BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

AND TALES OF HOME

By Bayard Taylor. 

CONTENTS. 

 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST THE STRANGE FRIEND JACOB FLINT'S JOURNEY CAN A LIFE HIDE ITSELF? TWIN-LOVE THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A. C. FRIEND ELI'S DAUGHTER MISS BARTRAM'S TROUBLE MRS. STRONGITHARM'S REPORT

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 

A STORY OF OLD RUSSIA. 

I. 

We are about to relate a story of mingled fact and fancy. The facts areborrowed from the Russian author, Petjerski; the fancy is our own. Ourtask will chiefly be to soften the outlines of incidents almost toosharp and rugged for literary use, to supply them with the necessarycoloring and sentiment, and to give a coherent and proportioned shapeto the irregular fragments of an old chronicle. We know something, fromother sources, of the customs described, something of the character ofthe people from personal observation, and may therefore the more freelytake such liberties as we choose with the rude, vigorous sketches of theRussian original. One who happens to have read the work of Villebois caneasily comprehend the existence of a state of society, on the banks ofthe Volga, a hundred years ago, which is now impossible, and will soonbecome incredible. What is strangest in our narrative has been declaredto be true. 

II. 

We are in Kinesma, a small town on the Volga, between Kostroma andNijni-Novgorod. The time is about the middle of the last century, andthe month October. 

There was trouble one day, in the palace of Prince Alexis, of Kinesma. This edifice, with its massive white walls, and its pyramidal roofs ofgreen copper, stood upon a gentle mound to the eastward of the town, overlooking it, a broad stretch of the Volga, and the opposite shore. Ona similar hill, to the westward, stood the church, glittering withits dozen bulging, golden domes. These two establishments divided thesovereignty of Kinesma between them. 

Prince Alexis owned the bodies of the inhabitants, (with the exceptionof a few merchants and tradesmen, ) and the Archimandrite Sergius ownedtheir souls. But the shadow of the former stretched also over othervillages, far beyond the ring of the wooded horizon. The number of hisserfs was ten thousand, and his rule over them was even less disputedthan theirs over their domestic animals. 

The inhabitants of the place had noticed with dismay that theslumber-flag had not been hoisted on the castle, although it was half anhour after the usual time. So rare a circumstance betokened sudden wrathor disaster, on the part of Prince Alexis. Long experience had preparedthe people for anything that might happen, and they were consequentlynot astonished at the singular event which presently transpired. 

The fact is, that in the first place, the dinner had been prolonged fullten minutes beyond its accustomed limit, owing to a discussion betweenthe Prince, his wife, the Princess Martha, and their son Prince Boris. The last was to leave for St. Petersburg in a fortnight, and wished tohave his departure preceded by a festival at the castle. The PrincessMartha was always ready to second the desires of her only child. Betweenthe two they had pressed some twenty or thirty thousand rubles outof the old Prince, for the winter diversions of the young one. Thefestival, to be sure, would have been a slight expenditure for a nobleof such immense wealth as Prince Alexis; but he never liked his wife, and he took a stubborn pleasure in thwarting her wishes. It was nosatisfaction that Boris resembled her in character. That weak successorto the sovereignty of Kinesma preferred a game of cards to a bear hunt, and could never drink more than a quart of vodki without becoming dizzyand sick. 

"Ugh!" Prince Alexis would cry, with a shudder of disgust, "the whelpbarks after the dam!"

A state dinner he might give; but a festival, with dances, dramaticrepresentations, burning tar-barrels, and cannon, --no! He knittedhis heavy brows and drank deeply, and his fiery gray eyes shot suchincessant glances from side to side that Boris and the Princess Marthacould not exchange a single wink of silent advice. The pet bear, Mishka, plied with strong wines, which Prince Alexis poured out for him intoa golden basin, became at last comically drunk, and in endeavoring toexecute a dance, lost his balance, and fell at full length on his back. 

The Prince burst into a yelling, shrieking fit of laughter. Instantlythe yellow-haired serfs in waiting, the Calmucks at the hall-door, andthe half-witted dwarf who crawled around the table in his tow shirt, began laughing in chorus, as violently as they could. The PrincessMartha and Prince Boris laughed also; and while the old man's eyes weredimmed with streaming tears of mirth, quickly exchanged nods. The soundextended all over the castle, and was heard outside of the walls. 

"Father!" said Boris, "let us have the festival, and Mishka shallperform again. Prince Paul of Kostroma would strangle, if he could seehim. "

"Good, by St. Vladimir!" exclaimed Prince Alexis. "Thou shalt haveit, my Borka! [1] Where's Simon Petrovitch? May the Devil scorch thatvagabond, if he doesn't do better than the last time! Sasha!"

A broad-shouldered serf stepped forward and stood with bowed head. 

"Lock up Simon Petrovitch in the southwestern tower. Send the tailor andthe girls to him, to learn their parts. Search every one of thembefore they go in, and if any one dares to carry vodki to the beast, twenty-five lashes on the back!"

Sasha bowed again and departed. Simon Petrovitch was the court-poet ofKinesma. He had a mechanical knack of preparing allegorical diversionswhich suited the conventional taste of society at that time; but he hadalso a failing, --he was rarely sober enough to write. Prince Alexis, therefore, was in the habit of locking him up and placing a guard overhim, until the inspiration had done its work. The most comely youngserfs of both sexes were selected to perform the parts, and thecourt-tailor arranged for them the appropriate dresses. It depended verymuch upon accident--that is to say, the mood of Prince Alexis--whetherSimon Petrovitch was rewarded with stripes or rubles. 

The matter thus settled, the Prince rose from the table and walked outupon an overhanging balcony, where an immense reclining arm-chair ofstuffed leather was ready for his siesta. He preferred this indulgencein the open air; and although the weather was rapidly growing cold, a pelisse of sables enabled him to slumber sweetly in the face of thenorth wind. An attendant stood with the pelisse outspread; another heldthe halyards to which was attached the great red slumber-flag, ready torun it up and announce to all Kinesma that the noises of the town mustcease; a few seconds more, and all things would have been fixed in theirregular daily courses. The Prince, in fact, was just straightening hisshoulders to receive the sables; his eyelids were dropping, and hiseyes, sinking mechanically with them, fell upon the river-road, at thefoot of the hill. Along this road walked a man, wearing the long clothcaftan of a merchant. 

Prince Alexis started, and all slumber vanished out of his eyes. Heleaned forward for a moment, with a quick, eager expression; then a loudroar, like that of an enraged wild beast, burst from his mouth. He gavea stamp that shook the balcony. 

"Dog!" he cried to the trembling attendant, "my cap! my whip!"

The sables fell upon the floor, the cap and whip appeared in atwinkling, and the red slumber-flag was folded up again for the firsttime in several years, as the Prince stormed out of the castle. Thetraveller below had heard the cry, --for it might have been heard half amile. He seemed to have a presentiment of evil, for he had already setoff towards the town at full speed. 

To explain the occurrence, we must mention one of the Prince's manypeculiar habits. This was, to invite strangers or merchants of theneighborhood to dine with him, and, after regaling them bountifully, totake his pay in subjecting them to all sorts of outrageous tricks, withthe help of his band of willing domestics. Now this particular merchanthad been invited, and had attended; but, being a very wide-awake, shrewdperson, he saw what was coming, and dexterously slipped away fromthe banquet without being perceived. The Prince vowed vengeance, ondiscovering the escape, and he was not a man to forget his word. 

Impelled by such opposite passions, both parties ran with astonishingspeed. The merchant was the taller, but his long caftan, hastilyungirdled, swung behind him and dragged in the air. 

The short, booted legs of the Prince beat quicker time, and he graspedhis short, heavy, leathern whip more tightly as he saw the spacediminishing. They dashed into the town of Kinesma a hundred yards apart. The merchant entered the main street, or bazaar, looking rapidly toright and left, as he ran, in the hope of espying some place of refuge. The terrible voice behind him cried, --

"Stop, scoundrel! I have a crow to pick with you!"

And the tradesmen in their shops looked on and laughed, as well theymight, being unconcerned spectators of the fun. The fugitive, therefore, kept straight on, notwithstanding a pond of water glittered across thefarther end of the street. 

Although Prince Alexis had gained considerably in the race, suchviolent exercise, after a heavy dinner, deprived him of breath. He againcried, --

"Stop!"

"But the merchant answered, --

"No, Highness! You may come to me, but I will not go to you. "

"Oh, the villian!" growled the Prince, in a hoarse whisper, for he hadno more voice. 

The pond cut of all further pursuit. Hastily kicking off his looseboots, the merchant plunged into the water, rather than encounterthe princely whip, which already began to crack and snap in fierceanticipation. Prince Alexis kicked off his boots and followed; the pondgradually deepened, and in a minute the tall merchant stood up tohis chin in the icy water, and his short pursuer likewise but out ofstriking distance. The latter coaxed and entreated, but the victim kepthis ground. 

"You lie, Highness!" he said, boldly. "If you want me, come to me. "

"Ah-h-h!" roared the Prince, with chattering teeth, "what a stubbornrascal you are! Come here, and I give you my word that I will not hurtyou. Nay, "--seeing that the man did not move, --"you shall dine with meas often as you please. You shall be my friend; by St. Vladimir, I likeyou!"

"Make the sign of the cross, and swear it by all the Saints, " said themerchant, composedly. 

With a grim smile on his face, the Prince stepped back and shiveringlyobeyed. Both then waded out, sat down upon the ground and pulled ontheir boots; and presently the people of Kinesma beheld the drippingpair walking side by side up the street, conversing in the most cordialmanner. The merchant dried his clothes FROM WITHIN, at the castle table;a fresh keg of old Cognac was opened; and although the slumber-flag wasnot unfurled that afternoon, it flew from the staff and hushed the townnearly all the next day. 

III. 

The festival granted on behalf of Prince Boris was one of the grandestever given at the castle. In character it was a singular cross betweenthe old Muscovite revel and the French entertainments which were thenintroduced by the Empress Elizabeth. 

All the nobility, for fifty versts around, including Prince Paul and thechief families of Kostroma, were invited. Simon Petrovitch had been socarefully guarded that his work was actually completed and the partsdistributed; his superintendence of the performance, however, was stilla matter of doubt, as it was necessary to release him from the tower, and after several days of forced abstinence he always manifested araging appetite. Prince Alexis, in spite of this doubt, had been assuredby Boris that the dramatic part of the entertainment would not be afailure. When he questioned Sasha, the poet's strong-shouldered guard, the latter winked familiarly and answered with a proverb, --

"I sit on the shore and wait for the wind, "--which was as much as to saythat Sasha had little fear of the result. 

The tables were spread in the great hall, where places for one hundredchosen guests were arranged on the floor, while the three or fourhundred of minor importance were provided for in the galleries above. By noon the whole party were assembled. The halls and passages of thecastle were already permeated with rich and unctuous smells, and adelicate nose might have picked out and arranged, by their finer orcoarser vapors, the dishes preparing for the upper and lower tables. Oneof the parasites of Prince Alexis, a dilapidated nobleman, officiatedas Grand Marshal, --an office which more than compensated for thesavage charity he received, for it was performed in continual fear andtrembling. The Prince had felt the stick of the Great Peter upon his ownback, and was ready enough to imitate any custom of the famous monarch. 

An orchestra, composed principally of horns and brass instruments, occupied a separate gallery at one end of the dining-hall. The guestswere assembled in the adjoining apartments, according to their rank; andwhen the first loud blast of the instruments announced the beginning ofthe banquet, two very differently attired and freighted processions ofservants made their appearance at the same time. Those intended for theprincely table numbered two hundred, --two for each guest. They werethe handsomest young men among the ten thousand serfs, clothed in loosewhite trousers and shirts of pink or lilac silk; their soft goldenhair, parted in the middle, fell upon their shoulders, and a band ofgold-thread about the brow prevented it from sweeping the dishesthey carried. They entered the reception-room, bearing huge trays ofsculptured silver, upon which were anchovies, the finest Finnish caviar, sliced oranges, cheese, and crystal flagons of Cognac, rum, and kummel. There were fewer servants for the remaining guests, who were gatheredin a separate chamber, and regaled with the common black caviar, onions, bread, and vodki. At the second blast of trumpets, the two companies setthemselves in motion and entered the dining-hall at opposite ends. Ourbusiness, however, is only with the principal personages, so we willallow the common crowd quietly to mount to the galleries and satisfytheir senses with the coarser viands, while their imagination isstimulated by the sight of the splendor and luxury below. 

Prince Alexis entered first, with a pompous, mincing gait, leading thePrincess Martha by the tips of her fingers. He wore a caftan of greenvelvet laced with gold, a huge vest of crimson brocade, and breechesof yellow satin. A wig, resembling clouds boiling in the confluence ofopposing winds, surged from his low, broad forehead, and flowed uponhis shoulders. As his small, fiery eyes swept the hall, every servanttrembled: he was as severe at the commencement as he was reckless atthe close of a banquet. The Princess Martha wore a robe of pinksatin embroidered with flowers made of small pearls, and a train andhead-dress of crimson velvet. 

Her emeralds were the finest outside of Moscow, and she wore them all. Her pale, weak, frightened face was quenched in the dazzle of the greenfires which shot from her forehead, ears, and bosom, as she moved. 

Prince Paul of Kostroma and the Princess Nadejda followed; but onreaching the table, the gentlemen took their seats at the head, whilethe ladies marched down to the foot. Their seats were determinedby their relative rank, and woe to him who was so ignorant or soabsent-minded as to make a mistake! The servants had been carefullytrained in advance by the Grand Marshal; and whoever took a place abovehis rank or importance found, when he came to sit down, that his chairhad miraculously disappeared, or, not noticing the fact, seated himselfabsurdly and violently upon the floor. The Prince at the head of thetable, and the Princess at the foot, with their nearest guests of equalrank, ate from dishes of massive gold; the others from silver. As soonas the last of the company had entered the hall, a crowd of jugglers, tumblers, dwarfs, and Calmucks followed, crowding themselves into thecorners under the galleries, where they awaited the conclusion of thebanquet to display their tricks, and scolded and pummelled each other inthe mean time. 

On one side of Prince Alexis the bear Mishka took his station. By orderof Prince Boris he had been kept from wine for several days, and hissmall eyes were keener and hungrier than usual. As he rose now and then, impatiently, and sat upon his hind legs, he formed a curious contrast tothe Prince's other supporter, the idiot, who sat also in his tow-shirt, with a large pewter basin in his hand. It was difficult to say whetherthe beast was most man or the man most beast. They eyed each other andwatched the motions of their lord with equal jealousy; and the dismalwhine of the bear found an echo in the drawling, slavering laugh ofthe idiot. The Prince glanced form one to the other; they put him in acapital humor, which was not lessened as he perceived an expression ofenvy pass over the face of Prince Paul. 

The dinner commenced with a botvinia--something between a soup and asalad--of wonderful composition. It contained cucumbers, cherries, saltfish, melons, bread, salt, pepper, and wine. While it was being served, four huge fishermen, dressed to represent mermen of the Volga, naked tothe waist, with hair crowned with reeds, legs finned with silver tissuefrom the knees downward, and preposterous scaly tails, which draggedhelplessly upon the floor, entered the hall, bearing a broad, shallowtank of silver. In the tank flapped and swam four superb sterlets, theirridgy backs rising out of the water like those of alligators. Greatapplause welcomed this new and classical adaptation of the old customof showing the LIVING fish, before cooking them, to the guests at thetable. The invention was due to Simon Petrovitch, and was (if the truthmust be confessed) the result of certain carefully measured supplies ofbrandy which Prince Boris himself had carried to the imprisoned poet. 

After the sterlets had melted away to their backbones, and the roastedgeese had shrunk into drumsticks and breastplates, and here and there aguest's ears began to redden with more rapid blood, Prince Alexis judgedthat the time for diversion had arrived. He first filled up the idiot'sbasin with fragments of all the dishes within his reach, --fish, stewedfruits, goose fat, bread, boiled cabbage, and beer, --the idiot grinningwith delight all the while, and singing, "Ne uyesjai golubchik moi, "(Don't go away, my little pigeon), between the handfuls which he crammedinto his mouth. The guests roared with laughter, especially when ajuggler or Calmuck stole out from under the gallery, and pretended tohave designs upon the basin. Mishka, the bear, had also been well fed, and greedily drank ripe old Malaga from the golden dish. But, alas! hewould not dance. Sitting up on his hind legs, with his fore paws hangingbefore him, he cast a drunken, languishing eye upon the company, lolledout his tongue, and whined with an almost human voice. The domestics, secretly incited by the Grand Marshal, exhausted their ingenuity incoaxing him, but in vain. Finally, one of them took a goblet of wine inone hand, and, embracing Mishka with the other, began to waltz. Thebear stretched out his paw and clumsily followed the movements, whirlinground and round after the enticing goblet. The orchestra struck up, andthe spectacle, though not exactly what Prince Alexis wished, was comicalenough to divert the company immensely. 

But the close of the performance was not upon the programme. Theimpatient bear, getting no nearer his goblet, hugged the man violentlywith the other paw, striking his claws through the thin shirt. Thedance-measure was lost; the legs of the two tangled, and they fell tothe floor, the bear undermost. With a growl of rage and disappointment, he brought his teeth together through the man's arm, and it might havefared badly with the latter, had not the goblet been refilled by someone and held to the animal's nose. 

Then, releasing his hold, he sat up again, drank another bottle, andstaggered out of the hall. 

Now the health of Prince Alexis was drunk, --by the guests on the floorof the hall in Champagne, by those in the galleries in kislischi andhydromel. The orchestra played; a choir of serfs sang an ode by SimonPetrovitch, in which the departure of Prince Boris was mentioned; thetumblers began to posture; the jugglers came forth and played theirtricks; and the cannon on the ramparts announced to all Kinesma, and farup and down the Volga, that the company were rising from the table. 

Half an hour later, the great red slumber-flag floated over the castle. All slept, --except the serf with the wounded arm, the nervous GrandMarshal, and Simon Petrovich with his band of dramatists, guarded by theindefatigable Sasha. All others slept, --and the curious crowd outside, listening to the music, stole silently away; down in Kinesma, themothers ceased to scold their children, and the merchants whispered toeach other in the bazaar; the captains of vessels floating on the Volgadirected their men by gestures; the mechanics laid aside hammer and axe, and lighted their pipes. Great silence fell upon the land, and continuedunbroken so long as Prince Alexis and his guests slept the sleep of thejust and the tipsy. 

By night, however, they were all awake and busily preparing for thediversions of the evening. The ball-room was illuminated by thousands ofwax-lights, so connected with inflammable threads, that the wicks couldall be kindled in a moment. A pyramid of tar-barrels had been erectedon each side of the castle-gate, and every hill or mound on the oppositebank of the Volga was similarly crowned. When, to a stately march, --themusicians blowing their loudest, --Prince Alexis and Princess Martha ledthe way to the ball-room, the signal was given: candles and tar-barrelsburst into flame, and not only within the castle, but over the landscapefor five or six versts, around everything was bright and clear in thefiery day. Then the noises of Kinesma were not only permitted, butencouraged. Mead and qvass flowed in the very streets, and the castletrumpets could not be heard for the sound of troikas and balalaikas. 

After the Polonaise, and a few stately minuets, (copied from the courtof Elizabeth), the company were ushered into the theatre. The hour ofSimon Petrovitch had struck: with the inspiration smuggled to him byPrince Boris, he had arranged a performance which he felt to be hismasterpiece. Anxiety as to its reception kept him sober. The overturehad ceased, the spectators were all in their seats, and now the curtainrose. The background was a growth of enormous, sickly toad-stools, supposed to be clouds. On the stage stood a girl of eighteen, (thehandsomest in Kinesma), in hoops and satin petticoat, powdered hair, patches, and high-heeled shoes. She held a fan in one hand, and a bunchof marigolds in the other. After a deep and graceful curtsy to thecompany, she came forward and said, --

"I am the goddess Venus. I have come to Olympus to ask some questions ofJupiter. "

Thunder was heard, and a car rolled upon the stage. Jupiter sat therein, in a blue coat, yellow vest, ruffled shirt and three-cornered hat. Onehand held a bunch of thunderbolts, which he occasionally lifted andshook; the other, a gold-headed cane. 

"Here am, I Jupiter, " said he; "what does Venus desire?"

A poetical dialogue then followed, to the effect that the favorite ofthe goddess, Prince Alexis of Kinesma, was about sending his son, PrinceBoris, into the gay world, wherein himself had already displayed all thegifts of all the divinities of Olympus. He claimed from her, Venus, likefavors for his son: was it possible to grant them? Jupiter dropped hishead and meditated. He could not answer the question at once: Apollo, the Graces, and the Muses must be consulted: there were few precedentswhere the son had succeeded in rivalling the father, --yet the father'spious wishes could not be overlooked. Venus said, --

"What I asked for Prince Alexis was for HIS sake: what I ask for the sonis for the father's sake. "

Jupiter shook his thunderbolt and called "Apollo!"

Instantly the stage was covered with explosive and coruscatingfires, --red, blue, and golden, --and amid smoke, and glare, and fizzingnoises, and strong chemical smells, Apollo dropped down from above. Hewas accustomed to heat and smoke, being the cook's assistant, and wassweated down to a weight capable of being supported by the invisiblewires. He wore a yellow caftan, and wide blue silk trousers. His yellowhair was twisted around and glued fast to gilded sticks, which stood outfrom his head in a circle, and represented rays of light. He first bowedto Prince Alexis, then to the guests, then to Jupiter, then to Venus. The matter was explained to him. 

He promised to do what he could towards favoring the world with a secondgeneration of the beauty, grace, intellect, and nobility of characterwhich had already won his regard. He thought, however, that their giftswere unnecessary, since the model was already in existence, and nothingmore could be done than to IMITATE it. 

(Here there was another meaning bow towards Prince Alexis, --a bow inwhich Jupiter and Venus joined. This was the great point of the evening, in the opinion of Simon Petrovitch. He peeped through a hole in oneof the clouds, and, seeing the delight of Prince Alexis and thecongratulations of his friends, immediately took a large glass ofCognac). 

The Graces were then summoned, and after them the Muses--all in hoops, powder, and paint. Their songs had the same burden, --intense admirationof the father, and good-will for the son, underlaid with a delicatedoubt. The close was a chorus of all the deities and semi-deities inpraise of the old Prince, with the accompaniment of fireworks. Apollorose through the air like a frog, with his blue legs and yellow armswide apart; Jupiter's chariot rolled off; Venus bowed herself backagainst a mouldy cloud; and the Muses came forward in a bunch, with awreath of laurel, which they placed upon the venerated head. 

Sasha was dispatched to bring the poet, that he might receive hiswell-earned praise and reward. But alas for Simon Petrovitch? His legshad already doubled under him. He was awarded fifty rubles and a newcaftan, which he was not in a condition to accept until several daysafterward. 

The supper which followed resembled the dinner, except that there werefewer dishes and more bottles. When the closing course of sweatmeats hadeither been consumed or transferred to the pockets of the guests, the Princess Martha retired with the ladies. The guests of lower rankfollowed; and there remained only some fifteen or twenty, who werethereupon conducted by Prince Alexis to a smaller chamber, where hepulled off his coat, lit his pipe, and called for brandy. The othersfollowed his example, and their revelry wore out the night. 

Such was the festival which preceded the departure of Prince Boris forSt. Petersburg. 

IV. 

Before following the young Prince and his fortunes, in the capital, wemust relate two incidents which somewhat disturbed the ordered course oflife in the castle of Kinesma, during the first month or two after hisdeparture. 

It must be stated, as one favorable trait in the character of PrinceAlexis, that, however brutally he treated his serfs, he allowed no otherman to oppress them. All they had and were--their services, bodies, lives--belonged to him; hence injustice towards them was disrespecttowards their lord. Under the fear which his barbarity inspired lurked abrute-like attachment, kept alive by the recognition of this quality. 

One day it was reported to him that Gregor, a merchant in the bazaar atKinesma, had cheated the wife of one of his serfs in the purchase of apiece of cloth. Mounting his horse, he rode at once to Gregor's booth, called for the cloth, and sent the entire piece to the woman, in themerchant's name, as a confessed act of reparation. 

"Now, Gregor, my child, " said he, as he turned his horse's head, "havea care in future, and play me no more dishonest tricks. Do you hear? Ishall come and take your business in hand myself, if the like happensagain. "

Not ten days passed before the like--or something fully as bad--didhappen. Gregor must have been a new comer in Kinesma, or he would nothave tried the experiment. In an hour from the time it was announced, Prince Alexis appeared in the bazaar with a short whip under his arm. 

He dismounted at the booth with an ironical smile on his face, whichchilled the very marrow in the merchant's bones. 

"Ah, Gregor, my child, " he shouted, "you have already forgotten mycommands. Holy St. Nicholas, what a bad memory the boy has! Why, hecan't be trusted to do business: I must attend to the shop myself. Outof the way! march!"

He swung his terrible whip; and Gregor, with his two assistants, dartedunder the counter, and made their escape. The Prince then entered thebooth, took up a yard-stick, and cried out in a voice which could beheard from one end of the town to the other, --"Ladies and gentlemen, have the kindness to come and examine our stock of goods! We have silksand satins, and all kinds of ladies' wear; also velvet, cloth, cotton, and linen for the gentlemen. Will your Lordships deign to choose? Hereare stockings and handkerchiefs of the finest. We understand how tomeasure, your Lordships, and we sell cheap. We give no change, and takeno small money. Whoever has no cash may have credit. Every thing soldbelow cost, on account of closing up the establishment. Ladies andgentlemen, give us a call?"

Everybody in Kinesma flocked to the booth, and for three hours PrinceAlexis measured and sold, either for scant cash or long credit, untilthe last article had been disposed of and the shelves were empty. Therewas great rejoicing in the community over the bargains made that day. When all was over, Gregor was summoned, and the cash received paid intohis hands. 

"It won't take you long to count it, " said the Prince; "but here is alist of debts to be collected, which will furnish you with pleasantoccupation, and enable you to exercise your memory. Would your Worshipcondescend to take dinner to-day with your humble assistant? He wouldesteem it a favor to be permitted to wait upon you with whatever hispoor house can supply. "

Gregor gave a glance at the whip under the Prince's arm, and begged tobe excused. But the latter would take no denial, and carried out thecomedy to the end by giving the merchant the place of honor at histable, and dismissing him with the present of a fine pup of his favoritebreed. Perhaps the animal acted as a mnemonic symbol, for Gregor wasnever afterwards accused of forgetfulness. 

If this trick put the Prince in a good humor, some thing presentlyoccurred which carried him to the opposite extreme. While taking hiscustomary siesta one afternoon, a wild young fellow--one of his noblepoor relations, who "sponged" at the castle--happened to pass along acorridor outside of the very hall where his Highness was snoring. Twoladies in waiting looked down from an upper window. The young fellowperceived them, and made signs to attract their attention. Havingsucceeded in this, he attempted, by all sorts of antics and grimaces, tomake them laugh or speak; but he failed, for the slumber-flag wavedover them, and its fear was upon them. Then, in a freak of incrediblerashness, he sang, in a loud voice, the first line of a popular ditty, and took to his heels. 

No one had ever before dared to insult the sacred quiet. The Prince wason his feet in a moment, and rushed into the corridor, (dropping hismantle of sables by the way, ) shouting. --

"Bring me the wretch who sang!"

The domestics scattered before him, for his face was terrible to lookupon. Some of them had heard the voice, indeed, but not one of themhad seen the culprit, who al ready lay upon a heap of hay in one of thestables, and appeared to be sunk in innocent sleep. 

"Who was it? who was it?" yelled the Prince, foaming at the mouth withrage, as he rushed from chamber to chamber. 

At last he halted at the top of the great flight of steps leading intothe court-yard, and repeated his demand in a voice of thunder. 

The servants, trembling, kept at a safe distance, and some of themventured to state that the offender could not be discovered. The Princeturned and entered one of the state apartments, whence came the soundof porcelain smashed on the floor, and mirrors shivered on the walls. Whenever they heard that sound, the immates of the castle knew that ahurricane was let loose. 

They deliberated hurriedly and anxiously. What was to be done? In hisfits of blind animal rage, there was nothing of which the Prince was notcapable, and the fit could be allayed only by finding a victim. No one, however, was willing to be a Curtius for the others, and meanwhile thestorm was increasing from minute to minute. Some of the more activeand shrewd of the household pitched upon the leader of the band, asimple-minded, good-natured serf, named Waska. They entreated himto take upon himself the crime of having sung, offering to have hispunishment mitigated in every possible way. He was proof against theirtears, but not against the money which they finally offered, in order toavert the storm. The agreement was made, although Waska both scratchedhis head and shook it, as he reflected upon the probable result. 

The Prince, after his work of destruction, again appeared upon thesteps, and with hoarse voice and flashing eyes, began to announce thatevery soul in the castle should receive a hundred lashes, when a noisewas heard in the court, and amid cries of "Here he is!" "We've got him, Highness!" the poor Waska, bound hand and foot, was brought forward. They placed him at the bottom of the steps. The Prince descended untilthe two stood face to face. The others looked on from courtyard, door, and window. A pause ensued, during which no one dared to breathe. 

At last Prince Alexis spoke, in a loud and terrible voice--

"It was you who sang it?"

"Yes, your Highness, it was I, " Waska replied, in a scarcely audibletone, dropping his head and mechanically drawing his shoulders together, as if shrinking from the coming blow. 

It was full three minutes before the Prince again spoke. He still heldthe whip in his hand, his eyes fixed and the muscles of his face rigid. All at once the spell seemed to dissolve: his hand fell, and he said inhis ordinary voice--

"You sing remarkably well. Go, now: you shall have ten rubles and anembroidered caftan for your singing. "

But any one would have made a great mistake who dared to awaken PrinceAlexis a second time in the same manner. 

V. 

Prince Boris, in St. Petersburg, adopted the usual habits of his class. He dressed elegantly; he drove a dashing troika; he played, and lostmore frequently than he won; he took no special pains to shun anyform of fashionable dissipation. His money went fast, it is true; buttwenty-five thousand rubles was a large sum in those days, and Boris didnot inherit his father's expensive constitution. He was presented to theEmpress; but his thin face, and mild, melancholy eyes did not make muchimpression upon that ponderous woman. He frequented the salons ofthe nobility, but saw no face so beautiful as that of Parashka, theserf-maiden who personated Venus for Simon Petrovitch. The fact is, hehad a dim, undeveloped instinct of culture, and a crude, half-consciousworship of beauty, --both of which qualities found just enoughnourishment in the life of the capital to tantalize and never satisfyhis nature. He was excited by his new experience, but hardly happier. 

Although but three-and-twenty, he would never know the rich, vital glowwith which youth rushes to clasp all forms of sensation. 

He had seen, almost daily, in his father's castle, excess in its mostexcessive development. It had grown to be repulsive, and he knew nothow to fill the void in his life. With a single spark of genius, and alittle more culture, he might have become a passable author or artist;but he was doomed to be one of those deaf and dumb natures that see themovements of the lips of others, yet have no conception of sound. Nowonder his savage old father looked upon him with contempt, for even hisvices were without strength or character. 

The dark winter days passed by, one by one, and the first week of Lenthad already arrived to subdue the glittering festivities of the court, when the only genuine adventure of the season happened to the youngPrince. For adventures, in the conventional sense of the word, he wasnot distinguished; whatever came to him must come by its own force, orthe force of destiny. 

One raw, gloomy evening, as dusk was setting in, he saw a female figurein a droschky, which was about turning from the great Morskoi into theGorokhovaya (Pea) Street. He noticed, listlessly, that the ladywas dressed in black, closely veiled, and appeared to be urging theistvostchik (driver) to make better speed. The latter cut his horsesharply: it sprang forward, just at the turning, and the droschky, striking a lamp-post was instantly overturned. The lady, hurled withgreat force upon the solidly frozen snow, lay motionless, which thedriver observing, he righted the sled and drove off at full speed, without looking behind him. It was not inhumanity, but fear of the knoutthat hurried him away. 

Prince Boris looked up and down the Morskoi, but perceived no one nearat hand. He then knelt upon the snow, lifted the lady's head to hisknee, and threw back her veil. A face so lovely, in spite of its deadlypallor, he had never before seen. Never had he even imagined so perfectan oval, such a sweet, fair forehead, such delicately pencilled brows, so fine and straight a nose, such wonderful beauty of mouth and chin. Itwas fortunate that she was not very severely stunned, for Prince Boriswas not only ignorant of the usual modes of restoration in such cases, but he totally forgot their necessity, in his rapt contemplation ofthe lady's face. Presently she opened her eyes, and they dwelt, expressionless, but bewildering in their darkness and depth, upon hisown, while her consciousness of things slowly returned. 

She strove to rise, and Boris gently lifted and supported her. She wouldhave withdrawn from his helping arm, but was still too weak from theshock. He, also, was confused and (strange to say) embarrassed; but hehad self-possession enough to shout, "Davei!" (Here!) at random. Thecall was answered from the Admiralty Square; a sled dashed up theGorokhovaya and halted beside him. Taking the single seat, he lifted hergently upon his lap and held her very tenderly in his arms. 

"Where?" asked the istvostchik. 

Boris was about to answer "Anywhere!" but the lady whispered in a voiceof silver sweetness, the name of a remote street, near the SmolnoiChurch. 

As the Prince wrapped the ends of his sable pelisse about her, henoticed that her furs were of the common foxskin worn by the middleclasses. They, with her heavy boots and the threadbare cloth of hergarments, by no means justified his first suspicion, --that she was agrande dame, engaged in some romantic "adventure. " She was not more thannineteen or twenty years of age, and he felt--without knowing whatit was--the atmosphere of sweet, womanly purity and innocence whichsurrounded her. The shyness of a lost boyhood surprised him. 

By the time they had reached the Litenie, she had fully recovered herconsciousness and a portion of her strength. She drew away from him asmuch as the narrow sled would allow. 

"You have been very kind, sir, and I thank you, " she said; "but I am nowable to go home without your further assistance. "

"By no means, lady!" said the Prince. "The streets are rough, andhere are no lamps. If a second accident were to happen, you would behelpless. Will you not allow me to protect you?"

She looked him in the face. In the dusky light, she saw not the peevish, weary features of the worldling, but only the imploring softness of hiseyes, the full and perfect honesty of his present emotion. She made nofurther objection; perhaps she was glad that she could trust the elegantstranger. 

Boris, never before at a loss for words, even in the presence ofthe Empress, was astonished to find how awkward were his attempts atconversation. She was presently the more self-possessed of the two, andnothing was ever so sweet to his ears as the few commonplace remarks sheuttered. In spite of the darkness and the chilly air, the sled seemed tofly like lightning. Before he supposed they had made half the way, shegave a sign to the istvostchik, and they drew up before a plain house ofsquared logs. 

The two lower windows were lighted, and the dark figure of an old man, with a skull-cap upon his head, was framed in one of them. It vanishedas the sled stopped; the door was thrown open and the man came forthhurriedly, followed by a Russian nurse with a lantern. 

"Helena, my child, art thou come at last? What has befallen thee?"

He would evidently have said more, but the sight of Prince Boris causedhim to pause, while a quick shade of suspicion and alarm passed over hisface. The Prince stepped forward, instantly relieved of his unaccustomedtimidity, and rapidly described the accident. The old nurse Katinka, hadmeanwhile assisted the lovely Helena into the house. 

The old man turned to follow, shivering in the night-air. Suddenlyrecollecting himself, he begged the Prince to enter and take somerefreshments, but with the air and tone of a man who hopes that hisinvitation will not be accepted. If such was really his hope, he wasdisappointed; for Boris instantly commanded the istvostchik to wait forhim, and entered the humble dwelling. 

The apartment into which he was ushered was spacious, and plainly, yet not shabbily furnished. A violoncello and clavichord, with severalportfolios of music, and scattered sheets of ruled paper, proclaimed theprofession or the taste of the occupant. Having excused himself a momentto look after his daughter's condition, the old man, on his return, found Boris turning over the leaves of a musical work. 

"You see my profession, " he said. "I teach music?"

"Do you not compose?" asked the Prince. 

"That was once my ambition. I was a pupil of Sebastian Bach. But--circumstances--necessity--brought me here. Other lives changed thedirection of mine. It was right!"

"You mean your daughter's?" the Prince gently suggested. 

"Hers and her mother's. Our story was well known in St. Petersburgtwenty years ago, but I suppose no one recollects it now. My wife wasthe daughter of a Baron von Plauen, and loved music and myself betterthan her home and a titled bridegroom. She escaped, we united our lives, suffered and were happy together, --and she died. That is all. "

Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Helena, with steaming glasses of tea. She was even lovelier than before. Herclose-fitting dress revealed the symmetry of her form, and the quiet, unstudied grace of her movements. Although her garments were ofwell-worn material, the lace which covered her bosom was genuine pointd'Alencon, of an old and rare pattern. Boris felt that her airand manner were thoroughly noble; he rose and saluted her with theprofoundest respect. 

In spite of the singular delight which her presence occasioned him, he was careful not to prolong his visit beyond the limits of strictetiquette. His name, Boris Alexeivitch, only revealed to his guests thename of his father, without his rank; and when he stated that he wasemployed in one of the Departments, (which was true in a measure, for hewas a staff officer, ) they could only look upon him as being, at best, a member of some family whose recent elevation to the nobility did notrelease them from the necessity of Government service. Of course heemployed the usual pretext of wishing to study music, and either by thator some other stratagem managed to leave matters in such a shape that asecond visit could not occasion surprise. 

As the sled glided homewards over the crackling snow, he was obligedto confess the existence of a new and powerful excitement. Was it thechance of an adventure, such as certain of his comrades were continuallyseeking? He thought not; no, decidedly not. Was it--could it be--love?He really could not tell; he had not the slightset idea what love waslike. 

VI. 

It was something at least, that the plastic and not un-virtuous natureof the young man was directed towards a definite object. The elementsout of which he was made, although somewhat diluted, were active enoughto make him uncomfortable, so long as they remained in a confused state. He had very little power of introversion, but he was sensible that histemperament was changing, --that he grew more cheerful and contented withlife, --that a chasm somewhere was filling up, --just in proportion ashis acquaintance with the old music-master and his daughter became morefamiliar. His visits were made so brief, were so adroitly timed andaccounted for by circumstances, that by the close of Lent he could feeljustified in making the Easter call of a friend, and claim its attendantprivileges, without fear of being repulsed. 

That Easter call was an era in his life. At the risk of his wealth andrank being suspected, he dressed himself in new and rich garments, andhurried away towards the Smolnoi. The old nurse, Katinka, in her scarletgown, opened the door for him, and was the first to say, "Christ isarisen!" What could he do but give her the usual kiss? Formerly he hadkissed hundreds of serfs, men and women, on the sacred anniversary, witha passive good-will. But Katinka's kiss seemed bitter, and he secretlyrubbed his mouth after it. The music-master came next: grisly thoughhe might be, he was the St. Peter who stood at the gate of heaven. Thenentered Helena, in white, like an angel. He took her hand, pronouncedthe Easter greeting, and scarcely waited for the answer, "Truly he hasarisen!" before his lips found the way to hers. For a second they warmlytrembled and glowed together; and in another second some new and sweetand subtle relation seemed to be established between their natures. 

That night Prince Boris wrote a long letter to his "chere maman, " inpiquantly misspelt French, giving her the gossip of the court, and suchfamily news as she usually craved. The purport of the letter, however, was only disclosed in the final paragraph, and then in so negative a waythat it is doubtful whether the Princess Martha fully understood it. 

"Poing de mariajes pour moix!" he wrote, --but we will drop theoriginal, --"I don't think of such a thing yet. Pashkoff dropped a hint, the other day, but I kept my eyes shut. Perhaps you remember her?--fat, thick lips, and crooked teeth. Natalie D---- said to me, 'Have you everbeen in love, Prince?" HAVE I, MAMAN? I did not know what answer tomake. What is love? How does one feel, when one has it? They laugh at ithere, and of course I should not wish to do what is laughable. Give me ahint: forewarned is forearmed, you know, '"--etc. , etc. 

Perhaps the Princess Martha DID suspect something; perhaps some wordin her son's letter touched a secret spot far back in her memory, andrenewed a dim, if not very intelligible, pain. She answered his questionat length, in the style of the popular French romances of that day. Shehad much to say of dew and roses, turtledoves and the arrows of Cupid. 

"Ask thyself, " she wrote, "whether felicity comes with her presence, and distraction with her absence, --whether her eyes make the morningbrighter for thee, and her tears fall upon thy heart like moltenlava, --whether heaven would be black and dismal without her company, andthe flames of hell turn into roses under her feet. "

It was very evident that the good Princess Martha had never felt--nay, did not comprehend--a passion such as she described. 

Prince Boris, however, whose veneration for his mother was unbounded, took her words literally, and applied the questions to himself. Althoughhe found it difficult, in good faith and sincerity, to answer all ofthem affirmatively (he was puzzled, for instance, to know the sensationof molten lava falling upon the heart), yet the general conclusion wasinevitable: Helena was necessary to his happiness. 

Instead of returning to Kinesma for the summer, as had been arranged, hedetermined to remain in St. Petersburg, under the pretence of devotinghimself to military studies. This change of plan occasioned moredisappointment to the Princess Martha than vexation to Prince Alexis. The latter only growled at the prospect of being called upon to advancea further supply of rubles, slightly comforting himself with themuttered reflection, --

"Perhaps the brat will make a man of himself, after all. "

It was not many weeks, in fact, before the expected petition came tohand. The Princess Martha had also foreseen it, and instructed her sonhow to attack his father's weak side. The latter was furiously jealousof certain other noblemen of nearly equal wealth, who were with himat the court of Peter the Great, as their sons now were at that ofElizabeth. Boris compared the splendor of these young noblemen with hisown moderate estate, fabled a few "adventures" and drinking-bouts, andannounced his determination of doing honor to the name which PrinceAlexis of Kinesma had left behind him in the capital. 

There was cursing at the castle when the letter arrived. Many serfs feltthe sting of the short whip, the slumber-flag was hoisted five minuteslater than usual, and the consumption of Cognac was alarming; but nomirror was smashed, and when Prince Alexis read the letter to his poorrelations, he even chuckled over some portions of it. Boris had boldlydemanded twenty thousand rubles, in the desperate hope of receiving halfthat amount, --and he had calculated correctly. 

Before midsummer he was Helena's accepted lover. Not, however, untilthen, when her father had given his consent to their marriage in theautumn, did he disclose his true rank. The old man's face lighted upwith a glow of selfish satisfaction; but Helena quietly took her lover'shand, and said, --

"Whatever you are, Boris, I will be faithful to you. "

VII. 

Leaving Boris to discover the exact form and substance of the passion oflove, we will return for a time to the castle of Kinesma. 

Whether the Princess Martha conjectured what had transpired in St. Petersburg, or was partially informed of it by her son, cannot nowbe ascertained. She was sufficiently weak, timid, and nervous, to betroubled with the knowledge of the stratagem in which she had assistedin order to procure money, and that the ever-present consciousnessthereof would betray itself to the sharp eyes of her husband. Certain itis, that the demeanor of the latter towards her and his household beganto change about the end of the summer. He seemed to have a hauntingsuspicion, that, in some way he had been, or was about to be, overreached. He grew peevish, suspicious, and more violent than ever inhis excesses. 

When Mishka, the dissipated bear already described, bit off one of theears of Basil, a hunter belonging to the castle, and Basil drew hisknife and plunged it into Mishka's heart, Prince Alexis punished thehunter by cutting off his other ear, and sending him away to a distantestate. A serf, detected in eating a few of the pickled cherriesintended for the Prince's botvinia, was placed in a cask, and pickledcherries packed around him up to the chin. There he was kept untilalmost flayed by the acid. It was ordered that these two delinquentsshould never afterwards be called by any other names than "Crop-Ear" and"Cherry. "

But the Prince's severest joke, which, strange to say, in no wiselessened his popularity among the serfs, occurred a month or two later. One of his leading passions was the chase, --especially the chase in hisown forests, with from one to two hundred men, and no one to dispute hisLordship. On such occasions, a huge barrel of wine, mounted upon asled, always accompanied the crowd, and the quantity which the huntersreceived depended upon the satisfaction of Prince Alexis with the gamethey collected. 

Winter had set in early and suddenly, and one day, as the Prince and hisretainers emerged from the forest with their forenoon's spoil, and foundthemselves on the bank of the Volga, the water was already covered witha thin sheet of ice. Fires were kindled, a score or two of hares anda brace of deer were skinned, and the flesh placed on sticks to broil;skins of mead foamed and hissed into the wooden bowls, and the cask ofunbroached wine towered in the midst. Prince Alexis had a good appetite;the meal was after his heart; and by the time he had eaten a hare andhalf a flank of venison, followed by several bowls of fiery wine, he wasin the humor for sport. He ordered a hole cut in the upper side of thebarrel, as it lay; then, getting astride of it, like a grisly Bacchus, he dipped out the liquor with a ladle, and plied his thirsty serfs untilthey became as recklessly savage as he. 

They were scattered over a slope gently falling from the dark, densefir-forest towards the Volga, where it terminated in a rocky palisade, ten to fifteen feet in height. The fires blazed and crackled merrily inthe frosty air; the yells and songs of the carousers were echoed backfrom the opposite shore of the river. The chill atmosphere, the loweringsky, and the approaching night could not touch the blood of that wildcrowd. Their faces glowed and their eyes sparkled; they were ready forany deviltry which their lord might suggest. 

Some began to amuse themselves by flinging the clean-picked bonesof deer and hare along the glassy ice of the Volga. Prince Alexis, perceiving this diverson, cried out in ecstasy, --

"Oh, by St. Nicholas the Miracle-Worker, I'll give you better sport thanthat, ye knaves! Here's the very place for a reisak, --do you hear mechildren?--a reisak! Could there be better ice? and then the rocks tojump from! Come, children, come! Waska, Ivan, Daniel, you dogs, overwith you!"

Now the reisak was a gymnastic performance peculiar to old Russia, andtherefore needs to be described. It could become popular only among apeople of strong physical qualities, and in a country where swift riversfreeze rapidly from sudden cold. Hence we are of the opinion thatit will not be introduced into our own winter diversions. A spot isselected where the water is deep and the current tolerably strong; theice must be about half an inch in thickness. The performer leaps headforemost from a rock or platform, bursts through the ice, is carriedunder by the current, comes up some distance below, and bursts throughagain. Both skill and strength are required to do the feat successfully. 

