flattered; "but if I do well," she added, "it must be remembered that
none of you have had forty-five years in which to find one."
The story, like a thousand others of that time, was of the presence of
mind and courage of one of the early settlers of America, and was
listened to with the attention it deserved. All, with one exception,
were outspoken in admiration of its heroine.
"You say nothing, Mistress Royal," said Waldo; "but it may be you've
heard it before, since you and Mistress Eveleigh are in the same house."
"Yes," she answered, "I have heard it before." She moved her head
quickly as she spoke, and as the moonlight struck her face, Archdale
fancied that he saw a moist brightness in her eyes. But certainly no
tear fell, and when the next moment Katie declared it Elizabeth's turn
for a story, she told some trifling anecdote that had in it neither
sentiment nor heroism. It was laughable though, and was about to receive
its deserts of praise when at Archdale's first word Elizabeth cried,
eagerly:--
"Don't, please. It was not worth telling; only I could remember nothing
else."
At this entreaty Harwin stared at her, and his lip curled disdainfully
under the hand that partially covered his face. "Have you so much wealth
of fascination, young lady," his thoughts ran, "that you can afford to
scatter your coins in this way? I rather think not." His eyes rested
upon her for a moment as she sat looking at Katie Archdale, and the
scorn of his mouth deepened. "Admiration of one woman for another," he
commented. "Pshaw! the girl lavishes everything; she will soon be
bankrupt. She is drinking in the intoxication of Katie's beauty just
as--no, not like me, of course. If ever there could be excuse for such a
thing it would be here, for Katie is bewitching, she is perfect;
affectionate, too, but with no nonsense about _her_. She reserves her
admiration for--for whom does she reserve it? For the proud young nabob
beside her, or for the good-humored little coxcomb over here? It shall
be for neither; it shall be for me. I, too, can be fascinating when I
take the trouble. Fair lady, I have plans for you."
"Master Harwin," cried the girl's clear voice, interrupting his
thoughts, "why don't you begin? We're waiting for you."
"Pardon me," he answered, "I was not aware of it. Well, since you are
inexorable, I'll try. I will not attempt anything in this New World,
which you all know so much more about than I do, for then there'd be
every chance of my being heavily fined. But if you want a story of Old
England, perhaps on that ground I can barely escape my forfeit."
"We shall be delighted," said Miss Royal, courteously, for Katie, to
whom she saw that he was speaking, was at the moment claimed by
Archdale; he was saying something to her in a low voice, and she gave
him willing attention.
Only a flash in the narrator's eyes as he began showed that he noticed
this.
CHAPTER II.
OPPORTUNITY.
"Once upon a time, then," he said, "in Scotland, no matter in what part,
there dwelt two disconsolate people. They ought to have been very happy,
for they were lovers, but, as you may have noticed, lovers are happy
only under the condition that love runs smooth, and here it was
extremely rough. The suitor was of ancient family and poor, the lady was
charming, and wilful--and an heiress? You are all waiting to hear me say
that--no, she was poor, too. And so you see that a doubling of
impecuniosity was quite impossible, for poverty rolls up fast in a
geometrical progression. But the lovers had no such scruples. It's a
romantic story enough if I could tell it to you in detail."
"And why not?" cried Katie, whose interest was making him wish that
were possible.
"I should have to go back for generations, and tell you of family feuds
as old as the families themselves, a Montague and Capulet state of
affairs, although each family had so much respect for the golden
amenities of life that its possession by the other would have softened
the asperity of feeling. But each was poor,--poor, I mean, for people in
that station.
"The lady, as I said, was a beauty; the gentleman had extra will enough
when it was roused to make up for the absence of beauty, although,
indeed, the lady was not lacking in that quality either, and so,
opposition made them only more determined to have their own way. It was
impossible to run away,--she was too well guarded; defiance was the only
thing, and I must confess that from what I knew of them both, I think
they enjoyed it. The Capulets, as I will call them, were dissenters, the
Montagues belonged to the Established Church. Now, the Capulets were
very zealous, and at this time a famous itinerant preacher came into
their neighborhood. They, being the greatest people in the place,
invited him to stay at their house during his visit. He often preached
in the open air. One day, at the end of one of those eloquent
discourses, a young man in countryman's dress came up and asked him to
marry himself and a young woman whom he had been waiting upon a long
time, but who had refused to be married unless this very preacher could
perform the ceremony. 'She said it would be a blessed wedlock of your
joining,' pursued the young fellow. The preacher, although he was a
great man, was only human,--it is well, I suppose, that we never outgrow
our humanity,--and felt flattered by the young girl's belief in his
sanctity. He proposed the next day for the ceremony, and was arranging
to marry the rustic couple on the lawn before the house of his host when
the young man interrupted him by stating that it must be gone through
with immediately, for his lady-love was so shy that it was with
difficulty she had been persuaded to come to-night, and she would never
consent if he gave her all that time to think the matter over in, nor
would she be willing to come up on the lawn with the great people. She
was at hand with one of her friends; everything was prepared; would he
marry them then? At that moment? The bewildered minister looked up the
road before him, where the carriage of the Capulets was disappearing at
the top of the hill; he had been told that the daughter would remain
with him, and that the carriage would return as soon as Mamma Capulet
had made inquiries about a cottager who was ill; for his congregation
had been crowding about him with questions and tearful confessions of
sins, and the good Capulets, who had the opportunity to make their
confessions in private, were in haste to be gone. Where was his fair
companion? He looked about him; he had lost sight of her in the throng.
