scene where he and Miss Beaufort are in the Park a most thrilling
one. Two fops ask Thaddeus where he got his boots, and he replies,
with withering dignity, 'Where I got my sword, gentlemen.' I
treasured the picture of that episode for a long time. Thaddeus
wears a hat as full of black plumes as a hearse, Hessian boots with
tassels, and leans over Mary, who languishes on the seat in a
short-waisted gown, limp scarf, poke bonnet, and large bag,--the height
of elegance then, but very funny now. Then William Wallace in 'Scottish
Chiefs.' Bless me! we cried over him as much as you do over your 'Heir
of Clifton,' or whatever the boy's name is. You wouldn't get through it,
I fancy; and as for poor, dear, prosy Richardson, his letter-writing
heroines would bore you to death. Just imagine a lover saying to a
friend, 'I begged my angel to stay and sip one dish of tea. She sipped
one dish and flew.'”
“Now, I'm sure that's sillier than anything the Duchess ever wrote
with her five-o'clock teas and flirtations over plum-cake on lawns,”
cried Carrie, as they all laughed at the immortal Lovelace.
“I never read Richardson, but he couldn't be duller than Henry
James, with his everlasting stories, full of people who talk a great
deal and amount to nothing. _I_ like the older novels best, and
enjoy some of Scott's and Miss Edgeworth's better than Howells's, or
any of the modern realistic writers, with their elevators, and
paint-pots, and every-day people,” said Alice, who wasted little
time on light literature.
“I'm glad to hear you say so, for I have an old-fashioned fancy that
I'd rather read about people as they were, for that is history, or
as they might and should be, for that helps us in our own efforts;
not as they are, for that we know, and are all sufficiently
commonplace ourselves, to be the better for a nobler and wider view
of life and men than any we are apt to get, so busy are we earning
daily bread, or running after fortune, honor or some other bubble.
But I mustn't lecture, or I shall bore you, and forget that I am
your hostess, whose duty it is to amuse.”
As Mrs. Warburton paused, Carrie, anxious to change the subject,
said, with her eyes on a curious jewel which the old lady wore, “I
also like true stories, and you promised to tell us about that
lovely pin some day. This is just the time for it,--please do.”
“With pleasure, for the little romance is quite apropos to our
present chat. It is a very simple tale, and rather sad, but it had a
great influence on my life, and this brooch is very dear to me.”
As Mrs. Warburton sat silent a moment, the girls all looked with
interest at the quaint pin which clasped the soft folds of muslin
over the black silk dress which was as becoming to the still
handsome woman as the cap on her white hair and the winter roses in
her cheeks. The ornament was in the shape of a pansy; its purple
leaves were of amethyst, the yellow of topaz, and in the middle lay
a diamond drop of dew. Several letters were delicately cut on its
golden stem, and a guard pin showed how much its wearer valued it.
“My sister Lucretia was a good deal older than I, for the three boys
came between,” began Mrs. Warburton, still gazing at the fire, as if
from its ashes the past rose up bright and warm again. “She was a
very lovely and superior girl, and I looked up to her with wonder as
well as adoration. Others did the same, and at eighteen she was
engaged to a charming man, who would have made his mark had he
lived. She was too young to marry then, and Frank Lyman had a fine
opening to practise his profession at the South. So they parted for
two years, and it was then that he gave her the brooch, saying to
her, as she whispered how lonely she should be without him, 'This
PENSEE is a happy, faithful THOUGHT of me. Wear it, dearest girl,
and don't pine while we are separated. Read and study, write much to
me, and remember, “They never are alone that are accompanied with
noble thoughts.”'”
“Wasn't that sweet?” cried Eva, pleased with the beginning of the
tale.
“So romantic!” added Carrie, recalling the “amber amulet” one of her
pet heroes wore for years, and died kissing, after he had killed
some fifty Arabs in the desert.
“Did she read and study?” asked Alice, with a soft color in her
cheek, and eager eyes, for a budding romance was folded away in the
depths of her maidenly heart, and she liked a love story.
“I'll tell you what she did, for it was rather remarkable at that
day, when girls had little schooling, and picked up accomplishments
as they could. The first winter she read and studied at home, and
wrote much to Mr. Lyman. I have their letters now, and very fine
ones they are, though they would seem old-fashioned to you young
things. Curious love letters,--full of advice, the discussion of
books, report of progress, glad praise, modest gratitude, happy
plans and a faithful affection that never wavered, though Lucretia
was beautiful and much admired, and the dear fellow a great favorite
among the brilliant Southern women.