Waska, Ivan, Daniel, and a number of others, sprang to the brink of therocks and looked over. The wall was not quite perpendicular, some largefragments having fallen from above and lodged along the base. It wouldtherefore require a bold leap to clear the rocks and strike the smoothice. They hesitated, --and no wonder. 

Prince Alexis howled with rage and disappointment. 

"The Devil take you, for a pack of whimpering hounds!" he cried. "HolySaints! they are afraid to make a reisak!"

Ivan crossed himself and sprang. He cleared the rocks, but, instead ofbursting through the ice with his head, fell at full length upon hisback. 

"O knave!" yelled the Prince, --"not to know where his head is! Thinksit's his back! Give him fifteen stripes. "

Which was instantly done. 

The second attempt was partially successful. One of the hunters brokethrough the ice, head foremost, going down, but he failed to come upagain; so the feat was only half performed. 

The Prince became more furiously excited. 

"This is the way I'm treated!" he cried. "He forgets all about finishingthe reisak, and goes to chasing sterlet! May the carps eat him up foran ungrateful vagabond! Here, you beggars!" (addressing the poorrelations, ) "take your turn, and let me see whether you are men. "

Only one of the frightened parasites had the courage to obey. Onreaching the brink, he shut his eyes in mortal fear, and made a leapat random. The next moment he lay on the edge of the ice with one legbroken against a fragment of rock. 

This capped the climax of the Prince's wrath. He fell into a statebordering on despair, tore his hair, gnashed his teeth, and weptbitterly. 

"They will be the death of me!" was his lament. "Not a man among them!It wasn't so in the old times. Such beautiful reisaks as I have seen!But the people are becoming women, --hares, --chickens, --skunks! Villains, will you force me to kill you? You have dishonored and disgraced me; Iam ashamed to look my neighbors in the face. Was ever a man so treated?"

The serfs hung down their heads, feeling somehow responsible for theirmaster's misery. Some of them wept, out of a stupid sympathy with histears. 

All at once he sprang down from the cask, crying in a gay, triumphanttone, --

"I have it! Bring me Crop-Ear. He's the fellow for a reisak, --he canmake three, one after another. "

One of the boldest ventured to suggest that Crop-Ear had been sent awayin disgrace to another of the Prince's estates. 

"Bring him here, I say? Take horses, and don't draw rein going orcoming. I will not stir from this spot until Crop-Ear comes. "

With these words, he mounted the barrel, and recommenced ladling out thewine. Huge fires were made, for the night was falling, and the cold hadbecome intense. Fresh game was skewered and set to broil, and the tragicinterlude of the revel was soon forgotten. 

Towards midnight the sound of hoofs was heard, and the messengersarrived with Crop-Ear. But, although the latter had lost his ears, hewas not inclined to split his head. The ice, meanwhile, had becomeso strong that a cannon-ball would have made no impression upon it. Crop-Ear simply threw down a stone heavier than himself, and, as itbounced and slid along the solid floor, said to Prince Alexis, --

"Am I to go back, Highness, or stay here?"

"Here, my son. Thou'rt a man. Come hither to me. "

Taking the serf's head in his hands, he kissed him on both cheeks. Thenhe rode homeward through the dark, iron woods, seated astride on thebarrel, and steadying himself with his arms around Crop-Ear's andWaska's necks. 

VIII. 

The health of the Princess Martha, always delicate, now began to failrapidly. She was less and less able to endure her husband's savagehumors, and lived almost exclusively in her own apartments. She nevermentioned the name of Boris in his presence, for it was sure to throwhim into a paroxysm of fury. Floating rumors in regard to the youngPrince had reached him from the capital, and nothing would convince himthat his wife was not cognizant of her son's doings. The poor Princessclung to her boy as to all that was left her of life, and tried to propher failing strength with the hope of his speedy return. She was nowtoo helpless to thwart his wishes in any way; but she dreaded, morethan death, the terrible SOMETHING which would surely take place betweenfather and son if her conjectures should prove to be true. 

One day, in the early part of November, she received a letter fromBoris, announcing his marriage. She had barely strength and presence ofmind enough to conceal the paper in her bosom before sinking in a swoon. By some means or other the young Prince had succeeded in overcomingall the obstacles to such a step: probably the favor of the Empress wascourted, in order to obtain her consent. The money he had received, hewrote, would be sufficient to maintain them for a few months, though notin a style befitting their rank. He was proud and happy; the PrincessHelena would be the reigning beauty of the court, when he should presenther, but he desired the sanction of his parents to the marriage, beforetaking his place in society. He would write immediately to his father, and hoped, that, if the news brought a storm, Mishka might be on hand todivert its force, as on a former occasion. 

Under the weight of this imminent secret, the Princess Martha couldneither eat nor sleep. Her body wasted to a shadow; at every noise inthe castle, she started and listened in terror, fearing that the newshad arrived. 

Prince Boris, no doubt, found his courage fail him when he set aboutwriting the promised letter; for a fortnight elapsed before it made itsappearance. Prince Alexis received it on his return from the chase. Heread it hastily through, uttered a prolonged roar like that of a woundedbull, and rushed into the castle. The sound of breaking furniture, ofcrashing porcelain and shivered glass, came from the state apartments:the domestics fell on their knees and prayed; the Princess, who heardthe noise and knew what it portended, became almost insensible fromfright. 

One of the upper servants entered a chamber as the Prince was in theact of demolishing a splendid malachite table, which had escaped all hisprevious attacks. He was immediately greeted with a cry of, --

"Send the Princess to me!"

"Her Highness is not able to leave her chamber, " the man replied. 

How it happened he could never afterwards describe but he found himselflying in a corner of the room. When he arose, there seemed to be asingular cavity in his mouth: his upper front teeth were wanting. 

We will not narrate what took place in the chamber of the Princess. 

The nerves of the unfortunate woman had been so wrought upon by herfears, that her husband's brutal rage, familiar to her from longexperience, now possessed a new and alarming significance. His threatswere terrible to hear; she fell into convulsions, and before morning hertormented life was at an end. 

There was now something else to think of, and the smashing of porcelainand cracking of whips came to an end. The Archimandrite was summoned, and preparations, both religious and secular, were made for a funeralworthy the rank of the deceased. Thousands flocked to Kinesma; and whenthe immense procession moved away from the castle, although very fewof the persons had ever known or cared in the least, for the PrincessMartha, all, without exception, shed profuse tears. Yes, there wasone exception, --one bare, dry rock, rising alone out of the universaldeluge, --Prince Alexis himself, who walked behind the coffin, his eyesfixed and his features rigid as stone. They remarked that his face washaggard, and that the fiery tinge on his cheeks and nose had faded intolivid purple. The only sign of emotion which he gave was a convulsiveshudder, which from time to time passed over his whole body. 

Three archimandrites (abbots) and one hundred priests headed the solemnfuneral procession from the castle to the church on the opposite hill. There the mass for the dead was chanted, the responses being sung bya choir of silvery boyish voices. All the appointments were of thecostliest character. Not only all those within the church, but thethousands outside, spared not their tears, but wept until the fountainswere exhausted. Notice was given, at the close of the services, that"baked meats" would be furnished to the multitude, and that all beggarswho came to Kinesma would be charitably fed for the space of six weeks. Thus, by her death, the amiable Princess Martha was enabled to dispensemore charity than had been permitted to her life. 

At the funeral banquet which followed, Prince Alexis placed the AbbotSergius at his right hand, and conversed with him in the most edifyingmanner upon the necessity of leading a pure and godly life. His remarksupon the duty of a Christian, upon brotherly love, humility, andself-sacrifice, brought tears into the eyes of the listening priests. Heexpressed his conviction that the departed Princess, by the piety of herlife, had attained unto salvation, --and added, that his own life had nowno further value unless he should devote it to religious exercises. 

"Can you not give me a place in your monastery?" he asked, turning tothe Abbot. "I will endow it with a gift of forty thousand rubles, forthe privilege of occupying a monk's cell. "

"Pray, do not decide too hastily, Highness, " the Abbot replied. "Youhave yet a son. "

"What!" yelled Prince Alexis, with flashing eyes, every trace ofhumility and renunciation vanishing like smoke, --"what! Borka? Theinfamous wretch who has ruined me, killed his mother, and broughtdisgrace upon our name? Do you know that he has married a wench of nofamily and without a farthing, --who would be honored, if I should allowher to feed my hogs? Live for HIM? live for HIM? Ah-R-R-R!"

This outbreak terminated in a sound between a snarl and a bellow. Thepriests turned pale, but the Abbot devoutly remarked--

"Encompassed by sorrows, Prince, you should humbly submit to the will ofthe Lord. "

"Submit to Borka?" the Prince scornfully laughed. "I know what I'lldo. There's time enough yet for a wife and another child, --ay, --a dozenchildren! I can have my pick in the province; and if I couldn't I'dsooner take Masha, the goose-girl, than leave Borka the hope of steppinginto my shoes. Beggars they shall be, --beggars!"

What further he might have said was interrupted by the priests risingto chant the Blajennon uspennie (blessed be the dead), --after which, the trisna, a drink composed of mead, wine, and rum, was emptied tothe health of the departed soul. Every one stood during this ceremony, except Prince Alexis, who fell suddenly prostrate before the consecratedpictures, and sobbed so passionately that the tears of the guests flowedfor the third time. There he lay until night; for whenever any one daredto touch him, he struck out furiously with fists and feet. Finally hefell asleep on the floor, and the servants then bore him to his sleepingapartment. 

For several days afterward his grief continued to be so violent that theoccupants of the castle were obliged to keep out of his way. The whipwas never out of his hand, and he used it very recklessly, not alwaysselecting the right person. The parasitic poor relations found theirsituation so uncomfortable, that they decided, one and all, to detachthemselves from the tree upon which they fed and fattened, even at therisk of withering on a barren soil. Night and morning the serfs prayedupon their knees, with many tears and groans, that the Saints might sendconsolation, in any form, to their desperate lord. 

The Saints graciously heard and answered the prayer. Word came that ahuge bear had been seen in the forest stretching towards Juriewetz. Thesorrowing Prince pricked up his ears, threw down his whip, and ordered achase. Sasha, the broad-shouldered, the cunning, the ready, the untiringcompanion of his master, secretly ordered a cask of vodki to follow thecrowd of hunters and serfs. There was a steel-bright sky, a low, yellowsun, and a brisk easterly wind from the heights of the Ural. As thecrisp snow began to crunch under the Prince's sled, his followers sawthe old expression come back to his face. With song and halloo and blastof horns, they swept away into the forest. 

Saint John the Hunter must have been on guard over Russia that day. 

The great bear was tracked, and after a long and exciting chase, fell bythe hand of Prince Alexis himself. Halt was made in an open space in theforest, logs were piled together and kindled on the snow, and just atthe right moment (which no one knew better than Sasha) the cask of vodkirolled into its place. When the serfs saw the Prince mount astride ofit, with his ladle in his hand, they burst into shouts of extravagantjoy. "Slava Bogu!" (Glory be to God!) came fervently from the beardedlips of those hard, rough, obedient children. They tumbled headlong overeach other, in their efforts to drink first from the ladle, to claspthe knees or kiss the hands of the restored Prince. And the dawn wasglimmering against the eastern stars, as they took the way to thecastle, making the ghostly fir-woods ring with shout and choric song. 

Nevertheless, Prince Alexis was no longer the same man; his giantstrength and furious appetite were broken. He was ever ready, asformerly, for the chase and the drinking-bout; but his jovial mood nolonger grew into a crisis which only utter physical exhaustion or thestupidity of drunkenness could overcome. Frequently, while astride thecask, his shouts of laughter would suddenly cease, the ladle would dropfrom his hand, and he would sit motionless, staring into vacancy forfive minutes at a time. Then the serfs, too, became silent, and stoodstill, awaiting a change. The gloomy mood passed away as suddenly. Hewould start, look about him, and say, in a melancholy voice, --

"Have I frightened you, my children? It seems to me that I am gettingold. Ah, yes, we must all die, one day. But we need not think about it, until the time comes. The Devil take me for putting it into my head!Why, how now? can't you sing, children?"

Then he would strike up some ditty which they all knew: a hundred voicesjoined in the strain, and the hills once more rang with revelry. 

Since the day when the Princess Martha was buried, the Prince had notagain spoken of marriage. No one, of course, dared to mention the nameof Boris in his presence. 

IX. 

The young Prince had, in reality, become the happy husband of Helena. His love for her had grown to be a shaping and organizing influence, without which his nature would have fallen into its former confusion. Ifa thought of a less honorable relation had ever entered his mind, it waspresently banished by the respect which a nearer intimacy inspired;and thus Helena, magnetically drawing to the surface only his bestqualities, loved, unconsciously to herself, her own work in him. Erelong, she saw that she might balance the advantages he had conferredupon her in their marriage by the support and encouragement which shewas able to impart to him; and this knowledge, removing all painfulsense of obligation, made her both happy and secure in her new position. 

The Princess Martha, under some presentiment of her approaching death, had intrusted one of the ladies in attendance upon her with the secretof her son's marriage, in addition to a tender maternal message, andsuch presents of money and jewelry as she was able to procure withouther husband's knowledge. These presents reached Boris very opportunely;for, although Helena developed a wonderful skill in regulating hisexpenses, the spring was approaching, and even the limited circle ofsociety in which they had moved during the gay season had made heavydemands upon his purse. He became restless and abstracted, until hiswife, who by this time clearly comprehended the nature of his trouble, had secretly decided how it must be met. 

The slender hoard of the old music-master, with a few thousand rublesfrom Prince Boris, sufficed for his modest maintenance. Being now freefrom the charge of his daughter, he determined to visit Germany, and, ifcircumstances were propitious, to secure a refuge for his old age in hisfavorite Leipsic. Summer was at hand, and the court had already removedto Oranienbaum. In a few weeks the capital would be deserted. 

"Shall we go to Germany with your father?" asked Boris, as he sat at awindow with Helena, enjoying the long twilight. 

"No, my Boris, " she answered; "we will go to Kinesma. "

"But--Helena, --golubchik, mon ange, --are you in earnest?"

"Yes, my Boris. The last letter from your--our cousin Nadejda convincesme that the step must be taken. Prince Alexis has grown much older sinceyour mother's death; he is lonely and unhappy. He may not welcome us, but he will surely suffer us to come to him; and we must then begin thework of reconciliation. Reflect, my Boris, that you have keenly woundedhim in the tenderest part, --his pride, --and you must therefore cast awayyour own pride, and humbly and respectfully, as becomes a son, solicithis pardon. "

"Yes, " said he, hesitatingly, "you are right. But I know his violenceand recklessness, as you do not. For myself, alone, I am willing tomeet him; yet I fear for your sake. Would you not tremble to encounter amaddened and brutal mujik?--then how much more to meet Alexis Pavlovitchof Kinesma!"

"I do not and shall not tremble, " she replied. "It is not your marriagethat has estranged your father, but your marriage with ME. Having been, unconsciously, the cause of the trouble, I shall deliberately, and asa sacred duty, attempt to remove it. Let us go to Kinesma, as humble, penitent children, and cast ourselves upon your father's mercy. At theworst, he can but reject us; and you will have given me the consolationof knowing that I have tried, as your wife, to annul the sacrifice youhave made for my sake. "

"Be it so, then!" cried Boris, with a mingled feeling of relief andanxiety. 

He was not unwilling that the attempt should be made, especially sinceit was his wife's desire; but he knew his father too well to anticipateimmediate success. All threatening POSSIBILITIES suggested themselves tohis mind; all forms of insult and outrage which he had seen perpetratedat Kinesma filled his memory. The suspense became at last worse than anyprobable reality. He wrote to his father, announcing a speedy visitfrom himself and his wife; and two days afterwards the pair left St. Petersburg in a large travelling kibitka. 

X. 

When Prince Alexis received his son's letter, an expression of fierce, cruel delight crept over his face, and there remained, horriblyilluminating its haggard features. The orders given for swimminghorses in the Volga--one of his summer diversions--were immediatelycountermanded; he paced around the parapet of the castle-wall until nearmidnight, followed by Sasha with a stone jug of vodki. The latter hadthe useful habit, notwithstanding his stupid face, of picking up thefragments of soliloquy which the Prince dropped, and answering them asif talking to himself. Thus he improved upon and perfected many a hintof cruelty, and was too discreet ever to dispute his master's claim tothe invention. 

Sasha, we may be sure, was busy with his devil's work that night. The next morning the stewards and agents of Prince Alexis, in castle, village, and field, were summoned to his presence. 

"Hark ye!" said he; "Borka and his trumpery wife send me word that theywill be here to-morrow. See to it that every man, woman, and child, forten versts out on the Moskovskoi road, knows of their coming. Let it beknown that whoever uncovers his head before them shall uncover his backfor a hundred lashes. Whomsoever they greet may bark like a dog, meeouwlike a cat, or bray like an ass, as much as he chooses; but if he speaksa decent word, his tongue shall be silenced with stripes. Whoever shallinsult them has my pardon in advance. Oh, let them come!--ay, let themcome! Come they may: but how they go away again"----

The Prince Alexis suddenly stopped, shook his head, and walked upand down the hall, muttering to himself. His eyes were bloodshot, andsparkled with a strange light. What the stewards had heard was plainenough; but that something more terrible than insult was yet held inreserve they did not doubt. It was safe, therefore, not only to fulfil, but to exceed, the letter of their instructions. Before night the wholepopulation were acquainted with their duties; and an unusual mood ofexpectancy, not unmixed with brutish glee, fell upon Kinesma. 

By the middle of the next forenoon, Boris and his wife, seated inthe open kibitka, drawn by post-horses, reached the boundaries ofthe estate, a few versts from the village. They were both silent andslightly pale at first, but now began to exchange mechanical remarks, todivert each other's thoughts from the coming reception. 

"Here are the fields of Kinesma at last!" exclaimed Prince Boris. "We shall see the church and castle from the top of that hill in thedistance. And there is Peter, my playmate, herding the cattle!

"Peter! Good-day, brotherkin!"

Peter looked, saw the carriage close upon him, and, after a moment ofhesitation, let his arms drop stiffly by his sides, and began howlinglike a mastiff by moonlight. Helena laughed heartily at this singularresponse to the greeting; but Boris, after the first astonishment wasover, looked terrified. 

"That was done by order, " said he, with a bitter smile. "The old bearstretches his claws out. Dare you try his hug?"

"I do not fear, " she answered, her face was calm. 

Every serf they passed obeyed the order of Prince Alexis accordingto his own idea of disrespect. One turned his back; another madecontemptuous grimaces and noises; another sang a vulgar song; anotherspat upon the ground or held his nostrils. Nowhere was a cap raised, orthe stealthy welcome of a friendly glance given. 

The Princess Helena met these insults with a calm, proud indifference. Boris felt them more keenly; for the fields and hills were prospectivelyhis property, and so also were the brutish peasants. It was a form ofchastisement which he had never before experienced, and knew not how toresist. The affront of an entire community was an offence against whichhe felt himself to be helpless. 

As they approached the town, the demonstrations of insolence wereredoubled. About two hundred boys, between the ages of ten and fourteen, awaited them on the hill below the church, forming themselves into fileson either side of the road. These imps had been instructed to stickout their tongues in derision, and howl, as the carriage passed betweenthem. At the entrance of the long main street of Kinesma, they wereobliged to pass under a mock triumphal arch, hung with dead dogs anddrowned cats; and from this point the reception assumed an outrageouscharacter. Howls, hootings, and hisses were heard on all sides; bouquetsof nettles and vile weeds were flung to them; even wreaths of spoiledfish dropped from the windows. The women were the most eager anduproarious in this carnival of insult: they beat their saucepans, threwpails of dirty water upon the horses, pelted the coachman with rottencabbages, and filled the air with screeching and foul words. 

It was impossible to pass through this ordeal with indifference. Boris, finding that his kindly greetings were thrown away, --that even his oldacquaintances in the bazaar howled like the rest, --sat with head bowedand despair in his heart. The beautiful eyes of Helena were heavy withtears; but she no longer trembled, for she knew the crisis was yet tocome. 

As the kibitka slowly climbed the hill on its way to the castle-gate, Prince Alexis, who had heard and enjoyed the noises in the village froma balcony on the western tower, made his appearance on the head of thesteps which led from the court-yard to the state apartments. The dreadedwhip was in his hand; his eyes seemed about to start from their sockets, in their wild, eager, hungry gaze; the veins stood out like cords on hisforehead; and his lips, twitching involuntarily, revealed the glareof his set teeth. A frightened hush filled the castle. Some of thedomestics were on their knees; others watching, pale and breathless, from the windows: for all felt that a greater storm than they had everexperienced was about to burst. Sasha and the castle-steward had takenthe wise precaution to summon a physician and a priest, providedwith the utensils for extreme unction. Both of these persons had beensmuggled in through a rear entrance, and were kept concealed until theirservices should be required. 

The noise of wheels was heard outside the gate, which stood invitinglyopen. Prince Alexis clutched his whip with iron fingers, andunconsciously took the attitude of a wild beast about to spring from itsambush. Now the hard clatter of hoofs and the rumbling, of wheels echoedfrom the archway, and the kibitka rolled into the courtyard. It stoppednear the foot of the grand staircase. Boris, who sat upon the fartherside, rose to alight, in order to hand down his wife; but no soonerhad he made a movement than Prince Alexis, with lifted whip and faceflashing fire, rushed down the steps. Helena rose, threw back her veil, let her mantle (which Boris had grasped, in his anxiety to restrain heraction, ) fall behind her, and stepped upon the pavement. 

Prince Alexis had already reached the last step, and but a few feetseparated them. He stopped as if struck by lightning, --his body stillretaining, in every limb, the impress of motion. The whip was in hisuplifted fist; one foot was on the pavement of the court, and the otherupon the edge of the last step; his head was bent forward, his mouthopen, and his eyes fastened upon the Princess Helena's face. 

She, too, stood motionless, a form of simple and perfect grace, and methis gaze with soft, imploring, yet courageous and trustful eyes. Thewomen who watched the scene from the galleries above always declaredthat an invisible saint stood beside her in that moment, and surroundedher with a dazzling glory. The few moments during which the suspense ofa hundred hearts hung upon those encountering eyes seemed an eternity. 

Prince Alexis did not move, but he began to tremble from head to foot. His fingers relaxed, and the whip fell ringing upon the pavement. Thewild fire of his eyes changed from wrath into an ecstasy as intense, anda piercing cry of mingled wonder, admiration and delight burst from histhroat. At that cry Boris rushed forward and knelt at his feet. Helena, clasping her fairest hands, sank beside her husband, with upturnedface, as if seeking the old man's eyes, and perfect the miracle she hadwrought. 

The sight of that sweet face, so near his own, tamed the last lurkingferocity of the beast. His tears burst forth in a shower; he lifted andembraced the Princess, kissing her brow, her cheeks, her chin, and herhands, calling her his darling daughter, his little white dove, hislambkin. 

"And, father, my Boris, too!" said she. 

The pure liquid voice sent thrills of exquisite delight through hiswhole frame. He embraced and blessed Boris, and then, throwing an armaround each, held them to his breast, and wept passionately upon theirheads. By this time the whole castle overflowed with weeping. Tears fellfrom every window and gallery; they hissed upon the hot saucepans of thecooks; they moistened the oats in the manger; they took the starch outof the ladies' ruffles, and weakened the wine in the goblets of theguests. Insult was changed into tenderness in a moment. Those who hadbarked or stuck out their tongues at Boris rushed up to kiss his boots;a thousand terms of endearment were showered upon him. 

Still clasping his children to his breast, Prince Alexis mounted thesteps with them. At the top he turned, cleared his throat, husky fromsobbing, and shouted--

"A feast! a feast for all Kinesma! Let there be rivers of vodki, wineand hydromel! Proclaim it everywhere that my dear son Boris and mydear daughter Helena have arrived, and whoever fails to welcome them toKinesma shall be punished with a hundred stripes! Off, ye scoundrels, yevagabonds, and spread the news!"

It was not an hour before the whole sweep of the circling hillsresounded with the clang of bells, the blare of horns, and the songsand shouts of the rejoicing multitude. The triumphal arch of unsavoryanimals was whirled into the Volga; all signs of the recent receptionvanished like magic; festive fir-boughs adorned the houses, and thegardens and window-pots were stripped of their choicest flowers to makewreaths of welcome. The two hundred boys, not old enough to comprehendthis sudden bouleversement of sentiment, did not immediately desist fromsticking out their tongues: whereupon they were dismissed with a boxon the ear. By the middle of the afternoon all Kinesma was eating, drinking, and singing; and every song was sung, and every glass emptiedin honor of the dear, good Prince Boris, and the dear, beautifulPrincess Helena. By night all Kinesma was drunk. 

XI. 

In the castle a superb banquet was improvised. Music, guests, and raredishes were brought together with wonderful speed, and the choicestwines of the cellar were drawn upon. Prince Boris, bewildered by thissudden and incredible change in his fortunes, sat at his father's righthand, while the Princess filled, but with much more beauty and dignity, the ancient place of the Princess Martha. The golden dishes were setbefore her, and the famous family emeralds--in accordance with thecommand of Prince Alexis--gleamed among her dark hair and flashed aroundher milk-white throat. Her beauty was of a kind so rare in Russiathat it silenced all question and bore down all rivalry. Every oneacknowledged that so lovely a creature had never before been seen. "Faith, the boy has eyes!" the old Prince constantly repeated, as heturned away from a new stare of admiration, down the table. 

The guests noticed a change in the character of the entertainment. Theidiot, in his tow shirt, had been crammed to repletion in the kitchen, and was now asleep in the stable. Razboi, the new bear, --the successorof the slaughtered Mishka, --was chained up out of hearing. The jugglers, tumblers, and Calmucks still occupied their old place under the gallery, but their performances were of a highly decorous character. At theleast-sign of a relapse into certain old tricks, more grotesque thanrefined, the brows of Prince Alexis would grow dark, and a sharp glanceat Sasha was sufficient to correct the indiscretion. Every one foundthis natural enough; for they were equally impressed with the eleganceand purity of the young wife. After the healths had been drunk and theslumber-flag was raised over the castle, Boris led her into the splendidapartments of his mother, --now her own, --and knelt at her feet. 

"Have I done my part, my Boris?" she asked. 

"You are an angel!" he cried. "It was a miracle! My life was not wortha copek, and I feared for yours. If it will only last!--if it will onlylast!"

"It WILL, " said she. "You have taken me from poverty, and given me rank, wealth, and a proud place in the world: let it be my work to keep thepeace which God has permitted me to establish between you and yourfather!"

The change in the old Prince, in fact, was more radical than any one whoknew his former ways of life would have considered possible. He stormedand swore occasionally, flourished his whip to some purpose, and rodehome from the chase, not outside of a brandy cask, as once, but withtoo much of its contents inside of him: but these mild excesses werecomparative virtues. His accesses of blind rage seemed to be at an end. A powerful, unaccustomed feeling of content subdued his strong nature, and left its impress on his voice and features. He joked and sangwith his "children, " but not with the wild recklessness of the days ofreisaks and indiscriminate floggings. Both his exactions and his favorsdiminished in quantity. Week after week passed by, and there was no signof any return to his savage courses. 

Nothing annoyed him so much as a reference to his former way of life, in the presence of the Princess Helena. If her gentle, questioning eyeshappened to rest on him at such times, something very like a blush roseinto his face, and the babbler was silenced with a terribly significantlook. It was enough for her to say, when he threatened an act of crueltyand injustice, "Father, is that right?" He confusedly retracted hisorders, rather than bear the sorrow of her face. 

The promise of another event added to his happiness: Helena wouldsoon become a mother. As the time drew near he stationed guards atthe distance of a verst around the castle, that no clattering vehiclesshould pass, no dogs bark loudly, nor any other disturbance occur whichmight agitate the Princess. The choicest sweetmeats and wines, flowersfrom Moscow and fruits from Astrakhan, were procured for her; and it wasa wonder that the midwife performed her duty, for she had the fearof death before her eyes. When the important day at last arrived theslumber-flag was instantly hoisted, and no mouse dared to squeak inKinesma until the cannon announced the advent of a new soul. 

That night Prince Alexis lay down in the corridor, outside ofHelena's door: he glared fiercely at the nurse as she entered with thebirth-posset for the young mother. No one else was allowed to pass, thatnight, nor the next. Four days afterwards, Sasha, having a message tothe Princess, and supposing the old man to be asleep, attempted to stepnoiselessly over his body. In a twinkle the Prince's teeth fastenedthemselves in the serf's leg, and held him with the tenacity of abull-dog. Sasha did not dare to cry out: he stood, writhing with pain, until the strong jaws grew weary of their hold, and then crawled away todress the bleeding wound. After that, no one tried to break the Prince'sguard. 

The christening was on a magnificent scale. Prince Paul of Kostroma wasgodfather, and gave the babe the name of Alexis. As the Prince had paidhis respects to Helena just before the ceremony, it may be presumed thatthe name was not of his own inspiration. The father and mother werenot allowed to be present, but they learned that the grandfather hadcomported himself throughout with great dignity and propriety. TheArchimandrite Sergius obtained from the Metropolitan at Moscow a veryminute fragment of the true cross, which was encased in a hollow beadof crystal, and hung around the infant's neck by a fine gold chain, as aprecious amulet. 

Prince Alexis was never tired of gazing at his grandson and namesake. 

"He has more of his mother than of Boris, " he would say. "So much thebetter! Strong dark eyes, like the Great Peter, --and what a goodly legfor a babe! Ha! he makes a tight little fist already, --fit to handle awhip, --or" (seeing the expression of Helena's face)--"or a sword. He'llbe a proper Prince of Kinesma, my daughter, and we owe it to you. "

Helena smiled, and gave him a grateful glance in return. She had had hersecret fears as to the complete conversion of Prince Alexis; but now shesaw in this babe a new spell whereby he might be bound. Slight as washer knowledge of men, she yet guessed the tyranny of long-continuedhabits; and only her faith, powerful in proportion as it was ignorant, gave her confidence in the result of the difficult work she hadundertaken. 

XII. 

Alas! the proud predictions of Prince Alexis, and the protection of thesacred amulet, were alike unavailing. The babe sickened, wasted away, and died in less than two months after its birth. There was great andgenuine sorrow among the serfs of Kinesma. Each had received a shiningruble of silver at the christening; and, moreover, they were nowbeginning to appreciate the milder regime of their lord, which this blowmight suddenly terminate. Sorrow, in such natures as his, exasperatesinstead of chastening: they knew him well enough to recognize thedanger. 

At first the old man's grief appeared to be of a stubborn, harmlessnature. As soon as the funeral ceremonies were over he betook himself tohis bed, and there lay for two days and nights, without eating a morselof food. The poor Princess Helena, almost prostrated by the blow, mourned alone, or with Boris, in her own apartments. Her influence, no longer kept alive by her constant presence, as formerly, began todecline. When the old Prince aroused somewhat from his stupor, it wasnot meat that he demanded, but drink; and he drank to angry excess. Day after day the habit resumed its ancient sway, and the whip and thewild-beast yell returned with it. The serfs even began to tremble asthey never had done, so long as his vices were simply those of a strongman; for now a fiendish element seemed to be slowly creeping in. Hebecame horribly profane: they shuddered when he cursed the venerableMetropolitan of Moscow, declaring that the old sinner had deliberatelykilled his grandson, by sending to him, instead of the true cross of theSaviour, a piece of the tree to which the impenitent thief was nailed. 

Boris would have spared his wife the knowledge of this miserablerelapse, in her present sorrow, but the information soon reached her inother ways. She saw the necessity of regaining, by a powerful effort, what she had lost. She therefore took her accustomed place at the table, and resumed her inspection of household matters. Prince Alexis, as ifdetermined to cast off the yoke which her beauty and gentleness had laidupon him, avoided looking at her face or speaking to her, as much aspossible: when he did so, his manner was cold and unfriendly. During herfew days of sad retirement he had brought back the bear Razboi and theidiot to his table, and vodki was habitually poured out to him and hisfavorite serfs in such a measure that the nights became hideous withdrunken tumult. 

The Princess Helena felt that her beauty no longer possessed the potencyof its first surprise. It must now be a contest of nature with nature, spiritual with animal power. The struggle would be perilous, sheforesaw, but she did not shrink; she rather sought the earliest occasionto provoke it. 

That occasion came. Some slight disappointment brought on one of the oldparoxysms of rage, and the ox-like bellow of Prince Alexis rang throughthe castle. Boris was absent, but Helena delayed not a moment to ventureinto his father's presence. She found him in a hall over-looking thecourt-yard, with his terrible whip in his hand, giving orders for thebrutal punishment of some scores of serfs. The sight of her, coming thusunexpectedly upon him, did not seem to produce the least effect. 

"Father!" she cried, in an earnest, piteous tone, "what is it you do?"

"Away, witch!" he yelled. "I am the master in Kinesma, not thou! Away, or--"

The fierceness with which he swung and cracked the whip was morethreatening than any words. Perhaps she grew a shade paler, perhaps herhands were tightly clasped in order that they might not tremble; but shedid not flinch from the encounter. She moved a step nearer, fixed hergaze upon his flashing eyes, and said, in a low, firm voice--

"It is true, father, you are master here. It is easy to rule over thosepoor, submissive slaves. But you are not master over yourself; you arelashed and trampled upon by evil passions, and as much a slave as any ofthese. Be not weak, my father, but strong!"

An expression of bewilderment came into his face. No such words had everbefore been addressed to him, and he knew not how to reply to them. ThePrincess Helena followed up the effect--she was not sure that it wasan advantage--by an appeal to the simple, childish nature which shebelieved to exist under his ferocious exterior. For a minute it seemedas if she were about to re-establish her ascendancy: then the stubbornresistance of the beast returned. 

Among the portraits in the hall was one of the deceased Princess Martha. Pointing to this, Helena cried--

"See, my father! here are the features of your sainted wife! Think thatshe looks down from her place among the blessed, sees you, listens toyour words, prays that your hard heart may be softened! Remember herlast farewell to you on earth, her hope of meeting you--"

A cry of savage wrath checked her. Stretching one huge, bony hand, as ifto close her lips, trembling with rage and pain, livid and convulsed inevery feature of his face, Prince Alexis reversed the whip in his righthand, and weighed its thick, heavy butt for one crashing, fatal blow. Life and death were evenly balanced. For an instant the Princess becamedeadly pale, and a sickening fear shot through her heart. She could notunderstand the effect of her words: her mind was paralyzed, and whatfollowed came without her conscious volition. 

Not retreating a step, not removing her eyes from the terrible picturebefore her, she suddenly opened her lips and sang. Her voice ofexquisite purity, power, and sweetness, filled the old hall andoverflowed it, throbbing in scarcely weakened vibrations throughcourt-yard and castle. The melody was a prayer--the cry of a torturedheart for pardon and repose; and she sang it with almost supernaturalexpression. Every sound in the castle was hushed: the serfs outsideknelt and uncovered their heads. 

The Princess could never afterwards describe, or more than dimly recall, the exaltation of that moment. She sang in an inspired trance: from theutterance of the first note the horror of the imminent fate sank out ofsight. Her eyes were fixed upon the convulsed face, but she beheld itnot: all the concentrated forces of her life flowed into the music. Sheremembered, however, that Prince Alexis looked alternately from her faceto the portrait of his wife; that he at last shuddered and grewpale; and that, when with the closing note her own strength suddenlydissolved, he groaned and fell upon the floor. 

She sat down beside him, and took his head upon her lap. For a long timehe was silent, only shivering as if in fever. 

"Father!" she finally whispered, "let me take you away!"

He sat up on the floor and looked around; but as his eyes encounteredthe portrait, he gave a loud howl and covered his face with his hands. 

"She turns her head!" he cried. "Take her away, --she follows me with hereyes! Paint her head black, and cover it up!"

With some difficulty he was borne to his bed, but he would not restuntil assured that his orders had been obeyed, and the painting coveredfor the time with a coat of lamp-black. A low, prolonged attack of feverfollowed, during which the presence of Helena was indispensable to hiscomfort. She ventured to leave the room only while he slept. He was likea child in her hands; and when she commended his patience or his goodresolutions, his face beamed with joy and gratitude. He determined (ingood faith, this time) to enter a monastery and devote the rest of hislife to pious works. 

But, even after his recovery, he was still too weak and dependent on hischildren's attentions to carry out this resolution. He banished from thecastle all those of his poor relations who were unable to drink vodki inmoderation; he kept careful watch over his serfs, and those whobecame intoxicated (unless they concealed the fact in the stables andouthouses) were severely punished: all excess disappeared, and a reignof peace and gentleness descended upon Kinesma. 

In another year another Alexis was born, and lived, and soon grew strongenough to give his grandfather the greatest satisfaction he had everknown in his life, by tugging at his gray locks, and digging the smallfingers into his tamed and merry eyes. Many years after Prince Alexiswas dead the serfs used to relate how they had seen him, in the brightsummer afternoons, asleep in his armchair on the balcony, with the rosybabe asleep on his bosom, and the slumber-flag waving over both. 

Legends of the Prince's hunts, reisaks, and brutal revels are stillcurrent along the Volga; but they are now linked to fairer and moregracious stories; and the free Russian farmers (no longer serfs) arenever tired of relating incidents of the beauty, the courage, thebenevolence, and the saintly piety of the Good Lady of Kinesma. 

TALES OF HOME. 

THE STRANGE FRIEND. 

It would have required an intimate familiarity with the habitualdemeanor of the people of Londongrove to detect in them an access ofinterest (we dare not say excitement), of whatever kind. Expression withthem was pitched to so low a key that its changes might be compared tothe slight variations in the drabs and grays in which they were clothed. Yet that there was a moderate, decorously subdued curiosity present inthe minds of many of them on one of the First-days of the Ninth-month, in the year 1815, was as clearly apparent to a resident of theneighborhood as are the indications of a fire or a riot to the member ofa city mob. 

The agitations of the war which had so recently come to an end hadhardly touched this quiet and peaceful community. They had stoutly"borne their testimony, " and faced the question where it could not beevaded; and although the dashing Philadelphia militia had been stationedat Camp Bloomfield, within four miles of them, the previous year, thesegood people simply ignored the fact. If their sons ever listened to thetrumpets at a distance, or stole nearer to have a peep at the uniforms, no report of what they had seen or heard was likely to be made at home. Peace brought to them a relief, like the awakening from an uncomfortabledream: their lives at once reverted to the calm which they had breathedfor thirty years preceding the national disturbance. In their ways theyhad not materially changed for a hundred years. The surplus produce oftheir farms more than sufficed for the very few needs which those farmsdid not supply, and they seldom touched the world outside of their sectexcept in matters of business. They were satisfied with themselves andwith their lot; they lived to a ripe and beautiful age, rarely "borrowedtrouble, " and were patient to endure that which came in the fixed courseof things. If the spirit of curiosity, the yearning for an active, joyous grasp of life, sometimes pierced through this placid temper, and stirred the blood of the adolescent members, they were persuadedby grave voices, of almost prophetic authority, to turn their heartstowards "the Stillness and the Quietness. "

It was the pleasant custom of the community to arrive at themeeting-house some fifteen or twenty minutes before the usual time ofmeeting, and exchange quiet and kindly greetings before taking theirplaces on the plain benches inside. As most of the families had livedduring the week on the solitude of their farms, they liked to see theirneighbors' faces, and resolve, as it were, their sense of isolation intothe common atmosphere, before yielding to the assumed abstractionof their worship. In this preliminary meeting, also, the sexes weredivided, but rather from habit than any prescribed rule. They werealready in the vestibule of the sanctuary; their voices were subdued andtheir manner touched with a kind of reverence. 

If the Londongrove Friends gathered together a few minutes earlier onthat September First-day; if the younger members looked more frequentlytowards one of the gates leading into the meeting-house yard thantowards the other; and if Abraham Bradbury was the centre of a largercircle of neighbors than Simon Pennock (although both sat side byside on the highest seat of the gallery), --the cause of these slightdeviations from the ordinary behavior of the gathering was generallyknown. Abraham's son had died the previous Sixth-month, leaving a widowincapable of taking charge of his farm on the Street Road, whichwas therefore offered for rent. It was not always easy to obtain asatisfactory tenant in those days, and Abraham was not more relievedthan surprised on receiving an application from an unexpected quarter. Astrange Friend, of stately appearance, called upon him, bearing a letterfrom William Warner, in Adams County, together with a certificate froma Monthly Meeting on Long Island. After inspecting the farm and makingclose inquiries in regard to the people of the neighborhood, he acceptedthe terms of rent, and had now, with his family, been three or four daysin possession. 

In this circumstance, it is true, there was nothing strange, and theinterest of the people sprang from some other particulars which hadtranspired. The new-comer, Henry Donnelly by name, had offered, in placeof the usual security, to pay the rent annually in advance; hisspeech and manner were not, in all respects, those of Friends, and heacknowledged that he was of Irish birth; and moreover, some who hadpassed the wagons bearing his household goods had been struck by thepeculiar patterns of the furniture piled upon them. Abraham Bradburyhad of course been present at the arrival, and the Friends upon theadjoining farms had kindly given their assistance, although it wasa busy time of the year. While, therefore, no one suspected that thefarmer could possibly accept a tenant of doubtful character, a generalsentiment of curious expectancy went forth to meet the Donnelly family. 

Even the venerable Simon Pennock, who lived in the opposite part of thetownship, was not wholly free from the prevalent feeling. "Abraham, " hesaid, approaching his colleague, "I suppose thee has satisfied thyselfthat the strange Friend is of good repute. "

Abraham was assuredly satisfied of one thing--that the three hundredsilver dollars in his antiquated secretary at home were good and lawfulcoin. We will not say that this fact disposed him to charity, but willonly testify that he answered thus:

"I don't think we have any right to question the certificate from Islip, Simon; and William Warner's word (whom thee knows by hearsay) is that ofa good and honest man. Henry himself will stand ready to satisfy thee, if it is needful. "

Here he turned to greet a tall, fresh-faced youth, who had quietlyjoined the group at the men's end of the meeting-house. He wasnineteen, blue-eyed, and rosy, and a little embarrassed by the grave, scrutinizing, yet not unfriendly eyes fixed upon him. 

"Simon, this is Henry's oldest son, De Courcy, " said Abraham. 

Simon took the youth's hand, saying, "Where did thee get thy outlandishname?"

The young man colored, hesitated, and then said, in a low, firm voice, "It was my grandfather's name. "

One of the heavy carriages of the place and period, new and shiny, inspite of its sober colors, rolled into the yard. Abraham Bradbury and DeCourcy Donnelly set forth side by side, to meet it. 

Out of it descended a tall, broad-shouldered figure--a man in the primeof life, whose ripe, aggressive vitality gave his rigid Quaker garbthe air of a military undress. His blue eyes seemed to laugh above themeasured accents of his plain speech, and the close crop of his haircould not hide its tendency to curl. A bearing expressive of energy andthe habit of command was not unusual in the sect, strengthening, butnot changing, its habitual mask; yet in Henry Donnelly this bearingsuggested--one could scarcely explain why--a different experience. Dress and speech, in him, expressed condescension rather than fraternalequality. 

He carefully assisted his wife to alight, and De Courcy led the horse tothe hitching-shed. Susan Donnelly was a still blooming woman of forty;her dress, of the plainest color, was yet of the richest texture; andher round, gentle, almost timid face looked forth like a girl's from theshadow of her scoop bonnet. While she was greeting Abraham Bradbury, the two daughters, Sylvia and Alice, who had been standing shyly bythemselves on the edge of the group of women, came forward. The latterwas a model of the demure Quaker maiden; but Abraham experienced as muchsurprise as was possible to his nature on observing Sylvia's costume. A light-blue dress, a dark-blue cloak, a hat with ribbons, and hair incurls--what Friend of good standing ever allowed his daughter thus toarray herself in the fashion of the world?

Henry read the question in Abraham's face, and preferred not to answerit at that moment. Saying, "Thee must make me acquainted with the restof our brethren, " he led the way back to the men's end. When he hadbeen presented to the older members, it was time for them to assemble inmeeting. 

The people were again quietly startled when Henry Donnelly deliberatelymounted to the third and highest bench facing them, and sat down besideAbraham and Simon. These two retained, possibly with some little inwardexertion, the composure of their faces, and the strange Friend becamelike unto them. His hands were clasped firmly in his lap; his full, decided lips were set together, and his eyes gazed into vacancy fromunder the broad brim. De Courcy had removed his hat on entering thehouse, but, meeting his father's eyes, replaced it suddenly, with aslight blush. 

When Simon Pennock and Ruth Treadwell had spoken the thoughts which hadcome to them in the stillness, the strange Friend arose. Slowly, withfrequent pauses, as if waiting for the guidance of the Spirit, and withthat inward voice which falls so naturally into the measure of a chant, he urged upon his hearers the necessity of seeking the Light and walkingtherein. He did not always employ the customary phrases, but neither didhe seem to speak the lower language of logic and reason; while his toneswere so full and mellow that they gave, with every slowly modulatedsentence, a fresh satisfaction to the ear. Even his broad a's and thestrong roll of his r's verified the rumor of his foreign birth, did notdetract from the authority of his words. The doubts which had precededhim somehow melted away in his presence, and he came forth, after themeeting had been dissolved by the shaking of hands, an accepted tenantof the high seat. 

That evening, the family were alone in their new home. The plainrush-bottomed chairs and sober carpet, in contrast with the dark, solidmahogany table, and the silver branched candle-stick which stood uponit, hinted of former wealth and present loss; and something of the samecontrast was reflected in the habits of the inmates. While the father, seated in a stately arm-chair, read aloud to his wife and children, Sylvia's eyes rested on a guitar-case in the corner, and her fingersabsently adjusted themselves to the imaginary frets. De Courcy twistedhis neck as if the straight collar of his coat were a bad fit, andHenry, the youngest boy, nodded drowsily from time to time. 

"There, my lads and lasses!" said Henry Donnelly, as he closed the book, "now we're plain farmers at last, --and the plainer the better, since itmust be. There's only one thing wanting--"

He paused; and Sylvia, looking up with a bright, arch determination, answered: "It's too late now, father, --they have seen me as one ofthe world's people, as I meant they should. When it is once settled assomething not to be helped, it will give us no trouble. "

"Faith, Sylvia!" exclaimed De Courcy, "I almost wish I had kept youcompany. "

"Don't be impatient, my boy, " said the mother, gently. "Think of thevexations we have had, and what a rest this life will be!"

"Think, also, " the father added, "that I have the heaviest work to do, and that thou'lt reap the most of what may come of it. Don't carry theold life to a land where it's out of place. We must be what we seem tobe, every one of us!"