But in a few moments she came forward, accompanying the bride, who the
groom explained was a protégée of hers. Miss Capulet had drawn down her
veil, and in answer to this statement nodded to the reverend gentleman
and murmured an assent. The bride's face, too, was hidden by her bonnet
and by her shyness, which prevented her from once looking up. The name
of the groom lingered with surprise on the minister's lips, for it was
not a clodhopper's name, I assure you; but he had heard nothing of the
love affair. When he came to the bride's name, however, he did pause,
for it was that of the Capulet. 'How is this?' he asked. 'How has she
the same name as you, my child?' Before the veiled lady could answer,
the groom informed him that the bride's family, being old retainers of
the other, had the same last name, as it was in Scottish clans, and that
the bride herself, born on the same day as the young lady at the great
house, had received also the same Christian name, which explained her
being under Miss Capulet's protection. The good man was conscious that,
though his piety was eminent, his knowledge of all genealogy but Bible
was deficient, and when both women softly assented to this statement,
his air of perplexity gave place to the manner of a man who understands
the business of the hour. He was in a hurry, and in an incredibly short
time the two were one. 'Is it all over?' asked the groom. 'Are we
securely married?' 'You are joined in the holy bonds of matrimony until
death do you part,' returned the clergyman, solemnly, beginning to add
his blessing. But this died half-uttered on his lips, for the bride
slowly raised her head, threw back her bonnet, and the haughty face and
laughing eyes of the Capulet were before him. 'Bear witness,' she said,
her shyness completely gone, 'that I'm this gentleman's wife.' 'You are,
indeed,' he stammered. 'But how--why--who is this?' and he reached out a
trembling hand toward the veiled lady. 'My maid,' returned the bride;
'she came here like one of the cottagers, and we exchanged gowns while
you were talking to the people.' 'I hope, I sincerely hope, it's all
right,' returned the poor man; 'but if I had known, I would have spoken
to your honored parent, first.' 'Yes, I'm sure of that,' she laughed,
'and then we should not have been so happy.' At the moment a post-chaise
drove up, into which the bridal pair and the servant made haste to get.
'Pardon me that I cannot accompany you home,' laughed the lady, leaning
out to give the minister her hand in farewell. 'You cannot know how
grateful to you we are. I shall never be able to reward you; I can only
give you my thanks and prayers--and be sure to tell them at home how
firmly you have married us.' The chaise drove off, and the good man was
left alone. He felt inclined to think that he had been dreaming, until
he looked down and saw in his hand a purse of gold pieces that the groom
had slipped into it, whispering, 'If you refuse for yourself, be my
almoner and give it to the poor.' Before the preacher had recovered his
wits the carriage of the Capulets reappeared. The lovers, however, did
not re-appear for two years, and by that time Montague had unexpectedly
fallen heir to a fortune and a title, and was received with open arms by
the new relatives. In our days it's always the one who was not the
prodigal who has the fatted calf killed for him."
"I'm afraid the poor minister was not very welcome when he had told his
story," said Elizabeth.
"Clever enough, on my word," cried Archdale.
"Not quite to your liking, I fancy, though," answered Harwin.
"Do you think he would have had the wedding indoors, in the teeth of
everybody?" laughed Katie.
Harwin assented, adding that he felt convinced that Master Archdale
would have insisted upon all the accompaniments of a grand wedding at
any cost.
"Yes, I shall have that when my time comes," returned Stephen, looking
straight before him a trifle haughtily. But Harwin noticed that directly
his eyes fell in passing back to their watching of the shore, and that
one sweeping glance was given to Katie.
"But can people be married in such an instant?" asked Waldo. "I always
thought it was a work of time--rather a formidable piece of business."
"Oh! when you come to two or three ministers of the Church of England,
and the benedictions, and all that, so it is," said Harwin; "but the
real business part is an affair of--I was going to say less than a
minute." He sat silent after this, with his head bent, then, lifting it
suddenly, before anybody had spoken, he fixed his glance, with a musing
expression, upon Waldo. "I was wondering if I could remember the
formula," he said; "I think I can. Mistress Royal, allow Master Archdale
to take your hand a moment, if you please."