“The second spring, Lucretia, anxious to waste no time, and
ambitious to surprise Lyman, decided to go and study with old Dr.
Gardener at Portland. He fitted young men for college, was a friend
of our father's, and had a daughter who was a very wise and
accomplished woman. That was a very happy summer, and Lu got on so
well that she begged to stay all winter. It was a rare chance, for
there were no colleges for girls then, and very few advantages to be
had, and the dear creature burned to improve every faculty, that she
might be more worthy of her lover. She fitted herself for college
with the youths there, and did wonders; for love sharpened her wits,
and the thought of that happy meeting spurred her on to untiring
exertion. Lyman was expected in May, and the wedding was to be in
June; but, alas for the poor girl! the yellow-fever came, and he was
one of the first victims. They never met again, and nothing was left
her of all that happy time but his letters, his library, and the
pansy.”
Mrs. Warburton paused to wipe a few quiet tears from her eyes, while
the girls sat in sympathetic silence.
“We thought it would kill her, that sudden change from love, hope,
and happiness to sorrow, death, and solitude. But hearts don't
break, my dears, if they know where to go for strength. Lucretia
did, and after the first shock was over found comfort in her books,
saying, with a brave, bright look, and the sweetest resignation, 'I
must go on trying to be more worthy of him, for we shall meet again
in God's good time and he shall see that I do not forget.'
“That was better than tears and lamentation, and the long years that
followed were beautiful and busy ones, full of dutiful care for us
at home after our mother died, of interest in all the good works of
her time, and a steady, quiet effort to improve every faculty of her
fine mind, till she was felt to be one of the noblest women in our
city. Her influence was wide-spread; all the intelligent people
sought her, and when she travelled she was welcome everywhere, for
cultivated persons have a free-masonry of their own, and are
recognized at once.”
“Did she ever marry?” asked Carrie, feeling that no life could be
quite successful without that great event.
“Never. She felt herself a widow, and wore black to the day of her
death. Many men asked her hand, but she refused them all, and was
the sweetest 'old maid' ever seen,--cheerful and serene to the very
last, for she was ill a long time, and found her solace and stay
still in the beloved books. Even when she could no longer read them,
her memory supplied her with the mental food that kept her soul
strong while her body failed. It was wonderful to see and hear her
repeating fine lines, heroic sayings, and comforting psalms through
the weary nights when no sleep would come, making friends and
helpers of the poets, philosophers, and saints whom she knew and
loved so well. It made death beautiful, and taught me how victorious
an immortal soul can be over the ills that vex our mortal flesh.
“She died at dawn on Easter Sunday, after a quiet night, when she
had given me her little legacy of letters, books, and the one jewel
she had always worn, repeating her lover's words to comfort me. I
had read the Commendatory Prayer, and as I finished she whispered,
with a look of perfect peace, 'Shut the book, dear, I need study no
more; I have hoped and believed, now I shall know;' and so went
happily away to meet her lover after patient waiting.”
The sigh of the wind was the only sound that broke the silence till
the quiet voice went on again, as if it loved to tell the story, for
the thought of soon seeing the beloved sister took the sadness from
the memory of the past.
“I also found my solace in books, for I was very lonely when she was
gone, my father being dead, the brothers married, and home desolate.
I took to study and reading as a congenial employment, feeling no
inclination to marry, and for many years was quite contented among
my books. But in trying to follow in dear Lucretia's footsteps, I
unconsciously fitted myself for the great honor and happiness of my
life, and curiously enough I owed it to a book.”
Mrs. Warburton smiled as she took up a shabby little volume from the
table where Alice had laid it, and, quick to divine another romance,
Eva said, like a story-loving child, “Do tell about it! The other
was so sad.”
“This begins merrily, and has a wedding in it, as young girls think
all tales should. Well, when I was about thirty-five, I was invited
to join a party of friends on a trip to Canada, that being the
favorite jaunt in my young days. I'd been studying hard for some
years, and needed rest, so I was glad to go. As a good book for an
excursion, I took this Wordsworth in my bag. It is full of fine
passages, you know, and I loved it, for it was one of the books
given to Lucretia by her lover. We had a charming time, and were on
our way to Quebec when my little adventure happened. I was in
raptures over the grand St. Lawrence as we steamed slowly from
Montreal that lovely summer day. I could not read, but sat on the
upper deck, feasting my eyes and dreaming dreams as even staid
maiden ladies will when out on a holiday. Suddenly I caught the
sound of voices in earnest discussion on the lower deck, and,
glancing down, saw several gentlemen leaning against the rail as
they talked over certain events of great public interest at that
moment. I knew that a party of distinguished persons were on
board, as my friend's husband, Dr. Tracy, knew some of them, and
pointed out Mr. Warburton as one of the rising scientific men of the
day. I remembered that my sister had met him years ago, and much
admired him both for his own gifts and because he had known Lyman.