"So we will!" said Sylvia, rising from her seat, --"I, as well as therest. It was what I said in the beginning, you--no, THEE knows, father. Somebody must be interpreter when the time comes; somebody must rememberwhile the rest of you are forgetting. Oh, I shall be talked about, andset upon, and called hard names; it won't be so easy. Stay where youare, De Courcy; that coat will fit sooner than you think. "

Her brother lifted his shoulders and made a grimace. "I've anunlucky name, it seems, " said he. "The old fellow--I mean FriendSimon--pronounced it outlandish. Couldn't I change it to Ezra orAdonijah?"

"Boy, boy--"

"Don't be alarmed, father. It will soon be as Sylvia says; thee's right, and mother is right. I'll let Sylvia keep my memory, and start freshfrom here. We must into the field to-morrow, Hal and I. There's no needof a collar at the plough-tail. "

They went to rest, and on the morrow not only the boys, but their fatherwere in the field. Shrewd, quick, and strong, they made available whatthey knew of farming operations, and disguised much of their ignorance, while they learned. Henry Donnelly's first public appearance had madea strong public impression in his favor, which the voice of the olderFriends soon stamped as a settled opinion. His sons did their share, bythe amiable, yielding temper they exhibited, in accommodating themselvesto the manners and ways of the people. The graces which came from abetter education, possibly, more refined associations, gave them anattraction, which was none the less felt because it was not understood, to the simple-minded young men who worked with the hired hands in theirfathers' fields. If the Donnelly family had not been accustomed, informer days, to sit at the same table with laborers in shirt-sleeves, and be addressed by the latter in fraternal phrase, no littleawkwardnesses or hesitations betrayed the fact. They were anxious tomake their naturalization complete, and it soon became so. 

The "strange Friend" was now known in Londongrove by the familiarname of "Henry. " He was a constant attendant at meeting, not only onFirst-days, but also on Fourth-days, and whenever he spoke his wordswere listened to with the reverence due to one who was truly led towardsthe Light. This respect kept at bay the curiosity that might still havelingered in some minds concerning his antecedent life. It was knownthat he answered Simon Pennock, who had ventured to approach him with adirect question, in these words:

"Thee knows, Friend Simon, that sometimes a seal is put upon our mouthsfor a wise purpose. I have learned not to value the outer life exceptin so far as it is made the manifestation of the inner life, and Ionly date my own from the time when I was brought to a knowledge of thetruth. It is not pleasant to me to look upon what went before; buta season may come when it shall be lawful for me to declare allthings--nay, when it shall be put upon me as a duty. 

"Thee must suffer me to wait the call. "

After this there was nothing more to be said. The family was on termsof quiet intimacy with the neighbors; and even Sylvia, in spite of herdefiant eyes and worldly ways, became popular among the young menand maidens. She touched her beloved guitar with a skill which seemedmarvellous to the latter; and when it was known that her refusal toenter the sect arose from her fondness for the prohibited instrument, she found many apologists among them. She was not set upon, and calledhard names, as she had anticipated. It is true that her father, whenappealed to by the elders, shook his head and said, "It is a cross tous!"--but he had been known to remain in the room while she sang "Fullhigh in Kilbride, " and the keen light which arose in his eyes wasneither that of sorrow nor anger. 

At the end of their first year of residence the farm presented evidencesof much more orderly and intelligent management than at first, althoughthe adjoining neighbors were of the opinion that the Donnellys hadhardly made their living out of it. Friend Henry, nevertheless, wasready with the advance rent, and his bills were promptly paid. Hewas close at a bargain, which was considered rather a merit thanotherwise, --and almost painfully exact in observing the strict letter ofit, when made. 

As time passed by, and the family became a permanent part and parcelof the remote community, wearing its peaceful color and breathingits untroubled atmosphere, nothing occurred to disturb the esteem andrespect which its members enjoyed. From time to time the postmaster atthe corner delivered to Henry Donnelly a letter from New York, alwaysaddressed in the same hand. The first which arrived had an "Esq. " addedto the name, but this "compliment" (as the Friends termed it) soonceased. Perhaps the official may have vaguely wondered whether there wasany connection between the occasional absence of Friend Henry--not atYearly-Meeting time--and these letters. If he had been a visitor at thefarm-house he might have noticed variations in the moods of its inmates, which must have arisen from some other cause than the price of stock orthe condition of the crops. Outside of the family circle, however, theywere serenely reticent. 

In five or six years, when De Courcy had grown to be a hale, handsomeman of twenty-four, and as capable of conducting a farm as any to thetownship born, certain aberrations from the strict line of disciplinebegan to be rumored. He rode a gallant horse, dressed a little moreelegantly than his membership prescribed, and his unusually high, straight collar took a knack of falling over. Moreover, he wasfrequently seen to ride up the Street Road, in the direction of Fagg'sManor, towards those valleys where the brick Presbyterian churchdisplaces the whitewashed Quaker meeting-house. 

Had Henry Donnelly not occupied so high a seat, and exercised suchan acknowledged authority in the sect, he might sooner have receivedcounsel, or proffers of sympathy, as the case might be; but he heardnothing until the rumors of De Courcy's excursions took a more definiteform. 

But one day, Abraham Bradbury, after discussing some Monthly-Meetingmatters, suddenly asked: "Is this true that I hear, Henry, --that thy sonDe Courcy keeps company with one of the Alison girls?"

"Who says that?" Henry asked, in a sharp voice. 

"Why, it's the common talk! Surely, thee's heard of it before?"

"No!"

Henry set his lips together in a manner which Abraham understood. Considering that he had fully performed his duty, he said no more. 

That evening, Sylvia, who had been gently thrumming to herself at thewindow, began singing "Bonnie Peggie Alison. " Her father looked at DeCourcy, who caught his glance, then lowered his eyes, and turned toleave the room. 

"Stop, De Courcy, " said the former; "I've heard a piece of news aboutthee to-day, which I want thee to make clear. "

"Shall I go, father?" asked Sylvia. 

"No; thee may stay to give De Courcy his memory. I think he is beginningto need it. I've learned which way he rides on Seventh-day evenings. "

"Father, I am old enough to choose my way, " said De Courcy. 

"But no such ways NOW, boy! Has thee clean forgotten? This was amongthe things upon which we agreed, and you all promised to keep watch andguard over yourselves. I had my misgivings then, but for five years I'vetrusted you, and now, when the time of probation is so nearly over--"

He hesitated, and De Courcy, plucking up courage, spoke again. Witha strong effort the young man threw off the yoke of a self-taughtrestraint, and asserted his true nature. "Has O'Neil written?" he asked. 

"Not yet. "

"Then, father, " he continued, "I prefer the certainty of my present lifeto the uncertainty of the old. I will not dissolve my connection withthe Friends by a shock which might give thee trouble; but I will slowlywork away from them. Notice will be taken of my ways; there will befamily visitations, warnings, and the usual routine of discipline, sothat when I marry Margaret Alison, nobody will be surprised at my beingread out of meeting. I shall soon be twenty-five, father, and this thinghas gone on about as long as I can bear it. I must decide to be either aman or a milksop. "

The color rose to Henry Donnelly's cheeks, and his eyes flashed, but heshowed no signs of anger. He moved to De Courcy's side and laid his handupon his shoulder. 

"Patience, my boy!" he said. "It's the old blood, and I might have knownit would proclaim itself. Suppose I were to shut my eyes to thy ridings, and thy merry-makings, and thy worldly company. So far I might go; butthe girl is no mate for thee. If O'Neil is alive, we are sure to hearfrom him soon; and in three years, at the utmost, if the Lord favorsus, the end will come. How far has it gone with thy courting? Surely, surely, not too far to withdraw, at least under the plea of myprohibition?"

De Courcy blushed, but firmly met his father's eyes. "I have spokento her, " he replied, "and it is not the custom of our family to breakplighted faith. "

"Thou art our cross, not Sylvia. Go thy ways now. I will endeavor toseek for guidance. "

"Sylvia, " said the father, when De Courcy had left the room, "what is tobe the end of this?"

"Unless we hear from O'Neil, father, I am afraid it cannot be prevented. De Courcy has been changing for a year past; I am only surprised thatyou did not sooner notice it. What I said in jest has become serioustruth; he has already half forgotten. We might have expected, in thebeginning, that one of two things would happen: either he would becomea plodding Quaker farmer or take to his present courses. Which would beworse, when this life is over, --if that time ever comes?"

Sylvia sighed, and there was a weariness in her voice which did notescape her father's ear. He walked up and down the room with a troubledair. She sat down, took the guitar upon her lap, and began to singthe verse, commencing, "Erin, my country, though sad and forsaken, "when--perhaps opportunely--Susan Donnelly entered the room. 

"Eh, lass!" said Henry, slipping his arm around his wife's waist, "artthou tired yet? Have I been trying thy patience, as I have that ofthe children? Have there been longings kept from me, little rebellionscrushed, battles fought that I supposed were over?"

"Not by me, Henry, " was her cheerful answer. "I have never have beenhappier than in these quiet ways with thee. I've been thinking, what ifsomething has happened, and the letters cease to come? And it has seemedto me--now that the boys are as good farmers as any, and Alice is such atidy housekeeper--that we could manage very well without help. Only forthy sake, Henry: I fear it would be a terrible disappointment to thee. Or is thee as accustomed to the high seat as I to my place on thewomen's side?"

"No!" he answered emphatically. "The talk with De Courcy has set myquiet Quaker blood in motion. The boy is more than half right; I am sureSylvia thinks so too. What could I expect? He has no birthright, anddidn't begin his task, as I did, after the bravery of youth was over. It took six generations to establish the serenity and content of ourbrethren here, and the dress we wear don't give us the nature. De Courcyis tired of the masquerade, and Sylvia is tired of seeing it. Thou, mylittle Susan, who wert so timid at first, puttest us all to shame now!"

"I think I was meant for it, --Alice, and Henry, and I, " said she. 

No outward change in Henry Donnelly's demeanor betrayed this or anyother disturbance at home. There were repeated consultations between thefather and son, but they led to no satisfactory conclusion. De Courcywas sincerely attached to the pretty Presbyterian maiden, and foundlivelier society in her brothers and cousins than among the grave, awkward Quaker youths of Londongrove. 

With the occasional freedom from restraint there awoke in him a desirefor independence--a thirst for the suppressed license of youth. Hisnew acquaintances were accustomed to a rigid domestic regime, but of adifferent character, and they met on a common ground of rebellion. Theiraberrations, it is true, were not of a very formidable character, andneed not have been guarded but for the severe conventionalities of bothsects. An occasional fox-chase, horse-race, or a "stag party" at someoutlying tavern, formed the sum of their dissipation; they sang, dancedreels, and sometimes ran into little excesses through the stimulatingsense of the trespass they were committing. 

By and by reports of certain of these performances were brought tothe notice of the Londongrove Friends, and, with the consent ofHenry Donnelly himself, De Courcy received a visit of warning andremonstrance. He had foreseen the probability of such a visit andwas prepared. He denied none of the charges brought against him, andaccepted the grave counsel offered, simply stating that his nature wasnot yet purified and chastened; he was aware he was not walking in theLight; he believed it to be a troubled season through which he mustneeds pass. His frankness, as he was shrewd enough to guess, wasa source of perplexity to the elders; it prevented them fromexcommunicating him without further probation, while it left him freeto indulge in further recreations. 

Some months passed away, and the absence from which Henry Donnellyalways returned with a good supply of ready money did not take place. The knowledge of farming which his sons had acquired now came into play. It was necessary to exercise both skill and thrift in order to keep upthe liberal footing upon which the family had lived; for each member ofit was too proud to allow the community to suspect the change in theircircumstances. De Courcy, retained more than ever at home, and boundto steady labor, was man enough to subdue his impatient spirit for thetime; but he secretly determined that with the first change for thebetter he would follow the fate he had chosen for himself. 

Late in the fall came the opportunity for which he had longed. Oneevening he brought home a letter, in the well-known handwriting. Hisfather opened and read it in silence. 

"Well, father?" he said. 

"A former letter was lost, it seems. This should have come in thespring; it is only the missing sum. "

"Does O'Neil fix any time?"

"No; but he hopes to make a better report next year. "

"Then, father, " said De Courcy, "it is useless for me to wait longer; Iam satisfied as it is. I should not have given up Margaret in any case;but now, since thee can live with Henry's help, I shall claim her. "

"MUST it be, De Courcy?"

"It must. "

But it was not to be. A day or two afterwards the young man, on hismettled horse, set off up the Street Road, feeling at last that thefortune and the freedom of his life were approaching. He had become, inhabits and in feelings, one of the people, and the relinquishment of thehope in which his father still indulged brought him a firmer courage, amore settled content. His sweetheart's family was in good circumstances;but, had she been poor, he felt confident of his power to make andsecure for her a farmer's home. To the past--whatever it might havebeen--he said farewell, and went carolling some cheerful ditty, to lookupon the face of his future. 

That night a country wagon slowly drove up to Henry Donnelly's door. Thethree men who accompanied it hesitated before they knocked, and, whenthe door was opened, looked at each other with pale, sad faces, beforeeither spoke. No cries followed the few words that were said, butsilently, swiftly, a room was made ready, while the men lifted from thestraw and carried up stairs an unconscious figure, the arms of whichhung down with a horrible significance as they moved. He was not dead, for the heart beat feebly and slowly; but all efforts to restore hisconsciousness were in vain. There was concussion of the brain thephysician said. He had been thrown from his horse, probably alightingupon his head, as there were neither fractures nor external wounds. All that night and next day the tenderest, the most unwearied care wasexerted to call back the flickering gleam of life. The shock had beentoo great; his deadly torpor deepened into death. 

In their time of trial and sorrow the family received the fullestsympathy, the kindliest help, from the whole neighborhood. They hadnever before so fully appreciated the fraternal character of the societywhereof they were members. The plain, plodding people living on theadjoining farms became virtually their relatives and fellow-mourners. All the external offices demanded by the sad occasion were performed forthem, and other eyes than their own shed tears of honest grief over DeCourcy's coffin. All came to the funeral, and even Simon Pennock, inthe plain yet touching words which he spoke beside the grave, forgot theyoung man's wandering from the Light, in the recollection of his frank, generous, truthful nature. 

If the Donnellys had sometimes found the practical equality of life inLondongrove a little repellent they were now gratefully moved by thedelicate and refined ways in which the sympathy of the people sought toexpress itself. The better qualities of human nature always develop atemporary good-breeding. Wherever any of the family went, they saw thereflection of their own sorrow; and a new spirit informed to their eyesthe quiet pastoral landscapes. 

In their life at home there was little change. Abraham Bradbury hadinsisted on sending his favorite grandson, Joel, a youth of twenty-two, to take De Courcy's place for a few months. He was a shy quiet creature, with large brown eyes like a fawn's, and young Henry Donnelly and hebecame friends at once. It was believed that he would inherit thefarm at his grandfather's death; but he was as subservient to FriendDonnelly's wishes in regard to the farming operations as if the latterheld the fee of the property. His coming did not fill the terrible gapwhich De Courcy's death had made, but seemed to make it less constantlyand painfully evident. 

Susan Donnelly soon remarked a change, which she could neither clearlydefine nor explain to herself, both in her husband and in their daughterSylvia. The former, although in public he preserved the same grave, stately face, --its lines, perhaps, a little more deeply marked, --seemedto be devoured by an internal unrest. His dreams were of the old times:words and names long unused came from his lips as he slept by her side. Although he bore his grief with more strength than she had hoped, hegrew nervous and excitable, --sometimes unreasonably petulant, sometimesgay to a pitch which impressed her with pain. When the spring camearound, and the mysterious correspondence again failed, as in theprevious year, his uneasiness increased. He took his place on the highseat on First-days, as usual, but spoke no more. 

Sylvia, on the other hand, seemed to have wholly lost her proud, impatient character. She went to meeting much more frequently thanformerly, busied herself more actively about household matters, and ceased to speak of the uncertain contingency which had been soconstantly present in her thoughts. In fact, she and her father hadchanged places. She was now the one who preached patience, who heldbefore them all the bright side of their lot, who brought MargaretAlison to the house and justified her dead brother's heart to hisfather's, and who repeated to the latter, in his restless moods, "DeCourcy foresaw the truth, and we must all in the end decide as he did. "

"Can THEE do it, Sylvia?" her father would ask. 

"I believe I have done it already, " she said. "If it seems difficult, pray consider how much later I begin my work. I have had all yourmemories in charge, and now I must not only forget for myself, but foryou as well. "

Indeed, as the spring and summer months came and went, Sylvia evidentlygrew stronger in her determination. The fret of her idle force wasallayed, and her content increased as she saw and performed the possibleduties of her life. Perhaps her father might have caught somethingof her spirit, but for his anxiety in regard to the suspendedcorrespondence. He wearied himself in guesses, which all ended in thesimple fact that, to escape embarrassment, the rent must again be savedfrom the earnings of the farm. 

The harvests that year were bountiful; wheat, barley, and oats stoodthick and heavy in the fields. No one showed more careful thrift or morecheerful industry than young Joel Bradbury, and the family felt thatmuch of the fortune of their harvest was owing to him. 

On the first day after the crops had been securely housed, all wentto meeting, except Sylvia. In the walled graveyard the sod was alreadygreen over De Courcy's unmarked mound, but Alice had planted a littlerose-tree at the head, and she and her mother always visited the spotbefore taking their seats on the women's side. The meeting-house wasvery full that day, as the busy season of the summer was over, and thehorses of those who lived at a distance had no longer such need of rest. 

It was a sultry forenoon, and the windows and doors of the building wereopen. The humming of insects was heard in the silence, and broken lightsand shadows of the poplar-leaves were sprinkled upon the steps andsills. Outside there were glimpses of quiet groves and orchards, andblue fragments of sky, --no more semblance of life in the externallandscape than there was in the silent meeting within. Some quarter ofan hour before the shaking of hands took place, the hoofs of a horsewere heard in the meeting-house yard--the noise of a smart trot on theturf, suddenly arrested. 

The boys pricked up their ears at this unusual sound, and stole glancesat each other when they imagined themselves unseen by the awful faces inthe gallery. Presently those nearest the door saw a broader shadow fallover those flickering upon the stone. A red face appeared for a moment, and was then drawn back out of sight. The shadow advanced and receded, in a state of peculiar restlessness. Sometimes the end of a riding-whipwas visible, sometimes the corner of a coarse gray coat. The boys whonoticed these apparitions were burning with impatience, but they darednot leave their seats until Abraham Bradbury had reached his hand toHenry Donnelly. 

Then they rushed out. The mysterious personage was still beside thedoor, leaning against the wall. He was a short, thick-set man of fifty, with red hair, round gray eyes, a broad pug nose, and projecting mouth. He wore a heavy gray coat, despite the heat, and a waistcoat withmany brass buttons; also corduroy breeches and riding boots. When theyappeared, he started forward with open mouth and eyes, and stared wildlyin their faces. They gathered around the poplar-trunks, and waited withsome uneasiness to see what would follow. 

Slowly and gravely, with the half-broken ban of silence still hangingover them, the people issued from the house. The strange man stood, leaning forward, and seemed to devour each, in turn, with his eagereyes. After the young men came the fathers of families, and lastly theold men from the gallery seats. Last of these came Henry Donnelly. In the meantime, all had seen and wondered at the waiting figure; itsattitude was too intense and self-forgetting to be misinterpreted. Thegreetings and remarks were suspended until the people had seen for whomthe man waited, and why. 

Henry Donnelly had no sooner set his foot upon the door-step than, with something between a shout and a howl, the stranger darted forward, seized his hand, and fell upon one knee, crying: "O my lord! my lord!Glory be to God that I've found ye at last!"

If these words burst like a bomb on the ears of the people, what wastheir consternation when Henry Donnelly exclaimed, "The Divel! JackO'Neil, can that be you?"

"It's me, meself, my lord! When we heard the letters went wrong lastyear, I said 'I'll trust no such good news to their blasted mail-posts:I'll go meself and carry it to his lordship, --if it is t'other side o'the say. Him and my lady and all the children went, and sure I can gotoo. And as I was the one that went with you from Dunleigh Castle, I'llgo back with you to that same, for it stands awaitin', and blessed bethe day that sees you back in your ould place!"

"All clear, Jack? All mine again?"

"You may believe it, my lord! And money in the chest beside. But where'smy lady, bless her sweet face! Among yon women, belike, and you'll helpme to find her, for it's herself must have the news next, and then theyoung master--"

With that word Henry Donnelly awoke to a sense of time and place. Hefound himself within a ring of staring, wondering, scandalized eyes. Hemet them boldly, with a proud, though rather grim smile, took hold ofO'Neil's arm and led him towards the women's end of the house, where thesight of Susan in her scoop bonnet so moved the servant's heart that hemelted into tears. Both husband and wife were eager to get home andhear O'Neil's news in private; so they set out at once in their plaincarriage, followed by the latter on horseback. As for the Friends, theywent home in a state of bewilderment. 

Alice Donnelly, with her brother Henry and Joel Bradbury, returnedon foot. The two former remembered O'Neil, and, although they had notwitnessed his first interview with their father, they knew enough of thefamily history to surmise his errand. Joel was silent and troubled. 

"Alice, I hope it doesn't mean that we are going back, don't you?" saidHenry. 

"Yes, " she answered, and said no more. 

They took a foot-path across the fields, and reached the farm-houseat the same time with the first party. As they opened the door Sylviadescended the staircase dressed in a rich shimmering brocade, witha necklace of amethysts around her throat. To their eyes, so longaccustomed to the absence of positive color, she was completelydazzling. There was a new color on her cheeks, and her eyes seemedlarger and brighter. She made a stately courtesy, and held open theparlor door. 

"Welcome, Lord Henry Dunleigh, of Dunleigh Castle!" she cried; "welcome, Lady Dunleigh!"

Her father kissed her on the forehead. "Now give us back our memories, Sylvia!" he said, exultingly. 

Susan Donnelly sank into a chair, overcome by the mixed emotions of themoment. 

"Come in, my faithful Jack! Unpack thy portmanteau of news, for Isee thou art bursting to show it; let us have every thing fromthe beginning. Wife, it's a little too much for thee, coming sounexpectedly. Set out the wine, Alice!"

The decanter was placed upon the table. O'Neil filled a tumbler to thebrim, lifted it high, made two or three hoarse efforts to speak, andthen walked away to the window, where he drank in silence. This littleincident touched the family more than the announcement of their goodfortune. Henry Donnelly's feverish exultation subsided: he sat down witha grave, thoughtful face, while his wife wept quietly beside him. Sylviastood waiting with an abstracted air; Alice removed her mother's bonnetand shawl; and Henry and Joel, seated together at the farther end of theroom, looked on in silent anticipation. 

O'Neil's story was long, and frequently interrupted. He had been LordDunleigh's steward in better days, as his father had been to the oldlord, and was bound to the family by the closest ties of interestand affection. When the estates became so encumbered that either animmediate change or a catastrophe was inevitable, he had been takeninto his master's confidence concerning the plan which had first beenproposed in jest, and afterwards adopted in earnest. 

The family must leave Dunleigh Castle for a period of probably eight orten years, and seek some part of the world where their expenses could bereduced to the lowest possible figure. In Germany or Italy there wouldbe the annoyance of a foreign race and language, of meeting of touristsbelonging to the circle in which they had moved, a dangerous idlenessfor their sons, and embarrassing restrictions for their daughters. Onthe other hand, the suggestion to emigrate to America and become Quakersduring their exile offered more advantages the more they considered it. It was original in character; it offered them economy, seclusion, entire liberty of action inside the limits of the sect, the bestmoral atmosphere for their children, and an occupation which would notdeteriorate what was best in their blood and breeding. 

How Lord Dunleigh obtained admission into the sect as plain HenryDonnelly is a matter of conjecture with the Londongrove Friends. Thedeception which had been practised upon them--although it was perhapsless complete than they imagined--left a soreness of feeling behindit. The matter was hushed up after the departure of the family, and onemight now live for years in the neighborhood without hearing the story. How the shrewd plan was carried out by Lord Dunleigh and his family, we have already learned. O'Neil, left on the estate, in the north ofIreland, did his part with equal fidelity. He not only filled up thegaps made by his master's early profuseness, but found means to move thesympathies of a cousin of the latter--a rich, eccentric old bachelor, who had long been estranged by a family quarrel. To this cousin hefinally confided the character of the exile, and at a lucky time; forthe cousin's will was altered in Lord Dunleigh's favor, and he diedbefore his mood of reconciliation passed away. Now, the estate was notonly unencumbered, but there was a handsome surplus in the hands of theDublin bankers. The family might return whenever they chose, and therewould be a festival to welcome them, O'Neil said, such as DunleighCastle had never known since its foundations were laid. 

"Let us go at once!" said Sylvia, when he had concluded his tale. "Nomore masquerading, --I never knew until to-day how much I have hated it!I will not say that your plan was not a sensible one, father; but I wishit might have been carried out with more honor to ourselves. Since DeCourcy's death I have begun to appreciate our neighbors: I was resignedto become one of these people had our luck gone the other way. Will theygive us any credit for goodness and truth, I wonder? Yes, in mother'scase, and Alice's; and I believe both of them would give up DunleighCastle for this little farm. "

"Then, " her father exclaimed, "it IS time that we should return, andwithout delay. But thee wrongs us somewhat, Sylvia: it has not all beenmasquerading. We have become the servants, rather than the masters, ofour own parts, and shall live a painful and divided life until we getback in our old place. I fear me it will always be divided for thee, wife, and Alice and Henry. If I am subdued by the element which I onlymeant to assume, how much more deeply must it have wrought in yournatures! Yes, Sylvia is right, we must get away at once. To-morrow wemust leave Londongrove forever!"

He had scarcely spoken, when a new surprise fell upon the family. Joel Bradbury arose and walked forward, as if thrust by an emotion sopowerful that it transformed his whole being. He seemed to forget everything but Alice Donnelly's presence. His soft brown eyes were fixed onher face with an expression of unutterable tenderness and longing. Hecaught her by the hands. "Alice, O, Alice!" burst from his lips; "youare not going to leave me?"

The flush in the girl's sweet face faded into a deadly paleness. Amoan came from her lips; her head dropped, and she would have fallen, swooning, from the chair had not Joel knelt at her feet and caught herupon his breast. 

For a moment there was silence in the room. 

Presently, Sylvia, all her haughtiness gone, knelt beside the young man, and took her sister from his arms. "Joel, my poor, dear friend, " shesaid, "I am sorry that the last, worst mischief we have done must fallupon you. "

Joel covered his face with his hands, and convulsively uttered thewords, "MUST she go?"

Then Henry Donnelly--or, rather, Lord Dunleigh, as we must now callhim--took the young man's hand. He was profoundly moved; his strongvoice trembled, and his words came slowly. "I will not appeal to thyheart, Joel, " he said, "for it would not hear me now. 

"But thou hast heard all our story, and knowest that we must leave theseparts, never to return. We belong to another station and another mode oflife than yours, and it must come to us as a good fortune that our timeof probation is at an end. Bethink thee, could we leave our darlingAlice behind us, parted as if by the grave? Nay, could we rob her of thelife to which she is born--of her share in our lives? On the other hand, could we take thee with us into relations where thee would always be astranger, and in which a nature like thine has no place? This is a casewhere duty speaks clearly, though so hard, so very hard, to follow. "

He spoke tenderly, but inflexibly, and Joel felt that his fate waspronounced. When Alice had somewhat revived, and was taken to anotherroom, he stumbled blindly out of the house, made his way to the barn, and there flung himself upon the harvest-sheaves which, three daysbefore, he had bound with such a timid, delicious hope working in hisarm. 

The day which brought such great fortune had thus a sad and troubledtermination. It was proposed that the family should start forPhiladelphia on the morrow, leaving O'Neil to pack up and remove suchfurniture as they wished to retain; but Susan, Lady Dunleigh, could notforsake the neighborhood without a parting visit to the good friends whohad mourned with her over her firstborn; and Sylvia was with her in thiswish. So two more days elapsed, and then the Dunleighs passed down theStreet Road, and the plain farm-house was gone from their eyesforever. Two grieved over the loss of their happy home; one was almostbroken-hearted; and the remaining two felt that the trouble of thepresent clouded all their happiness in the return to rank and fortune. 

They went, and they never came again. An account of the great festivalat Dunleigh Castle reached Londongrove two years later, through an Irishlaborer, who brought to Joel Bradbury a letter of recommendation signed"Dunleigh. " Joel kept the man upon his farm, and the two preserved thememory of the family long after the neighborhood had ceased to speakof it. Joel never married; he still lives in the house where the greatsorrow of his life befell. 

His head is gray, and his face deeply wrinkled; but when he lifts theshy lids of his soft brown eyes, I fancy I can see in their tremulousdepths the lingering memory of his love for Alice Dunleigh. 

JACOB FLINT'S JOURNEY. 

If there ever was a man crushed out of all courage, all self-reliance, all comfort in life, it was Jacob Flint. Why this should have been, neither he nor any one else could have explained; but so it was. On theday that he first went to school, his shy, frightened face marked him asfair game for the rougher and stronger boys, and they subjected him toall those exquisite refinements of torture which boys seem to get bythe direct inspiration of the Devil. There was no form of their bullyingmeanness or the cowardice of their brutal strength which he did notexperience. He was born under a fading or falling star, --the inheritorof some anxious or unhappy mood of his parents, which gave its fastcolor to the threads out of which his innocent being was woven. 

Even the good people of the neighborhood, never accustomed to look belowthe externals of appearance and manner, saw in his shrinking face andawkward motions only the signs of a cringing, abject soul. 

"You'll be no more of a man than Jake Flint!" was the reproach whichmany a farmer addressed to his dilatory boy; and thus the parents, oneand all, came to repeat the sins of the children. 

If, therefore, at school and "before folks, " Jacob's position was alwaysuncomfortable and depressing, it was little more cheering at home. Hisparents, as all the neighbors believed, had been unhappily married, and, though the mother died in his early childhood, his father remained amoody, unsocial man, who rarely left his farm except on the 1st of Aprilevery year, when he went to the county town for the purpose of payingthe interest upon a mortgage. The farm lay in a hollow between twohills, separated from the road by a thick wood, and the chimneys of thelonely old house looked in vain for a neighbor-smoke when they began togrow warm of a morning. 

Beyond the barn and under the northern hill there was a logtenant-house, in which dwelt a negro couple, who, in the course of yearshad become fixtures on the place and almost partners in it. Harry, the man, was the medium by which Samuel Flint kept up his necessaryintercourse with the world beyond the valley; he took the horses to theblacksmith, the grain to the mill, the turkeys to market, and throughhis hands passed all the incomings and outgoings of the farm, exceptthe annual interest on the mortgage. Sally, his wife, took care of thehousehold, which, indeed, was a light and comfortable task, since thetable was well supplied for her own sake, and there was no sharp eyeto criticise her sweeping, dusting, and bed-making. The place had aforlorn, tumble-down aspect, quite in keeping with its lonely situation;but perhaps this very circumstance flattered the mood of its silent, melancholy owner and his unhappy son. 

In all the neighborhood there was but one person with whom Jacob feltcompletely at ease--but one who never joined in the general habit ofmaking his name the butt of ridicule or contempt. This was Mrs. AnnPardon, the hearty, active wife of Farmer Robert Pardon, who livednearly a mile farther down the brook. Jacob had won her good-willby some neighborly services, something so trifling, indeed, that thethought of a favor conferred never entered his mind. Ann Pardon saw thatit did not; she detected a streak of most unconscious goodness under hisuncouth, embarrassed ways, and she determined to cultivate it. No littletact was required, however, to coax the wild, forlorn creature intoso much confidence as she desired to establish; but tact is a nativequality of the heart no less than a social acquirement, and so she didthe very thing necessary without thinking much about it. 

Robert Pardon discovered by and by that Jacob was a steady, faithfulhand in the harvest-field at husking-time, or whenever any extra laborwas required, and Jacob's father made no objection to his earninga penny in this way; and so he fell into the habit of spending hisSaturday evenings at the Pardon farm-house, at first to talk overmatters of work, and finally because it had become a welcome relief fromhis dreary life at home. 

Now it happened that on a Saturday in the beginning of haying-time, thevillage tailor sent home by Harry a new suit of light summer clothes, for which Jacob had been measured a month before. After supper he triedthem on, the day's work being over, and Sally's admiration was so loudand emphatic that he felt himself growing red even to the small of hisback. 

"Now, don't go for to take 'em off, Mr. Jake, " said she. "I spec' you'regwine down to Pardon's, and so you jist keep 'em on to show 'em all hownice you KIN look. "

The same thought had already entered Jacob's mind. Poor fellow! It wasthe highest form of pleasure of which he had ever allowed himself toconceive. If he had been called upon to pass through the village onfirst assuming the new clothes, every stitch would have pricked him asif the needle remained in it; but a quiet walk down the brookside, bythe pleasant path through the thickets and over the fragrant meadows, with a consciousness of his own neatness and freshness at every step, and with kind Ann Pardon's commendation at the close, and the flatteringcuriosity of the children, --the only ones who never made fun ofhim, --all that was a delightful prospect. He could never, NEVER forgethimself, as he had seen other young fellows do; but to remember himselfagreeably was certainly the next best thing. 

Jacob was already a well-grown man of twenty-three, and would have madea good enough appearance but for the stoop in his shoulders, and thedrooping, uneasy way in which he carried his head. Many a time when hewas alone in the fields or woods he had straightened himself, and lookedcourageously at the buts of the oak-trees or in the very eyes of theindifferent oxen; but, when a human face drew near, some spring in hisneck seemed to snap, some buckle around his shoulders to be drawn threeholes tighter, and he found himself in the old posture. The ever-presentthought of this weakness was the only drop of bitterness in his cup, ashe followed the lonely path through the thickets. 

Some spirit in the sweet, delicious freshness of the air, some voice inthe mellow babble of the stream, leaping in and out of sight between thealders, some smile of light, lingering on the rising corn-fields beyondthe meadow and the melting purple of a distant hill, reached to theseclusion of his heart. He was soothed and cheered; his head lifteditself in the presentiment of a future less lonely than the past, andthe everlasting trouble vanished from his eyes. 

Suddenly, at a turn of the path, two mowers from the meadow, with theirscythes upon their shoulders, came upon him. He had not heard their feeton the deep turf. His chest relaxed, and his head began to sink; then, with the most desperate effort in his life, he lifted it again, and, darting a rapid side glance at the men, hastened by. They could notunderstand the mixed defiance and supplication of his face; to them heonly looked "queer. "

"Been committin' a murder, have you?" asked one of them, grinning. 

"Startin' off on his journey, I guess, " said the other. 

The next instant they were gone, and Jacob, with set teeth and clinchedhands, smothered something that would have been a howl if he had givenit voice. Sharp lines of pain were marked on his face, and, for thefirst time, the idea of resistance took fierce and bitter possession ofhis heart. But the mood was too unusual to last; presently he shook hishead, and walked on towards Pardon's farm-house. 

Ann wore a smart gingham dress, and her first exclamation was: "Why, Jake! how nice you look. And so you know all about it, too?"

"About what?"

"I see you don't, " said she. "I was too fast; but it makes nodifference. I know you are willing to lend me a helping hand. "

"Oh, to be sure, " Jacob answered. 

"And not mind a little company?"

Jacob's face suddenly clouded; but he said, though with an effort:"No--not much--if I can be of any help. "

"It's rather a joke, after all, " Ann Pardon continued, speaking rapidly;"they meant a surprise, a few of the young people; but sister Beckyfound a way to send me word, or I might have been caught like MeribahJohnson last week, in the middle of my work; eight or ten, she said, but more may drop in: and it's moonlight and warm, so they'll be mostlyunder the trees; and Robert won't be home till late, and I DO want helpin carrying chairs, and getting up some ice, and handing around; and, though I know you don't care for merry makings, you CAN help me out, yousee--"

Here she paused. Jacob looked perplexed, but said nothing. 

"Becky will help what she can, and while I'm in the kitchen she'll havean eye to things outside, " she said. 

Jacob's head was down again, and, moreover, turned on one side, but hisear betrayed the mounting blood. Finally he answered, in a quick, huskyvoice: "Well, I'll do what I can. What's first?"

Thereupon he began to carry some benches from the veranda to a grassybank beside the sycamore-tree. Ann Pardon wisely said no more of thecoming surprise-party, but kept him so employed that, as the visitorsarrived by twos and threes, the merriment was in full play almost beforehe was aware of it. Moreover, the night was a protecting presence: themoonlight poured splendidly upon the open turf beyond the sycamore, butevery lilac-bush or trellis of woodbine made a nook of shade, wherein hecould pause a moment and take courage for his duties. Becky Morton, AnnPardon's youngest sister, frightened him a little every time she cameto consult about the arrangement of seats or the distribution ofrefreshments; but it was a delightful, fascinating fear, such as he hadnever felt before in his life. He knew Becky, but he had never seen herin white and pink, with floating tresses, until now. In fact, he hadhardly looked at her fairly, but now, as she glided into the moonlightand he paused in the shadow, his eyes took note of her exceeding beauty. Some sweet, confusing influence, he knew not what, passed into hisblood. 

The young men had brought a fiddler from the village, and it was notlong before most of the company were treading the measures of reels orcotillons on the grass. How merry and happy they all were! How freelyand unembarrassedly they moved and talked! By and by all became involvedin the dance, and Jacob, left alone and unnoticed, drew nearer andnearer to the gay and beautiful life from which he was expelled. 

With a long-drawn scream of the fiddle the dance came to an end, and thedancers, laughing, chattering, panting, and fanning themselves, brokeinto groups and scattered over the enclosure before the house. Jacob wassurrounded before he could escape. Becky, with two lively girls in herwake, came up to him and said: "Oh Mr. Flint, why don't you dance?"

If he had stopped to consider, he would no doubt have replied verydifferently. But a hundred questions, stirred by what he had seen, wereclamoring for light, and they threw the desperate impulse to his lips. 

"If I COULD dance, would you dance with me?"

The two lively girls heard the words, and looked at Becky with roguishfaces. 

"Oh yes, take him for your next partner!" cried one. 

"I will, " said Becky, "after he comes back from his journey. "

Then all three laughed. Jacob leaned against the tree, his eyes fixed onthe ground. 

"Is it a bargain?" asked one of the girls. 

"No, " said he, and walked rapidly away. 

He went to the house, and, finding that Robert had arrived, took hishat, and left by the rear door. There was a grassy alley between theorchard and garden, from which it was divided by a high hawthorn hedge. He had scarcely taken three paces on his way to the meadow, when thesound of the voice he had last heard, on the other side of the hedge, arrested his feet. 

"Becky, I think you rather hurt Jake Flint, " said the girl. 

"Hardly, " answered Becky; "he's used to that. "

"Not if he likes you; and you might go further and fare worse. "

"Well, I MUST say!" Becky exclaimed, with a laugh; "you'd like to see mestuck in that hollow, out of your way!"

"It's a good farm, I've heard, " said the other. 

"Yes, and covered with as much as it'll bear!"

Here the girls were called away to the dance. Jacob slowly walked upthe dewy meadow, the sounds of fiddling, singing, and laughter growingfainter behind him. 

"My journey!" he repeated to himself, --"my journey! why shouldn't Istart on it now? Start off, and never come back?"

It was a very little thing, after all, which annoyed him, but themention of it always touched a sore nerve of his nature. A dozen yearsbefore, when a boy at school, he had made a temporary friendship withanother boy of his age, and had one day said to the latter, in thewarmth of his first generous confidence: "When I am a little older, I shall make a great journey, and come back rich, and buy Whitney'splace!"

Now, Whitney's place, with its stately old brick mansion, its avenue ofsilver firs, and its two hundred acres of clean, warm-lying land, wasthe finest, the most aristocratic property in all the neighborhood, and the boy-friend could not resist the temptation of repeating Jacob'sgrand design, for the endless amusement of the school. The betrayal hurtJacob more keenly than the ridicule. It left a wound that never ceasedto rankle; yet, with the inconceivable perversity of unthinkingnatures, precisely this joke (as the people supposed it to be) had beenperpetuated, until "Jake Flint's Journey" was a synonyme for any absurdor extravagant expectation. Perhaps no one imagined how much pain he waskeeping alive; for almost any other man than Jacob would have joinedin the laugh against himself and thus good-naturedly buried the joke intime. "He's used to that, " the people said, like Becky Morton, and theyreally supposed there was nothing unkind in the remark!

After Jacob had passed the thickets and entered the lonely hollow inwhich his father's house lay, his pace became slower and slower. 

He looked at the shabby old building, just touched by the moonlightbehind the swaying shadows of the weeping-willow, stopped, looked again, and finally seated himself on a stump beside the path. 

"If I knew what to do!" he said to himself, rocking backwards andforwards, with his hands clasped over his knees, --"if I knew what todo!"

The spiritual tension of the evening reached its climax: he could bearno more. With a strong bodily shudder his tears burst forth, and thepassion of his weeping filled him from head to foot. How long he wepthe knew not; it seemed as if the hot fountains would never run dry. Suddenly and startlingly a hand fell upon his shoulder. 

"Boy, what does this mean?"

It was his father who stood before him. 

Jacob looked up like some shy animal brought to bay, his eyes full of afeeling mixed of fierceness and terror; but he said nothing. 

His father seated himself on one of the roots of the old stump, laid onehand upon Jacob's knee, and said with an unusual gentleness of manner, "I'd like to know what it is that troubles you so much. "

After a pause, Jacob suddenly burst forth with: "Is there any reason whyI should tell you? Do you care any more for me than the rest of 'em?"

"I didn't know as you wanted me to care for you particularly, " said thefather, almost deprecatingly. "I always thought you had friends of yourown age. "

"Friends? Devils!" exclaimed Jacob. "Oh, what have I done--what is thereso dreadful about me that I should always be laughed at, and despised, and trampled upon? You are a great deal older than I am, father: what doyou see in me? Tell me what it is, and how to get over it!"

The eyes of the two men met. Jacob saw his father's face grow pale inthe moonlight, while he pressed his hand involuntarily upon his heart, as if struggling with some physical pain. At last he spoke, but hiswords were strange and incoherent. 

"I couldn't sleep, " he said; "I got up again and came out o' doors. The white ox had broken down the fence at the corner, and would soonhave been in the cornfield. I thought it was that, maybe, but stillyour--your mother would come into my head. I was coming down the edge ofthe wood when I saw you, and I don't know why it was that you seemed sodifferent, all at once--"

Here he paused, and was silent for a minute. Then he said, in a grave, commanding tone: "Just let me know the whole story. I have that muchright yet. "

Jacob related the history of the evening, somewhat awkwardly andconfusedly, it is true; but his father's brief, pointed questions kepthim to the narrative, and forced him to explain the full significanceof the expressions he repeated. At the mention of "Whitney's place, " asingular expression of malice touched the old man's face. 

"Do you love Becky Morton?" he asked bluntly, when all had been told. 

"I don't know, " Jacob stammered; "I think not; because when I seem tolike her most, I feel afraid of her. "

"It's lucky that you're not sure of it!" exclaimed the old man withenergy; "because you should never have her. "

"No, " said Jacob, with a mournful acquiescence, "I can never have her, or any other one. "

"But you shall--and will I when I help you. It's true I've not seemed tocare much about you, and I suppose you're free to think as you like; butthis I say: I'll not stand by and see you spit upon! 'Covered with asmuch as it'll bear!' THAT'S a piece o' luck anyhow. If we're poor, yourwife must take your poverty with you, or she don't come into MY doors. But first of all you must make your journey!"

"My journey!" repeated Jacob. 

"Weren't you thinking of it this night, before you took your seat onthat stump? A little more, and you'd have gone clean off, I reckon. "

Jacob was silent, and hung his head. 

"Never mind! I've no right to think hard of it. In a week we'll havefinished our haying, and then it's a fortnight to wheat; but, for thatmatter, Harry and I can manage the wheat by ourselves. You may take amonth, two months, if any thing comes of it. Under a month I don't meanthat you shall come back. I'll give you twenty dollars for a start; ifyou want more you must earn it on the road, any way you please. And, mark you, Jacob! since you ARE poor, don't let anybody suppose you arerich. For my part, I shall not expect you to buy Whitney's place; all Iask is that you'll tell me, fair and square, just what things and whatpeople you've got acquainted with. Get to bed now--the matter's settled;I will have it so. "

They rose and walked across the meadow to the house. Jacob had quiteforgotten the events of the evening in the new prospect suddenly openedto him, which filled him with a wonderful confusion of fear and desire. His father said nothing more. They entered the lonely house together atmidnight, and went to their beds; but Jacob slept very little. 

Six days afterwards he left home, on a sparkling June morning, witha small bundle tied in a yellow silk handkerchief under his arm. Hisfather had furnished him with the promised money, but had positivelyrefused to tell him what road he should take, or what plan of action heshould adopt. The only stipulation was that his absence from home shouldnot be less than a month. 

After he had passed the wood and reached the highway which followedthe course of the brook, he paused to consider which course to take. Southward the road led past Pardon's, and he longed to see his onlyfriends once more before encountering untried hazards; but the villagewas beyond, and he had no courage to walk through its one long streetwith a bundle, denoting a journey, under his arm. Northward he wouldhave to pass the mill and blacksmith's shop at the cross-roads. Then heremembered that he might easily wade the stream at a point where it wasshallow, and keep in the shelter of the woods on the opposite hill untilhe struck the road farther on, and in that direction two or three mileswould take him into a neighborhood where he was not known. 

Once in the woods, an exquisite sense of freedom came upon him. Therewas nothing mocking in the soft, graceful stir of the expanded foliage, in the twittering of the unfrightened birds, or the scampering of thesquirrels, over the rustling carpet of dead leaves. He lay down upon themoss under a spreading beech-tree and tried to think; but the thoughtswould not come. He could not even clearly recall the keen troubles andmortifications he had endured: all things were so peaceful and beautifulthat a portion of their peace and beauty fell upon men and invested themwith a more kindly character. 

Towards noon Jacob found himself beyond the limited geography of hislife. The first man he encountered was a stranger, who greeted him witha hearty and respectful "How do you do, sir?"

"Perhaps, " thought Jacob, "I am not so very different from other people, if I only thought so myself. "

At noon, he stopped at a farm-house by the roadside to get a drink ofwater. A pleasant woman, who came from the door at that moment with apitcher, allowed him to lower the bucket and haul it up dripping withprecious coolness. She looked upon him with good-will, for he hadallowed her to see his eyes, and something in their honest, appealingexpression went to her heart. 