Elizabeth made no responsive movement, and Archdale, for an instant,
failed to turn toward her. He had been looking at Katie while Harwin was
speaking; but Katie drew back, hastily.
"Oh, do, Elizabeth!" she cried. "I want to see what it is like; do try
with Stephen, and let us hear." As she spoke, Archdale turned toward
Elizabeth, courteously.
"Come, Mistress Royal," he said, as Harwin was explaining that he had
asked her because she happened to be on the proper side for a bride,
"let us make an effective tableau for the amusement of these mariners,
who, since they are becalmed themselves, persist in wanting something
going on."
Elizabeth had heard the entreaty in Katie's light words. She knew that
if she herself had cared for Mr. Archdale she could never have jested at
marrying him. It made her all the more sure that Katie did care,
because, otherwise, the girl would have found it great fun to rouse a
little jealousy in the two admirers opposite, watching every movement.
She yielded her hand to the light clasp that held it, and listened with
less interest than the others to Mr. Harwin's distinct and rapid words
until he came to the sentence, "I pronounce you man and wife." Then she
shivered, and he had scarcely finished the adjuration that
follows--"What God hath joined together let not man put asunder," when
she snatched her hand away.
"It is too solemn," she cried, "it is too much; we ought not to have
jested so."
Harwin laughed.
"Pardon me if I've made you uncomfortable," he said; "but you will
forget it in five minutes, and even for that time you must blame Master
Waldo's curiosity."
"And mine," added Katie, at which young Waldo gave her a grateful
glance. Then he joined with her in breaking the hush that had fallen on
the others. "Stephen," she said, "now for your story. Do you think you
are coming off scot-free?"
"I thought we had performed our parts," he said, turning to Elizabeth
with a smile.
"Mistress Royal has already told her story," cried Waldo, "There's no
escape for you."
"Escape would be difficult now, I confess."
"So begin."
He began obediently, but fortune was kinder than he had expected, for he
had not fairly started when Kit cried out,--
"A breeze! Here it comes. Heads to larboard!" And down went Archdale's
and those of the two ladies with him as the sail was shifted and the
boat began to skim the water before the breeze which freshened every
minute. Soon they had gained the cove where they were to land, and
Archdale's story was never finished.
* * * * *
THE PROTECTION OF CHILDREN.
BY ERNEST NUSSE.
The census of 1880 fixed the juvenile population of the United States at
20,000,000, of whom 10,158,954 were boys and 9,884,705 were girls. "From
a political point of view," says the eminent philanthropist, Mr.
Elbridge T. Gerry, "the future of the nation depends on the physical and
intellectual education of its children, whose numbers increase every
year, and who will soon constitute the sovereign people. From the moral
and social point of view, the welfare of society imperatively demands
that the atmosphere in which they live, and the treatment that they
receive from those intrusted with their care or custody, shall be such
as to establish in them habits of industry, of sobriety, of honesty, and
good conduct. For injurious treatment of a child, inasmuch as it tends
to result in the distortion of its physical and moral nature,
constitutes an offence whose importance seriously effects the public
order." But what is to be understood by cruel treatment? It consists in
every act of omission or of commission which causes or procures physical
injury or death. It is hardly necessary to observe that this definition
must be limited to its practical meaning, rather than interpreted in its
broader, philosophical sense. We must leave out of the question the
results of improper or imperfect educational training and discipline. It
is doubtless a cause of harm to a delicate and nervous child to force
the development of its intelligence; a harsh word hastily uttered by
parents may leave an ineffaceable impression upon a sensitive
organization; severity degenerates into injustice when it confounds a
peevish act, the result of physical disorder, with an act of deliberate
disobedience. The weakness which resigns its authority In order to spare
itself the care of a child's education engenders for life the spirit of
insubordination. The humiliating and unjust reproach, the stinging
sarcasm, wound the child in its tenderest feelings;--but these are not
the forms of cruelty and wrong which fall within reach of the law. It is
unable to interpose between the parents and the child, except in case of
an actual and serious offence, and for the rest it must rely upon the
affection planted by nature in the hearts of parents. These distinctions
are more felt than expressed, and opinion will never deceive itself in
regard to the conduct of unnatural parents.
But if these propositions are absolutely incontestable, how do they
leave room for the function of a society? If children are beaten,
abandoned, given over to odious practices, will not the authorities, on
the complaint of those interested, or compelled by public opinion, be
able adequately to fulfil the task? This reasoning, altogether French,
would not properly take into account the American temperament, the
genius of the Anglo-Saxon race, of its institutions, and of its usages.