As other people were listening, I felt no delicacy about doing the
same, for the conversation was an eloquent one, and well worth
catching. So interested did I become that I forgot the great rafts
floating by, the picturesque shores, the splendid river, and leaned
nearer and nearer that no word might be lost, till my book slid out
of my lap and fell straight down upon the head of one of the
gentlemen, giving him a smart blow, and knocking his hat overboard.”
“Oh, what DID you do?” cried the girls, much amused at this
unromantic catastrophe.
Mrs. Warburton clasped her hands dramatically, as her eyes twinkled
and a pretty color came into her cheeks at the memory of that
exciting moment.
“My dears, I could have dropped with mortification! What COULD I do
but dodge and peep as I waited to see the end of this most untoward
accident? Fortunately I was alone on that side of the deck, so none
of the ladies saw my mishap and, slipping along the seat to a
distant corner, I hid my face behind a convenient newspaper, as I
watched the little flurry of fishing up the hat by a man in a boat
near by, and the merriment of the gentlemen over this assault of
William Wordsworth upon Samuel Warburton. The poor book passed from
hand to hand, and many jokes were made upon the 'fair Helen' whose
name was written on the paper cover which projected it.
“'I knew a Miss Harper once,--a lovely woman, but her name was not
Helen, and she is dead,--God bless her!' I heard Mr. Warburton say,
as he flapped his straw hat to dry it, and rubbed his head, which
fortunately was well covered with thick gray hair at that time.
“I longed to go down and tell him who I was, but I had not the
courage to face all those men. It really was MOST embarrassing; so I
waited for a more private moment to claim my book, as I knew we
should not land till night, so there was no danger of losing it.
“'This is rather unusual stuff for a woman to be reading. Some
literary lady doubtless. Better look her up, Warburton. You'll know
her by the color of her stockings when she comes down to lunch,'
said a jolly old gentlenoan, in a tone that made me 'rouge high,' as
Evelina says.
“'I shall know her by her intelligent face and conversation, if this
book belongs to a lady. It will be an honor and a pleasure to meet a
woman who enjoys Wordsworth, for in my opinion he is one of our
truest poets,' answered Mr. Warburton, putting the book in his
pocket, with a look and a tone that were most respectful and
comforting to me just then.
“I hoped he would examine the volume, for Lucretia's and Lyman's
names were on the fly leaf, and that would be a delightful
introduction for me. So I said nothing and bided my time, feeling
rather foolish when we all filed in to lunch, and I saw the other
party glancing at the ladies at the table. Mr. Warburton's eye
paused a moment as it passed from Mrs. Tracy to me, and I fear I
blushed like a girl, my dears, for Samuel had very fine eyes, and I
remembered the stout gentleman's unseemly joke about the stockings.
Mine were white as snow, for I had a neat foot, and was fond of nice
hose and well-made shoes. I am so still, as you see.” Here the old
lady displayed a small foot in a black silk stocking and delicate
slipper, with the artless pride a woman feels, at any age, in one of
her best points. The girls gratified her by a murmur of admiration,
and, decorously readjusting the folds of her gown, she went on with
the most romantic episode of her quiet life.
“I retired to my state-room after lunch to compose myself, and when
I emerged, in the cool of the afternoon, my first glance showed me
that the hour had come, for there on deck was Mr. Warburton, talking
to Mrs. Tracy, with my book in his hand. I hesitated a moment, for
in spite of my age I was rather shy, and really it was not an easy
thing to apologize to a strange gentle-man for dropping books on
his head and spoiling his hat. Men think so much of their hats you
know. I was spared embarrassment, however, for he saw me and came to
me at once, saying, in the most cordial manner, as he showed the
names on the fly leaf of my Wordsworth, 'I am sure we need no other
introduction but the names of these two dear friends of ours. I am
very glad to find that Miss Helen Harper is the little girl I saw
once or twice at your father's house some years ago, and to meet her
so pleasantly again.'
