HERBERT AND CECILIA--THE LITTLE ANGELS--A CATASTROPHE--THE
DEPARTURE--MARRIAGE OF THE DOGE WITH THE ADRIATIC--SOVEREIGNS OF THE
SEA--DANTE AND BEATRIX--ELEONORA AND TASSO--LAURA AND PETRARCH--THE
RETURN--SURPRISES--WHAT ONE FINDS IN TURBOTS--A HORROR--THE
PRICE OF CRIME--BALLOONING--PHILIPSON AND THE CHOLERA--A
METAMORPHOSIS--ADVENTURE OF THE CHIMPANZEE--ARE YOU RICH?
Next day the sky was shrouded in dense masses of cloud, some grey as
lead, some livid as copper, and some black as ink. Towards evening the
two families, as usual, resolved themselves into a talking party, and
Wolston, requesting them to listen, began as follows:--
"There were two rich merchants in Bristol, between whom a very close
intimacy had for a long time existed. One of them, whom I shall call
Henry Foster, had a daughter; and the other, Nicholas Philipson, had a
son, and the two fathers had destined these children for one another.
The boy was a little older than the girl, and their tastes, habits,
and dispositions seemed to fit them admirably for each other, and so
to ratify the decision of the parents. Little Herbert and Cecilia were
almost constantly together. They had a purse in common, into which
they put all the pieces of bright gold they received as presents on
birthdays and other festive occasions. In summer, when the two
families retired to a retreat that one of them had in the country, the
children were permitted to visit the cottagers, and to assist the
distressed, if they chose, out of their own funds--a permission which
they availed themselves of so liberally that they were called by the
country people the two little angels."
"What a pity there are no poor people here!" said Sophia, dolefully.
"Why?" inquired her mother.
"Because we might assist them, mamma."
"It is much better, however, as it is, my child; our assistance might
mitigate the evils of poverty, but might not be sufficient to remove
them."
This reasoning did not seem conclusive to Sophia, who shook her head
and commenced plying her wheel with redoubled energy.
"When Herbert Philipson was twelve years of age he was sent off to
school, and Cecilia was confided to the care of a governess, who,
under the direction of Mrs. Foster, was to undertake her education.
But neither music nor drawing, needlework, grammars nor exercises,
could make little Cecilia forget her absent companion. Absence, that
cools older friendships, had a contrary effect on her heart; the
months, weeks, days, and hours that were to elapse before Herbert
returned for the holidays, were counted and recounted. When that
period--so anxiously desired--at length arrived, there was no end of
rejoicing: she told Herbert of all the little boys and little girls
she had clothed and fed, of the old people she had relieved, of the
tears she had shed over tales of woe and misery, how she had carried
every week a little basket covered with a white napkin to widow
Robson, how often she had gone into the damp and dismal cottage of the
dying miner, and how happy she always made his wife and their nine
pitiful looking children."
"That is a way of conquering human hearts," remarked Mrs. Becker,
"often more effective than those referred to the other day."
"Once, when Herbert was at home for the holidays, he accompanied
Cecilia on her charitable visits, and was greatly surprised to find
that blessings were showered upon his own head wherever they went;
people, whom he had never seen before, insisted upon his being their
benefactor. This he could not make out. At last, by an accident, he
discovered the secret--Cecilia had been distributing her gifts in his
name! He remonstrated warmly against this, declaring that he had no
wish to be praised and blessed for doing things that he had no hand
in. Finding that his protestations were of no avail, he determined,
on the eve of his returning to school, to have his revenge."
"He did not buy Cecilia a doll, did he?" inquired Jack.
"No; he collected all the eatables, clothing, blankets, and money he
could obtain; went amongst the poorest of the cottages, and
distributed the whole in Cecilia's name."
"Ah," remarked Mrs. Becker, "it is a pity we could not all remain at
the age of these children, with the same purity, the same innocence,
and the same freshness of sensation; the world would then be a
veritable Paradise."