"We're going to have dinner in five minutes, " said she; "won't you stayand have something?"

Jacob stayed and brake bread with the plain, hospitable family. Theirkindly attention to him during the meal gave him the lacking nerve;for a moment he resolved to offer his services to the farmer, but hepresently saw that they were not really needed, and, besides, the placewas still too near home. 

Towards night he reached an old country tavern, lording it overan incipient village of six houses. The landlord and hostler wereinspecting a drooping-looking horse in front of the stables. Now, ifthere was any thing which Jacob understood, to the extent of his limitedexperience, it was horse nature. He drew near, listened to the views ofthe two men, examined the animal with his eyes, and was ready to answer, "Yes, I guess so, " when the landlord said, "Perhaps, sir, you can tellwhat is the matter with him. "

His prompt detection of the ailment, and prescription of a remedy whichin an hour showed its good effects, installed him in the landlord's bestgraces. The latter said, "Well, it shall cost you nothing to-night, "as he led the way to the supper-room. When Jacob went to bed he wassurprised on reflecting that he had not only been talking for a fullhour in the bar-room, but had been looking people in the face. 

Resisting an offer of good wages if he would stay and help look afterthe stables, he set forward the next morning with a new and mostdelightful confidence in himself. The knowledge that now nobody knew himas "Jake Flint" quite removed his tortured self-consciousness. Whenhe met a person who was glum and ungracious of speech, he saw, nevertheless, that he was not its special object. He was sometimes askedquestions, to be sure, which a little embarrassed him, but he soon hitupon answers which were sufficiently true without betraying his purpose. 

Wandering sometimes to the right and sometimes to the left, he slowlymade his way into the land, until, on the afternoon of the fourth dayafter leaving home, he found himself in a rougher region--a rocky, hillytract, with small and not very flourishing farms in the valleys. Herethe season appeared to be more backward than in the open country; thehay harvest was not yet over. 

Jacob's taste for scenery was not particularly cultivated, but somethingin the loneliness and quiet of the farms reminded him of his own home;and he looked at one house after another, deliberating with himselfwhether it would not be a good place to spend the remainder of his monthof probation. He seemed to be very far from home--about forty miles, infact, --and was beginning to feel a little tired of wandering. 

Finally the road climbed a low pass of the hills, and dropped intoa valley on the opposite side. There was but one house in view--atwo-story building of logs and plaster, with a garden and orchard on thehillside in the rear. A large meadow stretched in front, and when thewhole of it lay clear before him, as the road issued from a wood, hiseye was caught by an unusual harvest picture. 

Directly before him, a woman, whose face was concealed by a huge, flapping sun-bonnet, was seated upon a mowing machine, guiding a spanof horses around the great tract of thick grass which was still uncut. A little distance off, a boy and girl were raking the drier swathstogether, and a hay-cart, drawn by oxen and driven by a man, was justentering the meadow from the side next the barn. 

Jacob hung his bundle upon a stake, threw his coat and waistcoat overthe rail, and, resting his chin on his shirted arms, leaned on thefence, and watched the hay-makers. As the woman came down the nearerside she appeared to notice him, for her head was turned from time totime in his direction. When she had made the round, she stopped thehorses at the corner, sprang lightly from her seat and called to theman, who, leaving his team, met her half-way. They were nearly a furlongdistant, but Jacob was quite sure that she pointed to him, and thatthe man looked in the same direction. Presently she set off across themeadow, directly towards him. 

When within a few paces of the fence, she stopped, threw back the flapsof her sun-bonnet, and said, "Good day to you!" Jacob was so amazed tosee a bright, fresh, girlish face, that he stared at her with all hiseyes, forgetting to drop his head. Indeed, he could not have done so, for his chin was propped upon the top rail of the fence. 

"You are a stranger, I see, " she added. 

"Yes, in these parts, " he replied. 

"Looking for work?"

He hardly knew what answer to make, so he said, at a venture, "That's asit happens. " Then he colored a little, for the words seemed foolish tohis ears. 

"Time's precious, " said the girl, "so I'll tell you at once we wanthelp. Our hay MUST be got in while the fine weather lasts. "

"I'll help you!" Jacob exclaimed, taking his arms from the rail, andlooking as willing as he felt. 

"I'm so glad! But I must tell you, at first, that we're not rich, andthe hands are asking a great deal now. How much do you expect?"

"Whatever you please?" said he, climbing the fence. 

"No, that's not our way of doing business. What do you say to a dollar aday, and found?"

"All right!" and with the words he was already at her side, taking longstrides over the elastic turf. 

"I will go on with my mowing, " said she, when they reached the horses, "and you can rake and load with my father. What name shall I call youby?"

"Everybody calls me Jake. "

"'Jake!' Jacob is better. Well, Jacob, I hope you'll give us all thehelp you can. "

With a nod and a light laugh she sprang upon the machine. There wasa sweet throb in Jacob's heart, which, if he could have expressed it, would have been a triumphant shout of "I'm not afraid of her! I'm notafraid of her!"

The farmer was a kindly, depressed man, with whose quiet ways Jacobinstantly felt himself at home. They worked steadily until sunset, whenthe girl, detaching her horses from the machine, mounted one of them andled the other to the barn. At the supper-table, the farmer's wife said:"Susan, you must be very tired. "

"Not now, mother!" she cheerily answered. "I was, I think, but after Ipicked up Jacob I felt sure we should get our hay in. "

"It was a good thing, " said the farmer; "Jacob don't need to be told howto work. "

Poor Jacob! He was so happy he could have cried. He sat and listened, and blushed a little, with a smile on his face which it was a pleasureto see. The honest people did not seem to regard him in the least as astranger; they discussed their family interests and troubles and hopesbefore him, and in a little while it seemed as if he had known themalways. 

How faithfully he worked! How glad and tired he felt when night came, and the hay-mow was filled, and the great stacks grew beside the barn!But ah! the haying came to an end, and on the last evening, at supper, everybody was constrained and silent. Even Susan looked grave andthoughtful. 

"Jacob, " said the farmer, finally, "I wish we could keep you until wheatharvest; but you know we are poor, and can't afford it. Perhaps youcould--"

He hesitated; but Jacob, catching at the chance and obeying his ownunselfish impulse, cried: "Oh, yes, I can; I'll be satisfied with myboard, till the wheat's ripe. "

Susan looked at him quickly, with a bright, speaking face. "It's hardlyfair to you, " said the farmer. 

"But I like to be here so much!" Jacob cried. "I like--all of you!"

"We DO seem to suit, " said the farmer, "like as one family. And thatreminds me, we've not heard your family name yet. "

"Flint. "

"Jacob FLINT!" exclaimed the farmer's wife, with sudden agitation. 

Jacob was scared and troubled. They had heard of him, he thought, andwho knew what ridiculous stories? Susan noticed an anxiety on his facewhich she could not understand, but she unknowingly came to his relief. 

"Why, mother, " she asked, "do you know Jacob's family?"

"No, I think not, " said her mother, "only somebody of the name, longago. "

His offer, however, was gratefully accepted. The bright, hot summer dayscame and went, but no flower of July ever opened as rapidly and richlyand warmly as his chilled, retarded nature. New thoughts and instinctscame with every morning's sun, and new conclusions were reached withevery evening's twilight. Yet as the wheat harvest drew towards the end, he felt that he must leave the place. The month of absence had gone by, he scarce knew how. He was free to return home, and, though he mightoffer to bridge over the gap between wheat and oats, as he had alreadydone between hay and wheat, he imagined the family might hesitate toaccept such an offer. Moreover, this life at Susan's side was fastgrowing to be a pain, unless he could assure himself that it would be soforever. 

They were in the wheat-field, busy with the last sheaves; she raking andhe binding. The farmer and younger children had gone to the barn with aload. Jacob was working silently and steadily, but when they had reachedthe end of a row, he stopped, wiped his wet brow, and suddenly said, "Susan, I suppose to-day finishes my work here. "

"Yes, " she answered very slowly. 

"And yet I'm very sorry to go. "

"I--WE don't want you to go, if we could help it. "

Jacob appeared to struggle with himself. He attempted to speak. "If Icould--" he brought out, and then paused. "Susan, would you be glad if Icame back?"

His eyes implored her to read his meaning. No doubt she read itcorrectly, for her face flushed, her eyelids fell, and she barelymurmured, "Yes, Jacob. "

"Then I'll come!" he cried; "I'll come and help you with the oats. Don'ttalk of pay! Only tell me I'll be welcome! Susan, don't you believe I'llkeep my word?"

"I do indeed, " said she, looking him firmly in the face. 

That was all that was said at the time; but the two understood eachother tolerably well. 

On the afternoon of the second day, Jacob saw again the lonely house ofhis father. His journey was made, yet, if any of the neighbors had seenhim, they would never have believed that he had come back rich. 

Samuel Flint turned away to hide a peculiar smile when he saw his son;but little was said until late that evening, after Harry and Sallyhad left. Then he required and received an exact account of Jacob'sexperience during his absence. After hearing the story to the end, hesaid, "And so you love this Susan Meadows?"

"I'd--I'd do any thing to be with her. "

"Are you afraid of her?"

"No!" Jacob uttered the word so emphatically that it rang through thehouse. 

"Ah, well!" said the old man, lifting his eyes, and speaking in the air, "all the harm may be mended yet. But there must be another test. " Thenhe was silent for some time. 

"I have it!" he finally exclaimed. "Jacob, you must go back for the oatsharvest. You must ask Susan to be your wife, and ask her parents to letyou have her. But, --pay attention to my words!--you must tell her thatyou are a poor, hired man on this place, and that she can be engaged ashousekeeper. Don't speak of me as your father, but as the owner ofthe farm. Bring her here in that belief, and let me see how honest andwilling she is. I can easily arrange matters with Harry and Sally whileyou are away; and I'll only ask you to keep up the appearance of thething for a month or so. "

"But, father, "--Jacob began. 

"Not a word! Are you not willing to do that much for the sake of havingher all your life, and this farm after me? Suppose it is covered witha mortgage, if she is all you say, you two can work it off. Not a wordmore! It is no lie, after all, that you will tell her. "

"I am afraid, " said Jacob, "that she could not leave her home now. Sheis too useful there, and the family is so poor. "

"Tell them that both your wages, for the first year, shall go to them. It'll be my business to rake and scrape the money together somehow. Say, too, that the housekeeper's place can't be kept for her--must be filledat once. Push matters like a man, if you mean to be a complete one, andbring her here, if she carries no more with her than the clothes on herback!"

During the following days Jacob had time to familiarize his mind withthis startling proposal. He knew his father's stubborn will too wellto suppose that it could be changed; but the inevitable soon converteditself into the possible and desirable. The sweet face of Susan as shehad stood before him in the wheat-field was continually present to hiseyes, and ere long, he began to place her, in his thoughts, in the oldrooms at home, in the garden, among the thickets by the brook, and inAnn Pardon's pleasant parlor. Enough; his father's plan became his ownlong before the time was out. 

On his second journey everybody seemed to be an old acquaintance and anintimate friend. It was evening as he approached the Meadows farm, butthe younger children recognized him in the dusk, and their cry of, "Oh, here's Jacob!" brought out the farmer and his wife and Susan, with theheartiest of welcomes. They had all missed him, they said--even thehorses and oxen had looked for him, and they were wondering how theyshould get the oats harvested without him. 

Jacob looked at Susan as the farmer said this, and her eyes seemed toanswer, "I said nothing, but I knew you would come. " Then, first, hefelt sufficient courage for the task before him. 

He rose the next morning, before any one was stirring, and waited untilshe should come down stairs. The sun had not risen when she appeared, with a milk-pail in each hand, walking unsuspectingly to the cow-yard. He waylaid her, took the pails in his hand and said in nervous haste, "Susan, will you be my wife?"

She stopped as if she had received a sudden blow; then a shy, sweetconsent seemed to run through her heart. "O Jacob!" was all she couldsay. 

"But you will, Susan?" he urged; and then (neither of them exactly knewhow it happened) all at once his arms were around her, and they hadkissed each other. 

"Susan, " he said, presently, "I am a poor man--only a farm hand, andmust work for my living. You could look for a better husband. "

"I could never find a better than you, Jacob. "

"Would you work with me, too, at the same place?"

"You know I am not afraid of work, " she answered, "and I could neverwant any other lot than yours. "

Then he told her the story which his father had prompted. Her face grewbright and happy as she listened, and he saw how from her very heartshe accepted the humble fortune. Only the thought of her parents threwa cloud over the new and astonishing vision. Jacob, however, grew bolderas he saw fulfilment of his hope so near. They took the pails and seatedthemselves beside neighbor cows, one raising objections or misgivingswhich the other manfully combated. Jacob's earnestness unconsciously raninto his hands, as he discovered when the impatient cow began to snortand kick. 

The harvesting of the oats was not commenced that morning. The childrenwere sent away, and there was a council of four persons held in theparlor. The result of mutual protestations and much weeping was, thatthe farmer and his wife agreed to receive Jacob as a son-in-law; theoffer of the wages was four times refused by them, and then accepted;and the chance of their being able to live and labor together wasfinally decided to be too fortunate to let slip. When the shock andsurprise was over all gradually became cheerful, and, as the matterwas more calmly discussed, the first conjectured difficulties somehowresolved themselves into trifles. 

It was the simplest and quietest wedding, --at home, on an Augustmorning. Farmer Meadows then drove the bridal pair half-way on theirjourney, to the old country tavern, where a fresh conveyance had beenengaged for them. The same evening they reached the farm-house in thevalley, and Jacob's happy mood gave place to an anxious uncertainty ashe remembered the period of deception upon which Susan was entering. He keenly watched his father's face when they arrived, and was a littlerelieved when he saw that his wife had made a good first impression. 

"So, this is my new housekeeper, " said the old man. "I hope you willsuit me as well as your husband does. "

"I'll do my best, sir, " said she; "but you must have patience with mefor a few days, until I know your ways and wishes. "

"Mr. Flint, " said Sally, "shall I get supper ready?" Susan looked up inastonishment at hearing the name. 

"Yes, " the old man remarked, "we both have the same name. The fact is, Jacob and I are a sort of relations. "

Jacob, in spite of his new happiness, continued ill at ease, althoughhe could not help seeing how his father brightened under Susan's genialinfluence, how satisfied he was with her quick, neat, exact ways and thecheerfulness with which she fulfilled her duties. At the end of a week, the old man counted out the wages agreed upon for both, and his delightculminated at the frank simplicity with which Susan took what shesupposed she had fairly earned. 

"Jacob, " he whispered when she had left the room, "keep quiet one moreweek, and then I'll let her know. "

He had scarcely spoken, when Susan burst into the room again, crying, "Jacob, they are coming, they have come!"

"Who?"

"Father and mother; and we didn't expect them, you know, for a weekyet. "

All three went to the door as the visitors made their appearance onthe veranda. Two of the party stood as if thunderstruck, and twoexclamations came together:

"Samuel Flint!"

"Lucy Wheeler!"

There was a moment's silence; then the farmer's wife, with a visibleeffort to compose herself, said, "Lucy Meadows, now. "

The tears came into Samuel Flint's eyes. "Let us shake hands, Lucy, " hesaid: "my son has married your daughter. "

All but Jacob were freshly startled at these words. The two shook hands, and then Samuel, turning to Susan's father, said: "And this is yourhusband, Lucy. I am glad to make his acquaintance. "

"Your father, Jacob!" Susan cried; "what does it all mean?"

Jacob's face grew red, and the old habit of hanging his head nearlycame back upon him. He knew not what to say, and looked wistfully at hisfather. 

"Come into the house and sit down, " said the latter. "I think we shallall feel better when we have quietly and comfortably talked the matterover. "

They went into the quaint, old-fashioned parlor, which had already beentransformed by Susan's care, so that much of its shabbiness was hidden. When all were seated, and Samuel Flint perceived that none of the othersknew what to say, he took a resolution which, for a man of his mood andhabit of life, required some courage. 

"Three of us here are old people, " he began, "and the two young oneslove each other. It was so long ago, Lucy, that it cannot be laid to myblame if I speak of it now. Your husband, I see, has an honest heart, and will not misunderstand either of us. The same thing often turnsup in life; it is one of those secrets that everybody knows, and thateverybody talks about except the persons concerned. When I was a youngman, Lucy, I loved you truly, and I faithfully meant to make you mywife. "

"I thought so too, for a while, " said she, very calmly. 

Farmer Meadows looked at his wife, and no face was ever more beautifulthan his, with that expression of generous pity shining through it. 

"You know how I acted, " Samuel Flint continued, "but our children mustalso know that I broke off from you without giving any reason. A woman came between us and made all the mischief. I was consideredrich then, and she wanted to secure my money for her daughter. I was aninnocent and unsuspecting young man, who believed that everybody elsewas as good as myself; and the woman never rested until she had turnedme from my first love, and fastened me for life to another. Little bylittle I discovered the truth; I kept the knowledge of the injury tomyself; I quickly got rid of the money which had so cursed me, andbrought my wife to this, the loneliest and dreariest place in theneighborhood, where I forced upon her a life of poverty. I thought itwas a just revenge, but I was unjust. She really loved me: she was, ifnot quite without blame in the matter, ignorant of the worst that hadbeen done (I learned all that too late), and she never complained, though the change in me slowly wore out her life. I know now that Iwas cruel; but at the same time I punished myself, and was innocentlypunishing my son. But to HIM there was one way to make amends. 'I willhelp him to a wife, ' I said, 'who will gladly take poverty with himand for his sake. ' I forced him, against his will, to say that he was ahired hand on this place, and that Susan must be content to be a hiredhousekeeper. Now that I know Susan, I see that this proof might havebeen left out; but I guess it has done no harm. The place is not soheavily mortgaged as people think, and it will be Jacob's after I amgone. And now forgive me, all of you, --Lucy first, for she has mostcause; Jacob next; and Susan, --that will be easier; and you, FriendMeadows, if what I have said has been hard for you to hear. "

The farmer stood up like a man, took Samuel's hand and his wife's, andsaid, in a broken voice: "Lucy, I ask you, too, to forgive him, and Iask you both to be good friends to each other. "

Susan, dissolved in tears, kissed all of them in turn; but the happiestheart there was Jacob's. 

It was now easy for him to confide to his wife the complete story ofhis troubles, and to find his growing self-reliance strengthened by herquick, intelligent sympathy. The Pardons were better friends thanever, and the fact, which at first created great astonishment in theneighborhood, that Jacob Flint had really gone upon a journey andbrought home a handsome wife, began to change the attitude of thepeople towards him. The old place was no longer so lonely; the nearestneighbors began to drop in and insist on return visits. Now that Jacobkept his head up, and they got a fair view of his face, they discoveredthat he was not lacking, after all, in sense or social qualities. 

In October, the Whitney place, which had been leased for several years, was advertised to be sold at public sale. The owner had gone to the cityand become a successful merchant, had outlived his local attachments, and now took advantage of a rise in real estate to disburden himself ofa property which he could not profitably control. 

Everybody from far and wide attended the sale, and, when Jacob Flint andhis father arrived, everybody said to the former: "Of course you'vecome to buy, Jacob. " But each man laughed at his own smartness, andconsidered the remark original with himself. 

Jacob was no longer annoyed. He laughed, too, and answered: "I'm afraidI can't do that; but I've kept half my word, which is more than most mendo. "

"Jake's no fool, after all, " was whispered behind him. 

The bidding commenced, at first very spirited, and then graduallyslacking off, as the price mounted above the means of the neighboringfarmers. The chief aspirant was a stranger, a well-dressed man witha lawyer's air, whom nobody knew. After the usual long pauses andpassionate exhortations, the hammer fell, and the auctioneer, turning tothe stranger, asked, "What name?"

"Jacob Flint!"

There was a general cry of surprise. All looked at Jacob, whose eyes andmouth showed that he was as dumbfoundered as the rest. 

The stranger walked coolly through the midst of the crowd to SamuelFlint, and said, "When shall I have the papers drawn up?"

"As soon as you can, " the old man replied; then seizing Jacob by thearm, with the words, "Let's go home now!" he hurried him on. 

The explanation soon leaked out. Samuel Flint had not thrown away hiswealth, but had put it out of his own hands. It was given privately totrustees, to be held for his son, and returned when the latter shouldhave married with his father's consent. There was more than enough tobuy the Whitney place. 

Jacob and Susan are happy in their stately home, and good as they arehappy. If any person in the neighborhood ever makes use of the phrase"Jacob Flint's Journey, " he intends thereby to symbolize the goodfortune which sometimes follows honesty, reticence, and shrewdness. 

CAN A LIFE HIDE ITSELF?

I had been reading, as is my wont from time to time, one of the manyvolumes of "The New Pitaval, " that singular record of human crime andhuman cunning, and also of the inevitable fatality which, in everycase, leaves a gate open for detection. Were it not for the latter fact, indeed, one would turn with loathing from such endless chroniclesof wickedness. Yet these may be safely contemplated, when one hasdiscovered the incredible fatuity of crime, the certain weak mesh ina network of devilish texture; or is it rather the agency of a poweroutside of man, a subtile protecting principle, which allows theoperation of the evil element only that the latter may finally betrayitself? Whatever explanation we may choose, the fact is there, like atonic medicine distilled from poisonous plants, to brace our faith inthe ascendancy of Good in the government of the world. 

Laying aside the book, I fell into a speculation concerning the mixtureof the two elements in man's nature. The life of an individual isusually, it seemed to me, a series of RESULTS, the processes leading towhich are not often visible, or observed when they are so. Each actis the precipitation of a number of mixed influences, more or lessunconsciously felt; the qualities of good and evil are so blendedtherein that they defy the keenest moral analysis; and how shall we, then, pretend to judge of any one? Perhaps the surest indication of evil(I further reflected) is that it always tries to conceal itself, andthe strongest incitement to good is that evil cannot be concealed. Thecrime, or the vice, or even the self-acknowledged weakness, becomesa part of the individual consciousness; it cannot be forgotten oroutgrown. It follows a life through all experiences and to the uttermostends of the earth, pressing towards the light with a terrible, demoniacpower. There are noteless lives, of course--lives that accept obscurity, mechanically run their narrow round of circumstance, and are lost; butwhen a life endeavors to lose itself, --to hide some conscious guilt orfailure, --can it succeed? Is it not thereby lifted above the level ofcommon experience, compelling attention to itself by the very endeavorto escape it?

I turned these questions over in my mind, without approaching, or indeedexpecting, any solution, --since I knew, from habit, the labyrinths intowhich they would certainly lead me, --when a visitor was announced. Itwas one of the directors of our county almshouse, who came on an errandto which he attached no great importance. I owed the visit, apparently, to the circumstance that my home lay in his way, and he could at oncerelieve his conscience of a very trifling pressure and his pocket of asmall package, by calling upon me. His story was told in a few words;the package was placed upon my table, and I was again left to mymeditations. 

Two or three days before, a man who had the appearance of a "tramp" hadbeen observed by the people of a small village in the neighborhood. Hestopped and looked at the houses in a vacant way, walked back and forthonce or twice as if uncertain which of the cross-roads to take, andpresently went on without begging or even speaking to any one. Towardssunset a farmer, on his way to the village store, found him sitting atthe roadside, his head resting against a fence-post. The man's face wasso worn and exhausted that the farmer kindly stopped and addressed him;but he gave no other reply than a shake of the head. 

The farmer thereupon lifted him into his light country-wagon, the manoffering no resistance, and drove to the tavern, where, his exhaustionbeing so evident, a glass of whiskey was administered to him. Heafterwards spoke a few words in German, which no one understood. At thealmshouse, to which he was transported the same evening, he refused toanswer the customary questions, although he appeared to understandthem. The physician was obliged to use a slight degree of force inadministering nourishment and medicine, but neither was of any avail. The man died within twenty-four hours after being received. His pocketswere empty, but two small leathern wallets were found under his pillow;and these formed the package which the director left in my charge. Theywere full of papers in a foreign language, he said, and he supposed Imight be able to ascertain the stranger's name and home from them. 

I took up the wallets, which were worn and greasy from long service, opened them, and saw that they were filled with scraps, fragments, andfolded pieces of paper, nearly every one of which had been carried fora long time loose in the pocket. Some were written in pen and ink, and some in pencil, but all were equally brown, worn, and unsavory inappearance. In turning them over, however, my eye was caught by someslips in the Russian character, and three or four notes in French;the rest were German. I laid aside "Pitaval" at once, emptied allthe leathern pockets carefully, and set about examining the pile ofmaterial. 

I first ran rapidly through the papers to ascertain the dead man's name, but it was nowhere to be found. There were half a dozen letters, writtenon sheets folded and addressed in the fashion which prevailed beforeenvelopes were invented; but the name was cut out of the address inevery case. There was an official permit to embark on board a Bremensteamer, mutilated in the same way; there was a card photograph, fromwhich the face had been scratched by a penknife. There were Latinsentences; accounts of expenses; a list of New York addresses, coveringeight pages; and a number of notes, written either in Warsaw or Breslau. A more incongruous collection I never saw, and I am sure that had it notbeen for the train of thought I was pursuing when the director calledupon me, I should have returned the papers to him without troubling myhead with any attempt to unravel the man's story. 

The evidence, however, that he had endeavored to hide his life, had beenrevealed by my first superficial examination; and here, I reflected, was a singular opportunity to test both his degree of success and my ownpower of constructing a coherent history out of the detached fragments. Unpromising as is the matter, said I, let me see whether he can concealhis secret from even such unpractised eyes as mine. 

I went through the papers again, read each one rapidly, and arrangedthem in separate files, according to the character of their contents. Then I rearranged these latter in the order of time, so far as itwas indicated; and afterwards commenced the work of picking out andthreading together whatever facts might be noted. The first thing Iascertained, or rather conjectured, was that the man's life might bedivided into three very distinct phases, the first ending in Breslau, the second in Poland, and the third and final one in America. ThereuponI once again rearranged the material, and attacked that which related tothe first phase. 

It consisted of the following papers: Three letters, in a female hand, commencing "My dear brother, " and terminating with "Thy loving sister, Elise;" part of a diploma from a gymnasium, or high school, certifyingthat [here the name was cut out] had successfully passed hisexamination, and was competent to teach, --and here again, whether byaccident or design, the paper was torn off; a note, apparently to ajeweller, ordering a certain gold ring to be delivered to "Otto, " andsigned "B. V. H. ;" a receipt from the package-post for a box forwardedto Warsaw, to the address of Count Ladislas Kasincsky; and finallya washing-list, at the bottom of which was written, in pencil, in atrembling hand: "May God protect thee! But do not stay away so verylong. "

In the second collection, relating to Poland, I found the following: Sixorders in Russian and three in French, requesting somebody to send by"Jean" sums of money, varying from two to eight hundred rubles. Theseorders were in the same hand, and all signed "Y. " A charming letter inFrench, addressed "cher ami, " and declining, in the most delicate andtender way, an offer of marriage made to the sister of the writer, ofwhose signature only "Amelie de" remained, the family name having beentorn off. A few memoranda of expenses, one of which was curious: "Dinnerwith Jean, 58 rubles;" and immediately after it: "Doctor, 10 rubles. "There were, moreover, a leaf torn out of a journal, and half of a notewhich had been torn down the middle, both implicating "Jean" in some waywith the fortunes of the dead man. 

The papers belonging to the American phase, so far as they were to beidentified by dates, or by some internal evidence, were fewer, but evenmore enigmatical in character. The principal one was a list of addressesin New York, divided into sections, the street boundaries of which weregiven. There were no names, but some of the addresses were marked +, andothers?, and a few had been crossed out with a pencil. Then there weresome leaves of a journal of diet and bodily symptoms, of a very singularcharacter; three fragments of drafts of letters, in pencil, one ofthem commencing, "Dog and villain!" and a single note of "Began work, September 10th, 1865. " This was about a year before his death. 

The date of the diploma given by the gymnasium at Breslau was June 27, 1855, and the first date in Poland was May 3, 1861. Belonging to thetime between these two periods there were only the order for the ring(1858), and a little memorandum in pencil, dated "Posen, Dec. , 1859. "The last date in Poland was March 18, 1863, and the permit to embark atBremen was dated in October of that year. Here, at least, was a slightchronological framework. The physician who attended the county almshousehad estimated the man's age at thirty, which, supposing him to have beennineteen at the time of receiving the diploma, confirmed the dates tothat extent. 

I assumed, at the start, that the name which had been so carefully cutout of all the documents was the man's own. The "Elise" of the letterswas therefore his sister. The first two letters related merely to"mother's health, " and similar details, from which it was impossible toextract any thing, except that the sister was in some kind of service. The second letter closed with: "I have enough work to do, but I keepwell. Forget thy disappointment so far as _I_ am concerned, for I neverexpected any thing; I don't know why, but I never did. "

Here was a disappointment, at least, to begin with. I made a note of itopposite the date, on my blank programme, and took up the next letter. It was written in November, 1861, and contained a passage which keenlyexcited my curiosity. It ran thus: "Do, pray, be more careful of thymoney. It may be all as thou sayest, and inevitable, but I dare notmention the thing to mother, and five thalers is all I can spare outof my own wages. As for thy other request, I have granted it, as thouseest, but it makes me a little anxious. What is the joke? And how canit serve thee? That is what I do not understand, and I have plaguedmyself not a little to guess. "

Among the Polish memoranda was this: "Sept. 1 to Dec. 1, 200 rubles, "which I assumed to represent a salary. This would give him eight hundreda year, at least twelve times the amount which his sister--who musteither have been cook or housekeeper, since she spoke of going to marketfor the family--could have received. His application to her for money, and the manner of her reference to it, indicated some imprudence orirregularity on his part. What the "other request" was, I couldnot guess; but as I was turning and twisting the worn leaf in someperplexity, I made a sudden discovery. One side of the bottom edge hadbeen very slightly doubled over in folding, and as I smoothed it out, Inoticed some diminutive letters in the crease. The paper had been wornnearly through, but I made out the words: "Write very soon, dear Otto!"

This was the name in the order for the gold ring, signed "B. V. H. "--alink, indeed, but a fresh puzzle. Knowing the stubborn prejudices ofcaste in Germany, and above all in Eastern Prussia and Silesia, I shouldhave been compelled to accept "Otto, " whose sister was in service, as himself the servant of "B. V. H. , " but for the tenderly respectfulletter of "Amelie de----, " declining the marriage offer for her sister. I re-read this letter very carefully, to determine whether it was reallyintended for "Otto. " It ran thus:

 "DEAR FRIEND, --I will not say that your letter was entirely unexpected, either to Helmine or myself. I should, perhaps, have less faith in the sincerity of your attachment if you had not already involuntarily betrayed it. When I say that although I detected the inclination of your heart some weeks ago, and that I also saw it was becoming evident to my sister, yet I refrained from mentioning the subject at all until she came to me last evening with your letter in her hand, --when I say this, you will understand that I have acted towards you with the respect and sympathy which I profoundly feel. Helmine fully shares this feeling, and her poor heart is too painfully moved to allow her to reply. Do I not say, in saying this, what her reply must be? But, though her heart cannot respond to your love, she hopes you will always believe her a friend to whom your proffered devotion was an honor, and will be--if you will subdue it to her deserts--a grateful thing to remember. We shall remain in Warsaw a fortnight longer, as I think yourself will agree that it is better we should not immediately return to the castle. Jean, who must carry a fresh order already, will bring you this, and we hope to have good news of Henri. I send back the papers, which were unnecessary; we never doubted you, and we shall of course keep your secret so long as you choose to wear it. "AMELIE DE----"

The more light I seemed to obtain, the more inexplicable thecircumstances became. The diploma and the note of salary were groundsfor supposing that "Otto" occupied the position of tutor in a noblePolish family. There was the receipt for a box addressed to CountLadislas Kasincsky, and I temporarily added his family name to thewriter of the French letter, assuming her to be his wife. "Jean"appeared to be a servant, and "Henri" I set down as the son whom Ottowas instructing in the castle or family seat in the country, while theparents were in warsaw. Plausible, so far; but the letter was not sucha one as a countess would have written to her son's tutor, under similarcircumstances. It was addressed to a social equal, apparently to a manyounger than herself, and for whom--supposing him to have been a tutor, secretary, or something of the kind--she must have felt a specialsympathy. Her mention of "the papers" and "your secret" must refer tocircumstances which would explain the mystery. "So long as you choose toWEAR it, " she had written: then it was certainly a secret connected withhis personal history. 

Further, it appeared that "Jean" was sent to him with "an order. " Whatcould this be, but one of the nine orders for money which lay before myeyes? I examined the dates of the latter, and lo! there was one writtenupon the same day as the lady's letter. The sums drawn by these ordersamounted in all to four thousand two hundred rubles. But how should atutor or secretary be in possession of his employer's money? Still, thismight be accounted for; it would imply great trust on the part of thelatter, but no more than one man frequently reposes in another. Yet, ifit were so, one of the memoranda confronted me with a conflictingfact: "Dinner with Jean, 58 rubles. " The unusual amount--nearly fiftydollars--indicated an act of the most reckless dissipation, and incompany with a servant, if "Jean, " as I could scarcely doubt, acted inthat character. I finally decided to assume both these conjectures astrue, and apply them to the remaining testimony. 

I first took up the leaf which had been torn out of a small journal orpocket note-book, as was manifested by the red edge on three sides. It was scribbled over with brief notes in pencil, written at differenttimes. Many of them were merely mnemonic signs; but the recurrence ofthe letters J and Y seemed to point to transactions with "Jean, " and thedrawer of the various sums of money. The letter Y reminded me that Ihad been too hasty in giving the name of Kasincsky to the noble family;indeed, the name upon the post-office receipt might have no connectionwith the matter I was trying to investigate. 

Suddenly I noticed a "Ky" among the mnemonic signs, and the suspicionflashed across my mind that Count Kasincsky had signed the order withthe last letter of his family name! To assume this, however, suggesteda secret reason for doing so; and I began to think that I had alreadysecrets enough on hand. 

The leaf was much rubbed and worn, and it was not without considerabletrouble that I deciphered the following (omitting the unintelligiblesigns):

"Oct. 30 (Nov. 12)--talk with Y; 20--Jean. Consider. 

"Nov. 15--with J--H--hope. 

"Dec. 1--Told the C. No knowledge of S--therefore safe. Uncertain of----C to Warsaw. Met J. As agreed. Further and further. 

"Dec. 27--All for naught! All for naught!

"Jan. 19, '63--Sick. What is to be the end? Threats. No tidings of Y. Walked the streets all day. At night as usual. 

"March 1--News. The C. And H. Left yesterday. No more to hope. Let itcome, then!"

These broken words warmed my imagination powerfully. Looking at them inthe light of my conjecture, I was satisfied that "Otto" was involvedin some crime, or dangerous secret, of which "Jean" was either theinstigator or the accomplice. "Y. , " or Count Kasincsky, --and I was morethan ever inclined to connect the two, ---also had his mystery, whichmight, or might not, be identical with the first. By comparing dates, Ifound that the entry made December 27 was three days later than the dateof the letter of "Amelie de----"; and the exclamation "All for naught!"certainly referred to the disappointment it contained. I now guessedthe "H. " in the second entry to mean "Helmine. " The two last suggesteda removal to Warsaw from the country. Here was a little more ground tostand on; but how should I ever get at the secret?

I took up the torn half of a note, which, after the first inspection, I had laid aside as a hopeless puzzle. A closer examination revealedseveral things which failed to impress me at the outset. It was writtenin a strong and rather awkward masculine hand; several words wereunderscored, two misspelled, and I felt--I scarcely knew why--that itwas written in a spirit of mingled contempt and defiance. Let me givethe fragment just as it lay before me:

"ARON!

 It is quite time be done. Who knows is not his home by this CONCERN FOR THE that they are well off, sian officers are cide at once, my risau, or I must t TEN DAYS DELAY money can be divi- tier, and you may ever you please. Untess goes, and she will know who you time, unless you carry friend or not decide, ann Helm. "

Here, I felt sure, was the clue to much of the mystery. The first thingthat struck me was the appearance of a new name. I looked at it again, ran through in my mind all possible German names, and found that itcould only be "Johann, "--and in the same instant I recalled the frequenthabit of the Prussian and Polish nobility of calling their German valetsby French names. This, then, was "Jean!" The address was certainly"Baron, " and why thrice underscored, unless in contemptuous satire?Light began to break upon the matter at last. "Otto" had been playingthe part, perhaps assuming the name, of a nobleman, seduced to thedeception by his passion for the Countess' sister, Helmine. Thisexplained the reference to "the papers, " and "the secret, " and wouldaccount for the respectful and sympathetic tone of the Countess' letter. But behind this there was certainly another secret, in which "Y. "(whoever he might be) was concerned, and which related to money. Theclose of the note, which I filled out to read, "Your friend or not, asyou may decide, " conveyed a threat, and, to judge from the halves oflines immediately preceding it, the threat referred to the money, aswell as to the betrayal of an assumed character. 

Here, just as the story began to appear in faint outline, my discoveriesstopped for a while. I ascertained the breadth of the original note by apart of the middle-crease which remained, filled out the torn partwith blank paper, completed the divided words in the same character ofmanuscript, and endeavored to guess the remainder, but no clairvoyantpower of divination came to my aid. I turned over the letters again, remarking the neatness with which the addresses had been cut off, andwondering why the man had not destroyed the letters and other memorandaentirely, if he wished to hide a possible crime. The fact that they werenot destroyed showed the hold which his past life had had upon him evento his dying hour. Weak and vain, as I had already suspected him tobe, --wanting in all manly fibre, and of the very material which a keen, energetic villain would mould to his needs, --I felt that his love forhis sister and for "Helmine, " and other associations connected with hislife in Germany and Poland, had made him cling to these worn records. 

I know not what gave me the suspicion that he had not even found theheart to destroy the exscinded names; perhaps the care with which theyhad been removed; perhaps, in two instances, the circumstance of theirtaking words out of the body of the letters with them. But the suspicioncame, and led to a re-examination of the leathern wallets. I couldscarcely believe my eyes, when feeling something rustle faintly as Ipressed the thin lining of an inner pocket, I drew forth three or foursmall pellets of paper, and unrolling them, found the lost addresses!I fitted them to the vacant places, and found that the first letters ofthe sister in Breslau had been forwarded to "Otto Lindenschmidt, " whilethe letter to Poland was addressed "Otto von Herisau. "

I warmed with this success, which exactly tallied with the previousdiscoveries, and returned again to the Polish memoranda The words"[Rus]sian officers" in "Jean's" note led me to notice that it hadbeen written towards the close of the last insurrection in Poland--acircumstance which I immediately coupled with some things in the noteand on the leaf of the journal. "No tidings of Y" might indicate thatCount Kasincsky had been concerned in the rebellion, and had fled, orbeen taken prisoner. Had he left a large amount of funds in the handsof the supposed Otto von Herisau, which were drawn from time to time byorders, the form of which had been previously agreed upon? Then, when hehad disappeared, might it not have been the remaining funds which Jeanurged Otto to divide with him, while the latter, misled and entangled indeception rather than naturally dishonest, held back from such a step?I could hardly doubt so much, and it now required but a slight effort ofthe imagination to complete the torn note. 

The next letter of the sister was addressed to Bremen. After havingestablished so many particulars, I found it easily intelligible. "I havedone what I can, " she wrote. "I put it in this letter; it is all I have. But do not ask me for money again; mother is ailing most of the time, and I have not yet dared to tell her all. I shall suffer great anxietyuntil I hear that the vessel has sailed. My mistress is very good; shehas given me an advance on my wages, or I could not have sent thee anything. Mother thinks thou art still in Leipzig: why didst thou staythere so long? but no difference; thy money would have gone anyhow. "

It was nevertheless singular that Otto should be without money, so soonafter the appropriation of Count Kasincsky's funds. If the "20" inthe first memorandum on the leaf meant "twenty thousand rubles, " as Iconjectured, and but four thousand two hundred were drawn by the Countprevious to his flight or imprisonment, Otto's half of the remainderwould amount to nearly eight thousand rubles; and it was, therefore, noteasy to account for his delay in Leipzig, and his destitute condition. 

Before examining the fragments relating to the American phase ofhis life, --which illustrated his previous history only by occasionalrevelations of his moods and feelings, --I made one more effort to guessthe cause of his having assumed the name of "Von Herisau. " The initialssigned to the order for the ring ("B. V. H. ") certainly stood for thesame family name; and the possession of papers belonging to one ofthe family was an additional evidence that Otto had either been in theservice of, or was related to, some Von Herisau. Perhaps a sentence inone of the sister's letters--"Forget thy disappointment so far as _I_ amconcerned, for I never expected any thing"--referred to something of thekind. On the whole, service seemed more likely than kinship; but in thatcase the papers must have been stolen. 

I had endeavored, from the start, to keep my sympathies out of theinvestigation, lest they should lead me to misinterpret the brokenevidence, and thus defeat my object. It must have been the Countess'letter, and the brief, almost stenographic, signs of anxiety andunhappiness on the leaf of the journal, that first beguiled me into acommiseration, which the simple devotion and self-sacrifice of the poor, toiling sister failed to neutralize. However, I detected the feeling atthis stage of the examination, and turned to the American records, inorder to get rid of it. 

The principal paper was the list of addresses of which I have spoken. Ilooked over it in vain, to find some indication of its purpose; yet ithad been carefully made out and much used. There was no name of a personupon it, --only numbers and streets, one hundred and thirty-eight in all. Finally, I took these, one by one, to ascertain if any of the houseswere known to me, and found three, out of the whole number, to be theresidences of persons whom I knew. One was a German gentleman, and theother two were Americans who had visited Germany. The riddle was read!During a former residence in New York, I had for a time been quiteoverrun by destitute Germans, --men, apparently, of some culture, whorepresented themselves as theological students, political refugees, or unfortunate clerks and secretaries, --soliciting assistance. I foundthat, when I gave to one, a dozen others came within the next fortnight;when I refused, the persecution ceased for about the same length oftime. I became convinced, at last, that these persons were members of anorganized society of beggars, and the result proved it; for when Imade it an inviolable rule to give to no one who could not bring me anindorsement of his need by some person whom I knew, the annoyance ceasedaltogether. 

The meaning of the list of addresses was now plain. My nascentcommiseration for the man was not only checked, but I was in danger ofchanging my role from that of culprit's counsel to that of prosecutingattorney. 

When I took up again the fragment of the first draught of a lettercommencing, "Dog and villain!" and applied it to the words "Jean" or"Johann Helm, " the few lines which could be deciphered became full ofmeaning. "Don't think, " it began, "that I have forgotten you, or thetrick you played me! If I was drunk or drugged the last night, I knowhow it happened, for all that. I left, but I shall go back. And if youmake use of" (here some words were entirely obliterated). .. . "is true. He gave me the ring, and meant". .. . This was all I could make out. Theother papers showed only scattered memoranda, of money, or appointments, or addresses, with the exception of the diary in pencil. 

I read the letter attentively, and at first with very little idea ofits meaning. Many of the words were abbreviated, and there were somearbitrary signs. It ran over a period of about four months, terminatingsix weeks before the man's death. He had been wandering about thecountry during this period, sleeping in woods and barns, and livingprincipally upon milk. The condition of his pulse and other physicalfunctions was scrupulously set down, with an occasional remark of "good"or "bad. " The conclusion was at last forced upon me that he had beenendeavoring to commit suicide by a slow course of starvation andexposure. Either as the cause or the result of this attempt, I read, inthe final notes, signs of an aberration of mind. This also explainedthe singular demeanor of the man when found, and his refusal to takemedicine or nourishment. He had selected a long way to accomplish hispurpose, but had reached the end at last. 

The confused material had now taken shape; the dead man, despite hiswill, had confessed to me his name and the chief events of his life. It now remained--looking at each event as the result of a long chain ofcauses--to deduce from them the elements of his individual character, and then fill up the inevitable gaps in the story from the probabilitiesof the operation of those elements. This was not so much a mere ventureas the reader may suppose, because the two actions of the mind testeach other. If they cannot, thus working towards a point and back again, actually discover what WAS, they may at least fix upon a very probableMIGHT HAVE BEEN. 

A person accustomed to detective work would have obtained my littlestock of facts with much less trouble, and would, almost instinctively, have filled the blanks as he went along. Being an apprentice in suchmatters, I had handled the materials awkwardly. I will not here retracemy own mental zigzags between character and act, but simply repeat thestory as I finally settled and accepted it. 

Otto Lindenschmidt was the child of poor parents in or near Breslau. Hisfather died when he was young; his mother earned a scanty subsistenceas a washerwoman; his sister went into service. Being a bright, handsome boy, he attracted the attention of a Baron von Herisau, an old, childless, eccentric gentleman, who took him first as page or attendant, intending to make him a superior valet de chambre. Gradually, however, the Baron fancied that he detected in the boy a capacity for betterthings; his condescending feeling of protection had grown into anattachment for the handsome, amiable, grateful young fellow, and heplaced him in the gymnasium at Breslau, perhaps with the idea, now, ofeducating him to be an intelligent companion. 

The boy and his humble relatives, dazzled by this opportunity, begansecretly to consider the favor as almost equivalent to his adoption asa son. (The Baron had once been married, but his wife and only child hadlong been dead. ) The old man, of course, came to look upon the growingintelligence of the youth as his own work: vanity and affection becameinextricably blended in his heart, and when the cursus was over, he tookhim home as the companion of his lonely life. After two or threeyears, during which the young man was acquiring habits of idleness andindulgence, supposing his future secure, the Baron died, --perhaps toosuddenly to make full provision for him, perhaps after having kept upthe appearance of wealth on a life-annuity, but, in any case, leavingvery little, if any, property to Otto. In his disappointment, the latterretained certain family papers which the Baron had intrusted to hiskeeping. The ring was a gift, and he wore it in remembrance of hisbenefactor. 

Wandering about, Micawber-like, in hopes that something might turn up, he reached Posen, and there either met or heard of the Polish Count, Ladislas Kasincsky, who was seeking a tutor for his only son. Hisaccomplishments, and perhaps, also, a certain aristocratic grace ofmanner unconsciously caught from the Baron von Herisau, speedily won forhim the favor of the Count and Countess Kasincsky, and emboldened him tohope for the hand of the Countess' sister, Helmine ----, to whom he wasno doubt sincerely attached. Here Johann Helm, or "Jean, " a confidentialservant of the Count, who looked upon the new tutor as a rival, yet adroitly flattered his vanity for the purpose of misleading anddisplacing him, appears upon the stage. "Jean" first detected Otto'spassion; "Jean, " at an epicurean dinner, wormed out of Otto the secretof the Herisau documents, and perhaps suggested the part which thelatter afterwards played. 