“That made everything easy and delightful, and when I had apologized
and been laughingly assured that he considered it rather an honor
than otherwise to be assaulted by so great a man, we fell to talking
of old times, and soon forgot that we were strangers. He was twenty
years older than I, but a handsome man, and a most interesting and
excellent one, as we all know. He had lost a young wife long ago,
and had lived for science ever since, but it had not made him dry,
or cold, or selfish. He was very young at heart for all his wisdom,
and enjoyed that holiday like a boy out of school. So did I, and
never dreamed that anything would come of it but a pleasant
friendship founded on our love for those now dead and gone. Dear me!
how strangely things turn out in this world of ours, and how the
dropping of that book changed my life! Well, that was our
introduction, and that first long conversation was followed by many
more equally charming, during the three weeks our parties were much
together, as both were taking the same trip, and Dr. Tracy was glad
to meet his old friend.
“I need not tell you how delightful such society was to me, nor how
surprised I was when, on the last day before we parted, Mr.
Warburton, who had answered many questions of mine during these long
chats of ours, asked me a very serious one, and I found that I could
answer it as he wished. It brought me great honor as well as
happiness. I fear I was not worthy of it, but I tried to be, and
felt a tender satisfaction in thinking that I owed it to dear
Lucretia, in part at least; for my effort to imitate her made me
fitter to become a wise man's wife, and thirty years of very sweet
companionship was my reward.”
As she spoke, Mrs. Warburton bowed her head before the portrait of a
venerable old man which hung above the mantel-piece.
It was a pretty, old-fashioned expression of wifely pride and
womanly tenderness in the fine old lady, who forgot her own gifts,
and felt only humility and gratitude to the man who had found in her
a comrade in intellectual pursuits, as well as a helpmeet at home
and a gentle prop for his declining years.
The girls looked up with eyes full of something softer than mere
curiosity, and felt in their young hearts how precious and honorable
such a memory must be, how true and beautiful such a marriage was,
and how sweet wisdom might become when it went hand in hand with
love.
Alice spoke first, saying, as she touched the worn cover of the
little book with a new sort of respect, “Thank you very much!
Perhaps I ought not to have taken this from the corner shelves in
your sanctum? I wanted to find the rest of the lines Mr. Thornton
quoted last night, and didn't stop to ask leave.”
“You are welcome, my love, for you know how to treat books. Yes,
those in that little case are my precious relics. I keep them all,
from my childish hymn-book to my great-grandfather's brass-bound
Bible, for by and by when I sit 'Looking towards Sunset,' as dear
Lydia Maria Child calls our last days, I shall lose my interest in
other books, and take comfort in these. At the end as at the
beginning of life we are all children again, and love the songs our
mothers sung us, and find the one true Book our best teacher as we
draw near to God.”
As the reverent voice paused, a ray of sunshine broke through the
parting clouds, and shone full on the serene old face turned to meet
it, with a smile that welcomed the herald of a lovely sunset.
“The rain is over; there will be just time for a run in the garden
before dinner, girls. I must go and change my cap, for literary
ladies should not neglect to look well after the ways of their
household and keep themseves tidy, no matter how old they may be.”
And with a nod Mrs. Warburton left them, wondering what the effect
of the conversation would be on the minds of her young guests.
Alice went away to the garden, thinking of Lucretia and her lover,
as she gathered flowers in the sunshine. Conscientious Eva took the
Life of Mary Somerville to her room, and read diligently for half an
hour, that no time might be lost in her new course of study, Carrie
sent Wanda and her finery up the chimney in a lively blaze, and, as
she watched the book burn, decided to take her blue and gold volume
of Tennyson with her on her next trip to Nahant, in case any
eligible learned or literary man's head should offer itself as a
shining mark. Since a good marriage was the end of life, why not
follow Mrs. Warburton's example, and make a really excellent one?
When they all met at dinner-time the old lady was pleased to see a
nosegay of fresh pansies in the bosoms of her three youngest guests,
and to hear Alice whisper, with grateful eyes,--
“We wear your flower to show you that we don't mean to forget the
lesson you so kindly gave us, and to fortify ourselves with 'noble
thoughts,' as you and she did.”
WATER-LILIES
A PARTY of people, young and old, sat on the piazza of a seaside
hotel one summer morning, discussing plans for the day as they
waited for the mail.
“Hullo! here comes Christie Johnstone,” exclaimed one of the young
men perched on the railing, who was poisoning the fresh air with the
sickly scent of a cigarette.