"For some years this state of things continued, the affection between
the young people strengthened as they grew older, the occasional
holiday time was always the happiest of their lives. Herbert, in due
course, was transferred from school to college, where he obtained a
degree, and rapidly verged into manhood. Cecilia from the girl at
length bloomed into the young lady. A day was finally fixed when they
were to be bound together by the holy ties of the church; everything
was prepared for their union, when the commercial world was startled
by the announcement that Philipson was a ruined man. A ship in which
he had embarked a valuable freight had been wrecked, and an agent to
whom he had entrusted a large sum of money had suddenly disappeared."
"How deplorable!" cried Fritz.
"Not so very unfortunate, after all," remarked Mary.
"What makes you think so?"
"Because nothing had occurred to interrupt the marriage; only one of
the families was ruined, and there was still enough left for both."
"But," said Fritz, "even admitting that the friendship between the two
families continued uninterrupted, and that the father of Cecilia was
willing to share his property with the father of Herbert, still the
young man, in the parlance of society, was a beggar; and it is always
hard for a man to owe his position to a woman, and to become, as it
were, the _protégé_ of her whom he ought rather to protect."
"If that is the view you take, Master Fritz, then I agree with you
that the misfortune was deplorable," said Mary, bending at the same
time to hide her blushes, under pretence of mending a broken thread.
"And what if Cecilia's father had been ruined instead of Herbert's?"
inquired Jack.
"I should say," replied Sophia, "that we have as much right to be
proud and dignified as you have."
"The best way in such a case," observed Willis, laughing, "would be
for both parties to get ruined together."
"Herbert," continued Wolston, "was a youth of resolution and energy.
He entertained the same opinion as Fritz; and instead of wasting his
time in idle despondency, got together some articles of merchandise,
and sailed for the Indian Archipelago, promising his friends that he
would return to his native land in two years."
"Two years is a long time," remarked Mary; "but sometimes it passes
away very quickly."
"Ah!" observed Sophia, Cecilia, in the meantime, would redouble her
charities and her prayers."
"The two years passed away, then a third, and then a fourth, but not a
single word had either been heard of or from the absentee. Cecilia was
rich, and her hand was sought by many wealthy suitors, but hitherto
she had rejected them all."
"The dear, good Cecilia," cried Sophia.
"Up till this period the family had permitted her to have her own way.
But as it is necessary for authority to prevent excesses of all kinds,
they thought it time now to interfere; they could not allow her to
sacrifice her whole life for a shadow. Her parents, therefore,
insisted upon her making a choice of one or other of the suitors for
her hand. She requested grace for one year more, which was granted."
"Come back, truant, quick; come back, Master Herbert!" cried Sophia.
"There now, Willis," cried Jack, "you see the effect of your new
world; people go away there, and never come back again."
"Oh, but you must bring him back in time, father; you must indeed,"
urged Sophia.
"If it were only a romance I were relating to you, Sophia, I could
very easily bring him back; but the narrative I am giving you is a
matter of fact, which I cannot alter at will. There would be no
difficulty in bringing a richly-laden East Indiaman, commanded by
Captain Philipson, into the Severn, and making Herbert and Cecilia
conclude the story in each other's arms, but it would not be true."
"Then if I had been Cecilia, I should have become a nun," said Mary,
timidly.
"Exaggeration, my daughter, is an enemy to truth. It is easy to say,
'I would become a nun,' and in Roman Catholic countries it is quite as
easy to become one; but, though it may be sublime to retire in this
way from the world, it is frightful when a woman has afterwards to
regret the inconsiderate step she has taken, and which is often the
case with these poor creatures."
"As you said of myself," remarked Willis, "it is a crime to go down
with a sinking ship so long as there is a straw to cling to."
"I presume," continued Wolston, "that during this year poor Cecilia
prayed fervently for the return of her old playfellow; but her prayers
were all in vain, the year expired, and still no news of the young
man; at last she despaired of ever seeing him again, and, after a
severe struggle with herself, she decided upon complying with the
desire of her parents and her friends. A few months after the expiring
of the year of grace, she was the affianced bride of a highly
respectable, well-to-do, middle-aged gentleman. John Lindsey, her
intended husband, could not boast of his good looks; he was little,
rather stout, was deeply pitted in the face with the small-pox, and
had a very red nose, but he was considered by the ladies of Bristol as
a very good match for all that."
"Oh, Cecilia, how ridiculous!" exclaimed Sophia.