This "Jean" seemed to me to have been the evil agency in the miserablehistory which followed. After Helmine's rejection of Otto's suit, andthe flight or captivity of Count Kasincsky, leaving a large sum of moneyin Otto's hands, it would be easy for "Jean, " by mingled persuasions andthreats, to move the latter to flight, after dividing the money stillremaining in his hands. After the theft, and the partition, which tookplace beyond the Polish frontier, "Jean" in turn, stole his accomplice'sshare, together with the Von Herisau documents. 

Exile and a year's experience of organized mendicancy did the rest. 

Otto Lindenschmidt was one of those natures which possess no moralelasticity--which have neither the power nor the comprehensionof atonement. The first real, unmitigated guilt--whether greator small--breaks them down hopelessly. He expected no chance ofself-redemption, and he found none. His life in America was so utterlydark and hopeless that the brightest moment in it must have been thatwhich showed him the approach of death. 

My task was done. I had tracked this weak, vain, erring, hunted soul toits last refuge, and the knowledge bequeathed to me but a single duty. His sins were balanced by his temptations; his vanity and weaknesshad revenged themselves; and there only remained to tell the simple, faithful sister that her sacrifices were no longer required. I burnedthe evidences of guilt, despair and suicide, and sent the otherpapers, with a letter relating the time and circumstances of OttoLindenschmidt's death, to the civil authorities of Breslau, requestingthat they might be placed in the hands of his sister Elise. 

This, I supposed, was the end of the history, so far as my connectionwith it was concerned. But one cannot track a secret with impunity;the fatality connected with the act and the actor clings even to theknowledge of the act. I had opened my door a little, in order to lookout upon the life of another, but in doing so a ghost had entered in, and was not to be dislodged until I had done its service. 

In the summer of 1867 I was in Germany, and during a brief journeyof idlesse and enjoyment came to the lovely little watering-place ofLiebenstein, on the southern slope of the Thuringian Forest. I had noexpectation or even desire of making new acquaintances among the gaycompany who took their afternoon coffee under the noble linden trees onthe terrace; but, within the first hour of my after-dinner leisure, Iwas greeted by an old friend, an author, from Coburg, and carried away, in my own despite, to a group of his associates. My friend and hisfriends had already been at the place a fortnight, and knew the verytint and texture of its gossip. While I sipped my coffee, I listenedto them with one ear, and to Wagner's overture to "Lohengrin" withthe other; and I should soon have been wholly occupied with the fineorchestra had I not been caught and startled by an unexpected name. 

"Have you noticed, " some one asked, "how much attention the Baron vonHerisau is paying her?"

I whirled round and exclaimed, in a breath, "The Baron von Herisau!"

"Yes, " said my friend; "do you know him?"

I was glad that three crashing, tremendous chords came from theorchestra just then, giving me time to collect myself before I replied:"I am not sure whether it is the same person: I knew a Baron von Herisaulong ago: how old is the gentleman here?"

"About thirty-five, I should think, " my friend answered. 

"Ah, then it can't be the same person, " said I: "still, if he shouldhappen to pass near us, will you point him out to me?"

It was an hour later, and we were all hotly discussing the question ofLessing's obligations to English literature, when one of the gentlemenat the table said: "There goes the Baron von Herisau: is it perhaps yourfriend, sir?"

I turned and saw a tall man, with prominent nose, opaque black eyes, andblack mustache, walking beside a pretty, insipid girl. Behind thepair went an elderly couple, overdressed and snobbish in appearance. Acarriage, with servants in livery, waited in the open space below theterrace, and having received the two couples, whirled swiftly awaytowards Altenstein. 

Had I been more of a philosopher I should have wasted no second thoughton the Baron von Herisau. But the Nemesis of the knowledge which I hadthrottled poor Otto Lindenschmidt's ghost to obtain had come upon me atlast, and there was no rest for me until I had discovered who and whatwas the Baron. The list of guests which the landlord gave me whettedmy curiosity to a painful degree; for on it I found the entry: "Aug. 15. --Otto V. Herisau, Rentier, East Prussia. "

It was quite dark when the carriage returned. I watched the company intothe supper-room, and then, whisking in behind them, secured a place atthe nearest table. I had an hour of quiet, stealthy observation beforemy Coburg friend discovered me, and by that time I was glad of hiscompany and had need of his confidence. But, before making use of him inthe second capacity, I desired to make the acquaintance of the adjoiningpartie carree. He had bowed to them familiarly in passing, and when theold gentleman said, "Will you not join us, Herr ----?" I answered myfriend's interrogative glance with a decided affirmative, and we movedto the other table. 

My seat was beside the Baron von Herisau, with whom I exchanged theusual commonplaces after an introduction. His manner was cold andtaciturn, I thought, and there was something forced in the smile whichaccompanied his replies to the remarks of the coarse old lady, whocontinually referred to the "Herr Baron" as authority upon everypossible subject. I noticed, however, that he cast a sudden, sharpglance at me, when I was presented to the company as an American. 

The man's neighborhood disturbed me. I was obliged to let theconversation run in the channels already selected, and stupid enough Ifound them. I was considering whether I should not give a signal to myfriend and withdraw, when the Baron stretched his hand across the tablefor a bottle of Affenthaler, and I caught sight of a massive gold ringon his middle finger. Instantly I remembered the ring which "B. V. H. "had given to Otto Lindenschmidt, and I said to myself, "That is it!"The inference followed like lightning that it was "Johann Helm" who satbeside me, and not a Baron von Herisau!

That evening my friend and I had a long, absorbing conversation in myroom. I told him the whole story, which came back vividly to memory, andlearned, in return, that the reputed Baron was supposed to be wealthy, that the old gentleman was a Bremen merchant or banker, known to berich, that neither was considered by those who had met them to beparticularly intelligent or refined, and that the wooing of the daughterhad already become so marked as to be a general subject of gossip. My friend was inclined to think my conjecture correct, and willinglyco-operated with me in a plan to test the matter. We had no considerablesympathy with the snobbish parents, whose servility to a title wasso apparent; but the daughter seemed to be an innocent and amiablecreature, however silly, and we determined to spare her the shame of anopen scandal. 

If our scheme should seem a little melodramatic, it must not beforgotten that my friend was an author. The next morning, as the Baroncame up the terrace after his visit to the spring, I stepped forward andgreeted him politely, after which I said: "I see by the strangers' listthat you are from East Prussia, Baron; have you ever been in Poland?" Atthat moment, a voice behind him called out rather sharply, "Jean!" TheBaron started, turned round and then back to me, and all his artcould not prevent the blood from rushing to his face. I made, as if byaccident, a gesture with my hand, indicating success, and went a stepfurther. 

"Because, " said I, "I am thinking of making a visit to Cracow andWarsaw, and should be glad of any information--"

"Certainly!" he interrupted me, "and I should be very glad to give it, if I had ever visited Poland. "

"At least, " I continued, "you can advise me upon one point; but excuseme, shall we not sit down a moment yonder? As my question relates tomoney, I should not wish to be overheard. "

I pointed out a retired spot, just before reaching which we were joinedby my friend, who suddenly stepped out from behind a clump of lilacs. The Baron and he saluted each other. 

"Now, " said I to the former, "I can ask your advice, Mr. Johann Helm!"

He was not an adept, after all. His astonishment and confusion werebrief, to be sure, but they betrayed him so completely that hisafter-impulse to assume a haughty, offensive air only made us smile. 

"If I had a message to you from Otto Lindenschmidt, what then?" I asked. 

He turned pale, and presently stammered out, "He--he is dead!"

"Now, " said my friend, "it is quite time to drop the mask before us. Yousee we know you, and we know your history. Not from Otto Lindenschmidtalone; Count Ladislas Kasincsky--"

"What! Has he come back from Siberia?" exclaimed Johann Helm. His faceexpressed abject terror; I think he would have fallen upon his kneesbefore us if he had not somehow felt, by a rascal's instinct, that wehad no personal wrongs to redress in unmasking him. 

Our object, however, was to ascertain through him the complete facts ofOtto Lindenschmidt's history, and then to banish him from Liebenstein. We allowed him to suppose for awhile that we were acting under theauthority of persons concerned, in order to make the best possible useof his demoralized mood, for we knew it would not last long. 

My guesses were very nearly correct. Otto Lindenschmidt had beeneducated by an old Baron, Bernhard von Herisau, on account of hisresemblance in person to a dead son, whose name had also been Otto. 

He could not have adopted the plebeian youth, at least to the extentof giving him an old and haughty name, but this the latter neverthelessexpected, up to the time of the Baron's death. He had inherited alittle property from his benefactor, but soon ran through it. "He wasa light-headed fellow, " said Johann Helm, "but he knew how to getthe confidence of the old Junkers. If he hadn't been so cowardly andfidgety, he might have made himself a career. "

The Polish episode differed so little from my interpretation that I neednot repeat Helm's version. He denied having stolen Otto's share of themoney, but could not help admitting his possession of the Von Herisaupapers, among which were the certificates of birth and baptism ofthe old Baron's son, Otto. It seems that he had been fearful ofLindenschmidt's return from America, for he managed to communicate withhis sister in Breslau, and in this way learned the former's death. Notuntil then had he dared to assume his present disguise. 

We let him go, after exacting a solemn pledge that he would betakehimself at once to Hamburg, and there ship for Australia. (I judged thatAmerica was already amply supplied with individuals of his class. ) Thesudden departure of the Baron von Herisau was a two days' wonder atLiebenstein; but besides ourselves, only the Bremen banker knewthe secret. He also left, two days afterwards, with his wife anddaughter--their cases, it was reported, requiring Kissingen. 

Otto Lindenschmidt's life, therefore, could not hide itself. Can anylife?

TWIN-LOVE. 

When John Vincent, after waiting twelve years, married Phebe Etheridge, the whole neighborhood experienced that sense of relief and satisfactionwhich follows the triumph of the right. Not that the fact of a true loveis ever generally recognized and respected when it is first discovered;for there is a perverse quality in American human nature which will notaccept the existence of any fine, unselfish passion, until it has beentested and established beyond peradventure. There were two views of thecase when John Vincent's love for Phebe, and old Reuben Etheridge's hardprohibition of the match, first became known to the community. The girlsand boys, and some of the matrons, ranged themselves at once on the sideof the lovers, but a large majority of the older men and a few of theyounger supported the tyrannical father. 

Reuben Etheridge was rich, and, in addition to what his daughter wouldnaturally inherit from him, she already possessed more than her lover, at the time of their betrothal. This in the eyes of one class was asufficient reason for the father's hostility. When low natures live(as they almost invariably do) wholly in the present, they neithertake tenderness from the past nor warning from the possibilities of thefuture. It is the exceptional men and women who remember their youth. So, these lovers received a nearly equal amount of sympathy andcondemnation; and only slowly, partly through their quiet fidelity andpatience, and partly through the improvement in John Vincent'sworldly circumstances, was the balance changed. Old Reuben remained anunflinching despot to the last: if any relenting softness touched hisheart, he sternly concealed it; and such inference as could be drawnfrom the fact that he, certainly knowing what would follow his death, bequeathed his daughter her proper share of his goods, was all thatcould be taken for consent. 

They were married: John, a grave man in middle age, weather-beatenand worn by years of hard work and self-denial, yet not beyond therestoration of a milder second youth; and Phebe a sad, weary woman, whose warmth of longing had been exhausted, from whom youth and itsuncalculating surrenders of hope and feeling had gone forever. Theybegan their wedded life under the shadow of the death out of whichit grew; and when, after a ceremony in which neither bridesmaid norgroomsman stood by their side, they united their divided homes, itseemed to their neighbors that a separated husband and wife had cometogether again, not that the relation was new to either. 

John Vincent loved his wife with the tenderness of an innocent man, but all his tenderness could not avail to lift the weight of settledmelancholy which had gathered upon her. Disappointment, waiting, yearning, indulgence in long lament and self-pity, the morbidcultivation of unhappy fancies--all this had wrought its work upon her, and it was too late to effect a cure. In the night she awoke to weep athis side, because of the years when she had awakened to weep alone;by day she kept up her old habit of foreboding, although the eveningsteadily refuted the morning; and there were times when, without anyapparent cause, she would fall into a dark, despairing mood which herhusband's greatest care and cunning could only slowly dispel. 

Two or three years passed, and new life came to the Vincent farm. Oneday, between midnight and dawn, the family pair was doubled; the cry oftwin sons was heard in the hushed house. The father restrained his happywonder in his concern for the imperilled life of the mother; he guessedthat she had anticipated death, and she now hung by a thread so slightthat her simple will might snap it. But her will, fortunately, was asfaint as her consciousness; she gradually drifted out of danger, takingher returning strength with a passive acquiescence rather than with joy. She was hardly paler than her wont, but the lurking shadow seemed tohave vanished from her eyes, and John Vincent felt that her featureshad assumed a new expression, the faintly perceptible stamp of somespiritual change. 

It was a happy day for him when, propped against his breast and gentlyheld by his warm, strong arm, the twin boys were first brought to belaid upon her lap. Two staring, dark-faced creatures, with restlessfists and feet, they were alike in every least feature of theirgrotesque animality. Phebe placed a hand under the head of each, andlooked at them for a long time in silence. 

"Why is this?" she said, at last, taking hold of a narrow pink ribbon, which was tied around the wrist of one. 

"He's the oldest, sure, " the nurse answered. "Only by fifteen minutes orso, but it generally makes a difference when twins come to be named;and you may see with your own eyes that there's no telling of 'em apartotherways. "

"Take off the ribbon, then, " said Phebe quietly; "_I_ know them. "

"Why, ma'am, it's always done, where they're so like! And I'll neverbe able to tell which is which; for they sleep and wake and feed by thesame clock. And you might mistake, after all, in giving 'em names--"

"There is no oldest or youngest, John; they are two and yet one: this ismine, and this is yours. "

"I see no difference at all, Phebe, " said John; "and how can we dividethem?"

"We will not divide, " she answered; "I only meant it as a sign. "

She smiled, for the first time in many days. He was glad of heart, butdid not understand her. "What shall we call them?" he asked. "Elias andReuben, after our fathers?"

"No, John; their names must be David and Jonathan. "

And so they were called. And they grew, not less, but more alike, inpassing through the stages of babyhood. The ribbon of the older one hadbeen removed, and the nurse would have been distracted, but for Phebe'salmost miraculous instinct. The former comforted herself with the hopethat teething would bring a variation to the two identical mouths; butno! they teethed as one child. John, after desperate attempts, whichalways failed in spite of the headaches they gave him, postponed theidea of distinguishing one from the other, until they should be oldenough to develop some dissimilarity of speech, or gait, or habit. All trouble might have been avoided, had Phebe consented to the leastvariation in their dresses; but herein she was mildly immovable. 

"Not yet, " was her set reply to her husband; and one day, when hemanifested a little annoyance at her persistence, she turned to him, holding a child on each knee, and said with a gravity which silencedhim thenceforth: "John, can you not see that our burden has passed intothem? Is there no meaning in this--that two children who are one in bodyand face and nature, should be given to us at our time of life, aftersuch long disappointment and trouble? Our lives were held apart; theirswere united before they were born, and I dare not turn them in differentdirections. Perhaps I do not know all that the Lord intended to say tous, in sending them; but His hand is here!"

"I was only thinking of their good, " John meekly answered. "If theyare spared to grow up, there must be some way of knowing one from theother. "

"THEY will not need it, and I, too, think only of them. They have takenthe cross from my heart, and I will lay none on theirs. I am reconciledto my life through them, John; you have been very patient and good withme, and I will yield to you in all things but in this. I do not think Ishall live to see them as men grown; yet, while we are together, I feelclearly what it is right to do. Can you not, just once, have a littlefaith without knowledge, John?"

"I'll try, Phebe, " he said. "Any way, I'll grant that the boys belong toyou more than to me. "

Phebe Vincent's character had verily changed. Her attacks ofsemi-hysterical despondency never returned; her gloomy propheciesceased. She was still grave, and the trouble of so many years neverwholly vanished from her face; but she performed every duty of her lifewith at least a quiet willingness, and her home became the abode ofpeace; for passive content wears longer than demonstrative happiness. 

David and Jonathan grew as one boy: the taste and temper of one wasrepeated in the other, even as the voice and features. Sleeping orwaking, grieved or joyous, well or ill, they lived a single life, andit seemed so natural for one to answer to the other's name, that theyprobably would have themselves confused their own identities, but fortheir mother's unerring knowledge. Perhaps unconsciously guided by her, perhaps through the voluntary action of their own natures, each quietlytook the other's place when called upon, even to the sharing of praiseor blame at school, the friendships and quarrels of the playground. Theywere healthy and happy lads, and John Vincent was accustomed to sayto his neighbors, "They're no more trouble than one would be; and yetthey're four hands instead of two. "

Phebe died when they were fourteen, saying to them, with almost herlatest breath, "Be one, always!" Before her husband could decide whetherto change her plan of domestic education, they were passing out ofboyhood, changing in voice, stature, and character with a continuedlikeness which bewildered and almost terrified him. He procured garmentsof different colors, but they were accustomed to wear each article incommon, and the result was only a mixture of tints for both. They weresent to different schools, to be returned the next day, equally pale, suffering, and incapable of study. Whatever device was employed, theyevaded it by a mutual instinct which rendered all external measuresunavailing. To John Vincent's mind their resemblance was an accidentalmisfortune, which had been confirmed through their mother's fancy. Hefelt that they were bound by some deep, mysterious tie, which, inasmuchas it might interfere with all practical aspects of life, ought to begradually weakened. Two bodies, to him, implied two distinct men, andit was wrong to permit a mutual dependence which prevented either fromexercising his own separate will and judgment. 

But, while he was planning and pondering, the boys became young men, andhe was an old man. Old, and prematurely broken; for he had worked much, borne much, and his large frame held only a moderate measure of vitalforce. A great weariness fell upon him, and his powers began to giveway, at first slowly, but then with accelerated failure. He saw the endcoming, long before his sons suspected it; his doubt, for their sakes, was the only thing which made it unwelcome. It was "upon his mind" (ashis Quaker neighbors would say) to speak to them of the future, and atlast the proper moment came. 

It was a stormy November evening. Wind and rain whirled and drove amongthe trees outside, but the sitting-room of the old farm-house was brightand warm. David and Jonathan, at the table, with their arms over eachother's backs and their brown locks mixed together, read from the samebook: their father sat in the ancient rocking-chair before the fire, with his feet upon a stool. The housekeeper and hired man had gone tobed, and all was still in the house. 

John waited until he heard the volume closed, and then spoke. 

"Boys, " he said, "let me have a bit of talk with you. I don't seem toget over my ailments rightly, --never will, maybe. A man must think ofthings while there's time, and say them when they HAVE to be said. Idon't know as there's any particular hurry in my case; only, we nevercan tell, from one day to another. When I die, every thing will belongto you two, share and share alike, either to buy another farm with themoney out, or divide this: I won't tie you up in any way. But two of youwill need two farms for two families; for you won't have to wait twelveyears, like your mother and me. "

"We don't want another farm, father!" said David and Jonathan together. 

"I know you don't think so, now. A wife seemed far enough off from mewhen I was your age. You've always been satisfied to be with each other, but that can't last. It was partly your mother's notion; I remember hersaying that our burden had passed into you. I never quite understoodwhat she meant, but I suppose it must rather be the opposite of what WEhad to bear. "

The twins listened with breathless attention while their father, suddenly stirred by the past, told them the story of his long betrothal. 

"And now, " he exclaimed, in conclusion, "it may be putting wildideas into your two heads, but I must say it! THAT was where I didwrong--wrong to her and to me, --in waiting! I had no right to spoil thebest of our lives; I ought to have gone boldly, in broad day, to herfather's house, taken her by the hand, and led her forth to be my wife. Boys, if either of you comes to love a woman truly, and she to love you, and there is no reason why God (I don't say man) should put you asunder, do as I ought to have done, not as I did! And, maybe, this advice is thebest legacy I can leave you. "

"But, father, " said David, speaking for both, "we have never thought ofmarrying. "

"Likely enough, " their father answered; "we hardly ever think of whatsurely comes. But to me, looking back, it's plain. And this is thereason why I want you to make me a promise, and as solemn as if I was onmy death-bed. Maybe I shall be, soon. "

Tears gathered in the eyes of the twins. "What is it, father?" they bothsaid. 

"Nothing at all to any other two boys, but I don't know how YOU'll takeit. What if I was to ask you to live apart for a while?"

"Oh father!" both cried. They leaned together, cheek pressing cheek, andhand clasping hand, growing white and trembling. John Vincent, gazinginto the fire, did not see their faces, or his purpose might have beenshaken. 

"I don't say NOW, " he went on. "After a while, when--well, when I'mdead. And I only mean a beginning, to help you toward what HAS to be. Only a month; I don't want to seem hard to you; but that's little, inall conscience. Give me your word: say, 'For mother's sake!'"

There was a long pause. Then David and Jonathan said, in low, falteringvoices, "For mother's sake, I promise. "

"Remember that you were only boys to her. She might have made all thisseem easier, for women have reasons for things no man can answer. Mind, within a year after I'm gone!"

He rose and tottered out of the room. 

The twins looked at each other: David said, "Must we?" and Jonathan, "How can we?" Then they both thought, "It may be a long while yet. " Herewas a present comfort, and each seemed to hold it firmly in holding thehand of the other, as they fell asleep side by side. 

The trial was nearer than they imagined. Their father died before thewinter was over; the farm and other property was theirs, and they mighthave allowed life to solve its mysteries as it rolled onwards, but fortheir promise to the dead. This must be fulfilled, and then--one thingwas certain; they would never again separate. 

"The sooner the better, " said David. "It shall be the visit to our uncleand cousins in Indiana. You will come with me as far as Harrisburg;it may be easier to part there than here. And our new neighbors, theBradleys, will want your help for a day or two, after getting home. "

"It is less than death, " Jonathan answered, "and why should it seem tobe more? We must think of father and mother, and all those twelve years;now I know what the burden was. "

"And we have never really borne any part of it! Father must have beenright in forcing us to promise. "

Every day the discussion was resumed, and always with the sametermination. Familiarity with the inevitable step gave them increaseof courage; yet, when the moment had come and gone, when, speeding onopposite trains, the hills and valleys multiplied between them withterrible velocity, a pang like death cut to the heart of each, and thedivided life became a chill, oppressive dream. 

During the separation no letters passed between them. When the neighborsasked Jonathan for news of his brother, he always replied, "He is well, "and avoided further speech with such evidence of pain that they sparedhim. An hour before the month drew to an end, he walked forth alone, taking the road to the nearest railway station. A stranger who passedhim at the entrance of a thick wood, three miles from home, wasthunderstruck on meeting the same person shortly after, entering thewood from the other side; but the farmers in the near fields saw twofigures issuing from the shade, hand in hand. 

Each knew the other's month, before they slept, and the last thingJonathan said, with his head on David's shoulder, was, "You must knowour neighbors, the Bradleys, and especially Ruth. " In the morning, as they dressed, taking each other's garments at random, as of old, Jonathan again said, "I have never seen a girl that I like so wellas Ruth Bradley. Do you remember what father said about loving andmarrying? It comes into my mind whenever I see Ruth; but she has nosister. "

"But we need not both marry, " David replied, "that might part us, andthis will not. It is for always now. "

"For always, David. "

Two or three days later Jonathan said, as he started on an errand to thevillage: "I shall stop at the Bradleys this evening, so you must walkacross and meet me there. "

When David approached the house, a slender, girlish figure, with herback towards him, was stooping over a bush of great crimson roses, cautiously clipping a blossom here and there. At the click of thegate-latch she started and turned towards him. Her light gingham bonnet, falling back, disclosed a long oval face, fair and delicate, sweet browneyes, and brown hair laid smoothly over the temples. A soft flush rosesuddenly to her cheeks, and he felt that his own were burning. 

"Oh Jonathan!" she exclaimed, transferring the roses to her left hand, and extending her right, as she came forward. 

He was too accustomed to the name to recognize her mistake at once, andthe word "Ruth!" came naturally to his lips. 

"I should know your brother David has come, " she then said; "even if Ihad not heard so. You look so bright. How glad I am!"

"Is he not here?" David asked. 

"No; but there he is now, surely!" She turned towards the lane, whereJonathan was dismounting. "Why, it is yourself over again, Jonathan!"

As they approached, a glance passed between the twins, and a secrettransfer of the riding-whip to David set their identity right withRuth, whose manner toward the latter innocently became shy with all itsfriendliness, while her frank, familiar speech was given to Jonathan, as was fitting. But David also took the latter to himself, and when theyleft, Ruth had apparently forgotten that there was any difference in thelength of their acquaintance. 

On their way homewards David said: "Father was right. We must marry, like others, and Ruth is the wife for us, --I mean for you, Jonathan. Yes, we must learn to say MINE and YOURS, after all, when we speak ofher. "

"Even she cannot separate us, it seems, " Jonathan answered. "We mustgive her some sign, and that will also be a sign for others. It willseem strange to divide ourselves; we can never learn it properly; ratherlet us not think of marriage. "

"We cannot help thinking of it; she stands in mother's place now, as wein father's. "

Then both became silent and thoughtful. They felt that somethingthreatened to disturb what seemed to be the only possible life for them, yet were unable to distinguish its features, and therefore powerlessto resist it. The same instinct which had been born of their wonderfulspiritual likeness told them that Ruth Bradley already loved Jonathan:the duty was established, and they must conform their lives to it. Therewas, however, this slight difference between their natures--that Davidwas generally the first to utter the thought which came to the minds ofboth. So when he said, "We shall learn what to do when the need comes, "it was a postponement of all foreboding. They drifted contentedlytowards the coming change. 

The days went by, and their visits to Ruth Bradley were continued. Sometimes Jonathan went alone, but they were usually together, and thetie which united the three became dearer and sweeter as it was moreclosely drawn. Ruth learned to distinguish between the two when theywere before her: at least she said so, and they were willing to believeit. But she was hardly aware how nearly alike was the happy warmthin her bosom produced by either pair of dark gray eyes and the softhalf-smile which played around either mouth. To them she seemed to bedrawn within the mystic circle which separated them from others--she, alone; and they no longer imagined a life in which she should not share. 

Then the inevitable step was taken. Jonathan declared his love, and wasanswered. Alas! he almost forgot David that late summer evening, as theysat in the moonlight, and over and over again assured each other howdear they had grown. He felt the trouble in David's heart when they met. 

"Ruth is ours, and I bring her kiss to you, " he said, pressing his lipsto David's; but the arms flung around him trembled, and David whispered, "Now the change begins. "

"Oh, this cannot be our burden!" Jonathan cried, with all the rapturestill warm in his heart. 

"If it is, it will be light, or heavy, or none at all, as we shall bearit, " David answered, with a smile of infinite tenderness. 

For several days he allowed Jonathan to visit the Bradley farm alone, saying that it must be so on Ruth's account. Her love, he declared, mustgive her the fine instinct which only their mother had ever possessed, and he must allow it time to be confirmed. Jonathan, however, insistedthat Ruth already possessed it; that she was beginning to wonder at hisabsence, and to fear that she would not be entirely welcome to the homewhich must always be equally his. 

David yielded at once. 

"You must go alone, " said Jonathan, "to satisfy yourself that she knowsus at last. "

Ruth came forth from the house as he drew near. Her face beamed; shelaid her hands upon his shoulders and kissed him. "Now you cannot doubtme, Ruth!" he said, gently. 

"Doubt you, Jonathan!" she exclaimed with a fond reproach in her eyes. "But you look troubled; is any thing the matter?"

"I was thinking of my brother, " said David, in a low tone. 

"Tell me what it is, " she said, drawing him into the little arbor ofwoodbine near the gate. They took seats side by side on the rusticbench. "He thinks I may come between you: is it not that?" she asked. Only one thing was clear to David's mind--that she would surely speakmore frankly and freely of him to the supposed Jonathan than to his realself. This once he would permit the illusion. 

"Not more than must be, " he answered. "He knew all from the verybeginning. But we have been like one person in two bodies, and anychange seems to divide us. "

"I feel as you do, " said Ruth. "I would never consent to be your wife, if I could really divide you. I love you both too well for that. "

"Do you love me?" he asked, entirely forgetting his representative part. 

Again the reproachful look, which faded away as she met his eyes. Shefell upon his breast, and gave him kisses which were answered with equaltenderness. Suddenly he covered his face with his hands, and burst intoa passion of tears. 

"Jonathan! Oh Jonathan!" she cried, weeping with alarm and sympatheticpain. 

It was long before he could speak; but at last, turning away his head, he faltered, "I am David!"

There was a long silence. 

When he looked up she was sitting with her hands rigidly clasped in herlap: her face was very pale. 

"There it is, Ruth, " he said; "we are one heart and one soul. Could helove, and not I? You cannot decide between us, for one is the other. IfI had known you first, Jonathan would be now in my place. What follows, then?"

"No marriage, " she whispered. 

"No!" he answered; "we brothers must learn to be two men instead of one. You will partly take my place with Jonathan; I must live with half mylife, unless I can find, somewhere in the world, your other half. "

"I cannot part you, David!"

"Something stronger than you or me parts us, Ruth. If it were death, we should bow to God's will: well, it can no more be got away from thandeath or judgment. Say no more: the pattern of all this was drawn longbefore we were born, and we cannot do any thing but work it out. "

He rose and stood before her. "Remember this, Ruth, " he said; "it is noblame in us to love each other. Jonathan will see the truth in my facewhen we meet, and I speak for him also. You will not see me again untilyour wedding-day, and then no more afterwards--but, yes! ONCE, in somefar-off time, when you shall know me to be David, and still give me thekiss you gave to-day. "

"Ah, after death!" she thought: "I have parted them forever. " She wasabout to rise, but fell upon the seat again, fainting. At the samemoment Jonathan appeared at David's side. 

No word was said. They bore her forth and supported her between themuntil the fresh breeze had restored her to consciousness. Her firstglance rested on the brother's hands, clasping; then, looking from oneto the other, she saw that the cheeks of both were wet. 

"Now, leave me, " she said, "but come to-morrow, Jonathan!" Even then sheturned from one to the other, with a painful, touching uncertainty, andstretched out both hands to them in farewell. 

How that poor twin heart struggled with itself is only known to God. Allhuman voices, and as they believed, also the Divine Voice, commanded thedivision of their interwoven life. Submission would have seemed easier, could they have taken up equal and similar burdens; but David wasunable to deny that his pack was overweighted. For the first time, theirthoughts began to diverge. 

At last David said: "For mother's sake, Jonathan, as we promised. Shealways called you HER child. And for Ruth's sake, and father's lastadvice: they all tell me what I must do. "

It was like the struggle between will and desire, in the same nature, and none the less fierce or prolonged because the softer quality foresawits ultimate surrender. Long after he felt the step to be inevitable, Jonathan sought to postpone it, but he was borne by all combinedinfluences nearer and nearer to the time. 

And now the wedding-day came. David was to leave home the same evening, after the family dinner under his father's roof. In the morning he saidto Jonathan: "I shall not write until I feel that I have become otherthan now, but I shall always be here, in you, as you will be in me, everywhere. Whenever you want me, I shall know it; and I think I shallknow when to return. "

The hearts of all the people went out towards them as they stoodtogether in the little village church. Both were calm, but very pale andabstracted in their expression, yet their marvellous likeness was stillunchanged. Ruth's eyes were cast down so they could not be seen; shetrembled visibly, and her voice was scarcely audible when she spoke thevow. It was only known in the neighborhood that David was going to makeanother journey. The truth could hardly have been guessed by personswhose ideas follow the narrow round of their own experiences; had itbeen, there would probably have been more condemnation than sympathy. But in a vague way the presence of some deeper element was felt--thefalling of a shadow, although the outstretched wing was unseen. Farabove them, and above the shadow, watched the Infinite Pity, which wasnot denied to three hearts that day. 

It was a long time, more than a year, and Ruth was lulling her firstchild on her bosom, before a letter came from David. He had wanderedwestwards, purchased some lands on the outer line of settlement, andappeared to be leading a wild and lonely life. "I know now, " he wrote, "just how much there is to bear, and how to bear it. Strange men comebetween us, but you are not far off when I am alone on these plains. There is a place where I can always meet you, and I know that you havefound it, --under the big ash-tree by the barn. I think I am nearlyalways there about sundown, and on moonshiny nights, because we are thennearest together; and I never sleep without leaving you half my blanket. When I first begin to wake I always feel your breath, so we are neverreally parted for long. I do not know that I can change much; it is noteasy; it is like making up your mind to have different colored eyesand hair, and I can only get sunburnt and wear a full beard. But we arehardly as unhappy as we feared to be; mother came the other night, in adream, and took us on her knees. Oh, come to me, Jonathan, but for oneday! No, you will not find me; I am going across the Plains!"

And Jonathan and Ruth? They loved each other tenderly; no externaltrouble visited them; their home was peaceful and pure; and yet, everyroom and stairway and chair was haunted by a sorrowful ghost. As aneighbor said after visiting them, "There seemed to be something lost. "Ruth saw how constantly and how unconsciously Jonathan turned to seehis own every feeling reflected in the missing eyes; how his hand soughtanother, even while its fellow pressed hers; how half-spoken words, day and night, died upon his lips, because they could not reach thetwin-ear. She knew not how it came, but her own nature took upon itselfthe same habit. She felt that she received a less measure of love thanshe gave--not from Jonathan, in whose whole, warm, transparent heart noother woman had ever looked, but something of her own passed beyond himand never returned. To both their life was like one of those conjurer'scups, seemingly filled with red wine, which is held from the lips by thefalse crystal hollow. 

Neither spoke of this: neither dared to speak. The years dragged outtheir slow length, with rare and brief messages from David. Threechildren were in the house, and still peace and plenty laid their signsupon its lintels. But at last Ruth, who had been growing thinner andpaler ever since the birth of her first boy, became seriously ill. Consumption was hers by inheritance, and it now manifested itself in aform which too surely foretold the result. After the physician hadgone, leaving his fatal verdict behind him, she called to Jonathan, who, bewildered by his grief, sank down on his knees at her bedside andsobbed upon her breast. 

"Don't grieve, " she said; "this is my share of the burden. If I havetaken too much from you and David, now comes the atonement. Many thingshave grown clear to me. David was right when he said that there was noblame. But my time is even less than the doctor thinks: where is David?Can you not bid him come?"

"I can only call him with my heart, " he answered. "And will he hear menow, after nearly seven years?"

"Call, then!" she eagerly cried. "Call with all the strength of yourlove for him and for me, and I believe he will hear you!"

The sun was just setting. Jonathan went to the great ash-tree, behindthe barn, fell upon his knees, and covered his face, and the sense ofan exceeding bitter cry filled his heart. All the suppressed and baffledlonging, the want, the hunger, the unremitting pain of years, came uponhim and were crowded into the single prayer, "Come, David, or I die!"Before the twilight faded, while he was still kneeling, an arm came uponhis shoulder, and the faint touch of another cheek upon his own. It washardly for the space of a thought, but he knew the sign. 

"David will come!" he said to Ruth. 

From that day all was changed. The cloud of coming death which hung overthe house was transmuted into fleecy gold. All the lost life came backto Jonathan's face, all the unrestful sweetness of Ruth's brightenedinto a serene beatitude. Months had passed since David had been heardfrom; they knew not how to reach him without many delays; yet neitherdreamed of doubting his coming. 

Two weeks passed, three, and there was neither word nor sign. Jonathanand Ruth thought, "He is near, " and one day a singular unrest fell uponthe former. Ruth saw it, but said nothing until night came, when shesent Jonathan from her bedside with the words, "Go and meet him?"

An hour afterwards she heard double steps on the stone walk in front ofthe house. They came slowly to the door; it opened; she heard them alongthe hall and ascending the stairs; then the chamber-lamp showed her thetwo faces, bright with a single, unutterable joy. 

One brother paused at the foot of the bed; the other drew near and bentover her. She clasped her thin hands around his neck, kissed him fondly, and cried, "Dear, dear David!"

"Dear Ruth, " he said, "I came as soon as I could. I was far away, amongwild mountains, when I felt that Jonathan was calling me. I knew that Imust return, never to leave you more, and there was still a little workto finish. Now we shall all live again!"

"Yes, " said Jonathan, coming to her other side, "try to live, Ruth!"

Her voice came clear, strong, and full of authority. "I DO live, asnever before. I shall take all my life with me when I go to wait for onesoul, as I shall find it there! Our love unites, not divides, from thishour!"

The few weeks still left to her were a season of almost superhumanpeace. She faded slowly and painlessly, taking the equal love of thetwin-hearts, and giving an equal tenderness and gratitude. Then firstshe saw the mysterious need which united them, the fulness and joywherewith each completed himself in the other. All the imperfect pastwas enlightened, and the end, even that now so near, was very good. 

Every afternoon they carried her down to a cushioned chair on theveranda, where she could enjoy the quiet of the sunny landscape, thepresence of the brothers seated at her feet, and the sports of herchildren on the grass. Thus, one day, while David and Jonathan held herhands and waited for her to wake from a happy sleep, she went beforethem, and, ere they guessed the truth, she was waiting for their onesoul in the undiscovered land. 

And Jonathan's children, now growing into manhood and girlhood, alsocall David "father. " The marks left by their divided lives have longsince vanished from their faces; the middle-aged men, whose hairs areturning gray, still walk hand in hand, still sleep upon the same pillow, still have their common wardrobe, as when they were boys. They talk of"our Ruth" with no sadness, for they believe that death will make themone, when, at the same moment, he summons both. And we who know them, towhom they have confided the touching mystery of their nature, believe sotoo. 

THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A. C. 

"Bridgeport! Change cars for the Naugatuck Railroad!" shouted theconductor of the New York and Boston Express Train, on the evening ofMay 27th, 1858. Indeed, he does it every night (Sundays excepted), for that matter; but as this story refers especially to Mr. J. EdwardJohnson, who was a passenger on that train, on the aforesaid evening, I make special mention of the fact. Mr. Johnson, carpet-bag in hand, jumped upon the platform, entered the office, purchased a ticket forWaterbury, and was soon whirling in the Naugatuck train towards hisdestination. 

On reaching Waterbury, in the soft spring twilight, Mr. Johnson walkedup and down in front of the station, curiously scanning the faces of theassembled crowd. Presently he noticed a gentleman who was performingthe same operation upon the faces of the alighting passengers. Throwinghimself directly in the way of the latter, the two exchanged a steadygaze. 

"Is your name Billings?" "Is your name Johnson?" were simultaneousquestions, followed by the simultaneous exclamations--"Ned!" "Enos!"

Then there was a crushing grasp of hands, repeated after a pause, in testimony of ancient friendship, and Mr. Billings, returning topractical life, asked--

"Is that all your baggage? Come, I have a buggy here: Eunice has heardthe whistle, and she'll be impatient to welcome you. "

The impatience of Eunice (Mrs. Billings, of course, ) was not of longduration, for in five minutes thereafter she stood at the door of herhusband's chocolate-colored villa, receiving his friend. 

While these three persons are comfortably seated at the tea-table, enjoying their waffles, cold tongue, and canned peaches, and askingand answering questions helter-skelter in the delightful confusion ofreunion after long separation, let us briefly inform the reader who andwhat they are. 

Mr. Enos Billings, then, was part owner of a manufactory of metalbuttons, forty years old, of middling height, ordinarily quiet andrather shy, but with a large share of latent warmth and enthusiasm inhis nature. His hair was brown, slightly streaked with gray, his eyesa soft, dark hazel, forehead square, eyebrows straight, nose of no verymarked character, and a mouth moderately full, with a tendency totwitch a little at the corners. His voice was undertoned, but mellow andagreeable. 

Mrs. Eunice Billings, of nearly equal age, was a good specimen ofthe wide-awake New-England woman. Her face had a piquant smartness ofexpression, which might have been refined into a sharp edge, but for hernatural hearty good-humor. Her head was smoothly formed, her face a fulloval, her hair and eyes blond and blue in a strong light, but brown andsteel-gray at other times, and her complexion of that ripe fairness intowhich a ruddier color will sometimes fade. Her form, neither plump norsquare, had yet a firm, elastic compactness, and her slightest movementconveyed a certain impression of decision and self-reliance. 

As for J. Edward Johnson, it is enough to say that he was a tall, thin gentleman of forty-five, with an aquiline nose, narrow face, andmilitary whiskers, which swooped upwards and met under his nose in aglossy black mustache. His complexion was dark, from the bronzing offifteen summers in New Orleans. He was a member of a wholesale hardwarefirm in that city, and had now revisited his native North for thefirst time since his departure. A year before, some letters relatingto invoices of metal buttons signed, "Foster, Kirkup, & Co. , per EnosBillings, " had accidentally revealed to him the whereabouts of the oldfriend of his youth, with whom we now find him domiciled. The firstthing he did, after attending to some necessary business matters in NewYork, was to take the train for Waterbury. 

"Enos, " said he, as he stretched out his hand for the third cup of tea(which he had taken only for the purpose of prolonging the pleasanttable-chat), "I wonder which of us is most changed. "

"You, of course, " said Mr. Billings, "with your brown face and bigmustache. Your own brother wouldn't have known you if he had seen youlast, as I did, with smooth cheeks and hair of unmerciful length. Why, not even your voice is the same!"

"That is easily accounted for, " replied Mr. Johnson. "But in your case, Enos, I am puzzled to find where the difference lies. Your features seemto be but little changed, now that I can examine them at leisure; yet itis not the same face. But, really, I never looked at you for so longa time, in those days. I beg pardon; you used to be so--so remarkablyshy. "

Mr. Billings blushed slightly, and seemed at a loss what to answer. 

His wife, however, burst into a merry laugh, exclaiming--

"Oh, that was before the days of the A. C!"

He, catching the infection, laughed also; in fact Mr. Johnson laughed, but without knowing why. 

"The 'A. C. '!" said Mr. Billings. "Bless me, Eunice! how long it issince we have talked of that summer! I had almost forgotten that thereever was an A. C. "

"Enos, COULD you ever forget Abel Mallory and the beer?--or that scenebetween Hollins and Shelldrake?--or" (here SHE blushed the least bit)"your own fit of candor?" And she laughed again, more heartily thanever. 

"What a precious lot of fools, to be sure!" exclaimed her husband. 

Mr. Johnson, meanwhile, though enjoying the cheerful humor of his hosts, was not a little puzzled with regard to its cause. 

"What is the A. C. ?" he ventured to ask. 

Mr. And Mrs. Billings looked at each other, and smiled without replying. 

"Really, Ned, " said the former, finally, "the answer to your questioninvolves the whole story. "

"Then why not tell him the whole story, Enos?" remarked his wife. 

"You know I've never told it yet, and it's rather a hard thing to do, seeing that I'm one of the heroes of the farce--for it wasn't evengenteel comedy, Ned, " said Mr. Billings. "However, " he continued, "absurd as the story may seem, it's the only key to the change in mylife, and I must run the risk of being laughed at. "

"I'll help you through, Enos, " said his wife, encouragingly; "andbesides, my role in the farce was no better than yours. Let usresuscitate, for to-night only, the constitution of the A. C. "

"Upon my word, a capital idea! But we shall have to initiate Ned. "

Mr. Johnson merrily agreeing, he was blindfolded and conducted intoanother room. A heavy arm-chair, rolling on casters, struck his legs inthe rear, and he sank into it with lamb-like resignation. 

"Open your mouth!" was the command, given with mock solemnity. 

He obeyed. 

"Now shut it!"

And his lips closed upon a cigar, while at the same time thehandkerchief was whisked away from his eyes. He found himself in Mr. Billing's library. 

"Your nose betrays your taste, Mr. Johnson, " said the lady, "and Iam not hard-hearted enough to deprive you of the indulgence. Here arematches. "

"Well, " said he, acting upon the hint, "if the remainder of theceremonies are equally agreeable, I should like to be a permanent memberof your order. "

By this time Mr. And Mrs. Billings, having between them lighted thelamp, stirred up the coal in the grate, closed the doors, and takenpossession of comfortable chairs, the latter proclaimed--

"The Chapter (isn't that what you call it?) will now be held!"

"Was it in '43 when you left home, Ned?" asked Mr. B. 

"Yes. "

"Well, the A. C. Culminated in '45. You remember something of thesociety of Norridgeport, the last winter you were there? Abel Mallory, for instance?"

"Let me think a moment, " said Mr. Johnson reflectively. "Really, itseems like looking back a hundred years. Mallory--wasn't that thesentimental young man, with wispy hair, a tallowy skin, and big, sweatyhands, who used to be spouting Carlyle on the 'reading evenings' atShelldrake's? Yes, to be sure; and there was Hollins, with his clericalface and infidel talk, --and Pauline Ringtop, who used to say, 'TheBeautiful is the Good. ' I can still hear her shrill voice, singing, 'Would that _I_ were beautiful, would that _I_ were fair!'"

There was a hearty chorus of laughter at poor Miss Ringtop's expense. It harmed no one, however; for the tar-weed was already thick over herCalifornian grave. 

"Oh, I see, " said Mr. Billings, "you still remember the absurdities ofthose days. In fact, I think you partially saw through them then. But Iwas younger, and far from being so clear-headed, and I looked upon thoseevenings at Shelldrake's as being equal, at least, to the symposia ofPlato. Something in Mallory always repelled me. I detested the sight ofhis thick nose, with the flaring nostrils, and his coarse, half-formedlips, of the bluish color of raw corned-beef. But I looked upon thesefeelings as unreasonable prejudices, and strove to conquer them, seeingthe admiration which he received from others. He was an oracle on thesubject of 'Nature. ' Having eaten nothing for two years, exceptGraham bread, vegetables without salt, and fruits, fresh or dried, heconsidered himself to have attained an antediluvian purity of health--orthat he would attain it, so soon as two pimples on his left templeshould have healed. These pimples he looked upon as the last feeblestand made by the pernicious juices left from the meat he had formerlyeaten and the coffee he had drunk. His theory was, that through a bodyso purged and purified none but true and natural impulses could findaccess to the soul. Such, indeed, was the theory we all held. A Returnto Nature was the near Millennium, the dawn of which we already beheldin the sky. To be sure there was a difference in our individual viewsas to how this should be achieved, but we were all agreed as to what theresult should be. 