In France, since the fourteenth century, misdemeanors have been
prosecuted the more generally by the public minister, acting under whose
orders are numerous officers of judiciary police, who entertain the
complaints of the public and send them, with the result of their
examination, to our courts. The magistrates charged with the case
complete the investigations, if they take place. The elements of the
evidence are therefore combined when the prosecution is instituted. In
the United States these intermediate officials exist but imperfectly
between the injured party and the magistrate who renders judgment. From
lack of sufficient evidence, the rights of this injured party run the
risk of being compromised through his inexperience. Moreover, the
complaint of the child, often directed against its parents or its legal
guardians, involves the examination of a delicate situation, which must
be conducted with much discernment. Without comparing the two systems,
American and French, which correspond each to the particular genius of
the two nations, it will be seen that the American system leaves much
more to private initiative, and that it would become ineffectual when
the victim of the offence, being a child, has neither the energy nor the
knowledge necessary to demonstrate that its complaint is well founded,
without the aid of some one in power. This is the aid which is given by
the New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children; and we
can now understand how the exigency of the case, so powerfully felt by
the practical intelligence of the Americans, has called into existence
this potent organization, which we may call the guardian of the rights
of childhood, for the repression of the offences from which it is liable
to suffer. The following anecdote shows how the necessity for this
institution arose, in a manner at once thrilling and dramatic:--
Ten years ago in New York, on the top floor of a tenement-house, in a
miserable room without furniture, a dying woman lay on a pallet, in the
last stage of consumption. A charitable lady who visited her asked what
she could do for her. The dying woman replied: "My hours are numbered,
but how can I die in peace when night and day I hear the beating by her
mother-in-law of the unhappy little girl who lives in the room next to
mine." And, in fact, for a month her heart had been torn by the cries of
this child, Mary Ellen, kept in confinement by this brute. Much moved by
this recital, the visitor felt impelled to demand the interference of
the police. They told her this was impracticable unless she was able to
furnish proof of her allegation. She knew the facts only upon hearsay,
and only in case a misdemeanor were actually proved would it be possible
for the police to interfere as she desired. The charitable feelings of
the lady would not permit her to stop here. She made inquiries among
benevolent societies. But here again she experienced a check. The
societies could not receive the child except upon legal commitment by an
order of court. And charitable persons with the most benevolent
tendencies, being consulted on this difficulty, confessed themselves at
a loss to suggest a remedy in the case, and declared that it was
dangerous to interfere between parents and children; that in so doing
one is liable to become involved in inextricable difficulties, since the
heads of the family are the best guardians of their children. However,
the sorrowful appeal of the dying woman echoed continually in the ears
of her whose charitable aid had been implored. She resolved upon a
supreme effort to rescue this child. She sought Mr. Henry Bergh, a man
who has never been deaf to a cry of despair, and who has devoted his
life to the protection of animals. Mr. Bergh considered the life of a
child to be quite as valuable as that of a beast, and gave it as his
opinion that the tribunals should be appealed to. A warrant was
immediately procured and the child was produced in court, its face
covered with horrible wounds. A pair of scissors with which these wounds
had been inflicted were produced. The facts in the case caused a
profound sensation in the court and throughout the city. The
mother-in-law was arrested, found guilty, and the little girl was taken
from her hands to receive an education which has rendered her an elegant
and accomplished young woman.
Humble beginnings, which it will be well for us to bear in remembrance
for the confusion of our pride! It is from the protection of animals
that has sprung, in New York, that of the child. And, when we
contemplate the great number of societies in the United States,--the
Humane Society of Saratoga, of Bangor, of Keene, of Taunton, of
Connecticut, the Western Pennsylvania, the Tennessee Society, those of
Nashville, of Cleveland, of Cincinnati, of Indianapolis, of Chicago, of
Peoria, of Sangamon, of Quincy, of Minnesota, of Minneapolis, extending,
simultaneously, their help to children and to the brutes, we shall be no
longer astonished either at the combination of effort explained by this
historic origin, or especially at a philosophy which rightly esteems
that cruelty commences with the animal, only to end fatally with the
human being. The proceeding instituted at the instance of Mr. Henry
Bergh was a most valuable precedent. The establishment of a method of
rescue, encouraged complaints, which, till then, had been silent, of the
abandonment, misery, or sufferings of children. Mr. Bergh's society
found itself besieged, and, after deliberation with his counsel, it was
determined to establish another in New York, whose special mission
should be the protection of children. An old gentleman of high
respectability, belonging to the sect of the Quakers, Mr. John D.
Wright, was elected to the presidency, which office he held until his
death, which occurred on the 21st of August, 1880. His successor is Mr.
Elbridge T. Gerry.