"Better, at all events, than turning nun," said Jack.
"The family this season had gone to pass the summer at the sea-coast;
and one day that Cecilia and her intended were taking their accustomed
walk along the shore--"
"Holloa!" cried Jack, "the truant is going to appear, after all."
"John Lindsey, observing a ring of some value upon Cecilia's finger,
politely asked her if she had any objections to tell him its history.
She replied that she had none, and told him it was a gift of young
Philipson's. 'I am well acquainted with your story,' said Lindsey,
'and do not blame the constancy with which you have treasured the
memory of that young man; on the contrary, I respect you for it--in
fact, it was the knowledge of your self-sacrifice to this affection
and all its attendant circumstances, that led me to solicit the honor
of your hand; for, said I to myself, one who has evinced so much
devotion for a mere sentiment, is never likely to prove unfaithful to
sacred vows pledged at the altar,' 'Come what may, you may at least
rely upon that, sir,' she answered. 'Then,' continued Lindsey, 'as an
eternal barrier is about to be placed between yourself and your past
affections, perhaps you will pardon my desire to separate you, as much
as possible, from everything that is likely to recal them to your
mind.' Saying that, he gently drew the ring from her finger, and threw
it into the sea."
It was strongly suspected that Mary shed a tear at this point of the
recital.
"It is all over with you now, Herbert," cried Fritz.
"You had better make a bonfire of your ships, like Fernando Cortez in
Mexico; or, if you are on your way home, better pray for a hurricane
to swallow you up, than have all your bright hopes dashed to atoms,
when you arrive in port."
"I am only a little girl," said Sophia; "but I know what I should have
said, if the gentleman had done the same thing to me."
"And what would you have said, child?" inquired her mother.
"I should have said, that I was not the Doge of Venice, and had no
intention of marrying the British Channel."
"Can you describe the ceremony to which you refer?"
"Yes; but it would interrupt papa's story, and Jack would laugh at
me."
"Never mind my story," replied her father, "there is plenty of time
to finish that."
"And as for me," said Jack, "though I do not wear a cocked hat and
knee breeches, and though, in other respects, my tailor has rather
neglected my outward man, still I know what is due to a lady and a
queen."
"There, he begins already!" said Sophia.
"Never mind him, child; go on with your account of the marriage."
"Well," began Sophia, "for a long time, there had been disputes
between the states of Bologna, Ancona, and Venice, as to which
possessed the sovereignty of the Adriatic."
"If it had been a dispute about the Sovereignty of the ocean in
general," remarked Willis, "there would have been another competitor."
"Venice," continued Sophia, "carried the day, and about 1275 or 76 she
resolved to celebrate her victory by an annual ceremony. For this
purpose, a magnificent galley was built, encrusted with gold, silver,
and precious stones. This floating _bijou_ was called the
_Bucentaure_, was guarded in the arsenal, whence it was removed on the
eve of the Ascension. Next day the Doge, the patriarch, and the
Council of Ten embarked, and the galley was towed out to the open sea,
but not far from the shore. There, in the presence of the foreign
ambassadors, whilst the clergy chanted the marriage service, the Doge
advanced majestically to the front of the galley, and there formally
wedded the sea."
"He might have done worse," observed Willis.
"The ceremony," continued Sophia, "consisted in the Doge throwing a
ring into the sea, saying, 'We wed thee, O sea! to mark the real and
perpetual dominion we possess over thee.'"
"And it may be added," observed Becker, "that the history of Venice
shows how religiously the spouses of the Adriatic kept their vows."
"Now," said Sophia, "that I have told my tale, let us hear what became
of Cecilia."
"Well, the marriage took place the morning after Herbert's ring had
been thrown to the fishes. Whilst the bride, bridegroom, and their
friends were congratulating each other over the wedding breakfast, as
is usual in England on such occasions, Cecilia's father was called out
of the room."
"Too late," remarked Fritz.
"Herbert Philipson had arrived that same morning; but, as Fritz
observes, he was just an hour too late. He had acquired a fortune, but
his long-cherished hopes of happiness were completely blasted."
"Why did he stay away five years without writing?" inquired Mrs.
Wolston.
"He had written several times, but at that time no regular post had
been established, and his letters had never reached their
destination."