"I can laugh over those days now, Ned; but they were really happy whilethey lasted. We were the salt of the earth; we were lifted above thosegrovelling instincts which we saw manifested in the lives of others. Each contributed his share of gas to inflate the painted balloon towhich we all clung, in the expectation that it would presently soarwith us to the stars. But it only went up over the out-houses, dodgedbackwards and forwards two or three times, and finally flopped down withus into a swamp. "

"And that balloon was the A. C. ?" suggested Mr. Johnson. 

"As President of this Chapter, I prohibit questions, " said Eunice. "And, Enos, don't send up your balloon until the proper time. Don't anticipatethe programme, or the performance will be spoiled. "

"I had almost forgotten that Ned is so much in the dark, " her obedienthusband answered. "You can have but a slight notion, " he continued, turning to his friend, "of the extent to which this sentimental, ortranscendental, element in the little circle at Shelldrake's increasedafter you left Norridgeport. We read the 'Dial, ' and Emerson; webelieved in Alcott as the 'purple Plato' of modern times; we tookpsychological works out of the library, and would listen for hours toHollins while he read Schelling or Fichte, and then go home with amisty impression of having imbibed infinite wisdom. It was, perhaps, a natural, though very eccentric rebound from the hard, practical, unimaginative New-England mind which surrounded us; yet I look back uponit with a kind of wonder. I was then, as you know, unformed mentally, and might have been so still, but for the experiences of the A. C. "

Mr. Johnson shifted his position, a little impatiently. Eunice looked athim with laughing eyes, and shook her finger with a mock threat. 

"Shelldrake, " continued Mr. Billings, without noticing this by-play, "was a man of more pretence than real cultivation, as I afterwardsdiscovered. He was in good circumstances, and always glad to receive usat his house, as this made him, virtually, the chief of our tribe, and the outlay for refreshments involved only the apples from hisown orchard and water from his well. There was an entire absence ofconventionality at our meetings, and this, compared with the somewhatstiff society of the village, was really an attraction. There was amystic bond of union in our ideas: we discussed life, love, religion, and the future state, not only with the utmost candor, but with a warmthof feeling which, in many of us, was genuine. Even I (and you know howpainfully shy and bashful I was) felt myself more at home there than inmy father's house; and if I didn't talk much, I had a pleasant feelingof being in harmony with those who did. 

"Well, 'twas in the early part of '45--I think in April, --when we wereall gathered together, discussing, as usual, the possibility of leadinga life in accordance with Nature. Abel Mallory was there, and Hollins, and Miss Ringtop, and Faith Levis, with her knitting, --and also EuniceHazleton, a lady whom you have never seen, but you may take my wife ather representative--"

"Stick to the programme, Enos, " interrupted Mrs. Billings. 

"Eunice Hazleton, then. I wish I could recollect some of the speechesmade on that occasion. Abel had but one pimple on his temple (there wasa purple spot where the other had been), and was estimating that in twoor three months more he would be a true, unspoiled man. His complexion, nevertheless, was more clammy and whey-like than ever. 

"'Yes, ' said he, 'I also am an Arcadian! This false dual existence whichI have been leading will soon be merged in the unity of Nature. Ourlives must conform to her sacred law. Why can't we strip off thesehollow Shams, ' (he made great use of that word, ) 'and be our trueselves, pure, perfect, and divine?'

"Miss Ringtop heaved a sigh, and repeated a stanza from her favoritepoet:

 "'Ah, when wrecked are my desires On the everlasting Never, And my heart with all its fires Out forever, In the cradle of Creation Finds the soul resuscitation!

"Shelldrake, however, turning to his wife, said--

"'Elviry, how many up-stairs rooms is there in that house down on theSound?'

"'Four, --besides three small ones under the roof. Why, what made youthink of that, Jesse?' said she. 

"'I've got an idea, while Abel's been talking, ' he answered. 'We'vetaken a house for the summer, down the other side of Bridgeport, righton the water, where there's good fishing and a fine view of the Sound. Now, there's room enough for all of us--at least all that can make itsuit to go. Abel, you and Enos, and Pauline and Eunice might fix mattersso that we could all take the place in partnership, and pass the summertogether, living a true and beautiful life in the bosom of Nature. Therewe shall be perfectly free and untrammelled by the chains which stillhang around us in Norridgeport. You know how often we have wanted to beset on some island in the Pacific Ocean, where we could build up atrue society, right from the start. Now, here's a chance to try theexperiment for a few months, anyhow. '

"Eunice clapped her hands (yes, you did!) and cried out--

"'Splendid! Arcadian! I'll give up my school for the summer. '

"Miss Ringtop gave her opinion in another quotation:

 "'The rainbow hues of the Ideal Condense to gems, and form the Real!'

"Abel Mallory, of course, did not need to have the proposal repeated. Hewas ready for any thing which promised indulgence, and the indulgence ofhis sentimental tastes. I will do the fellow the justice to say thathe was not a hypocrite. He firmly believed both in himself and hisideas--especially the former. He pushed both hands through the longwisps of his drab-colored hair, and threw his head back until his widenostrils resembled a double door to his brain. 

"'Oh Nature!' he said, 'you have found your lost children! We shall obeyyour neglected laws! we shall hearken to your divine whispers I weshall bring you back from your ignominious exile, and place you on yourancestral throne!'

"'Let us do it!' was the general cry. 

"A sudden enthusiasm fired us, and we grasped each other's hands in thehearty impulse of the moment. My own private intention to make a summertrip to the White Mountains had been relinquished the moment I heardEunice give in her adhesion. I may as well confess, at once, that I wasdesperately in love, and afraid to speak to her. 

"By the time Mrs. Sheldrake brought in the apples and water we werediscussing the plan as a settled thing. Hollins had an engagement todeliver Temperance lectures in Ohio during the summer, but decided topostpone his departure until August, so that he might, at least, spendtwo months with us. Faith Levis couldn't go--at which, I think, we wereall secretly glad. Some three or four others were in the same case, andthe company was finally arranged to consist of the Shelldrakes, Hollins, Mallory, Eunice, Miss Ringtop, and myself. We did not give much thought, either to the preparations in advance, or to our mode of life whensettled there. We were to live near to Nature: that was the main thing. 

"'What shall we call the place?' asked Eunice. 

"'Arcadia!' said Abel Mallory, rolling up his large green eyes. 

"'Then, ' said Hollins, 'let us constitute ourselves the Arcadian Club!'"

"Aha!" interrupted Mr. Johnson, "I see! The A. C. !"

"Yes, you can see the A. C. Now, " said Mrs. Billings; "but to understandit fully, you should have had a share in those Arcadian experiences. "

"I am all the more interested in hearing them described. Go on, Enos. "

"The proposition was adopted. We called ourselves The Arcadian Club; butin order to avoid gossip, and the usual ridicule, to which we were allmore or less sensitive, in case our plan should become generally known, it was agreed that the initials only should be used. Besides, there wasan agreeable air of mystery about it: we thought of Delphi, and Eleusis, and Samothrace: we should discover that Truth which the dim eyes ofworldly men and women were unable to see, and the day of disclosurewould be the day of Triumph. In one sense we were truly Arcadians: nosuspicion of impropriety, I verily believe, entered any of our minds. Inour aspirations after what we called a truer life there was no materialtaint. We were fools, if you choose, but as far as possible frombeing sinners. Besides, the characters of Mr. And Mrs. Shelldrake, whonaturally became the heads of our proposed community were sufficientto preserve us from slander or suspicion, if even our designs had beenpublicly announced. 

"I won't bore you with an account of our preparations. In fact, therewas very little to be done. Mr. Shelldrake succeeded in hiring thehouse, with most of its furniture, so that but a few articles had tobe supplied. My trunk contained more books than boots, more blank paperthan linen. 

"'Two shirts will be enough, ' said Abel: 'you can wash one of them anyday, and dry it in the sun. '

"The supplies consisted mostly of flour, potatoes, and sugar. There wasa vegetable-garden in good condition, Mr. Shelldrake said, which wouldbe our principal dependence. 

"'Besides, the clams!' I exclaimed unthinkingly. 

"'Oh, yes!' said Eunice, 'we can have chowder-parties: that will bedelightful!'

"'Clams! chowder! oh, worse than flesh!' groaned Abel. 'Will youreverence Nature by outraging her first laws?'

"I had made a great mistake, and felt very foolish. Eunice and I lookedat each other, for the first time. "

"Speak for yourself only, Enos, " gently interpolated his wife. 

"It was a lovely afternoon in the beginning of June when we firstapproached Arcadia. We had taken two double teams at Bridgeport, anddrove slowly forward to our destination, followed by a cart containingour trunks and a few household articles. It was a bright, balmy day:the wheat-fields were rich and green, the clover showed faint streaksof ruby mist along slopes leaning southward, and the meadows were yellowwith buttercups. Now and then we caught glimpses of the Sound, and, farbeyond it, the dim Long Island shore. Every old white farmhouse, withits gray-walled garden, its clumps of lilacs, viburnums, and earlyroses, offered us a picture of pastoral simplicity and repose. We passedthem, one by one, in the happiest mood, enjoying the earth around us, the sky above, and ourselves most of all. 

"The scenery, however, gradually became more rough and broken. Knobsof gray gneiss, crowned by mournful cedars, intrenched upon the arableland, and the dark-blue gleam of water appeared through the trees. Ourroad, which had been approaching the Sound, now skirted the head of adeep, irregular inlet, beyond which extended a beautiful promontory, thickly studded with cedars, and with scattering groups of elm, oak andmaple trees. Towards the end of the promontory stood a house, with whitewalls shining against the blue line of the Sound. 

"'There is Arcadia, at last!' exclaimed Mr. Shelldrake. 

"A general outcry of delight greeted the announcement. And, indeed, theloveliness of the picture surpassed our most poetic anticipations. Thelow sun was throwing exquisite lights across the point, painting theslopes of grass of golden green, and giving a pearly softness to thegray rocks. In the back-ground was drawn the far-off water-line, overwhich a few specks of sail glimmered against the sky. Miss Ringtop, who, with Eunice, Mallory, and myself, occupied one carriage, expressed her'gushing' feelings in the usual manner:

 "'Where the turf is softest, greenest, Doth an angel thrust me on, -- Where the landscape lies serenest, In the journey of the sun!'

"'Don't, Pauline!' said Eunice; 'I never like to hear poetry flourishedin the face of Nature. This landscape surpasses any poem in the world. Let us enjoy the best thing we have, rather than the next best. '

"'Ah, yes!' sighed Miss Ringtop, ''tis true!

 "'They sing to the ear; this sings to the eye!'

"Thenceforward, to the house, all was childish joy and jubilee. Allminor personal repugnances were smoothed over in the general exultation. Even Abel Mallory became agreeable; and Hollins, sitting beside Mrs. Shelldrake on the back seat of the foremost carriage, shouted to us, inboyish lightness of heart. 

"Passing the head of the inlet, we left the country-road, and entered, through a gate in the tottering stone wall, on our summer domain. Atrack, open to the field on one side, led us past a clump of deciduoustrees, between pastures broken by cedared knolls of rock, downthe centre of the peninsula, to the house. It was quite an oldframe-building, two stories high, with a gambrel roof and tall chimneys. Two slim Lombardy poplars and a broad-leaved catalpa shaded the southernside, and a kitchen-garden, divided in the centre by a double row ofuntrimmed currant-bushes, flanked it on the east. For flowers, therewere masses of blue flags and coarse tawny-red lilies, besides a hugetrumpet-vine which swung its pendent arms from one of the gables. In front of the house a natural lawn of mingled turf and rock slopedsteeply down to the water, which was not more than two hundred yardsdistant. To the west was another and broader inlet of the Sound, out ofwhich our Arcadian promontory rose bluff and bold, crowned with athick fringe of pines. It was really a lovely spot which Shelldrake hadchosen--so secluded, while almost surrounded by the winged and movinglife of the Sound, so simple, so pastoral and home-like. No one doubtedthe success of our experiment, for that evening at least. 

"Perkins Brown, Shelldrake's boy-of-all-work, awaited us at the door. He had been sent on two or three days in advance, to take charge of thehouse, and seemed to have had enough of hermit-life, for he hailedus with a wild whoop, throwing his straw hat half-way up one of thepoplars. Perkins was a boy of fifteen, the child of poor parents, who were satisfied to get him off their hands, regardless as to whathumanitarian theories might be tested upon him. As the Arcadian Clubrecognized no such thing as caste, he was always admitted to ourmeetings, and understood just enough of our conversation to excite asilly ambition in his slow mind. His animal nature was predominant, andthis led him to be deceitful. At that time, however, we all looked uponhim as a proper young Arcadian, and hoped that he would develop into asecond Abel Mallory. 

"After our effects had been deposited on the stoop, and the carriageshad driven away, we proceeded to apportion the rooms, and takepossession. On the first floor there were three rooms, two of whichwould serve us as dining and drawing rooms, leaving the third for theShelldrakes. As neither Eunice and Miss Ringtop, nor Hollins and Abelshowed any disposition to room together, I quietly gave up to them thefour rooms in the second story, and installed myself in one of the atticchambers. Here I could hear the music of the rain close above my head, and through the little gable window, as I lay in bed, watch the colorsof the morning gradually steal over the distant shores. The end was, wewere all satisfied. 

"'Now for our first meal in Arcadia!' was the next cry. Mrs. Shelldrake, like a prudent housekeeper, marched off to the kitchen, where Perkinshad already kindled a fire. We looked in at the door, but thought itbest to allow her undisputed sway in such a narrow realm. Eunice wasunpacking some loaves of bread and paper bags of crackers; and MissRingtop, smiling through her ropy curls, as much as to say, 'You see, _I_ also can perform the coarser tasks of life!' occupied herself withplates and cups. We men, therefore, walked out to the garden, which wefound in a promising condition. The usual vegetables had been plantedand were growing finely, for the season was yet scarcely warm enoughfor the weeds to make much headway. Radishes, young onions, and lettuceformed our contribution to the table. The Shelldrakes, I should explain, had not yet advanced to the antediluvian point, in diet: nor, indeed, had either Eunice or myself. We acknowledged the fascination of tea, wesaw a very mitigated evil in milk and butter, and we were conscious ofstifled longings after the abomination of meat. Only Mallory, Hollins, and Miss Ringtop had reached that loftiest round on the ladder ofprogress where the material nature loosens the last fetter of thespiritual. They looked down upon us, and we meekly admitted their rightto do so. 

"Our board, that evening, was really tempting. The absence of meat wascompensated to us by the crisp and racy onions, and I craved only alittle salt, which had been interdicted, as a most pernicious substance. I sat at one corner of the table, beside Perkins Brown, who took anopportunity, while the others were engaged in conversation, to jog myelbow gently. As I turned towards him, he said nothing, but dropped hiseyes significantly. The little rascal had the lid of a blacking-box, filled with salt, upon his knee, and was privately seasoning his onionsand radishes. 

I blushed at the thought of my hypocrisy, but the onions were so muchbetter that I couldn't help dipping into the lid with him. 

"'Oh, ' said Eunice, 'we must send for some oil and vinegar! This lettuceis very nice. '

"'Oil and vinegar?' exclaimed Abel. 

"'Why, yes, ' said she, innocently: 'they are both vegetable substances. '

"Abel at first looked rather foolish, but quickly recovering himself, said--

"'All vegetable substances are not proper for food: you would not tastethe poison-oak, or sit under the upas-tree of Java. '

"'Well, Abel, ' Eunice rejoined, 'how are we to distinguish what is bestfor us? How are we to know WHAT vegetables to choose, or what animal andmineral substances to avoid?'

"'I will tell you, ' he answered, with a lofty air. 'See here!' pointingto his temple, where the second pimple--either from the change of air, or because, in the excitement of the last few days, he had forgottenit--was actually healed. 'My blood is at last pure. The struggle betweenthe natural and the unnatural is over, and I am beyond the depravedinfluences of my former taste. My instincts are now, therefore, entirelypure also. What is good for man to eat, that I shall have a naturaldesire to eat: what is bad will be naturally repelled. How does the cowdistinguish between the wholesome and the poisonous herbs of the meadow?And is man less than a cow, that he cannot cultivate his instincts toan equal point? Let me walk through the woods and I can tell you everyberry and root which God designed for food, though I know not its name, and have never seen it before. I shall make use of my time, during oursojourn here, to test, by my purified instinct, every substance, animal, mineral, and vegetable, upon which the human race subsists, and tocreate a catalogue of the True Food of Man!'

"Abel was eloquent on this theme, and he silenced not only Eunice, but the rest of us. Indeed, as we were all half infected with the samedelusions, it was not easy to answer his sophistries. 

"After supper was over, the prospect of cleaning the dishes and puttingthings in order was not so agreeable; but Mrs. Shelldrake and Perkinsundertook the work, and we did not think it necessary to interfere withthem. Half an hour afterwards, when the full moon had risen, we tookour chairs upon the sloop, to enjoy the calm, silver night, the softsea-air, and our summer's residence in anticipatory talk. 

"'My friends, ' said Hollins (and HIS hobby, as you may remember, Ned, was the organization of Society, rather than those reforms which applydirectly to the Individual), --'my friends, I think we are sufficientlyadvanced in progressive ideas to establish our little Arcadian communityupon what I consider the true basis: not Law, nor Custom, but theuncorrupted impulses of our nature. What Abel said in regard to dieteticreform is true; but that alone will not regenerate the race. We mustrise superior to those conventional ideas of Duty whereby Life is warpedand crippled. Life must not be a prison, where each one must come andgo, work, eat, and sleep, as the jailer commands. Labor must not bea necessity, but a spontaneous joy. 'Tis true, but little labor isrequired of us here: let us, therefore, have no set tasks, no fixedrules, but each one work, rest, eat, sleep, talk or be silent, as hisown nature prompts. '

"Perkins, sitting on the steps, gave a suppressed chuckle, which I thinkno one heard but myself. I was vexed with his levity, but, nevertheless, gave him a warning nudge with my toe, in payment for the surreptitioussalt. 

"'That's just the notion I had, when I first talked of our coming here, 'said Shelldrake. 'Here we're alone and unhindered; and if the planshouldn't happen to work well (I don't see why it shouldn't though), no harm will be done. I've had a deal of hard work in my life, and I'vebeen badgered and bullied so much by your strait-laced professors, that I'm glad to get away from the world for a spell, and talk and dorationally, without being laughed at. '

"'Yes, ' answered Hollins, 'and if we succeed, as I feel we shall, for Ithink I know the hearts of all of us here, this may be the commencementof a new Epoch for the world. We may become the turning-point betweentwo dispensations: behind us every thing false and unnatural, before usevery thing true, beautiful, and good. '

"'Ah, ' sighed Miss Ringtop, 'it reminds me of Gamaliel J. Gawthrop'sbeautiful lines:

 "'Unrobed man is lying hoary In the distance, gray and dead; There no wreaths of godless glory To his mist-like tresses wed, And the foot-fall of the Ages Reigns supreme, with noiseless tread. '

"'I am willing to try the experiment, ' said I, on being appealed to byHollins; 'but don't you think we had better observe some kind of order, even in yielding every thing to impulse? Shouldn't there be, at least, aplatform, as the politicians call it--an agreement by which we shallall be bound, and which we can afterwards exhibit as the basis of oursuccess?'

"He meditated a few moments, and then answered--

"'I think not. It resembles too much the thing we are trying tooverthrow. Can you bind a man's belief by making him sign certainarticles of Faith? No: his thought will be free, in spite of it; and Iwould have Action--Life--as free as Thought. Our platform--to adopt yourimage--has but one plank: Truth. Let each only be true to himself: BEhimself, ACT himself, or herself with the uttermost candor. We can allagree upon that. '

"The agreement was accordingly made. And certainly no happier or morehopeful human beings went to bed in all New England that night. 

"I arose with the sun, went into the garden, and commenced weeding, intending to do my quota of work before breakfast, and then devote theday to reading and conversation. I was presently joined by Shelldrakeand Mallory, and between us we finished the onions and radishes, stuckthe peas, and cleaned the alleys. Perkins, after milking the cow andturning her out to pasture, assisted Mrs. Shelldrake in the kitchen. At breakfast we were joined by Hollins, who made no excuse for hiseasy morning habits; nor was one expected. I may as well tell you now, though, that his natural instincts never led him to work. After a week, when a second crop of weeds was coming on, Mallory fell off also, andthenceforth Shelldrake and myself had the entire charge of the garden. Perkins did the rougher work, and was always on hand when he was wanted. Very soon, however, I noticed that he was in the habit of disappearingfor two or three hours in the afternoon. 

"Our meals preserved the same Spartan simplicity. Eunice, however, carried her point in regard to the salad; for Abel, after tasting andfinding it very palatable, decided that oil and vinegar might be classedin the catalogue of True Food. Indeed, his long abstinence from piquantflavors gave him such an appetite for it that our supply of lettuce wassoon exhausted. An embarrassing accident also favored us with the use ofsalt. Perkins happening to move his knee at the moment I was dipping anonion into the blacking-box lid, our supply was knocked upon the floor. He picked it up, and we both hoped the accident might pass unnoticed. But Abel, stretching his long neck across the corner of the table, caught a glimpse of what was going on. 

"'What's that?' he asked. 

"'Oh, it's--it's only, ' said I, seeking for a synonyme, 'only chlorideof sodium!'

"'Chloride of sodium! what do you do with it?'

"'Eat it with onions, ' said I, boldly: 'it's a chemical substance, but Ibelieve it is found in some plants. '

"Eunice, who knew something of chemistry (she taught a class, though youwouldn't think it), grew red with suppressed fun, but the others were asignorant as Abel Mallory himself. 

"'Let me taste it, ' said he, stretching out an onion. 

"I handed him the box-lid, which still contained a portion of itscontents. He dipped the onion, bit off a piece, and chewed it gravely. 

"'Why, ' said he, turning to me, 'it's very much like salt. '

"Perkins burst into a spluttering yell, which discharged an onion-top hehad just put between his teeth across the table; Eunice and I gave wayat the same moment; and the others, catching the joke, joined us. Butwhile we were laughing, Abel was finishing his onion, and the result wasthat Salt was added to the True Food, and thereafter appeared regularlyon the table. 

"The forenoons we usually spent in reading and writing, each in his orher chamber. (Oh, the journals, Ned!--but you shall not see mine. )After a midday meal, --I cannot call it dinner, --we sat upon the stoop, listening while one of us read aloud, or strolled down the shores oneither side, or, when the sun was not too warm, got into a boat, androwed or floated lazily around the promontory. 

"One afternoon, as I was sauntering off, past the garden, towards theeastern inlet, I noticed Perkins slipping along behind the cedar knobs, towards the little woodland at the end of our domain. Curious to findout the cause of his mysterious disappearances, I followed cautiously. From the edge of the wood I saw him enter a little gap between therocks, which led down to the water. Presently a thread of blue smokestole up. Quietly creeping along, I got upon the nearer bluff and lookeddown. There was a sort of hearth built up at the base of the rock, witha brisk little fire burning upon it, but Perkins had disappeared. Istretched myself out upon the moss, in the shade, and waited. In abouthalf an hour up came Perkins, with a large fish in one hand and alump of clay in the other. I now understood the mystery. He carefullyimbedded the fish in a thin layer of clay, placed it on the coals, andthen went down to the shore to wash his hands. On his return he found mewatching the fire. 

"'Ho, ho, Mr. Enos!' said he, 'you've found me out; But you won't saynothin'. Gosh! you like it as well I do. Look 'ee there!'--breaking openthe clay, from which arose 'a steam of rich distilled perfumes, '--'and, I say, I've got the box-lid with that 'ere stuff in it, --ho! ho!'--andthe scamp roared again. 

"Out of a hole in the rock he brought salt and the end of a loaf, andbetween us we finished the fish. Before long, I got into the habit ofdisappearing in the afternoon. 

"Now and then we took walks, alone or collectively, to the nearestvillage, or even to Bridgeport, for the papers or a late book. The fewpurchases we required were made at such times, and sent down in a cart, or, if not too heavy, carried by Perkins in a basket. I noticed thatAbel, whenever we had occasion to visit a grocery, would go sniffingaround, alternately attracted or repelled by the various articles: nowturning away with a shudder from a ham, --now inhaling, with a fearfuldelight and uncertainty, the odor of smoked herrings. 'I think herringsmust feed on sea-weed, ' said he, 'there is such a vegetable attractionabout them. ' After his violent vegetarian harangues, however, hehesitated about adding them to his catalogue. 

"But, one day, as we were passing through the village, he was remindedby the sign of 'WARTER CRACKERS' in the window of an obscure grocerythat he required a supply of these articles, and we therefore entered. There was a splendid Rhode Island cheese on the counter, from which theshop-mistress was just cutting a slice for a customer. Abel leaned overit, inhaling the rich, pungent fragrance. 

"'Enos, ' said he to me, between his sniffs, 'this impresses me likeflowers--like marigolds. It must be--really--yes, the vegetable elementis predominant. My instinct towards it is so strong that I cannot bemistaken. May I taste it, ma'am?'

"The woman sliced off a thin corner, and presented it to him on theknife. 

"'Delicious!' he exclaimed; 'I am right, --this is the True Food. Give metwo pounds--and the crackers, ma'am. '

"I turned away, quite as much disgusted as amused withthis charlatanism. And yet I verily believe the fellow wassincere--self-deluded only. I had by this time lost my faith in him, though not in the great Arcadian principles. On reaching home, afteran hour's walk, I found our household in unusual commotion. Abel waswrithing in intense pain: he had eaten the whole two pounds of cheese, on his way home! His stomach, so weakened by years of unhealthyabstinence from true nourishment, was now terribly tortured by thissudden stimulus. Mrs. Shelldrake, fortunately, had some mustard amongher stores, and could therefore administer a timely emetic. His life wassaved, but he was very ill for two or three days. Hollins did not failto take advantage of this circumstance to overthrow the authority whichAbel had gradually acquired on the subject of food. He was so arrogantin his nature that he could not tolerate the same quality in another, even where their views coincided. 

"By this time several weeks had passed away. It was the beginning ofJuly, and the long summer heats had come. I was driven out of my atticduring the middle hours of the day, and the others found it pleasanteron the doubly shaded stoop than in their chambers. We were thus thrownmore together than usual--a circumstance which made our life moremonotonous to the others, as I could see; but to myself, who could atlast talk to Eunice, and who was happy at the very sight of her, this'heated term' seemed borrowed from Elysium. 

"I read aloud, and the sound of my own voice gave me confidence; manypassages suggested discussions, in which I took a part; and you mayjudge, Ned, how fast I got on, from the fact that I ventured to tellEunice of my fish-bakes with Perkins, and invite her to join them. Afterthat, she also often disappeared from sight for an hour or two in theafternoon. "

----"Oh, Mr. Johnson, " interrupted Mrs. Billings, "it wasn't for thefish!"

"Of course not, " said her husband; "it was for my sake. "

"No, you need not think it was for you. Enos, " she added, perceiving thefeminine dilemma into which she had been led, "all this is not necessaryto the story. "

"Stop!" he answered. "The A. C. Has been revived for this night only. Do you remember our platform, or rather no-platform? I must follow myimpulses, and say whatever comes uppermost. "

"Right, Enos, " said Mr. Johnson; "I, as temporary Arcadian, take thesame ground. My instinct tells me that you, Mrs. Billings, must permitthe confession. "

She submitted with a good grace, and her husband continued:

"I said that our lazy life during the hot weather had become a littlemonotonous. The Arcadian plan had worked tolerably well, on the whole, for there was very little for any one to do--Mrs. Shelldrake and PerkinsBrown excepted. Our conversation, however, lacked spirit and variety. Wewere, perhaps unconsciously, a little tired of hearing and assenting tothe same sentiments. But one evening, about this time, Hollins struckupon a variation, the consequences of which he little foresaw. Wehad been reading one of Bulwer's works (the weather was too hot forPsychology), and came upon this paragraph, or something like it:

"'Ah, Behind the Veil! We see the summer smile of the Earth--enamelledmeadow and limpid stream, --but what hides she in her sunless heart?Caverns of serpents, or grottoes of priceless gems? Youth, whose soulsits on thy countenance, thyself wearing no mask, strive not to lift themasks of others! Be content with what thou seest; and wait until Timeand Experience shall teach thee to find jealousy behind the sweet smile, and hatred under the honeyed word!'

"This seemed to us a dark and bitter reflection; but one or another ofus recalled some illustration of human hypocrisy, and the evidences, by the simple fact of repetition, gradually led to a division ofopinion--Hollins, Shelldrake, and Miss Ringtop on the dark side, andthe rest of us on the bright. The last, however, contented herself withquoting from her favorite poet, Gamaliel J. Gawthrop:

 "'I look beyond thy brow's concealment! I see thy spirit's dark revealment! Thy inner self betrayed I see: Thy coward, craven, shivering ME!'

"'We think we know one another, ' exclaimed Hollins; 'but do we? We seethe faults of others, their weaknesses, their disagreeable qualities, and we keep silent. How much we should gain, were candor as universalas concealment! Then each one, seeing himself as others see him, wouldtruly know himself. How much misunderstanding might be avoided--howmuch hidden shame be removed--hopeless, because unspoken, love madeglad--honest admiration cheer its object--uttered sympathy mitigatemisfortune--in short, how much brighter and happier the world wouldbecome if each one expressed, everywhere and at all times, his true andentire feeling! Why, even Evil would lose half its power!'

"There seemed to be so much practical wisdom in these views that we wereall dazzled and half-convinced at the start. So, when Hollins, turningtowards me, as he continued, exclaimed--'Come, why should not thiscandor be adopted in our Arcadia? Will any one--will you, Enos--commenceat once by telling me now--to my face--my principal faults?' I answeredafter a moment's reflection--'You have a great deal of intellectualarrogance, and you are, physically, very indolent'

"He did not flinch from the self-invited test, though he looked a littlesurprised. 

"'Well put, ' said he, 'though I do not say that you are entirelycorrect. Now, what are my merits?'

"'You are clear-sighted, ' I answered, 'an earnest seeker after truth, and courageous in the avowal of your thoughts. '

"This restored the balance, and we soon began to confess our own privatefaults and weaknesses. Though the confessions did not go very deep, --noone betraying anything we did not all know already, --yet they weresufficient to strength Hollins in his new idea, and it was unanimouslyresolved that Candor should thenceforth be the main charm of ourArcadian life. It was the very thing _I_ wanted, in order to makea certain communication to Eunice; but I should probably never havereached the point, had not the same candor been exercised towards me, from a quarter where I least expected it. 

"The next day, Abel, who had resumed his researches after the True Food, came home to supper with a healthier color than I had before seen on hisface. 

"'Do you know, ' said he, looking shyly at Hollins, 'that I begin tothink Beer must be a natural beverage? There was an auction in thevillage to-day, as I passed through, and I stopped at a cake-stand toget a glass of water, as it was very hot. There was no water--only beer:so I thought I would try a glass, simply as an experiment. Really, theflavor was very agreeable. And it occurred to me, on the way home, thatall the elements contained in beer are vegetable. Besides, fermentationis a natural process. I think the question has never been properlytested before. '

"'But the alcohol!' exclaimed Hollins. 

"'I could not distinguish any, either by taste or smell. I know thatchemical analysis is said to show it; but may not the alcohol becreated, somehow, during the analysis?'

"'Abel, ' said Hollins, in a fresh burst of candor, 'you will never bea Reformer, until you possess some of the commonest elements ofknowledge. '

"The rest of us were much diverted: it was a pleasant relief to ourmonotonous amiability. 

"Abel, however, had a stubborn streak in his character. The next day hesent Perkins Brown to Bridgeport for a dozen bottles of 'Beer. ' Perkins, either intentionally or by mistake, (I always suspected the former, )brought pint-bottles of Scotch ale, which he placed in the coolest partof the cellar. The evening happened to be exceedingly hot and sultry, and, as we were all fanning ourselves and talking languidly, Abelbethought him of his beer. In his thirst, he drank the contents of thefirst bottle, almost at a single draught. 

"'The effect of beer, ' said he, 'depends, I think, on the commixture ofthe nourishing principle of the grain with the cooling properties of thewater. Perhaps, hereafter, a liquid food of the same character may beinvented, which shall save us from mastication and all the diseases ofthe teeth. '

"Hollins and Shelldrake, at his invitation, divided a bottle betweenthem, and he took a second. The potent beverage was not long in actingon a brain so unaccustomed to its influence. He grew unusually talkativeand sentimental, in a few minutes. 

"'Oh, sing, somebody!' he sighed in a hoarse rapture: 'the night wasmade for Song. '

"Miss Ringtop, nothing loath, immediately commenced, 'When stars are inthe quiet skies;' but scarcely had she finished the first verse beforeAbel interrupted her. 

"'Candor's the order of the day, isn't it?' he asked. 

"'Yes!' 'Yes!' two or three answered. 

"'Well then, ' said he, 'candidly, Pauline, you've got the darn'destsqueaky voice'--

"Miss Ringtop gave a faint little scream of horror. 

"'Oh, never mind!' he continued. 'We act according to impulse, don't we?And I've the impulse to swear; and it's right. Let Nature have herway. Listen! Damn, damn, damn, damn! I never knew it was so easy. Why, there's a pleasure in it! Try it, Pauline! try it on me!'

"'Oh-ooh!' was all Miss Ringtop could utter. 

"'Abel! Abel!' exclaimed Hollins, 'the beer has got into your head. '

"'No, it isn't Beer, --it's Candor!' said Abel. 'It's your own proposal, Hollins. Suppose it's evil to swear: isn't it better I should expressit, and be done with it, than keep it bottled up to ferment in my mind?Oh, you're a precious, consistent old humbug, you are!'

"And therewith he jumped off the stoop, and went dancing awkwardlydown towards the water, singing in a most unmelodious voice, ''Tis homewhere'er the heart is. '

"'Oh, he may fall into the water!' exclaimed Eunice, in alarm. 

"'He's not fool enough to do that, ' said Shelldrake. 'His head is alittle light, that's all. The air will cool him down presently. '

"But she arose and followed him, not satisfied with this assurance. MissRingtop sat rigidly still. She would have received with composure thenews of his drowning. 

"As Eunice's white dress disappeared among the cedars crowningthe shore, I sprang up and ran after her. I knew that Abel was notintoxicated, but simply excited, and I had no fear on his account: Iobeyed an involuntary impulse. On approaching the water, I heard theirvoices--hers in friendly persuasion, his in sentimental entreaty, --thenthe sound of oars in the row-locks. Looking out from the last clump ofcedars, I saw them seated in the boat, Eunice at the stern, while Abel, facing her, just dipped an oar now and then to keep from drifting withthe tide. She had found him already in the boat, which was looselychained to a stone. Stepping on one of the forward thwarts in hereagerness to persuade him to return, he sprang past her, jerked away thechain, and pushed off before she could escape. She would have fallen, but he caught her and placed her in the stern, and then seated himselfat the oars. She must have been somewhat alarmed, but there was onlyindignation in her voice. All this had transpired before my arrival, andthe first words I heard bound me to the spot and kept me silent. 

"'Abel, what does this mean?' she asked

"'It means Fate--Destiny!' he exclaimed, rather wildly. 'Ah, Eunice, askthe night, and the moon, --ask the impulse which told you to follow me!Let us be candid like the old Arcadians we imitate. Eunice, we know thatwe love each other: why should we conceal it any longer? The Angel ofLove comes down from the stars on his azure wings, and whispers to ourhearts. Let us confess to each other! The female heart should not betimid, in this pure and beautiful atmosphere of Love which we breathe. Come, Eunice! we are alone: let your heart speak to me!'

"Ned, if you've ever been in love, (we'll talk of that after a while, )you will easily understand what tortures I endured, in thus hearinghim speak. That HE should love Eunice! It was a profanation to her, anoutrage to me. Yet the assurance with which he spoke! COULD she lovethis conceited, ridiculous, repulsive fellow, after all? I almost gaspedfor breath, as I clinched the prickly boughs of the cedars in my hands, and set my teeth, waiting to hear her answer. 

"'I will not hear such language! Take me back to the shore!' she said, in very short, decided tones. 

"'Oh, Eunice, ' he groaned, (and now, I think he was perfectly sober, )'don't you love me, indeed? _I_ love you, --from my heart I do: yes, Ilove you. Tell me how you feel towards me. '

"'Abel, ' said she, earnestly, 'I feel towards you only as a friend;and if you wish me to retain a friendly interest in you, you must neveragain talk in this manner. I do not love you, and I never shall. Let mego back to the house. '

"His head dropped upon his breast, but he rowed back to the shore, drewthe bow upon the rocks, and assisted her to land. Then, sitting down, hegroaned forth--

"'Oh, Eunice, you have broken my heart!' and putting his big hands tohis face, began to cry. 

"She turned, placed one hand on his shoulder, and said in a calm, butkind tone--

"'I am very sorry, Abel, but I cannot help it. '

"I slipped aside, that she might not see me, and we returned by separatepaths. 

"I slept very little that night. The conviction which I chased away frommy mind as often as it returned, that our Arcadian experiment was takinga ridiculous and at the same time impracticable development, becameclearer and stronger. I felt sure that our little community could nothold together much longer without an explosion. I had a presentimentthat Eunice shared my impressions. My feelings towards her had reachedthat crisis where a declaration was imperative: but how to make it? Itwas a terrible struggle between my shyness and my affection. There wasanother circumstance in connection with this subject, which troubled menot a little. Miss Ringtop evidently sought my company, and made me, asmuch as possible, the recipient of her sentimental outpourings. I wasnot bold enough to repel her--indeed I had none of that tact which isso useful in such emergencies, --and she seemed to misinterpret mysubmission. Not only was her conversation pointedly directed to me, butshe looked at me, when singing, (especially, 'Thou, thou, reign'st inthis bosom!') in a way that made me feel very uncomfortable. Whatif Eunice should suspect an attachment towards her, on my part. Whatif--oh, horror!--I had unconsciously said or done something to impressMiss Ringtop herself with the same conviction? I shuddered as thethought crossed my mind. One thing was very certain: this suspense wasnot to be endured much longer. 

"We had an unusually silent breakfast the next morning. Abel scarcelyspoke, which the others attributed to a natural feeling of shame, afterhis display of the previous evening. Hollins and Shelldrake discussedTemperance, with a special view to his edification, and Miss Ringtopfavored us with several quotations about 'the maddening bowl, '--buthe paid no attention to them. Eunice was pale and thoughtful. I hadno doubt in my mind, that she was already contemplating a removal fromArcadia. Perkins, whose perceptive faculties were by no means dull, whispered to me, 'Shan't I bring up some porgies for supper?' but Ishook my head. I was busy with other thoughts, and did not join him inthe wood, that day. 

"The forenoon was overcast, with frequent showers. Each one occupied hisor her room until dinner-time, when we met again with something of theold geniality. There was an evident effort to restore our former flow ofgood feeling. Abel's experience with the beer was freely discussed. Heinsisted strongly that he had not been laboring under its effects, andproposed a mutual test. He, Shelldrake, and Hollins were to drink itin equal measures, and compare observations as to their physicalsensations. The others agreed, --quite willingly, I thought, --but Irefused. I had determined to make a desperate attempt at candor, andAbel's fate was fresh before my eyes. 

"My nervous agitation increased during the day, and after sunset, fearing lest I should betray my excitement in some way, I walked downto the end of the promontory, and took a seat on the rocks. The skyhad cleared, and the air was deliciously cool and sweet. The Sound wasspread out before me like a sea, for the Long Island shore was veiled ina silvery mist. My mind was soothed and calmed by the influences of thescene, until the moon arose. Moonlight, you know, disturbs--at least, when one is in love. (Ah, Ned, I see you understand it!) I feltblissfully miserable, ready to cry with joy at the knowledge that Iloved, and with fear and vexation at my cowardice, at the same time. 

"Suddenly I heard a rustling beside me. Every nerve in my body tingled, and I turned my head, with a beating and expectant heart. Pshaw! It wasMiss Ringtop, who spread her blue dress on the rock beside me, and shookback her long curls, and sighed, as she gazed at the silver path of themoon on the water. 

"'Oh, how delicious!' she cried. 'How it seems to set the spirit free, and we wander off on the wings of Fancy to other spheres!'

"'Yes, ' said I, 'It is very beautiful, but sad, when one is alone. '

"I was thinking of Eunice. 

"'How inadequate, ' she continued, 'is language to express the emotionswhich such a scene calls up in the bosom! Poetry alone is the voice ofthe spiritual world, and we, who are not poets, must borrow the languageof the gifted sons of Song. Oh, Enos, I WISH you were a poet! But youFEEL poetry, I know you do. I have seen it in your eyes, when I quotedthe burning lines of Adeliza Kelley, or the soul-breathings of GamalielJ. Gawthrop. In HIM, particularly, I find the voice of my own nature. Do you know his 'Night-Whispers?' How it embodies the feelings of such ascene as this!

 "Star-drooping bowers bending down the spaces, And moonlit glories sweep star-footed on; And pale, sweet rivers, in their shining races, Are ever gliding through the moonlit places, With silver ripples on their tranced faces, And forests clasp their dusky hands, with low and sullen moan!'

"'Ah!' she continued, as I made no reply, 'this is an hour for the soulto unveil its most secret chambers! Do you not think, Enos, that loverises superior to all conventionalities? that those whose souls are inunison should be allowed to reveal themselves to each other, regardlessof the world's opinions?'

"'Yes!' said I, earnestly. 

"'Enos, do you understand me?' she asked, in a tender voice--almost awhisper. 

"'Yes, ' said I, with a blushing confidence of my own passion. 

"'Then, ' she whispered, 'our hearts are wholly in unison. I know you aretrue, Enos. I know your noble nature, and I will never doubt you. Thisis indeed happiness!'

"And therewith she laid her head on my shoulder, and sighed--

 "'Life remits his tortures cruel, Love illumes his fairest fuel, When the hearts that once were dual Meet as one, in sweet renewal!'

"'Miss Ringtop!' I cried, starting away from her, in alarm, 'you don'tmean that--that--'

"I could not finish the sentence. 

"'Yes, Enos, DEAR Enos! henceforth we belong to each other. '

"The painful embarrassment I felt, as her true meaning shot through mymind, surpassed anything I had imagined, or experienced in anticipation, when planning how I should declare myself to Eunice. Miss Ringtop wasat least ten years older than I, far from handsome (but you remember herface, ) and so affectedly sentimental, that I, sentimental as I was then, was sick of hearing her talk. Her hallucination was so monstrous, andgave me such a shock of desperate alarm, that I spoke, on the impulse ofthe moment, with great energy, without regarding how her feelings mightbe wounded. 

"'You mistake!' I exclaimed. 'I didn't mean that, --I didn't understandyou. Don't talk to me that way, --don't look at me in that way, MissRingtop! We were never meant for each other--I wasn't----You're so mucholder--I mean different. It can't be--no, it can never be! Let us goback to the house: the night is cold. '

"I rose hastily to my feet. She murmured something, --what, I did notstay to hear, --but, plunging through the cedars, was hurrying with allspeed to the house, when, half-way up the lawn, beside one of the rockyknobs, I met Eunice, who was apparently on her way to join us. 

"In my excited mood, after the ordeal through which I had passed, everything seemed easy. My usual timidity was blown to the four winds. Iwent directly to her, took her hand, and said--

"'Eunice, the others are driving me mad with their candor; will you letme be candid, too?'

"'I think you are always candid, Enos, ' she answered. 

"Even then, if I had hesitated, I should have been lost. But I went on, without pausing--

"'Eunice, I love you--I have loved you since we first met. I came herethat I might be near you; but I must leave you forever, and to-night, unless you can trust your life in my keeping. God help me, since we havebeen together I have lost my faith in almost everything but you. Pardon me, if I am impetuous--different from what I have seemed. I havestruggled so hard to speak! I have been a coward, Eunice, because of mylove. But now I have spoken, from my heart of hearts. Look at me: I canbear it now. Read the truth in my eyes, before you answer. '

"I felt her hand tremble while I spoke. As she turned towards me herface, which had been averted, the moon shone full upon it, and I sawthat tears were upon her cheeks. What was said--whether anything wassaid--I cannot tell. I felt the blessed fact, and that was enough. Thatwas the dawning of the true Arcadia. "

Mrs. Billings, who had been silent during this recital, took herhusband's hand and smiled. Mr. Johnson felt a dull pang about the regionof his heart. If he had a secret, however, I do not feel justified inbetraying it. 

"It was late, " Mr. Billings continued, "before we returned to the house. I had a special dread of again encountering Miss Ringtop, but she waswandering up and down the bluff, under the pines, singing, 'The dreamis past. ' There was a sound of loud voices, as we approached the stoop. Hollins, Shelldrake and his wife, and Abel Mallory were sitting togethernear the door. Perkins Brown, as usual, was crouched on the lowest step, with one leg over the other, and rubbing the top of his boot with avigor which betrayed to me some secret mirth. He looked up at me fromunder his straw hat with the grin of a malicious Puck, glanced towardsthe group, and made a curious gesture with his thumb. There were severalempty pint-bottles on the stoop. 

"'Now, are you sure you can bear the test?' we heard Hollins ask, as weapproached. 

"'Bear it? Why to be sure!' replied Shelldrake; 'if I couldn't bear it, or if YOU couldn't, your theory's done for. Try! I can stand it as longas you can. '

"'Well, then, ' said Hollins, 'I think you are a very ordinary man. Iderive no intellectual benefit from my intercourse with you, butyour house is convenient to me. I'm under no obligations for yourhospitality, however, because my company is an advantage to you. Indeedif I were treated according to my deserts, you couldn't do enough forme. '

"Mrs. Shelldrake was up in arms. 

"'Indeed, ' she exclaimed, 'I think you get as good as you deserve, andmore too. '

"'Elvira, ' said he, with a benevolent condescension, 'I have no doubtyou think so, for your mind belongs to the lowest and most materialsphere. You have your place in Nature, and you fill it; but it is notfor you to judge of intelligences which move only on the upper planes. '

"'Hollins, ' said Shelldrake, 'Elviry's a good wife and a sensible woman, and I won't allow you to turn up your nose at her. '

"'I am not surprised, ' he answered, 'that you should fail to stand thetest. I didn't expect it. '

"'Let me try it on YOU!' cried Shelldrake. 'You, now, have someintellect, --I don't deny that, --but not so much, by a long shot, as youthink you have. Besides that, you're awfully selfish in your opinions. You won't admit that anybody can be right who differs from you. You'vesponged on me for a long time; but I suppose I've learned something fromyou, so we'll call it even. I think, however, that what you call actingaccording to impulse is simply an excuse to cover your own laziness. '

"'Gosh! that's it!' interrupted Perkins, jumping up; then, recollectinghimself, he sank down on the steps again, and shook with a suppressed'Ho! ho! ho!'

