

greatly attracted by what I have heard already."

"I see. You are right," said he. "Precipitation is directly opposed to

the spirit of my theories. I should have said you were already qualified

to become an active worker, but you are the best judge: and, as you

have mentioned, you will be able to become familiar with the system at

your leisure."

He paused, and seemed to be absorbed in thought, as though he were

debating with himself.

"Do you know of any good teacher?" I inquired.

"I am reflecting."

"I should expect to pay any competent person liberally."

He flushed a little, and after an instant said:

"I thought at first that I might see my way to offering myself as an

instructor, but on reflection I find it would be difficult for me to

find time. I know of no better persons to suggest than one of our

friends of the other evening,--Mr. Fleisch or Miss Kingsley. Either of

them is admirably well informed and intelligent."

"Oh, but if you could arrange it so, I should much prefer you, Mr.

Spence," I exclaimed with genuine eagerness. "I did not dare to imagine

that such an arrangement was possible. But now that you have suggested

it yourself, I cannot give up the idea without remonstrance."

I looked at him beseechingly, and he blushed again in a manner to cause

me self-consciousness. He hesitated, and then in a decided tone, as if

he were resisting a temptation, said:--

"It is out of the question, Miss Harlan. I have not time. Mr. Fleisch is

an excellent instructor."

"Very well; Mr. Fleisch then," I answered, a little upset by his

confusion. "Will you speak to him about it and arrange the terms?"

He assented, and the awkward pause that followed was relieved by the

entrance, at the same moment, of Aunt Helen and Mr. Barr, though not in

company it need scarcely be added.

Aunt Helen was in one of her richest and most imposing street costumes,

whereas the artist-poet wore black velveteen instead of brown, and a

flowing yellow tie instead of a cherry one. She regarded him, I could

see, with a mixture of horror and wonder, which led me at once to

perform the duties of a general introduction, preliminary to taking

possession of Mr. Barr, and relegating to Aunt Helen the less

unconventional philosopher. Paul Barr however bowed to her in so superb

and deferential a manner that I thought she looked rather flattered than

otherwise, which relieved my worst apprehensions, and I found myself

straightway chatting with him in a somewhat spirited vein. Heard, in my

own drawing-room, Mr. Barr's compliments and ardent speeches moved me to

badinage, and I saw no harm in accepting them as the ordinary

give-and-take of the would-be lady-killer, more original and therefore

more entertaining than those of a fashionable flirt, but still of the

same general character. I affected to be alternately irate and pleased

at what he said. Meanwhile his eyes looked unutterable things, and he

interspersed his flatteries with a tissue of abnormal but poetic

fancies. He was undeniably fascinating, and all the more so because I

felt in his society somewhat as if I were walking through a gunpowder

vault, with a lighted candle. But there was this difference, that in his

case the character of the possible explosion was wrapped in mysterious

uncertainty, which added an agreeable element of curiosity to my

sensations.

Presently he drew from his breast pocket a small volume in white vellum

and gold, which he presented to me. It was a copy of his poems,--"The

Paradise of Passion, and other Rhythms." I glanced at the fly-leaf, and

to my astonishment and confusion perceived that underneath the

inscription, "Miss Harlan, with the respectful homage of him who did

these verses," was a sonnet "To Virginia," which began,--

The happy rose which lately from thy hands

I took with kisses, dry and withered lies--

I did not attempt to read farther at the moment. Indeed, I felt inclined

to draw myself up austerely at first, but on second thought acknowledged

his presumption with the same laughing coquetry I had hitherto

displayed. After all, it was not worth while to become angry. His

extravagance was not to be taken too seriously. It was rather refreshing

for a change. I wondered how he would behave if he ever really were in

love.

Meanwhile I had endeavored to listen at the same time to the

conversation between Aunt Helen and Mr. Spence. I was relieved to find

that he saw fit to avoid any allusion to his theories, and pursued the

highway of indifferent subjects, such as the weather, the stage, and

foreign travel. Still, I could tell from Aunt Helen's superior and as it

seemed to me disdainful tone that she by no means approved of my new

acquaintances, though I detected her casting an occasional glance of

puzzled curiosity at Mr. Barr, whose eccentricities were, I suppose,

more amusing than the calm of her companion.

"I don't suppose you find the differences very marked between this

country and Europe, Mr. Spence?" I heard her inquire after learning that

he had passed much of his life abroad.