"When did he find out that Cecilia was married?"
"Well, some people think it more humane to kill a man by inches rather
than by a single blow of the axe. Not so with Herbert's friends; the
first news that greeted him on landing were, that his ever-remembered
Cecilia was probably at that moment before the altar pledging her vows
to another."
"I should rather have had a chimney-pot tumble on my head," remarked
Willis.
"Herbert was a man in every sense of the word--the mode of his
departure proves that. On hearing this painful intelligence, he simply
covered his face with his hands, and, after a moment's thought,
resolved to see his lost bride at least once more."
"Poor Herbert!" sighed Mary.
"Foster was thunderstruck when the stranger declared himself to be the
son of his old friend; and, after cordially bidding him welcome,
sorrowfully asked him what he meant to do. 'I should wish to see Mrs.
Lindsey in presence of her husband,' he replied, 'providing you have
no objections to introduce me to the company.'"
"Bravo!" ejaculated Willis.
"Foster could not refuse this favor to an unfortunate, who had just
been disinherited of his dearest hopes. He, therefore, took Herbert by
the hand and led him into the room. Nobody recognized him. 'Ladies and
gentlemen,' said he, 'permit me to introduce Mr. Herbert Philipson,
who has just arrived from Sumatra.' You may readily conceive the
dismay this unexpected announcement called up into the countenances of
the guests. There was only one person in the room who was calm,
tranquil, and unmoved--that person was Cecilia herself. She rose
courteously, bade him welcome, hoped he was well, coolly asked him why
he had not written to his friends, and politely asked him to take a
seat beside herself and husband, just, for all the world, as if he had
been some country cousin or poor relation to whom she wished to show a
little attention."
"I would rather have been at the bottom of the sea than in her place,
for all that," said Mary.
"Why? She had nothing to reproach herself with. Had she not waited
long enough for him?"
"Young heads," remarked Becker, "are not always stored with sense. A
foolish pledge, given in a moment of thoughtlessness is often
obstinately adhered to in spite of reason and argument. The young idea
delights in miraculous instances of fidelity. What more charming to a
young and ardent mind than the loves of Dante and Beatrix, of Eleonora
and Tasso, of Petrarch and Laura, of Abelard and Heloise, or of Dean
Swift and Stella? Young people do not reflect that most of these
stories are apocryphal, and that the men who figure in them sought to
add to their renown the prestige of originality; they put on a passion
as ordinary mortals put on a new dress, they yielded to imagination
and not to the law of the heart, and almost all of them paid by a life
of wretchedness the penalty of their dreams."
"That is, I presume," remarked Mrs. Wolston, "you do not object to any
reasonable amount of constancy, but you object to its being carried to
an unwarrantable excess."
"Exactly so, madam," replied Becker; "constancy, like every thing else
when reasonable limits are exceeded, becomes a vice."
"The merriments of the marriage breakfast," continued Wolston
"slightly interrupted by the arrival of the new guest, were resumed.
Fresh dishes were brought in, and, amongst others, a fine turbot was
placed on the table. The gentleman who was engaged in carving the
turbot struck the fish-knife against a hard substance."
"I know what!" exclaimed two or three voices.
"I rather think not," said Wolston, drily.
"Oh, yes, the ring! the ring!"
"No, it was merely the bone that runs from the head to the tail of the
fish."
"Oh, father," cried Sophia, "how can you tease us so?"
"If they had found the ring," replied Wolston, laughing, "I should
have no motive for concealing it. Fruit was afterwards placed before
Herbert, and, when nobody was looking, he pulled a clasped dagger out
of his pocket."
Here Sophia pressed her hands closely on her ears, in order to avoid
hearing what followed.
"It was a very beautiful poignard," continued Wolston, "and rather a
bijou than a weapon; and, as the servants had neglected to hand him a
fruit-knife, he made use of it in paring an apple."
"Is it all over?" inquired Sophia, removing a hand from one ear.
"Alas! yes!" said Jack, lugubriously, "he has been and done it."
"O the monster!"
"Travelling carriages having arrived at the door for the bridal party,
Herbert quietly departed."
"What!" exclaimed Sophia, "did they not arrest and drag him to
prison?"