"Hollins, however, drew himself up with an exasperated air. 

"'Shelldrake, ' said he, 'I pity you. I always knew your ignorance, butI thought you honest in your human character. I never suspected youof envy and malice. However, the true Reformer must expect to bemisunderstood and misrepresented by meaner minds. That love which I bearto all creatures teaches me to forgive you. Without such love, all plansof progress must fail. Is it not so, Abel?'

"Shelldrake could only ejaculate the words, 'Pity!' 'Forgive?' in hismost contemptuous tone; while Mrs. Shelldrake, rocking violently inher chair, gave utterance to that peculiar clucking, 'TS, TS, TS, TS, 'whereby certain women express emotions too deep for words. 

"Abel, roused by Hollins's question, answered, with a sudden energy--

"'Love! there is no love in the world. Where will you find it? Tell me, and I'll go there. Love! I'd like to see it! If all human hearts werelike mine, we might have an Arcadia; but most men have no hearts. Theworld is a miserable, hollow, deceitful shell of vanity and hypocrisy. No: let us give up. We were born before our time: this age is not worthyof us. '

"Hollins stared at the speaker in utter amazement. Shelldrake gave along whistle, and finally gasped out--

"'Well, what next?'

"None of us were prepared for such a sudden and complete wreck of ourArcadian scheme. The foundations had been sapped before, it is true; butwe had not perceived it; and now, in two short days, the whole edificetumbled about our ears. Though it was inevitable, we felt a shock ofsorrow, and a silence fell upon us. Only that scamp of a Perkins Brown, chuckling and rubbing his boot, really rejoiced. I could have kickedhim. 

"We all went to bed, feeling that the charm of our Arcadian life wasover. I was so full of the new happiness of love that I was scarcelyconscious of regret. I seemed to have leaped at once into responsiblemanhood, and a glad rush of courage filled me at the knowledge thatmy own heart was a better oracle than those--now so shamefullyoverthrown--on whom I had so long implicitly relied. In the firstrevulsion of feeling, I was perhaps unjust to my associates. I seenow, more clearly, the causes of those vagaries, which originated in agenuine aspiration, and failed from an ignorance of the true natureof Man, quite as much as from the egotism of the individuals. Otherattempts at reorganizing Society were made about the same time by men ofculture and experience, but in the A. C. We had neither. Our leaders hadcaught a few half-truths, which, in their minds, were speedily warpedinto errors. I can laugh over the absurdities I helped to perpetrate, but I must confess that the experiences of those few weeks went fartowards making a man of me. "

"Did the A. C. Break up at once?" asked Mr. Johnson. 

"Not precisely; though Eunice and I left the house within two days, as we had agreed. We were not married immediately, however. Three longyears--years of hope and mutual encouragement--passed away before thathappy consummation. Before our departure, Hollins had fallen into hisold manner, convinced, apparently, that Candor must be postponed to abetter age of the world. But the quarrel rankled in Shelldrake's mind, and especially in that of his wife. I could see by her looks and littlefidgety ways that his further stay would be very uncomfortable. AbelMallory, finding himself gaining in weight and improving in color, hadno thought of returning. The day previous, as I afterwards learned, hehad discovered Perkins Brown's secret kitchen in the woods. 

"'Golly!' said that youth, in describing the circumstance to me, 'I hadto ketch TWO porgies that day. '

"Miss Ringtop, who must have suspected the new relation between Euniceand myself, was for the most part rigidly silent. If she quoted, it wasfrom the darkest and dreariest utterances of her favorite Gamaliel. 

"What happened after our departure I learned from Perkins, on thereturn of the Shelldrakes to Norridgeport, in September. Mrs. Shelldrakestoutly persisted in refusing to make Hollins's bed, or to wash hisshirts. Her brain was dull, to be sure; but she was therefore all themore stubborn in her resentment. He bore this state of things for abouta week, when his engagements to lecture in Ohio suddenly called himaway. Abel and Miss Ringtop were left to wander about the promontory incompany, and to exchange lamentations on the hollowness of human hopesor the pleasures of despair. Whether it was owing to that attraction ofsex which would make any man and any woman, thrown together on a desertisland, finally become mates, or whether she skilfully ministered toAbel's sentimental vanity, I will not undertake to decide: but the factis, they were actually betrothed, on leaving Arcadia. I think he wouldwillingly have retreated, after his return to the world; but that wasnot so easy. Miss Ringtop held him with an inexorable clutch. They werenot married, however, until just before his departure for California, whither she afterwards followed him. She died in less than a year, andleft him free. "

"And what became of the other Arcadians?" asked Mr. Johnson. 

"The Shelldrakes are still living in Norridgeport. They have becomeSpiritualists, I understand, and cultivate Mediums. Hollins, when Ilast heard of him, was a Deputy-Surveyor in the New York Custom-House. Perkins Brown is our butcher here in Waterbury, and he often asksme--'Do you take chloride of soda on your beefsteaks?' He is as fat as aprize ox, and the father of five children. "

"Enos!" exclaimed Mrs. Billings, looking at the clock, "it's nearlymidnight! Mr. Johnson must be very tired, after such a long story. 

"The Chapter of the A. C. Is hereby closed!"

FRIEND ELI'S DAUGHTER. 

I. 

The mild May afternoon was drawing to a close, as Friend Eli Mitchenorreached the top of the long hill, and halted a few minutes, to allow hishorse time to recover breath. He also heaved a sigh of satisfaction, as he saw again the green, undulating valley of the Neshaminy, with itsdazzling squares of young wheat, its brown patches of corn-land, itssnowy masses of blooming orchard, and the huge, fountain like jetsof weeping willow, half concealing the gray stone fronts of thefarm-houses. He had been absent from home only six days, but the timeseemed almost as long to him as a three years' cruise to a New Bedfordwhaleman. The peaceful seclusion and pastoral beauty of the scene didnot consciously appeal to his senses; but he quietly noted how much thewheat had grown during his absence, that the oats were up and lookingwell, that Friend Comly's meadow had been ploughed, and Friend Martinhad built his half of the line-fence along the top of the hill-field. If any smothered delight in the loveliness of the spring-time founda hiding-place anywhere in the well-ordered chambers of his heart, itnever relaxed or softened the straight, inflexible lines of his face. Aseasily could his collarless drab coat and waistcoat have flushed with asudden gleam of purple or crimson. 

Eli Mitchenor was at peace with himself and the world--that is, so muchof the world as he acknowledged. Beyond the community of his own sect, and a few personal friends who were privileged to live on its borders, he neither knew nor cared to know much more of the human race than ifit belonged to a planet farther from the sun. In the discipline of theFriends he was perfect; he was privileged to sit on the high seats, with the elders of the Society; and the travelling brethren from otherStates, who visited Bucks County, invariably blessed his house witha family-meeting. His farm was one of the best on the banks of theNeshaminy, and he also enjoyed the annual interest of a few thousanddollars, carefully secured by mortgages on real estate. His wife, Abigail, kept even pace with him in the consideration she enjoyedwithin the limits of the sect; and his two children, Moses and Asenath, vindicated the paternal training by the strictest sobriety of dress andconduct. Moses wore the plain coat, even when his ways led him among"the world's people;" and Asenath had never been known to wear, orto express a desire for, a ribbon of a brighter tint than brown orfawn-color. Friend Mitchenor had thus gradually ripened to his sixtiethyear in an atmosphere of life utterly placid and serene, and lookedforward with confidence to the final change, as a translation into adeeper calm, a serener quiet, a prosperous eternity of mild voices, subdued colors, and suppressed emotions. 

He was returning home, in his own old-fashioned "chair, " with its heavysquare canopy and huge curved springs, from the Yearly Meeting of theHicksite Friends, in Philadelphia. The large bay farm-horse, slow andgrave in his demeanor, wore his plain harness with an air which made himseem, among his fellow-horses, the counterpart of his master amongmen. He would no more have thought of kicking than the latter would ofswearing a huge oath. Even now, when the top of the hill was gained, andhe knew that he was within a mile of the stable which had been hishome since colthood, he showed no undue haste or impatience, but waitedquietly, until Friend Mitchenor, by a well-known jerk of the lines, gave him the signal to go on. Obedient to the motion, he thereuponset forward once more, jogging soberly down the eastern slope of thehill, --across the covered bridge, where, in spite of the tempting levelof the hollow-sounding floor, he was as careful to abstain from trottingas if he had read the warning notice, --along the wooded edge of thegreen meadow, where several cows of his acquaintance were grazing, --andfinally, wheeling around at the proper angle, halted squarely in frontof the gate which gave entrance to the private lane. 

The old stone house in front, the spring-house in a green little hollowjust below it, the walled garden, with its clumps of box and lilac, andthe vast barn on the left, all joining in expressing a silent welcome totheir owner, as he drove up the lane. Moses, a man of twenty-five, lefthis work in the garden, and walked forward in his shirt-sleeves. 

"Well, father, how does thee do?" was his quiet greeting, as they shookhands. 

"How's mother, by this time?" asked Eli. 

"Oh, thee needn't have been concerned, " said the son. "There she is. Goin: I'll tend to the horse. "

Abigail and her daughter appeared on the piazza. The mother was a womanof fifty, thin and delicate in frame, but with a smooth, placid beautyof countenance which had survived her youth. She was dressed in asimple dove-colored gown, with book-muslin cap and handkerchief, soscrupulously arranged that one might have associated with her for sixmonths without ever discovering a spot on the former, or an uneven foldin the latter. Asenath, who followed, was almost as plainly attired, her dress being a dark-blue calico, while a white pasteboard sun-bonnet, with broad cape, covered her head. 

"Well, Abigail, how art thou?" said Eli, quietly giving his hand to hiswife. 

"I'm glad to see thee back, " was her simple welcome. 

No doubt they had kissed each other as lovers, but Asenath had witnessedthis manifestation of affection but once in her life--after the burialof a younger sister. The fact impressed her with a peculiar sense ofsanctity and solemnity: it was a caress wrung forth by a season oftribulation, and therefore was too earnest to be profaned to the usesof joy. So far, therefore, from expecting a paternal embrace, she wouldhave felt, had it been given, like the doomed daughter of the Gileadite, consecrated to sacrifice. 

Both she and her mother were anxious to hear the proceedings of themeeting, and to receive personal news of the many friends whom Eli hadseen; but they asked few questions until the supper-table was ready andMoses had come in from the barn. The old man enjoyed talking, but itmust be in his own way and at his own good time. They must wait untilthe communicative spirit should move him. With the first cup of coffeethe inspiration came. Hovering at first over indifferent details, hegradually approached those of more importance, --told of the addresseswhich had been made, the points of discipline discussed, the testimonyborne, and the appearance and genealogy of any new Friends who had takena prominent part therein. Finally, at the close of his relation, hesaid--

"Abigail, there is one thing I must talk to thee about. FriendSpeakman's partner, --perhaps thee's heard of him, Richard Hilton, --hasa son who is weakly. He's two or three years younger than Moses. Hismother was consumptive, and they're afraid he takes after her. Hisfather wants to send him into the country for the summer--to some placewhere he'll have good air, and quiet, and moderate exercise, and FriendSpeakman spoke of us. I thought I'd mention it to thee, and if theethinks well of it, we can send word down next week, when Josiah Comlygoes"

"What does THEE think?" asked his wife, after a pause

"He's a very quiet, steady young man, Friend Speakman says, and would bevery little trouble to thee. I thought perhaps his board would buy thenew yoke of oxen we must have in the fall, and the price of the fat onesmight go to help set up Moses. But it's for thee to decide. "

"I suppose we could take him, " said Abigail, seeing that the decisionwas virtually made already; "there's the corner room, which we don'toften use. Only, if he should get worse on our hands--"

"Friend Speakman says there's no danger. He is only weak-breasted, asyet, and clerking isn't good for him. I saw the young man at the store. If his looks don't belie him, he's well-behaved and orderly. "

So it was settled that Richard Hilton the younger was to be an inmate ofFriend Mitchenor's house during the summer. 

II. 

At the end of ten days he came. 

In the under-sized, earnest, dark-haired and dark-eyed young man ofthree-and-twenty, Abigail Mitchenor at once felt a motherly interest. Having received him as a temporary member of the family, she consideredhim entitled to the same watchful care as if he were in reality aninvalid son. The ice over an hereditary Quaker nature is but a thincrust, if one knows how to break it; and in Richard Hilton's case, itwas already broken before his arrival. His only embarrassment, in fact, arose from the difficulty which he naturally experienced in adaptinghimself to the speech and address of the Mitchenor family. The greetingsof old Eli, grave, yet kindly, of Abigail, quaintly familiar and tender, of Moses, cordial and slightly condescending, and finally of Asenath, simple and natural to a degree which impressed him like a new revelationin woman, at once indicated to him his position among them. His citymanners, he felt, instinctively, must be unlearned, or at least laidaside for a time. Yet it was not easy for him to assume, at such shortnotice, those of his hosts. Happening to address Asenath as "MissMitchenor, " Eli turned to him with a rebuking face. 

"We do not use compliments, Richard, " said he; "my daughter's name isAsenath. 

"I beg pardon. I will try to accustom myself to your ways, since youhave been so kind as to take me for a while, " apologized Richard Hilton. 

"Thee's under no obligation to us, " said Friend Mitchenor, in his strictsense of justice; "thee pays for what thee gets. "

The finer feminine instinct of Abigail led her to interpose. 

"We'll not expect too much of thee, at first, Richard, " she remarked, with a kind expression of face, which had the effect of a smile: "butour ways are plain and easily learned. Thee knows, perhaps, that we'reno respecters of persons. "

It was some days, however, before the young man could overcome hisnatural hesitation at the familiarity implied by these new forms ofspeech. "Friend Mitchenor" and "Moses" were not difficult to learn, but it seemed a want of respect to address as "Abigail" a woman of suchsweet and serene dignity as the mother, and he was fain to avoid eitherextreme by calling her, with her cheerful permission, "Aunt Mitchenor. "On the other hand, his own modest and unobtrusive nature soon won theconfidence and cordial regard of the family. He occasionally busiedhimself in the garden, by way of exercise, or accompanied Moses tothe corn-field or the woodland on the hill, but was careful never tointerfere at inopportune times, and willing to learn silently, by thesimple process of looking on. 

One afternoon, as he was idly sitting on the stone wall whichseparated the garden from the lane, Asenath, attired in a new gown ofchocolate-colored calico, with a double-handled willow work-basket onher arm, issued from the house. As she approached him, she paused andsaid--

"The time seems to hang heavy on thy hands, Richard. If thee's strongenough to walk to the village and back, it might do thee more good thansitting still. "

Richard Hilton at once jumped down from the wall. 

"Certainly I am able to go, " said he, "if you will allow it. "

"Haven't I asked thee?" was her quiet reply. 

"Let me carry your basket, " he said, suddenly, after they had walked, side by side, some distance down the lane. 

"Indeed, I shall not let thee do that. I'm only going for the mail, and some little things at the store, that make no weight at all. Theemustn't think I'm like the young women in the city, who, I'm told, ifthey buy a spool of Cotton, must have it sent home to them. Besides, thee mustn't over-exert thy strength. "

Richard Hilton laughed merrily at the gravity with which she uttered thelast sentence. 

"Why, Miss--Asenath, I mean--what am I good for; if I have not strengthenough to carry a basket?"

"Thee's a man, I know, and I think a man would almost as lief be thoughtwicked as weak. Thee can't help being weakly-inclined, and it's onlyright that thee should be careful of thyself. There's surely nothing inthat that thee need be ashamed of. "

While thus speaking, Asenath moderated her walk, in order, unconsciouslyto her companion, to restrain his steps. 

"Oh, there are the dog's-tooth violets in blossom?" she exclaimed, pointing to a shady spot beside the brook; "does thee know them?"

Richard immediately gathered and brought to her a handful of the noddingyellow bells, trembling above their large, cool, spotted leaves. 

"How beautiful they are!" said he; "but I should never have taken themfor violets. "

"They are misnamed, " she answered. "The flower is an Erythronium; butI am accustomed to the common name, and like it. Did thee ever studybotany?"

"Not at all. I can tell a geranium, when I see it, and I know aheliotrope by the smell. I could never mistake a red cabbage for arose, and I can recognize a hollyhock or a sunflower at a considerabledistance. The wild flowers are all strangers to me; I wish I knewsomething about them. "

"If thee's fond of flowers, it would be very easy to learn. I think astudy of this kind would pleasantly occupy thy mind. Why couldn't theetry? I would be very willing to teach thee what little I know. It's notmuch, indeed, but all thee wants is a start. See, I will show thee howsimple the principles are. "

Taking one of the flowers from the bunch, Asenath, as they slowly walkedforward, proceeded to dissect it, explained the mysteries of stamens andpistils, pollen, petals, and calyx, and, by the time they had reachedthe village, had succeeded in giving him a general idea of the Linnaeansystem of classification. His mind took hold of the subject with aprompt and profound interest. It was a new and wonderful world whichsuddenly opened before him. How surprised he was to learn that therewere signs by which a poisonous herb could be detected from a wholesomeone, that cedars and pine-trees blossomed, that the gray lichens onthe rocks belonged to the vegetable kingdom! His respect for Asenath'sknowledge thrust quite out of sight the restraint which her youth andsex had imposed upon him. She was teacher, equal, friend; and the simplecandid manner which was the natural expression of her dignity and puritythoroughly harmonized with this relation. 

Although, in reality, two or three years younger than he, Asenath hada gravity of demeanor, a calm self-possession, a deliberate balance ofmind, and a repose of the emotional nature, which he had never beforeobserved, except in much older women. She had had, as he could wellimagine, no romping girlhood, no season of careless, light-hearteddalliance with opening life, no violent alternation even of the usualgriefs and joys of youth. The social calm in which she had expanded haddeveloped her nature as gently and securely as a sea-flower is unfoldedbelow the reach of tides and storms. 

She would have been very much surprised if any one had called herhandsome: yet her face had a mild, unobtrusive beauty which seemedto grow and deepen from day to day. Of a longer oval than the Greekstandard, it was yet as harmonious in outline; the nose was fine andstraight, the dark-blue eyes steady and untroubled, and the lips calmly, but not too firmly closed. Her brown hair, parted over a high whiteforehead, was smoothly laid across the temples, drawn behind the ears, and twisted into a simple knot. The white cape and sun-bonnet gave herface a nun-like character, which set her apart, in the thoughts of "theworld's people" whom she met, as one sanctified for some holy work. Shemight have gone around the world, repelling every rude word, every boldglance, by the protecting atmosphere of purity and truth which inclosedher. 

The days went by, each bringing some new blossom to adorn and illustratethe joint studies of the young man and maiden. For Richard Hiltonhad soon mastered the elements of botany, as taught by PriscillaWakefield, --the only source of Asenath's knowledge, --and entered, with her, upon the text-book of Gray, a copy of which he procured fromPhiladelphia. Yet, though he had overtaken her in his knowledge of thetechnicalities of the science, her practical acquaintance with plantsand their habits left her still his superior. Day by day, exploring themeadows, the woods, and the clearings, he brought home his discoveriesto enjoy her aid in classifying and assigning them to their true places. Asenath had generally an hour or two of leisure from domestic dutiesin the afternoons, or after the early supper of summer was over; andsometimes, on "Seventh-days, " she would be his guide to some localitywhere the rarer plants were known to exist. The parents saw thiscommunity of interest and exploration without a thought of misgiving. They trusted their daughter as themselves; or, if any possible fear hadflitted across their hearts, it was allayed by the absorbing delightwith which Richard Hilton pursued his study. An earnest discussion as towhether a certain leaf was ovate or lanceolate, whether a certain plantbelonged to the species scandens or canadensis, was, in their eyes, convincing proof that the young brains were touched, and therefore NOTthe young hearts. 

But love, symbolized by a rose-bud, is emphatically a botanical emotion. A sweet, tender perception of beauty, such as this study requires, ordevelops, is at once the most subtile and certain chain of communicationbetween impressible natures. Richard Hilton, feeling that his years werenumbered, had given up, in despair, his boyish dreams, even before heunderstood them: his fate seemed to preclude the possibility of love. But, as he gained a little strength from the genial season, the purecountry air, and the release from gloomy thoughts which his ramblesafforded, the end was farther removed, and a future--though brief, perhaps, still a FUTURE--began to glimmer before him. If this couldbe his life, --an endless summer, with a search for new plants everymorning, and their classification every evening, with Asenath's helpon the shady portico of Friend Mitchenor's house, --he could forget hisdoom, and enjoy the blessing of life unthinkingly. 

The azaleas succeeded to the anemones, the orchis and trillium followed, then the yellow gerardias and the feathery purple pogonias, and finallythe growing gleam of the golden-rods along the wood-side and the redumbels of the tall eupatoriums in the meadow announced the close ofsummer. One evening, as Richard, in displaying his collection, broughtto view the blood-red leaf of a gum-tree, Asenath exclaimed--

"Ah, there is the sign! It is early, this year. "

"What sign?" he asked. 

"That the summer is over. We shall soon have frosty nights, andthen nothing will be left for us except the asters and gentians andgolden-rods. "

Was the time indeed so near? A few more weeks, and this Arcadian lifewould close. He must go back to the city, to its rectilinear streets, its close brick walls, its artificial, constrained existence. How couldhe give up the peace, the contentment, the hope he had enjoyed throughthe summer? The question suddenly took a more definite form in his mind:How could he give up Asenath? Yes--the quiet, unsuspecting girl, sittingbeside him, with her lap full of the September blooms he had gathered, was thenceforth a part of his inmost life. Pure and beautiful as shewas, almost sacred in his regard, his heart dared to say--"I need herand claim her!"

"Thee looks pale to-night, Richard, " said Abigail, as they took theirseats at the supper-table. "I hope thee has not taken cold. "

III. 

"Will thee go along, Richard? I know where the rudbeckias grow, " saidAsenath, on the following "Seventh-day" afternoon. 

They crossed the meadows, and followed the course of the stream, underits canopy of magnificent ash and plane trees, into a brake betweenthe hills. It was an almost impenetrable thicket, spangled with tallautumnal flowers. The eupatoriums, with their purple crowns, stood likeyoung trees, with an undergrowth of aster and blue spikes of lobelia, tangled in a golden mesh of dodder. A strong, mature odor, mixed alikeof leaves and flowers, and very different from the faint, elusivesweetness of spring, filled the air. The creek, with a few faded leavesdropped upon its bosom, and films of gossamer streaming from its bushyfringe, gurgled over the pebbles in its bed. Here and there, on itsbanks, shone the deep yellow stars of the flower they sought. 

Richard Hilton walked as in a dream, mechanically plucking a stem ofrudbeckia, only to toss it, presently, into the water. 

"Why, Richard! what's thee doing?" cried Asenath; "thee has thrown awaythe very best specimen. "

"Let it go, " he answered, sadly. "I am afraid everything else is thrownaway. "

"What does thee mean?" she asked, with a look of surprised and anxiousinquiry. 

"Don't ask me, Asenath. Or--yes, I WILL tell you. I must say it toyou now, or never afterwards. Do you know what a happy life I've beenleading since I came here?--that I've learned what life is, as if I'dnever known it before? I want to live, Asenath, --and do you know why?"

"I hope thee will live, Richard, " she said, gently and tenderly, herdeep-blue eyes dim with the mist of unshed tears. 

"But, Asenath, how am I to live without you? But you can't understandthat, because you do not know what you are to me. No, you never guessedthat all this while I've been loving you more and more, until now Ihave no other idea of death than not to see you, not to love you, not toshare your life!"

"Oh, Richard!"

"I knew you would be shocked, Asenath. I meant to have kept this tomyself. You never dreamed of it, and I had no right to disturb the peaceof your heart. The truth is told now, --and I cannot take it back, ifI wished. But if you cannot love, you can forgive me for lovingyou--forgive me now and every day of my life. "

He uttered these words with a passionate tenderness, standing onthe edge of the stream, and gazing into its waters. His slight frametrembled with the violence of his emotion. Asenath, who had become verypale as he commenced to speak, gradually flushed over neck and browas she listened. Her head drooped, the gathered flowers fell from herhands, and she hid her face. For a few minutes no sound was heard butthe liquid gurgling of the water, and the whistle of a bird in thethicket beside them. Richard Hilton at last turned, and, in a voice ofhesitating entreaty, pronounced her name--

"Asenath!"

She took away her hands, and slowly lifted her face. She was pale, but her eyes met his with a frank, appealing, tender expression, whichcaused his heart to stand still a moment. He read no reproach, nofaintest thought of blame; but--was it pity?--was it pardon?--or----

"We stand before God, Richard, " said she, in a low, sweet, solemn tone. "He knows that I do not need to forgive thee. If thee requires it, Ialso require His forgiveness for myself. "

Though a deeper blush now came to cheek and brow, she met his gaze withthe bravery of a pure and innocent heart. Richard, stunned with thesudden and unexpected bliss, strove to take the full consciousness ofit into a being which seemed too narrow to contain it. His first impulsewas to rush forward, clasp her passionately in his arms, and hold her inthe embrace which encircled, for him, the boundless promise of life; butshe stood there, defenceless, save in her holy truth and trust, and hisheart bowed down and gave her reverence. 

"Asenath, " said he, at last, "I never dared to hope for this. God blessyou for those words! Can you trust me?--can you indeed love me?"

"I can trust thee, --I DO love thee!"

They clasped each other's hands in one long, clinging pressure. No kisswas given, but side by side they walked slowly up the dewy meadows, inhappy and hallowed silence. Asenath's face became troubled as the oldfarmhouse appeared through the trees. 

"Father and mother must know of this, Richard, " said she. "I am afraidit may be a cross to them. "

The same fear had already visited his own mind, but he answered, cheerfully--

"I hope not. I think I have taken a new lease of life, and shall soonbe strong enough to satisfy them. Besides, my father is in prosperousbusiness. "

"It is not that, " she answered; "but thee is not one of us. "

It was growing dusk when they reached the house. In the dim candle-lightAsenath's paleness was not remarked; and Richard's silence wasattributed to fatigue. 

The next morning the whole family attended meeting at the neighboringQuaker meeting-house, in the preparation for which, and the variousspecial occupations of their "First-day" mornings, the unsuspectingparents overlooked that inevitable change in the faces of the loverswhich they must otherwise have observed. After dinner, as Eli was takinga quiet walk in the garden, Richard Hilton approached him. 

"Friend Mitchenor, " said he, "I should like to have some talk withthee. "

"What is it, Richard?" asked the old man, breaking off some pods from aseedling radish, and rubbing them in the palm of his hand. 

"I hope, Friend Mitchenor, " said the young man, scarcely knowing howto approach so important a crisis in his life, "I hope thee has beensatisfied with my conduct since I came to live with thee, and has nofault to find with me as a man. "

"Well, " exclaimed Eli, turning around and looking up, sharply, "doesthee want a testimony from me? I've nothing, that I know of, to sayagainst thee. "

"If I were sincerely attached to thy daughter, Friend Mitchenor, and shereturned the attachment, could thee trust her happiness in my hands?"

"What!" cried Eli, straightening himself and glaring upon the speaker, with a face too amazed to express any other feeling. 

"Can you confide Asenath's happiness to my care? I love her withmy whole heart and soul, and the fortune of my life depends on youranswer. "

The straight lines in the old man's face seemed to grow deeper and morerigid, and his eyes shone with the chill glitter of steel. Richard, notdaring to say a word more, awaited his reply in intense agitation. 

"So!" he exclaimed at last, "this is the way thee's repaid me! I didn'texpect THIS from thee! Has thee spoken to her?"

"I have. "

"Thee has, has thee? And I suppose thee's persuaded her to think asthee does. Thee'd better never have come here. When I want to lose mydaughter, and can't find anybody else for her, I'll let thee know. "

"What have you against me, Friend Mitchenor?" Richard sadly asked, forgetting, in his excitement, the Quaker speech he had learned. 

"Thee needn't use compliments now! Asenath shall be a Friend while _I_live; thy fine clothes and merry-makings and vanities are not forher. Thee belongs to the world, and thee may choose one of the world'swomen. "

"Never!" protested Richard; but Friend Mitchenor was already ascendingthe garden-steps on his way to the house. 

The young man, utterly overwhelmed, wandered to the nearest grove andthrew himself on the ground. Thus, in a miserable chaos of emotion, unable to grasp any fixed thought, the hours passed away. Towardsevening, he heard a footstep approaching, and sprang up. It was Moses. 

The latter was engaged, with the consent of his parents and expectedto "pass meeting" in a few weeks. He knew what had happened, and felt asincere sympathy for Richard, for whom he had a cordial regard. His facewas very grave, but kind. 

"Thee'd better come in, Richard, " said he; "the evenings are damp, and Iv'e brought thy overcoat. I know everything, and I feel that it must bea great cross for thee. But thee won't be alone in bearing it. "

"Do you think there is no hope of your father relenting?" he asked, in atone of despondency which anticipated the answer. 

"Father's very hard to move, " said Moses; "and when mother and Asenathcan't prevail on him, nobody else need try. I'm afraid thee must make upthy mind to the trial. I'm sorry to say it, Richard, but I think thee'dbetter go back to town. "

"I'll go to-morrow, --go and die!" he muttered hoarsely, as he followedMoses to the house. 

Abigail, as she saw his haggard face, wept quietly. She pressed his handtenderly, but said nothing. Eli was stern and cold as an Iceland rock. Asenath did not make her appearance. At supper, the old man and his sonexchanged a few words about the farm-work to be done on the morrow, butnothing else was said. Richard soon left the room and went up tohis chamber to spend his last, his only unhappy night at the farm. Ayearning, pitying look from Abigail accompanied him. 

"Try and not think hard of us!" was her farewell the next morning, ashe stepped into the old chair, in which Moses was to convey him to thevillage where he should meet the Doylestown stage. So, without a wordof comfort from Asenath's lips, without even a last look at her belovedface, he was taken away. 

IV. 

True and firm and self-reliant as was the nature of Asenath Mitchenor, the thought of resistance to her father's will never crossed her mind. It was fixed that she must renounce all intercourse with Richard Hilton;it was even sternly forbidden her to see him again during the few hourshe remained in the house; but the sacred love, thus rudely dragged tothe light and outraged, was still her own. She would take it back intothe keeping of her heart, and if a day should ever come when he would befree to return and demand it of her, he would find it there, unwithered, with all the unbreathed perfume hoarded in its folded leaves. Ifthat day came not, she would at the last give it back to God, saying, "Father, here is Thy most precious gift, bestow it as Thou wilt. "

As her life had never before been agitated by any strong emotion, so itwas not outwardly agitated now. The placid waters of her soul did notheave and toss before those winds of passion and sorrow: they lay indull, leaden calm, under a cold and sunless sky. What struggleswith herself she underwent no one ever knew. After Richard Hilton'sdeparture, she never mentioned his name, or referred, in any way, to thesummer's companionship with him. She performed her household duties, ifnot cheerfully, at least as punctually and carefully as before; and herfather congratulated himself that the unfortunate attachment had struckno deeper root. Abigail's finer sight, however, was not deceived by thisexternal resignation. She noted the faint shadows under the eyes, theincreased whiteness of the temples, the unconscious traces of pain whichsometimes played about the dimpled corners of the mouth, and watched herdaughter with a silent, tender solicitude. 

The wedding of Moses was a severe test of Asenath's strength, butshe stood the trial nobly, performing all the duties required by herposition with such sweet composure that many of the older female Friendsremarked to Abigail, "How womanly Asenath has grown!" Eli Mitchenornoted, with peculiar satisfaction, that the eyes of the youngFriends--some of them of great promise in the sect, and well endowedwith worldly goods--followed her admiringly. 

"It will not be long, " he thought, "before she is consoled. "

Fortune seemed to favor his plans, and justify his harsh treatmentof Richard Hilton. There were unfavorable accounts of the young man'sconduct. His father had died during the winter, and he was representedas having become very reckless and dissipated. These reports at lastassumed such a definite form that Friend Mitchenor brought them to thenotice of his family. 

"I met Josiah Comly in the road, " said he, one day at dinner. "He'sjust come from Philadelphia, and brings bad news of Richard Hilton. He'staken to drink, and is spending in wickedness the money his father lefthim. His friends have a great concern about him, but it seems he's notto be reclaimed. "

Abigail looked imploringly at her husband, but he either disregardedor failed to understand her look. Asenath, who had grown very pale, steadily met her father's gaze, and said, in a tone which he had neveryet heard from her lips--

"Father, will thee please never mention Richard Hilton's name when I amby?"

The words were those of entreaty, but the voice was that of authority. The old man was silenced by a new and unexpected power in his daughter'sheart: he suddenly felt that she was not a girl, as heretofore, but awoman, whom he might persuade, but could no longer compel. 

"It shall be as thee wishes, Asenath, " he said; "we had best forgethim. "

Of their friends, however, she could not expect this reserve, and shewas doomed to hear stories of Richard which clouded and embittered herthoughts of him. And a still severer trial was in store. She accompaniedher father, in obedience to his wish, and against her own desire, to theYearly Meeting in Philadelphia. It has passed into a proverb that theFriends, on these occasions, always bring rain with them; and the periodof her visit was no exception to the rule. The showery days of "YearlyMeeting Week" glided by, until the last, and she looked forward withrelief to the morrow's return to Bucks County, glad to have escaped ameeting with Richard Hilton, which might have confirmed her fears andcould but have given her pain in any case. 

As she and her father joined each other, outside the meeting-house, atthe close of the afternoon meeting, a light rain was falling. She tookhis arm, under the capacious umbrella, and they were soon alone in thewet streets, on their way to the house of the Friends who entertainedthem. At a crossing, where the water pouring down the gutter towardsthe Delaware, caused them to halt a man, plashing through the flood, staggered towards them. Without an umbrella, with dripping, disorderedclothes, yet with a hot, flushed face, around which the long black hairhung wildly, he approached, singing to himself with maudlin voice asong that would have been sweet and tender in a lover's mouth. FriendMitchenor drew to one side, lest his spotless drab should be brushed bythe unclean reveller; but the latter, looking up, stopped suddenly faceto face with them. 

"Asenath!" he cried, in a voice whose anguish pierced through theconfusion of his senses, and struck down into the sober quick of hissoul. 

"Richard!" she breathed, rather than spoke, in a low, terrified voice. 

It was indeed Richard Hilton who stood before her, or rather--as sheafterwards thought, in recalling the interview--the body of RichardHilton possessed by an evil spirit. His cheeks burned with a more thanhectic red, his eyes were wild and bloodshot, and though the recognitionhad suddenly sobered him, an impatient, reckless devil seemed to lurkunder the set mask of his features. 

"Here I am, Asenath, " he said at length, hoarsely. "I said it was death, didn't I? Well, it's worse than death, I suppose; but what matter? Youcan't be more lost to me now than you were already. This is THY doing, Friend Eli, " he continued, turning to the old man, with a sneeringemphasis on the "THY. " "I hope thee's satisfied with thy work!"

Here he burst into a bitter, mocking laugh, which it chilled Asenath'sblood to hear. 

The old man turned pale. "Come away, child!" said he, tugging at herarm. But she stood firm, strengthened for the moment by a solemn feelingof duty which trampled down her pain. 

"Richard, " she said, with the music of an immeasurable sorrow inher voice, "oh, Richard, what has thee done? Where the Lord commandsresignation, thee has been rebellious; where he chasteneth to purify, thee turns blindly to sin. I had not expected this of thee, Richard; Ithought thy regard for me was of the kind which would have helped anduplifted thee, --not through me, as an unworthy object, but through thehopes and the pure desires of thy own heart. I expected that thee wouldso act as to justify what I felt towards thee, not to make my affectiona reproach, --oh, Richard, not to cast over my heart the shadow of thysin!"

The wretched young man supported himself against the post of an awning, buried his face in his hands, and wept passionately. Once or twice heessayed to speak, but his voice was choked by sobs, and, after a lookfrom the streaming eyes which Asenath could scarcely bear to meet, heagain covered his face. A stranger, coming down the street, paused outof curiosity. "Come, come!" cried Eli, once more, eager to escape fromthe scene. His daughter stood still, and the man slowly passed on. 

Asenath could not thus leave her lost lover, in his despairing grief. She again turned to him, her own tears flowing fast and free. 

"I do not judge thee, Richard, but the words that passed between us giveme a right to speak to thee. It was hard to lose sight of thee then, butit is still harder for me to see thee now. If the sorrow and pity I feelcould save thee, I would be willing never to know any other feelings. Iwould still do anything for thee except that which thee cannot ask, asthee now is, and I could not give. Thee has made the gulf between us sowide that it cannot be crossed. But I can now weep for thee and pray forthee as a fellow-creature whose soul is still precious in the sight ofthe Lord. Fare thee well!"

He seized the hand she extended, bowed down, and showered mingled tearsand kisses upon it. Then, with a wild sob in his throat, he started upand rushed down the street, through the fast-falling rain. The fatherand daughter walked home in silence. Eli had heard every word that wasspoken, and felt that a spirit whose utterances he dared not questionhad visited Asenath's tongue. 

She, as year after year went by, regained the peace and patience whichgive a sober cheerfulness to life. The pangs of her heart grew dull andtransient; but there were two pictures in her memory which never blurredin outline or faded in color: one, the brake of autumn flowers under thebright autumnal sky, with bird and stream making accordant music to thenew voice of love; the other a rainy street, with a lost, reckless manleaning against an awning-post, and staring in her face with eyes whoseunutterable woe, when she dared to recall it, darkened the beauty of theearth, and almost shook her trust in the providence of God. 

V. 

Year after year passed by, but not without bringing change to theMitchenor family. Moses had moved to Chester County soon after hismarriage, and had a good farm of his own. At the end of ten yearsAbigail died; and the old man, who had not only lost his savings byan unlucky investment, but was obliged to mortgage his farm, finallydetermined to sell it and join his son. He was getting too old to manageit properly, impatient under the unaccustomed pressure of debt, anddepressed by the loss of the wife to whom, without any outward showof tenderness, he was, in truth, tenderly attached. He missed hermore keenly in the places where she had lived and moved than in aneighborhood without the memory of her presence. The pang with which heparted from his home was weakened by the greater pang which had precededit. 

It was a harder trial to Asenath. She shrank from the encounter with newfaces, and the necessity of creating new associations. There was a quietsatisfaction in the ordered, monotonous round of her life, which mightbe the same elsewhere, but here alone was the nook which held all themorning sunshine she had ever known. Here still lingered the halo of thesweet departed summer, --here still grew the familiar wild-flowers whichTHE FIRST Richard Hilton had gathered. This was the Paradise in whichthe Adam of her heart had dwelt, before his fall. Her resignation andsubmission entitled her to keep those pure and perfect memories, thoughshe was scarcely conscious of their true charm. She did not dare toexpress to herself, in words, that one everlasting joy of woman's heart, through all trials and sorrows--"I have loved, I have been beloved. "

On the last "First-day" before their departure, she walked down themeadows to the lonely brake between the hills. It was the early spring, and the black buds of the ash had just begun to swell. The maples weredusted with crimson bloom, and the downy catkins of the swamp-willowdropped upon the stream and floated past her, as once the autumn leaves. In the edges of the thickets peeped forth the blue, scentless violet, the fairy cups of the anemone, and the pink-veined bells of themiskodeed. The tall blooms through which the lovers walked still sleptin the chilly earth; but the sky above her was mild and blue, andthe remembrance of the day came back to her with a delicate, pungentsweetness, like the perfume of the trailing arbutus in the air aroundher. In a sheltered, sunny nook, she found a single erythronium, luredforth in advance of its proper season, and gathered it as a relic of thespot, which she might keep without blame. As she stooped to pluck it, her own face looked up at her out of a little pool filled by the springrains. Seen against the reflected sky, it shone with a soft radiance, and the earnest eyes met hers, as if it were her young self, evoked fromthe past, to bid her farewell. "Farewell!" she whispered, taking leaveat once, as she believed, of youth and the memory of love. 

During those years she had more than once been sought in marriage, buthad steadily, though kindly, refused. Once, when the suitor was aman whose character and position made the union very desirable in EliMitchenor's eyes, he ventured to use his paternal influence. Asenath'sgentle resistance was overborne by his arbitrary force of will, and herprotestations were of no avail. 

"Father, " she finally said, in the tone which he had once heard andstill remembered, "thee can take away, but thee cannot give. "

He never mentioned the subject again. 

Richard Hilton passed out of her knowledge shortly after her meetingwith him in Philadelphia. She heard, indeed, that his headlong careerof dissipation was not arrested, --that his friends had given him up ashopelessly ruined, --and, finally, that he had left the city. Afterthat, all reports ceased. He was either dead, or reclaimed and leadinga better life, somewhere far away. Dead, she believed--almost hoped; forin that case might he not now be enjoying the ineffable rest and peacewhich she trusted might be her portion? It was better to think of himas a purified spirit, waiting to meet her in a holier communion, than toknow that he was still bearing the burden of a soiled and blightedlife. In any case, her own future was plain and clear. It was simply aprolongation of the present--an alternation of seed-time and harvest, filled with humble duties and cares, until the Master should bid her laydown her load and follow Him. 

Friend Mitchenor bought a small cottage adjacent to his son's farm, in acommunity which consisted mostly of Friends, and not far from the largeold meeting-house in which the Quarterly Meetings were held. He at oncetook his place on the upper seat, among the elders, most of whom he knewalready, from having met them, year after year, in Philadelphia. Thecharge of a few acres of ground gave him sufficient occupation; themoney left to him after the sale of his farm was enough to support himcomfortably; and a late Indian summer of contentment seemed now to havecome to the old man. He was done with the earnest business of life. Moses was gradually taking his place, as father and Friend; and Asenathwould be reasonably provided for at his death. As his bodily energiesdecayed, his imperious temper softened, his mind became more accessibleto liberal influences, and he even cultivated a cordial friendshipwith a neighboring farmer who was one of "the world's people. " Thus, atseventy-five he was really younger, because tenderer of heart and moreconsiderate, than he had been at sixty. 

Asenath was now a woman of thirty-five, and suitors had ceased toapproach her. Much of her beauty still remained, but her face had becomethin and wasted, and the inevitable lines were beginning to form aroundher eyes. Her dress was plainer than ever, and she wore the scoop-bonnetof drab silk, in which no woman can seem beautiful, unless she be veryold. She was calm and grave in her demeanor, save that her perfectgoodness and benevolence shone through and warmed her presence; but, when earnestly interested, she had been known to speak her mind soclearly and forcibly that it was generally surmised among the Friendsthat she possessed "a gift, " which might, in time, raise her to honoramong them. To the children of Moses she was a good genius, and a wordfrom "Aunt 'Senath" oftentimes prevailed when the authority of theparents was disregarded. In them she found a new source of happiness;and when her old home on the Neshaminy had been removed a little fartherinto the past, so that she no longer looked, with every morning's sun, for some familiar feature of its scenery, her submission brightened intoa cheerful content with life. 

It was summer, and Quarterly-Meeting Day had arrived. There had beenrumors of the expected presence of "Friends from a distance, " and notonly those of the district, but most of the neighbors who were notconnected with the sect, attended. By the by-road, through the woods, it was not more than half a mile from Friend Mitchenor's cottage to themeeting-house, and Asenath, leaving her father to be taken by Moses inhis carriage, set out on foot. It was a sparkling, breezy day, and theforest was full of life. Squirrels chased each other along thebranches of the oaks, and the air was filled with fragrant odors ofhickory-leaves, sweet fern, and spice-wood. Picking up a flower hereand there, Asenath walked onward, rejoicing alike in shade and sunshine, grateful for all the consoling beauty which the earth offers to a lonelyheart. That serene content which she had learned to call happiness hadfilled her being until the dark canopy was lifted and the waters tookback their transparency under a cloudless sky. 

Passing around to the "women's side" of the meeting-house, she mingledwith her friends, who were exchanging information concerning theexpected visitors. Micajah Morrill had not arrived, they said, but RuthBaxter had spent the last night at Friend Way's, and would certainlybe there. Besides, there were Friend Chandler, from Nine Partners, andFriend Carter, from Maryland: they had been seen on the ground. FriendCarter was said to have a wonderful gift, --Mercy Jackson had heard himonce, in Baltimore. The Friends there had been a little exercised abouthim, because they thought he was too much inclined to "the newness, "but it was known that the Spirit had often manifestly led him. FriendChandler had visited Yearly Meeting once, they believed. He was an oldman, and had been a personal friend of Elias Hicks. 

At the appointed hour they entered the house. After the subdued rustlingwhich ensued upon taking their seats, there was an interval of silence, shorter than usual, because it was evident that many persons wouldfeel the promptings of the Spirit. Friend Chandler spoke first, and wasfollowed by Ruth Baxter, a frail little woman, with a voice of exceedingpower. The not unmelodious chant in which she delivered her admonitionsrang out, at times, like the peal of a trumpet. Fixing her eyes onvacancy, with her hands on the wooden rail before her, and herbody slightly swaying to and fro, her voice soared far aloft at thecommencement of every sentence, gradually dropping, through a melodiousscale of tone, to the close. She resembled an inspired prophetess, anaged Deborah, crying aloud in the valleys of Israel. 

The last speaker was Friend Carter, a small man, not more than fortyyears of age. His face was thin and intense in its expression, his hairgray at the temples, and his dark eye almost too restless for a child of"the stillness and the quietness. " His voice, though not loud, was clearand penetrating, with an earnest, sympathetic quality, which arrested, not the ear alone, but the serious attention of the auditor. Hisdelivery was but slightly marked by the peculiar rhythm of the Quakerpreachers; and this fact, perhaps, increased the effect of his words, through the contrast with those who preceded him. 

His discourse was an eloquent vindication of the law of kindness, as thehighest and purest manifestation of true Christian doctrine. 

The paternal relation of God to man was the basis of that religion whichappealed directly to the heart: so the fraternity of each man with hisfellow was its practical application. God pardons the repentant sinner:we can also pardon, where we are offended; we can pity, where we cannotpardon. Both the good and the bad principles generate their like inothers. Force begets force; anger excites a corresponding anger; butkindness awakens the slumbering emotions even of an evil heart. Love maynot always be answered by an equal love, but it has never yet createdhatred. The testimony which Friends bear against war, he said, is but ageneral assertion, which has no value except in so far as they manifestthe principle of peace in their daily lives--in the exercise of pity, ofcharity, of forbearance, and Christian love. 