“So 'tis, with 'Flucker, the baddish boy,' in tow, as large as
life,” added another, with a pleasant laugh as he turned to look.
The new-comers certainly looked somewhat like Charles Reade's
picturesque pair, and every one watched them with idle interest as
they drew nearer. A tall, robust girl of seventeen, with dark eyes
and hair, a fine color on her brown cheek, and vigor in every
movement, came up the rocky path from the beach with a basket of
lobsters on one arm, of fish on the other, and a wicker tray of
water-lilies on her head. The scarlet and silver of the fish
contrasted prettily with the dark blue of her rough dress, and the
pile of water flowers made a fitting crown for this bonny young
fish-wife. A sturdy lad of twelve came lurching after her in a pair
of very large rubber boots, with a dilapidated straw hat on the back
of his head and a pail on either arm.
Straight on went the girl, never turning head or eyes as she passed
the group on the piazza and vanished round the corner, though it was
evident that she heard the laugh the last speech produced, for the
color deepened in her cheeks and her step quickened. The boy,
however, returned the glances bent upon him, and answered the smiles
with such a cheerful grin that the youth with the cigarette called
out,--
“Good-morning, Skipper! Where do you hail from?”
“Island, yender,” answered the boy, with a gesture of his thumb over
his shoulder.
“Oh, you are the lighthouse-keeper, are you?”
“No, I ain't; me and Gramper's fishermen now.”
“Your name is Flucker Johnstone, and your sister's Christie, I
think?” added the youth, enjoying the amusement of the young ladies
about him.
“It's Sammy Bowen, and hern's Ruth.”
“Have you got a Boaz over there for her?”
“No, we've got a devil-fish, a real whacker.”
This unexpected reply produced a roar from the gentlemen, while the
boy grinned good-naturedly, though without the least idea what the
joke was. Pretty Miss Ellery, who had been told that she had “a
rippling laugh,” rippled sweetly as she leaned over the railing to
ask,
“Are those lilies in your pails? I want some if they are for sale.”
“Sister'll fetch 'em round when she's left the lobs. I ain't got
none; this is bait for them fellers.” And, as if reminded of
business by the yells of several boys who had just caught sight of
him, Sammy abruptly weighed anchor and ran before the wind toward
the stable.
“Funny lot, these natives! Act as if they owned the place and are as
stupid as their own fish,” said the youth in the white yachting
suit, as he flung away his cigarette end.
“Don't agree with you, Fred. I've known people of this sort all my
life and a finer set of honest, hardworking, independent men I never
met,--brave as lions and tender as women in spite of their rough
ways,” answered the other young man, who wore blue flannel and had a
gold band on his cap.
“Sailors and soldiers always stand by one another; so of course you
see the best side of these fellows, Captain. The girls are fine
creatures, I grant you; but their good looks don't last long, more's
the pity!”
“Few women's would with the life they lead, so full of hard work,
suspense, and sorrow. No one knows till one is tried, how much
courage and faith it takes to keep young and happy when the men one
loves are on the great sea,” said a quiet, gray-haired lady, as she
laid her hand on the knee of the young man in blue with a look that
made him smile affectionately at her, with his own brown hand on
hers.
“Shouldn't wonder if Ben Bowen was laid up, since the girl brings
the fish. He's a fine old fellow. I've been to No Man's Land many a
time blue-fishing with him; must ask after him,” said an elderly
gentleman who was pacing to and fro yearning for the morning papers.
“We might go over to the island and have a chowder-party or a
fish-fry some moonlight night. I haven't been here for several
years, but it used to be great fun, and I suppose we can do it now,”
suggested Miss Ellery with the laugh.
“By Jove, we will! And look up Christie; ask her when she comes
round,” said Mr. Fred, the youthful dude, untwining his languid legs
as if the prospect put a little life into him.
“Of course we pay for any trouble we give; these people will do
anything for money,” began Miss Ellery; but Captain John, as they
called the sailor, held up his hand with a warning, “Hush! she's
coming,” as Ruth's weather-beaten brown hat turned the corner.
She paused a moment to drop the empty baskets, shake her skirts, and
put up a black braid that had fallen down; then, with the air of one
resolved to do a distasteful task as quickly as possible, she came
up the steps, held out the rough basket cover, and said in a clear
voice,--
“Would any of the ladies like some fresh lilies? Ten cents a bunch.”