"Oh," replied Jack, "the crime was not so atrocious as it appears."
"Not atrocious!"
"No; you must bear in mind that young Philipson had passed the
preceding five years of his life amongst demi-savages, whose manners
and customs he had, to a certain extent, necessarily contracted. In
some countries, what we call crimes are only regarded as peccadillos.
In France, for example, till very lately, there existed what was
called the law of _combette_, by right of which pardon might be
obtained for any misdeed on payment of a certain sum of money. There
was a fixed price for every imaginable crime. A man might
consequently be a Blue Beard if he liked, it was only necessary to
consult the tariff in the first instance, and see to what extent his
means would enable him to indulge his fancy for horrors."
"On quitting the house," continued Wolston, "Herbert Philipson bent
his way to the shore, and shortly after was observed to plunge into
the sea."
"So much the better," exclaimed Sophia; "it saved his friends a more
dreadful spectacle."
"The weather being fine and the water warm, Herbert enjoyed his bath
immensely; he then returned to his hotel, went early to bed, and slept
soundly till next morning."
"The wretch!" cried Sophia, "to sleep soundly after assassinating his
old playfellow, who had suffered so much on his account."
"It is pretty certain," continued Wolston, "that, if Philipson had
been left entirely to himself, he would always have shown the same
degree of moderation he had hitherto displayed."
"Oh, yes, moderation!" said Sophia.
"But his friends began to prate to him about the shameful way he had
been jilted by Cecilia, and, by constantly reiterating the same thing,
they at last succeeded in persuading him that he was an ill-used man.
His self-esteem being roused by this silly chatter, he began to affect
a ridiculous desolation, and to perpetrate all manner of outrageous
extravagances."
"Bad friends," remarked Willis, "are like sinking ships; they drag you
down to their own level."
"The first absurd thing he did was to purchase a yacht, and when a
storm arose that forced the hardy fishermen to take shelter in port,
he went out to sea, and it is quite a miracle that he escaped
drowning. Then, if there were a doubtful scheme afloat, he was sure to
take shares in it. Nothing delighted him more than to go up in a
balloon; he would have gladly swung himself on the car outside if the
proprietor had allowed him."
"I have often seen balloons in the air," remarked Willis, "but I could
never make out their dead reckoning."
"A balloon," replied Ernest, "is nothing more than an artificial
cloud, and its power of ascension depends upon the volume of air it
displaces.
"Very good, Master Ernest, so far as the balloon itself is concerned;
but then there is the weight of the car, passengers, provisions, and
apparatus to account for."
"Hydrogen gas, used in the inflation of balloons, is forty times
lighter than air. If a balloon is made large enough, the weight of the
car and all that it contains, added to that of the gas, will fall
considerably short of the weight of the air displaced by the machine."
"I suppose it rises in the air just as an empty bottle well corked
rises in the water?"
"Very nearly. Air is lighter than water; consequently, any vessel
filled with the one will rise to the surface of the other. So in the
case of balloons. The gas, in the first place, must be inclosed in an
envelope through which it cannot escape. Silk prepared with
India-rubber is the material usually employed. As the balloon rises,
the gas in the interior distends, because the air becomes lighter the
less it is condensed by its superincumbent masses; hence it is
requisite to leave a margin for this increase in the volume of the
gas, otherwise the balloon would burst in the air."
"If a balloon were allowed to ascend without hindrance where would it
stop?"
"It would continue ascending till it reached a layer of air as light
as the gas; beyond that point it could not go."
"And if the voyagers do not wish to go quite so far?"
"Then there is a valve by which the gas may be allowed to escape, till
the weight of the machine and its volume of air are equal, when it
ceases to ascend. If a little more is permitted to escape, the balloon
descends."
"And should it land on the roof of a house or the top of a tree, the
voyagers have their necks broken."
"That can only happen to bunglers; there is not the least necessity
for landing where danger is to be apprehended. When the aeronaut is
near the ground, and sees that the spot is unfavorable for
debarkation, he drops a little ballast, the balloon mounts, and he
comes down again somewhere else."
"The fellow that made the first voyage must have been very daring."
"The first ascent was made by Montgolfier in 1782, and he was followed
by Rosiers and d'Arlandes."
"With your permission, father," said Ernest, "I will claim priority in
aerial travelling for Icarus, Doedalus, and Phaeton."
"Certainly; you are justified in doing so. Gay-Lussac, a philosophic
Frenchman, rose, in 1804, to the height of seven thousand yards."
"He must have felt a little giddy," remarked Jack.
"Most of the functions of the body were affected, more or less, by the
extreme rarity of the air at that height. Its dryness caused wet
parchment to crisp. He observed that the action of the magnetic needle
diminished as he ascended, sounds gradually ceased to reach his ear,
and the wind itself ceased to be felt."
"That, of course," remarked Ernest, "was when he was travelling in the
same direction and at the same speed."
"Well," said Jack, "we can find materials here for a balloon; the
ladies have silk dresses, there is plenty of India-rubber--we used to
make boots and shoes of it; hydrogen gas can be obtained from a
variety of substances. What, then, is to prevent us paying a visit to
some of Ernest's friends in the skies?"
"Unfortunately for your project, Jack, no one has discovered the art
of guiding a balloon; consequently, instead of finding yourself at
_Cassiope_, you might land at _Sirius_, where your reception would be
somewhat cool."
"But what became of Herbert?" inquired one of the ladies.
"Singularly enough, he escaped all the dangers he so recklessly
braved, and all the bad speculations he embarked in turned out good.
Somehow or other, the moment he took part in a desperate scheme it
became profitable."
"Ah!" exclaimed Sophia, "his victim, like a guardian angel, continued
to watch over him."
"When the cholera appeared in England, he was sure to be found where
the cases were most numerous. He followed up the pest with so much
pertinacity and publicity, that it was no unusual thing to find it
announced in the newspapers that Philipson and the cholera had arrived
in such and such a town."
"The bane and the antidote," remarked Jack.
"If Cecilia had been one of those women who delight in horse-racing,
fox-hunting, opera-boxes, and public executions, she would have been
highly amused to see her old friend's name constantly turning up under
such extraordinary circumstances."
"Is she not dead, then?" inquired Sophia, with astonishment,
"It appears that her wounds were not mortal," quietly replied her
mother.
"Besides," observed Jack, "there are human frames so constituted that
they can bear an immense amount of cutting and slashing. So in the
case of animals; there, for instance, is the fresh-water polypus--if
you cut this creature lengthwise straight through the middle, a right
side will grow on the one half and a left side on the other, so that
there will be two polypi instead of one. The same thing occurs if you
cut one through the middle crosswise, a head grows on the one half and
a tail on the other, so that you have two entire polypi either way."
"And you may add," observed Ernest, "since so interesting a subject is
on the _tapis_, that if two of these polypi happen to quarrel over
their prey, the largest generally swallows the smallest, in order to
get it out of the way; and the latter, with the exception of being a
little cramped for space, is not in the slightest degree injured by
the operation."
"And does that state of matters continue any length of time?"
"The polypus that is inside the other may probably get tired of
confinement, in which case it makes its exit by the same route it
entered; but, if too lazy to do that, it makes a hole in the body of
its antagonist and gets out that way. But, what is most curious of
all, these processes do not appear to put either of the creatures to
the slightest inconvenience."
"I am quite at a loss to make you all out," said Sophia.
"Well, my child," replied her mother, "you should not close up your
ears in the middle of a story."
"Cecilia, or rather Mrs. Lindsey, however," continued Wolston, "was a
pious, painstaking, simple-minded woman, who devoted her whole
attention to her domestic duties. Notwithstanding her fortune, she did
not neglect the humblest affairs of the household, and thought only of
making her husband pleased with his home. When she was told of the
vagaries of Philipson, she prayed in private that he might be led from
his evil ways, and could not help thanking Providence that she was not
the wife of such a dreadful scapegrace."
"I should think so," remarked Mrs. Becker.
"At last, Herbert Philipson astonished even his own companions by a
crowning act of folly. There was then a young woman in Bristol, of
good parentage, but an unmitigated virago; her family were thoroughly
ashamed of her temper and her exploits. They allowed her to have her
own way, simply for fear that, through contradiction, she might plunge
herself into even worse courses than those she now habitually
followed. In short, she was the talk and jest of the whole town."
"What a charming creature!" remarked Mrs. Becker.
"No servant of her own sex could put up with her for two days
together; she styled everybody that came near her fools and asses, and
did not hesitate to strike them if they ventured to contradict her.
She got on, however, tolerably well with ostlers, stable-boys, cabmen,
and such like, because they could treat her in her own style, and were
not ruffled by her abuse."
"How amiable!" exclaimed Mrs. Wolston.
"Herbert heard of this young person, and, through a fast friend of his
own, obtained an introduction to her, and on the very first interview
he offered her his hand. He was known still to be a wealthy man, so
neither the lady herself nor anybody connected with her made the
slightest objection to the match, thinking probably that, if there
were six of the one, there were at least half a dozen of the other."
"They ought to have gone to Bedlam, instead of to church," said
Willis; "that is my idea."
"Nevertheless, they went to church; and, after the marriage, Cecilia
sought and obtained an introduction to the lady, and, whether by
entreaties or by her good example, I cannot say; be this as it may,
the unpromising personage in question became one of the best wives and
the best mothers that ever graced a domestic circle--in this respect
even excelling the pattern Cecilia herself; and, what is still more to
the purpose, she succeeded in completely reforming her husband. When I
left England there was not a more prosperous merchant, nor a more
estimable man in the whole city of Bristol, than Herbert Philipson."
"From which we may conclude," remarked Mrs. Becker, "it is always
advisable to have angels for friends."
"We may also conclude," remarked Mrs. Wolston, "that when a stroke of
adversity, or any other misfortune, overturns the edifice of happiness
we had erected for the future, we may build a new structure with fresh
material, which may prove more durable than the first."
"Talking of having angels for friends," said Becker, "puts me in mind
of the association of Saint Louis Gonzaga, at Rome. On the anniversary
of this saint, the young and merry phalanx forming the association
march in procession to one of the public gardens. In the centre of
this garden a magnificent altar has been previously erected, on which
is placed a chafing-dish filled with burning coals. The procession
forms itself into an immense ring round the altar, broken here and
there by a band of music. These bands play hymns in honor of the
saints, and other _morceaux_ of a sacred character. Each member of the
association holds a letter inclosed in an embossed and highly
ornamented envelope, bound round with gay-colored ribbons and threads
of gold. These letters are messages from the young correspondents to
their friends in heaven, and are addressed to 'Il Santo Giovane Luigi
Gonzaga, in Paradiso.' At a given signal, the letters, in the midst of
profound silence, are placed on the chafing-dish. This done, the music
resounds on all sides, and the assembly burst out into loud
acclamations, during which the letters are supposed to be carried up
into heaven by the angels."
"A curious and interesting ceremony," remarked Mrs. Wolston, "and one
that may possibly do good, inasmuch as it may induce the young people
composing the association to persevere in generous resolutions."
The two families again separated for the night. And whilst the young
men were escorting the Wolstons to their tree, Sophia went towards
Jack. "Will you tell me," inquired she, "what happened whilst I had my
ears closed up, Jack?"
"Yes, with all my heart, if you will tell me first what the chimpanzee
had been about during our absence."
"Well, he got up into our tree when we were out of the way. After
soaping his chin, he had taken one of papa's razors, and just as he
was beginning to shave himself, some one entered and caught him."
"Oh, is that all? What I have to tell you is a great deal more
appalling than that."
"Well, then, be quick."
"But I am afraid you will be shocked."
"Is it very dreadful?"
"More so than you would imagine. If you dream about it during the
night, you will not be angry with me for telling you?"
"No, I will be courageous, and am prepared to hear the worst."
"What was your father saying when you shut up your ears?"
"Herbert had just pulled out a dagger."
"And when you took your hands away?"
"All was then over; Herbert had done some dreadful thing with the
dagger, and I want to know what it was."
"He pared an apple with it," replied Jack, bursting into a roar of
laughter, and, running off, he left Sophia to her reflections.
A few seconds after he returned. This time he had almost a solemn air,
the laughter had vanished from his visage, like breath from polished
steel.
"Miss Sophia," inquired he gravely, "are you rich?"
"I don't know, Master Jack; are you?"
"Well, I have not the slightest idea either."