The words of the speaker sank deeply into the hearts of his hearers. There was an intense hush, as if in truth the Spirit had moved him tospeak, and every sentence was armed with a sacred authority. AsenathMitchenor looked at him, over the low partition which divided her andher sisters from the men's side, absorbed in his rapt earnestness andtruth. She forgot that other hearers were present: he spake to heralone. A strange spell seemed to seize upon her faculties and chain themat his feet: had he beckoned to her, she would have arisen and walked tohis side. 

Friend Carter warmed and deepened as he went on. "I feel moved to-day, "he said, --"moved, I know not why, but I hope for some wise purpose, --torelate to you an instance of Divine and human kindness which has comedirectly to my own knowledge. A young man of delicate constitution, whose lungs were thought to be seriously affected, was sent to thehouse of a Friend in the country, in order to try the effect of air andexercise. "

Asenath almost ceased to breathe, in the intensity with which she gazedand listened. Clasping her hands tightly in her lap to prevent them fromtrembling, and steadying herself against the back of the seat, sheheard the story of her love for Richard Hilton told by the lips ofa stranger!--not merely of his dismissal from the house, but of thatmeeting in the street, at which only she and her father were present!Nay, more, she heard her own words repeated, she heard Richard'spassionate outburst of remorse described in language that brought hisliving face before her! She gasped for breath--his face WAS before her!The features, sharpened by despairing grief, which her memory recalled, had almost anticipated the harder lines which fifteen years had made, and which now, with a terrible shock and choking leap of the heart, sherecognized. Her senses faded, and she would have fallen from herseat but for the support of the partition against which she leaned. Fortunately, the women near her were too much occupied with thenarrative to notice her condition. Many of them wept silently, withtheir handkerchiefs pressed over their mouths. 

The first shock of death-like faintness passed away, and she clung tothe speaker's voice, as if its sound alone could give her strength tosit still and listen further. 

"Deserted by his friends, unable to stay his feet on the evil path, " hecontinued, "the young man left his home and went to a city in anotherState. But here it was easier to find associates in evil than tenderhearts that might help him back to good. He was tired of life, and thehope of a speedier death hardened him in his courses. But, my friends, Death never comes to those who wickedly seek him. The Lord withholdsdestruction from the hands that are madly outstretched to grasp it, andforces His pity and forgiveness on the unwilling soul. Finding that itwas the principle of LIFE which grew stronger within him, the youngman at last meditated an awful crime. The thought of self-destructionhaunted him day and night. He lingered around the wharves, gazing intothe deep waters, and was restrained from the deed only by the memory ofthe last loving voice he had heard. One gloomy evening, when even thismemory had faded, and he awaited the approaching darkness to make hisdesign secure, a hand was laid on his arm. A man in the simple garb ofthe Friends stood beside him, and a face which reflected the kindness ofthe Divine Father looked upon him. 'My child, ' said he, 'I am drawn tothee by the great trouble of thy mind. Shall I tell thee what it is theemeditates?' The young man shook his head. 'I will be silent, then, butI will save thee. I know the human heart, and its trials and weaknesses, and it may be put into my mouth to give thee strength. ' He took theyoung man's hand, as if he had been a little child, and led him to hishome. He heard the sad story, from beginning to end; and the young manwept upon his breast, to hear no word of reproach, but only the largestand tenderest pity bestowed upon him. They knelt down, side by side, at midnight; and the Friend's right hand was upon his head while theyprayed. 

"The young man was rescued from his evil ways, to acknowledge stillfurther the boundless mercy of Providence. The dissipation wherein hehad recklessly sought death was, for him, a marvellous restoration tolife. His lungs had become sound and free from the tendency to disease. The measure of his forgiveness was almost more than he could bear. He bore his cross thenceforward with a joyful resignation, and wasmercifully drawn nearer and nearer to the Truth, until, in the fulnessof his convictions, he entered into the brotherhood of the Friends. 

"I have been powerfully moved to tell you this story. " Friend Carterconcluded, "from a feeling that it may be needed, here, at this time, toinfluence some heart trembling in the balance. Who is there among you, my friends, that may not snatch a brand from the burning! Oh, believethat pity and charity are the most effectual weapons given into thehands of us imperfect mortals, and leave the awful attribute of wrath inthe hands of the Lord!"

He sat down, and dead silence ensued. Tears of emotion stood in theeyes of the hearers, men as well as women, and tears of gratitude andthanksgiving gushed warmly from those of Asenath. An ineffable peace andjoy descended upon her heart. 

When the meeting broke up, Friend Mitchenor, who had not recognizedRichard Hilton, but had heard the story with feelings which heendeavored in vain to control, approached the preacher. 

"The Lord spoke to me this day through thy lips, " said he; "will theecome to one side, and hear me a minute?"

"Eli Mitchenor!" exclaimed Friend Carter; "Eli! I knew not thee washere! Doesn't thee know me?"

The old man stared in astonishment. "It seems like a face I ought toknow, " he said, "but I can't place thee. " They withdrew to the shadeof one of the poplars. Friend Carter turned again, much moved, and, grasping the old man's hands in his own, exclaimed--

"Friend Mitchenor, I was called upon to-day to speak of myself. Iam--or, rather, I WAS--the Richard Hilton whom thee knew. "

Friend Mitchenor's face flushed with mingled emotions of shame and joy, and his grasp on the preacher's hands tightened. 

"But thee calls thyself Carter?" he finally said. 

"Soon after I was saved, " was the reply, "an aunt on the mother's sidedied, and left her property to me, on condition that I should take hername. I was tired of my own then, and to give it up seemed only likelosing my former self; but I should like to have it back again now. "

"Wonderful are the ways of the Lord, and past finding out!" said theold man. "Come home with me, Richard, --come for my sake, for there is aconcern on my mind until all is clear between us. Or, stay, --will theewalk home with Asenath, while I go with Moses?"

"Asenath?"

"Yes. There she goes, through the gate. Thee can easily overtake her. I'm coming, Moses!"--and he hurried away to his son's carriage, which wasapproaching. 

Asenath felt that it would be impossible for her to meet Richard Hiltonthere. She knew not why his name had been changed; he had not betrayedhis identity with the young man of his story; he evidently did not wishit to be known, and an unexpected meeting with her might surprise himinto an involuntary revelation of the fact. It was enough for her that asaviour had arisen, and her lost Adam was redeemed, --that a holier lightthan the autumn sun's now rested, and would forever rest, on the onelandscape of her youth. Her eyes shone with the pure brightness ofgirlhood, a soft warmth colored her cheek and smoothed away the cominglines of her brow, and her step was light and elastic as in the oldtime. 

Eager to escape from the crowd, she crossed the highway, dusty with itsstring of returning carriages, and entered the secluded lane. The breezehad died away, the air was full of insect-sounds, and the warm lightof the sinking sun fell upon the woods and meadows. Nature seemedpenetrated with a sympathy with her own inner peace. 

But the crown of the benignant day was yet to come. A quick footstepfollowed her, and ere long a voice, near at hand, called her by name. 

She stopped, turned, and for a moment they stood silent, face to face. 

"I knew thee, Richard!" at last she said, in a trembling voice; "may theLord bless thee!"

Tears were in the eyes of both. 

"He has blessed me, " Richard answered, in a reverent tone; "and thisis His last and sweetest mercy. Asenath, let me hear that thee forgivesme. "

"I have forgiven thee long ago, Richard--forgiven, but not forgotten. "

The hush of sunset was on the forest, as they walked onward, side byside, exchanging their mutual histories. Not a leaf stirred in thecrowns of the tall trees, and the dusk, creeping along between theirstems, brought with it a richer woodland odor. Their voices were lowand subdued, as if an angel of God were hovering in the shadows, andlistening, or God Himself looked down upon them from the violet sky. 

At last Richard stopped. 

"Asenath, " said he, "does thee remember that spot on the banks of thecreek, where the rudbeckias grew?"

"I remember it, " she answered, a girlish blush rising to her face. 

"If I were to say to thee now what I said to thee there, what would bethy answer?"

Her words came brokenly. 

"I would say to thee, Richard, --'I can trust thee, --I DO love thee!'"

"Look at me, Asenath. "

Her eyes, beaming with a clearer light than even then when she firstconfessed, were lifted to his. She placed her hands gently upon hisshoulders, and bent her head upon his breast. He tenderly lifted itagain, and, for the first time, her virgin lips knew the kiss of man. 

MISS BARTRAM'S TROUBLE. 

I. 

It was a day of unusual excitement at the Rambo farm-house. On the farm, it is true, all things were in their accustomed order, and all growthsdid their accustomed credit to the season. The fences were in goodrepair; the cattle were healthy and gave promise of the normal increase, and the young corn was neither strangled with weeds nor assassinatedby cut-worms. Old John Rambo was gradually allowing his son, Henry, tomanage in his stead, and the latter shrewdly permitted his father tobelieve that he exercised the ancient authority. Leonard Clare, thestrong young fellow who had been taken from that shiftless adventurer, his father, when a mere child, and brought up almost as one of thefamily, and who had worked as a joiner's apprentice during the previoussix months, had come back for the harvest work; so the Rambos wereforehanded, and probably as well satisfied as it is possible forPennsylvania farmers to be. 

In the house, also, Mrs. Priscilla Rambo was not severely haunted bythe spectre of any neglected duty. The simple regular routine of thehousehold could not be changed under her charge; each thing had itsappropriate order of performance, must be done, and WAS done. Ifthe season were backward, at the time appointed for whitewashing orsoap-making, so much the worse for the season; if the unhatched goslingswere slain by thunder, she laid the blame on the thunder. And if--butno, it is quite impossible to suppose that, outside of those twoinevitable, fearful house-cleaning weeks in each year, there could havebeen any disorder in the cold prim, varnish-odored best rooms, sacred tocompany. 

It was Miss Betty Rambo, whose pulse beat some ten strokes faster thanits wont, as she sat down with the rest to their early country dinner. Whether her brother Henry's participated in the accelerated movementcould not be guessed from his demeanor. She glanced at him now and then, with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, eager to speak yet shrinkingfrom the half magisterial air which was beginning to supplant his oldfamiliar banter. Henry was changing with his new responsibility, asshe admitted to herself with a sort of dismay; he had the airs of anindependent farmer, and she remained only a farmer's daughter, --withoutany acknowledged rights, until she should acquire them all, at a singleblow, by marriage. 

Nevertheless, he must have felt what was in her mind; for, as he cut outthe quarter of a dried apple pie, he said carelessly:

"I must go down to the Lion, this afternoon. There's a fresh drove ofMaryland cattle just come. "

"Oh Harry!" cried Betty, in real distress. 

"I know, " he answered; "but as Miss Bartram is going to stay two weeks, she'll keep. She's not like a drove, that's here one day, and away thenext. Besides, it is precious little good I shall have of her society, until you two have used up all your secrets and small talk. I know howit is with girls. Leonard will drive over to meet the train. "

"Won't I do on a pinch?" Leonard asked. 

"Oh, to be sure, " said Betty, a little embarrassed, "only Alice--MissBartram--might expect Harry, because her brother came for me when I wentup. "

"If that's all, make yourself easy, Bet, " Henry answered, as he rosefrom the table. "There's a mighty difference between here and there. Unless you mean to turn us into a town family while she stays--highquality, eh?"

"Go along to your cattle! there's not much quality, high or low, whereyou are. "

Betty was indignant; but the annoyance exhausted itself healthfullywhile she was clearing away the dishes and restoring the room to itsorder, so that when Leonard drove up to the gate with the lumbering, old-fashioned carriage two hours afterwards, she came forth calm, cheerful, fresh as a pink in her pink muslin, and entirely the good, sensible country-girl she was. 

Two or three years before, she and Miss Alice Bartram, daughter of thedistinguished lawyer in the city, had been room-mates at the NereidSeminary for Young Ladies. Each liked the other for the contrast to herown self; both were honest, good and lovable, but Betty had the strongernerves and a practical sense which seemed to be admirable courage inthe eyes of Miss Alice, whose instincts were more delicate, whose tasteswere fine and high, and who could not conceive of life without certainluxurious accessories. A very cordial friendship sprang up betweenthem, --not the effusive girl-love, with its iterative kisses, tears, andflow of loosened hair, but springing from the respect inspired by soundand positive qualities. 

The winter before, Betty had been invited to visit her friend in thecity, and had passed a very excited and delightful week in the statelyBartram mansion. If she were at first a little fluttered by the mannersof the new world, she was intelligent enough to carry her own naturefrankly through it, instead of endeavoring to assume its character. Thus her little awkwardnesses became originalities, and she was almostpopular in the lofty circle when she withdrew from it. It was therefore, perhaps, slightly inconsistent in Betty, that she was not quite sure howMiss Bartram would accept the reverse side of this social experience. She imagined it easier to look down and make allowances, as a host, thanas a guest; she could not understand that the charm of the change mightbe fully equal. 

It was lovely weather, as they drove up the sweet, ever-changingcurves of the Brandywine valley. The woods fairly laughed in the clearsunlight, and the soft, incessant, shifting breezes. Leonard, in hisbest clothes, and with a smoother gloss on his brown hair, sang tohimself as he urged the strong-boned horses into a trot along thelevels; and Betty finally felt so quietly happy that she forgot to benervous. When they reached the station they walked up and down thelong platform together, until the train from the city thundered up, and painfully restrained its speed. Then Betty, catching sight of afawn-colored travelling dress issuing from the ladies' car, caught holdof Leonard's arm, and cried: "There she is!"

Miss Bartram heard the words, and looked down with a bright, gladexpression on her face. It was not her beauty that made Leonard's heartsuddenly stop beating; for she was not considered a beauty, in society. It was something rarer than perfect beauty, yet even more difficultto describe, --a serene, unconscious grace, a pure, lofty maturity ofwomanhood, such as our souls bow down to in the Santa Barbara of PalmaVecchio. Her features were not "faultlessly regular, " but they wereinformed with the finer harmonies of her character. She was a woman, at whose feet a noble man might kneel, lay his forehead on her knee, confess his sins, and be pardoned. 

She stepped down to the platform, and Betty's arms were about her. Aftera double embrace she gently disengaged herself, turned to Leonard, gavehim her hand, and said, with a smile which was delightfully frank andcordial: "I will not wait for Betty's introduction, Mr. Rambo. Shehas talked to me so much of her brother Harry, that I quite know youalready. "

Leonard could neither withdraw his eyes nor his hand. It was like adouble burst of warmth and sunshine, in which his breast seemed toexpand, his stature to grow, and his whole nature to throb with some newand wonderful force. A faint color came into Miss Bartram's cheeks, asthey stood thus, for a moment, face to face. She seemed to be waitingfor him to speak, but of this he never thought; had any words come tohis mind, his tongue could not have uttered them. 

"It is not Harry, " Betty explained, striving to hide her embarrassment. "This is Leonard Clare, who lives with us. "

"Then I do not know you so well as I thought, " Miss Bartram said to him;"it is the beginning of a new acquaintance, after all. "

"There isn't no harm done, " Leonard answered, and instantly feeling theawkwardness of the words, blushed so painfully that Miss Bartram feltthe inadequacy of her social tact to relieve so manifest a case ofdistress. But she did, instinctively, what was really best: she gaveLeonard the check for her trunk, divided her satchels with Betty, andwalked to the carriage. 

He did not sing, as he drove homewards down the valley. Seated on thetrunk, in front, he quietly governed the horses, while the two girls, onthe seat behind him, talked constantly and gaily. Only the rich, steadytones of Miss Bartram's voice WOULD make their way into his ears, andevery light, careless sentence printed itself upon his memory. They cameto him as if from some inaccessible planet. Poor fellow! he was not thefirst to feel "the desire of the moth for the star. "

When they reached the Rambo farm-house, it was necessary that he shouldgive his hand to help her down from the clumsy carriage. He held it buta moment; yet in that moment a gentle pulse throbbed upon his hard palm, and he mechanically set his teeth, to keep down the impulse which madehim wild to hold it there forever. "Thank you, Mr. Clare!" saidMiss Bartram, and passed into the house. When he followed presently, shouldering her trunk into the upper best-room, and kneeling upon thefloor to unbuckle the straps, she found herself wondering: "Is thisa knightly service, or the menial duty of a porter? Can a man be bothsensitive and ignorant, chivalrous and vulgar?"

The question was not so easily decided, though no one guessed how muchMiss Bartram pondered it, during the succeeding days. She insisted, fromthe first, that her coming should make no change in the habits of thehousehold; she rose in the cool, dewy summer dawns, dined at noon in theold brown room beside the kitchen, and only differed from the Rambosin sitting at her moonlit window, and breathing the subtle odors of amyriad leaves, long after Betty was sleeping the sleep of health. 

It was strange how frequently the strong, not very graceful figure ofLeonard Clare marched through these reveries. She occasionally spoke tohim at the common table, or as she passed the borders of the hay-field, where he and Henry were at work: but his words to her were always fewand constrained. What was there in his eyes that haunted her? Not merelya most reverent admiration of her pure womanly refinement, although sheread that also; not a fear of disparagement, such as his awkward speechimplied, but something which seemed to seek agonizingly for anotherlanguage than that of the lips, --something which appealed to her fromequal ground, and asked for an answer. 

One evening she met him in the lane, as she returned from the meadow. She carried a bunch of flowers, with delicate blue and lilac bells, andasked him the name. 

"Them's Brandywine cowslips, " he answered; "I never heard no other name. 

"May I correct you?" she said, gently, and with a smile which she meantto be playful. "I suppose the main thing is to speak one's thought, butthere are neat and orderly ways, and there are careless ways. " Thereuponshe pointed out the inaccuracies of his answer, he standing beside her, silent and attentive. When she ceased, he did not immediately reply. 

"You will take it in good part, will you not?" she continued. "I hope Ihave not offended you. "

"No!" he exclaimed, firmly, lifting his head, and looking at her. Theinscrutable expression in his dark gray eyes was stronger than before, and all his features were more clearly drawn. He reminded her of apicture of Adam which she had once seen: there was the same rather lowforehead, straight, even brows, full yet strong mouth, and that broaderform of chin which repeats and balances the character of the forehead. He was not positively handsome, but from head to foot he expressed afresh, sound quality of manhood. 

Another question flashed across Miss Bartram's mind: Is life long enoughto transform this clay into marble? Here is a man in form, and withall the dignity of the perfect masculine nature: shall the broad, freeintelligence, the grace and sweetness, the taste and refinement, whichthe best culture gives, never be his also? If not, woman must be contentwith faulty representations of her ideal. 

So musing, she walked on to the farm-house. Leonard had picked up oneof the blossoms she had let fall, and appeared to be curiously examiningit. If he had apologized for his want of grammar, or promised to reformit, her interest in him might have diminished; but his silence, hissimple, natural obedience to some powerful inner force, whatever itwas, helped to strengthen that phantom of him in her mind, which was nowbeginning to be a serious trouble. 

Once again, the day before she left the Rambo farmhouse to return to thecity, she came upon him, alone. She had wandered off to the Brandywine, to gather ferns at a rocky point where some choice varieties were tobe found. There were a few charming clumps, half-way up a slaty cliff, which it did not seem possible to scale, and she was standing at thebase, looking up in vain longing, when a voice, almost at her ear, said:

"Which ones do you want?"

Afterwards, she wondered that she did not start at the voice. Leonardhad come up the road from one of the lower fields: he wore neithercoat nor waistcoat, and his shirt, open at the throat, showed the firm, beautiful white of the flesh below the strong tan of his neck. MissBartram noticed the sinewy strength and elasticity of his form, yet whenshe looked again at the ferns, she shook her head, and answered:

"None, since I cannot have them. "

Without saying a word, he took off his shoes, and commenced climbing thenearly perpendicular face of the cliff. He had done it before, many atime; but Miss Bartram, although she was familiar with such exploitsfrom the pages of many novels, had never seen the reality, and it quitetook away her breath. 

When he descended with the ferns in his hand, she said: "It was a greatrisk; I wish I had not wanted them. "

"It was no risk for me, " he answered. 

"What can I send you in return?" she asked, as they walked forwards. "Iam going home to-morrow. "

"Betty told me, " Leonard said; "please, wait one minute. "

He stepped down to the bank of the stream, washed his hands carefullyin the clear water, and came back to her, holding them, dripping, at hissides. 

"I am very ignorant, " he then continued, --"ignorant and rough. You aregood, to want to send me something, but I want nothing. Miss Bartram, you are very good. "

He paused; but with all her tact and social experience, she did not knowwhat to say. 

"Would you do one little thing for me--not for the ferns, that wasnothing--no more than you do, without thinking, for all your friends?"

"Oh, surely!" she said. 

"Might I--might I--now, --there'll be no chance tomorrow, --shake handswith you?"

The words seemed to be forced from him by the strength of a fierce will. Both stopped, involuntarily. 

"It's quite dry, you see, " said he, offering his hand. Her own sank uponit, palm to palm, and the fingers softly closed over each, as if withthe passion and sweetness of a kiss. Miss Bartram's heart came to hereyes, and read, at last, the question in Leonard's. It was: "I as man, and you, as woman, are equals; will you give me time to reach you?" Whather eyes replied she knew not. A mighty influence drew her on, and amighty doubt and dread restrained her. One said: "Here is your lover, your husband, your cherished partner, left by fate below your station, yet whom you may lift to your side! Shall man, alone, crown the humblemaiden, --stoop to love, and, loving, ennoble? Be you the queen, and lovehim by the royal right of womanhood!" But the other sternly whispered:"How shall your fine and delicate fibres be knit into this coarsetexture? Ignorance, which years cannot wash away, --low instincts, what do YOU know?--all the servile side of life, which is turned fromyou, --what madness to choose this, because some current of earthlymagnetism sets along your nerves? He loves you: what of that? You area higher being to him, and he stupidly adores you. Think, --yes, DARE tothink of all the prosaic realities of life, shared with him!"

Miss Bartram felt herself growing dizzy. Behind the impulse which badeher cast herself upon his breast swept such a hot wave of shame and painthat her face burned, and she dropped her eyelids to shut out thesight of his face. But, for one endless second, the sweeter voice spokethrough their clasped hands. Perhaps he kissed hers; she did not know;she only heard herself murmur:

"Good-bye! Pray go on; I will rest here. "

She sat down upon a bank by the roadside, turned away her head, andclosed her eyes. It was long before the tumult in her nature subsided. If she reflected, with a sense of relief, "nothing was said, "the thought immediately followed, "but all is known. " It wasimpossible, --yes, clearly impossible; and then came such a wild longing, such an assertion of the right and truth and justice of love, as madeher seem a miserable coward, the veriest slave of conventionalities. 

Out of this struggle dawned self-knowledge, and the strength which isborn of it. When she returned to the house, she was pale and weary, butcapable of responding to Betty Rambo's constant cheerfulness. The nextday she left for the city, without having seen Leonard Clare again. 

II. 

Henry Rambo married, and brought a new mistress to the farm-house. Betty married, and migrated to a new home in another part of theState. Leonard Clare went back to his trade, and returned no more inharvest-time. So the pleasant farm by the Brandywine, having served itspurpose as a background, will be seen no more in this history. 

Miss Bartram's inmost life, as a woman, was no longer the same. Thepoint of view from which she had beheld the world was shifted, and shewas obliged to remodel all her feelings and ideas to conform to it. Butthe process was gradual, and no one stood near enough to her to remarkit. She was occasionally suspected of that "eccentricity" which, ina woman of five-and-twenty, is looked upon as the first symptom of atendency to old-maidenhood, but which is really the sign of an earnestheart struggling with the questions of life. In the society of cities, most men give only the shallow, flashy surface of their natures to theyoung women they meet, and Miss Bartram, after that revelation of thedumb strength of an ignorant man, sometimes grew very impatient of theplatitudes and affectations which came to her clad in elegant words, andaccompanied by irreproachable manners. 

She had various suitors; for that sense of grace and repose and sweetfeminine power, which hung around her like an atmosphere, attractedgood and true men towards her. To some, indeed, she gave that noble, untroubled friendship which is always possible between the best of thetwo sexes, and when she was compelled to deny the more intimate appeal, it was done with such frank sorrow, such delicate tenderness, thatshe never lost the friend in losing the lover. But, as one year afteranother went by, and the younger members of her family fell off intotheir separate domestic orbits, she began to shrink a little at theperspective of a lonely life, growing lonelier as it receded from thePresent. 

By this time, Leonard Clare had become almost a dream to her. She hadneither seen him nor heard of him since he let go her hand on thatmemorable evening beside the stream. He was a strange, bewilderingchance, a cypher concealing a secret which she could not intelligentlyread. Why should she keep the memory of that power which was, perhaps, some unconscious quality of his nature (no, it was not so! somethingdeeper than reason cried:), or long since forgotten, if felt, by him?

The man whom she most esteemed came back to her. She knew the ripenessand harmony of his intellect, the nobility of his character, and thegenerosity of a feeling which would be satisfied with only a partialreturn. She felt sure, also, that she should never possess a sentimentnearer to love than that which pleaded his cause in her heart. But herhand lay quiet in his, her pulses were calm when he spoke, and his face, manly and true as it was, never invaded her dreams. All questioning wasvain; her heart gave no solution of the riddle. Perhaps her own wantwas common to all lives: then she was cherishing a selfish ideal, andrejecting the positive good offered to her hands. 

After long hesitation she yielded. The predictions of society came tonaught; instead of becoming an "eccentric" spinster, Miss Bartram wasannounced to be the affianced bride of Mr. Lawrie. A few weeks andmonths rolled around, and when the wedding-day came, she almost hailedit as the port of refuge, where she should find a placid and peacefullife. 

They were married by an aged clergyman, a relative of the bridegroom. The cross-street where his chapel stood, fronting a Methodistchurch--both of the simplest form of that architecture fondly supposedto be Gothic, --was quite blocked up by the carriages of the party. Thepews were crowded with elegant guests, the altar was decorated withflowers, and the ceremony lacked nothing of its usual solemn beauty. The bride was pale, but strikingly calm and self-possessed, and whenshe moved towards the door as Mrs. Lawrie, on her husband's arm, manymatrons, recalling their own experience, marvelled at her unflurrieddignity. 

Just as they passed out the door, and the bridal carriage was summoned, a singular thing happened. Another bridal carriage drew up from theopposite side, and a newly wedded pair came forth from the portal of theMethodist church. Both parties stopped, face to face, divided only bythe narrow street. Mrs. Lawrie first noticed the flushed cheeks of theother bride, her white dress, rather showy than elegant, and the heavygold ornaments she wore. Then she turned to the bridegroom. He was talland well-formed, dressed like a gentleman, but like one who is notyet unconscious of his dress, and had the air of a man accustomed toexercise some authority. 

She saw his face, and instantly all other faces disappeared. From theopposite brink of a tremendous gulf she looked into his eyes, and theirblended ray of love and despair pierced her to the heart. 

There was a roaring in her ears, followed a long sighing sound, likethat of the wind on some homeless waste; she leaned more heavily on herhusband's arm, leaned against his shoulder, slid slowly down into hissupporting clasp, and knew no more. 

"She's paying for her mock composure, after all, " said the matrons. 

"It must have been a great effort. "

III. 

Ten years afterwards, Mrs. Lawrie went on board a steamer atSouthampton, bound for New York. She was travelling alone, having beencalled suddenly from Europe by the approaching death of her aged father. For two or three days after sailing, the thick, rainy spring weatherkept all below, except a few hardy gentlemen who crowded together on thelee of the smoke-stack, and kept up a stubborn cheerfulness on a verysmall capital of comfort. There were few cabin-passengers on board, butthe usual crowd of emigrants in the steerage. 

Mrs. Lawrie's face had grown calmer and colder during these years. Therewas yet no gray in her hair, no wrinkles about her clear eyes; eachfeature appeared to be the same, but the pale, monotonous colorwhich had replaced the warm bloom of her youth, gave them a differentcharacter. The gracious dignity of her manner, the mellow tones of hervoice, still expressed her unchanging goodness, yet those who met herwere sure to feel, in some inexplicable way, that to be good is notalways to be happy. Perhaps, indeed, her manner was older than her faceand form: she still attracted the interest of men, but with a certaindoubt and reserve. 

Certain it is that when she made her appearance on deck, glad of theblue sky and sunshine, and threw back her hood to feel the freshness ofthe sea air, all eyes followed her movements, except those of a forlornindividual, who, muffled in his cloak and apparently sea-sick, lay uponone of the benches. The captain presently joined her, and the gentlemensaw that she was bright and perfectly self-possessed in conversation:some of them immediately resolved to achieve an acquaintance. The dull, passive existence of the beginning of every voyage, seemed to be now atan end. It was time for the little society of the vessel to awake, stiritself, and organize a life of its own, for the few remaining days. 

That night, as Mrs. Lawrie was sleeping in her berth, she suddenly awokewith a singular feeling of dread and suspense. She listened silently, but for some time distinguished none other than the small sounds ofnight on shipboard--the indistinct orders, the dragging of ropes, the creaking of timbers, the dull, regular jar of the engine, and theshuffling noise of feet overhead. But, ere long, she seemed to catchfaint, distant sounds, that seemed like cries; then came hurry andconfusion on deck; then voices in the cabin, one of which said: "theynever can get it under, at this rate!"

She rose, dressed herself hastily, and made her way through pale andexcited stewards, and the bewildered passengers who were beginningto rush from their staterooms, to the deck. In the wild tumult whichprevailed, she might have been thrown down and trampled under foot, hadnot a strong arm seized her around the waist, and borne her towards thestern, where there were but few persons. 

"Wait here!" said a voice, and her protector plunged into the crowd. 

She saw, instantly, the terrible fate which had fallen upon the vessel. The bow was shrouded in whirls of smoke, through which dull red flashesbegan to show themselves; and all the length and breadth of the deck wasfilled with a screaming, struggling, fighting mass of desperate humanbeings. She saw the captain, officers, and a few of the crew workingin vain against the disorder: she saw the boats filled before they werelowered, and heard the shrieks as they were capsized; she saw spars andplanks and benches cast overboard, and maddened men plunging after them;and then, like the sudden opening of the mouth of Hell, the relentless, triumphant fire burst through the forward deck and shot up to theforeyard. 

She was leaning against the mizen shrouds, between the coils of rope. Nobody appeared to notice her, although the quarter-deck was fastfilling with persons driven back by the fire, yet still shrinkingfrom the terror and uncertainty of the sea. She thought: "It is butdeath--why should I fear? The waves are at hand, to save me from allsuffering. " And the collective horror of hundreds of beings did not sooverwhelm her as she had both fancied and feared; the tragedy of eachindividual life was lost in the confusion, and was she not a sharer intheir doom?

Suddenly, a man stood before her with a cork life-preserver in hishands, and buckled it around her securely, under the arms. He waspanting and almost exhausted, yet he strove to make his voice firm, andeven cheerful, as he said:

"We fought the cowardly devils as long as there was any hope. Two boatsare off, and two capsized; in ten minutes more every soul must take tothe water. Trust to me, and I will save you or die with you!"

"What else can I do?" she answered. 

With a few powerful strokes of an axe, he broke off the top of thepilot-house, bound two or three planks to it with ropes, and dragged themass to the bulwarks. 

"The minute this goes, " he then said to her, "you go after it, and Ifollow. Keep still when you rise to the surface. "

She left the shrouds, took hold of the planks at his side, and theyheaved the rude raft into the sea. In an instant she was seized andwhirled over the side; she instinctively held her breath, felt a shock, felt herself swallowed up in an awful, fathomless coldness, and thenfound herself floating below the huge towering hull which slowly driftedaway. 

In another moment there was one at her side. "Lay your hand on myshoulder, " he said; and when she did so, swam for the raft, which theysoon reached. While she supported herself by one of the planks he soarranged and bound together the pieces of timber that in a short timethey could climb upon them and rest, not much washed by the waves. Theship drifted further and further, casting a faint, though awful, glareover the sea, until the light was suddenly extinguished, as the hullsank. 

The dawn was in the sky by this time, and as it broadened they couldsee faint specks here and there, where others, like themselves, clung todrifting spars. Mrs. Lawrie shuddered with cold and the reaction from anexcitement which had been far more powerful than she knew at the time. 

Her preserver then took off his coat, wrapped it around her, andproduced a pocket-flask, saying; "this will support us the longest; itis all I could find, or bring with me. "

She sat, leaning against his shoulder, though partly turned away fromhim: all she could say was: "you are very good. "

After awhile he spoke, and his voice seemed changed to her ears. "Youmust be thinking of Mr. Lawrie. It will, indeed, be terrible for him tohear of the disaster, before knowing that you are saved. "

"God has spared him that distress, " she answered. "Mr. Lawrie died, ayear ago. "

She felt a start in the strong frame upon which she leaned. After afew minutes of silence, he slowly shifted his position towards her, yetstill without facing her, and said, almost in a whisper:

"You have said that I am very good. Will you put your hand in mine?"

She stretched hers eagerly and gratefully towards him. What hadhappened? Through all the numbness of her blood, there sprang a strangenew warmth from his strong palm, and a pulse, which she had almostforgotten as a dream of the past, began to beat through her frame. Sheturned around all a-tremble, and saw his face in the glow of the comingday. 

"Leonard Clare!" she cried. 

"Then you have not forgotten me?"

"Could one forget, when the other remembers?"

The words came involuntarily from her lips. She felt what they implied, the moment afterwards, and said no more. But he kept her hand in his. 

"Mrs. Lawrie, " he began, after another silence, "we are hanging by ahair on the edge of life, but I shall gladly let that hair break, sinceI may tell you now, purely and in the hearing of God, how I have triedto rise to you out of the low place in which you found me. At first youseemed too far; but you yourself led me the first step of the way, andI have steadily kept my eyes on you, and followed it. When I had learnedmy trade, I came to the city. No labor was too hard for me, no study toodifficult. I was becoming a new man, I saw all that was still lacking, and how to reach it, and I watched you, unknown, at a distance. Then Iheard of your engagement: you were lost, and something of which I hadbegun to dream, became insanity. I determined to trample it out of mylife. The daughter of the master-builder, whose first assistant I was, had always favored me in her society; and I soon persuaded her to loveme. I fancied, too, that I loved her as most married men seemed to lovetheir wives; the union would advance me to a partnership in her father'sbusiness, and my fortune would then be secured. You know what happened;but you do not know how the sight of your face planted the old madnessagain in my life, and made me a miserable husband, a miserable man ofwealth, almost a scoffer at the knowledge I had acquired for your sake. 

"When my wife died, taking an only child with her, there was nothingleft to me except the mechanical ambition to make myself, without you, what I imagined I might have become, through you. I have studied andtravelled, lived alone and in society, until your world seemed to bealmost mine: but you were not there!"

The sun had risen, while they sat, rocking on their frail support. Herhand still lay in his, and her head rested on his shoulder. Every wordhe spoke sank into her heart with a solemn sweetness, in which her wholenature was silent and satisfied. Why should she speak? He knew all. 

Yes, it seemed that he knew. His arm stole around her, and her head wasdrawn from his shoulder to the warm breadth of his breast. 

Something hard pressed her cheek, and she lifted her hand to move itaside. He drew forth a flat medallion case; and to the unconsciousquestion in her face, such a sad, tender smile came to his lips, thatshe could not repress a sudden pain. Was it the miniature of his deadwife?

He opened the case, and showed her, under the glass, a faded, pressedflower. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

"The Brandywine cowslip you dropped, when you spoke to me in the lane. Then it was that you showed me the first step of the way. "

She laid her head again upon his bosom. Hour after hour they sat, andthe light swells of the sea heaved them aimlessly to and fro, and thesun burned them, and the spray drenched their limbs. At last LeonardClare roused himself and looked around: he felt numb and faint, and hesaw, also, that her strength was rapidly failing. 

"We cannot live much longer, I fear, " he said, clasping her closely inhis arms. "Kiss me once, darling, and then we will die. "

She clung to him and kissed him. 

"There is life, not death, in your lips!" he cried. "Oh, God, if weshould live!"

He rose painfully to his feet, stood, tottering? on the raft, and lookedacross the waves. Presently he began to tremble, then to sob like achild, and at last spoke, through his tears:

"A sail! a sail!--and heading towards us!"

MRS. STRONGITHARM'S REPORT. 

Mr. Editor, --If you ever read the "Burroak Banner" (which you will findamong your exchanges, as the editor publishes your prospectus for sixweeks every year, and sends no bill to you) my name will not be that ofa stranger. Let me throw aside all affectation of humility, and say thatI hope it is already and not unfavorably familiar to you. I am informedby those who claim to know that the manuscripts of obscure writers arepassed over by you editors without examination--in short, that I mustfirst have a name, if I hope to make one. The fact that an article ofthree hundred and seventy-five pages, which I sent, successively, to the"North American Review, " the "Catholic World, " and the "Radical, " was ineach case returned to me with MY knot on the tape by which it was tied, convinces me that such is indeed the case. A few years ago I should nothave meekly submitted to treatment like this; but late experiences havetaught me the vanity of many womanly dreams. 

You are acquainted with the part I took (I am SURE you must have seenit in the "Burroak Banner" eight years ago) in creating that publicsentiment in our favor which invested us with all the civil andpolitical rights of men. How the editors of the "Revolution, " to whichI subscribe, and the conventions in favor of the equal rights of women, recently held in Boston and other cities, have failed to notice ournoble struggle, is a circumstance for which I will not try to account. Iwill only say--and it is a hint which SOME PERSONS will understand--thatthere are other forms of jealousy than those which spring from love. 

It is, indeed, incredible that so little is known, outside the State ofAtlantic, of the experiment--I mean the achievement--of the last eightyears. While the war lasted, we did not complain that our work wasignored; but now that our sisters in other States are acting as if incomplete unconsciousness of what WE have done--now that we need theiraid and they need ours (but in different ways), it is time that somebodyshould speak. Were Selina Whiston living, I should leave the task toher pen; she never recovered from the shock and mortification of herexperiences in the State Legislature, in '64--but I will not anticipatethe history. Of all the band of female iconoclasts, as the Hon. Mr. Screed called us in jest--it was no jest afterwards, HIS image being thefirst to go down--of all, I say, "some are married, and some are dead, "and there is really no one left so familiar with the circumstances as Iam, and equally competent to give a report of them. 

Mr. Spelter (the editor of the "Burroak Banner") suggests that I mustbe brief, if I wish my words to reach the ears of the millions forwhom they are designed; and I shall do my best to be so. If I were notobliged to begin at the very beginning, and if the interests of Atlantichad not been swallowed up, like those of other little States, in thewhirlpool of national politics, I should have much less to say. But ifMr. George Fenian Brain and Mrs. Candy Station do not choose to informthe public of either the course or the results of our struggle, am I toblame? If I could have attended the convention in Boston, and had beenallowed to speak--and I am sure the distinguished Chairwoman would havegiven me a chance--it would have been the best way, no doubt, to set ourcase before the world. 

I must first tell you how it was that we succeeded in forcing the men toaccept our claims, so much in advance of other States. We were indebtedfor it chiefly to the skill and adroitness of Selina Whiston. The matterhad been agitated, it is true, for some years before, and as early as1856, a bill, drawn up by Mrs. Whiston herself, had been introduced intothe Legislature, where it received three votes. Moreover, we had heldmeetings in almost every election precinct in the State, and our AnnualFair (to raise funds) at Gaston, while the Legislature was in session, was always very brilliant and successful. So the people were notentirely unprepared. 

Although our State had gone for Fremont in 1856, by a small majority, the Democrats afterwards elected their Governor; and both parties, therefore, had hopes of success in 1860. The canvass began early, andwas very animated. Mrs. Whiston had already inaugurated the custom ofattending political meetings, and occasionally putting a question to thestump orator--no matter of which party; of sometimes, indeed, taking thestump herself, after the others had exhausted their wind. She was verywitty, as you know, and her stories were so good and so capitally told, that neither Democrat nor Republican thought of leaving the ground whileshe was upon the stand. 

Now, it happened that our Congressional District was one of the closest. It happened, also, that our candidate (I am a Republican, and so is Mr. Strongitharm) was rather favorably inclined to the woman's cause. Ithappened, thirdly--and this is the seemingly insignificant pivot uponwhich we whirled into triumph--that he, Mr. Wrangle, and the opposingcandidate, Mr. Tumbrill, had arranged to hold a joint meeting atBurroak. This meeting took place on a magnificent day, just after theoats-harvest; and everybody, for twenty miles around, was there. Mrs. Whiston, together with Sarah Pincher, Olympia Knapp, and several otherprominent advocates of our cause, met at my house in the morning; andwe all agreed that it was time to strike a blow. The rest of usmagnanimously decided to take no part in the concerted plan, though veryeager to do so. Selina Whiston declared that she must have the field toherself; and when she said that, we knew she meant it. 

It was generally known that she was on the ground. In fact, she spentmost of the time while Messrs. Wrangle and Tumbrill were speaking, in walking about through the crowds--so after an hour apiece for thegentlemen, and then fifteen minutes apiece for a rejoinder, and theStar Spangled Banner from the band, for both sides, we were not abit surprised to hear a few cries of "Whiston!" from the audience. Immediately we saw the compact gray bonnet and brown serge dress (sheknew what would go through a crowd without tearing!) splitting the wedgeof people on the steps leading to the platform. I noticed that the twoCongressional candidates looked at each other and smiled, in spite ofthe venomous charges they had just been making. 

Well--I won't attempt to report her speech, though it was her mostsplendid effort (as people WILL say, when it was no effort to her atall). But the substance of it was this: after setting forth woman'swrongs and man's tyranny, and taxation without representation, and anequal chance, and fair-play, and a struggle for life (which you know allabout from the other conventions), she turned squarely around to the twocandidates and said:

"Now to the practical application. You, Mr. Wrangle, and you, Mr. Tumbrill, want to be elected to Congress. The district is a close one:you have both counted the votes in advance (oh, I know your secrets!)and there isn't a difference of a hundred in your estimates. Avery little will turn the scale either way. Perhaps a woman'sinfluence--perhaps my voice--might do it. But I will give you an equalchance. So much power is left to woman, despite what you withhold, thatwe, the women of Putnam, Shinnebaug, and Rancocus counties, are able todecide which of you shall be elected. Either of you would give a greatdeal to have a majority of the intelligent women of the District on yourside: it would already be equivalent to success. Now, to show that weunderstand the political business from which you have excluded us--toprove that we are capable of imitating the noble example of MEN--weoffer to sell our influence, as they their votes, to the highestbidder!"

There was great shouting and cheering among the people at this, but thetwo candidates, somehow or other, didn't seem much amused. 

"I stand here, " she continued, "in the interest of my strugglingsisters, and with authority to act for them. Which of you will bidthe most--not in offices or material advantages, as is the way of yourparties, but in the way of help to the Woman's Cause? Which of youwill here publicly pledge himself to say a word for us, from now untilelection-day, whenever he appears upon the stump?"

There was repeated cheering, and cries of "Got 'em there!" (Men are sovulgar). 

"I pause for a reply. Shall they not answer me?" she continued, turningto the audience. 

Then there were tremendous cries of "Yes! yes! Wrangle! Tumbrill!"

Mr. Wrangle looked at Mr. Tumbrill, and made a motion with his head, signifying that he should speak. Then Mr. Tumbrill looked at Mr. Wrangle, and made a motion that HE should speak. The people saw allthis, and laughed and shouted as if they would never finish. 

Mr. Wrangle, on second thoughts (this is my private surmise), saw thatboldness would just then be popular; so he stepped forward. 

"Do I understand, " he said, "that my fair and eloquent friend demandsperfect political and civil equality for her sex?"

"I do!" exclaimed Selina Whiston, in her firmest manner. 

"Let me be more explicit, " he continued. "You mean precisely thesame rights, the same duties, the same obligations, the sameresponsibilities?"

She repeated the phrases over after him, affirmatively, with an emphasiswhich I never heard surpassed. 

"Pardon me once more, " said Mr. Wrangle; "the right to vote, to holdoffice, to practise law, theology, medicine, to take part in allmunicipal affairs, to sit on juries, to be called upon to aid in theexecution of the law, to aid in suppressing disturbances, enforcingpublic order, and performing military duty?"

Here there were loud cheers from the audience; and a good many voicescried out: "Got her there!" (Men are so very vulgar. )

Mrs. Whiston looked troubled for a moment, but she saw that a moment'shesitation would be fatal to our scheme, so she brought out her words asif each one were a maul-blow on the butt-end of a wedge:

"All--that--we--demand!"

"Then, " said Mr. Wrangle, "I bid my support in exchange for the women's!Just what the speaker demands, without exception or modification--equalprivileges, rights, duties and obligations, without regard to thequestion of sex! Is that broad enough?"

I was all in a tremble when it came to that. Somehow Mr. Wrangle'sacceptance of the bid did not inspire me, although it promised so much. I had anticipated opposition, dissatisfaction, tumult. So had Mrs. Whiston, and I could see, and the crowd could see, that she was notgreatly elated. 

Mr. Wrangle made a very significant bow to Mr. Tumbrill, and then satdown. There were cries of "Tumbrill!" and that gentleman--none of us, of course, believing him sincere, for we knew his private views--cameforward and made exactly the same pledge. I will do both partiesthe justice to say that they faithfully kept their word; nay, it wasgenerally thought the repetition of their brief pleas for woman, at somefifty meetings before election came, had gradually conducted them tothe belief that they were expressing their own personal sentiments. Themechanical echo in public thus developed into an opinion in private. My own political experience has since demonstrated to me that this is aphenomenon very common among men. 

The impulse generated at that meeting gradually spread all over theState. We--the leaders of the Women's Movement--did not rest until wehad exacted the same pledge from all the candidates of both parties; andthe nearer it drew towards election-day, the more prominence was given, in the public meetings, to the illustration and discussion of thesubject. Our State went for Lincoln by a majority of 2763 (as you willfind by consulting the "Tribune Almanac"), and Mr. Wrangle was electedto Congress, having received a hundred and forty-two more votes than hisopponent. Mr. Tumbrill has always attributed his defeat to his want ofcourage in not taking up at once the glove which Selina Whiston threwdown. 

I think I have said enough to make it clear how the State of Atlanticcame to be the first to grant equal civil and political rights to women. When the Legislature of 1860-'61 met at Gaston, we estimated that wemight count upon fifty-three out of the seventy-one Republican Senatorsand Assemblymen, and on thirty-four out of the sixty-five Democrats. This would give a majority of twenty-eight in the House, and ten inthe Senate. Should the bill pass, there was still a possibility thatit might be vetoed by the Governor, of whom we did not feel sure. Wetherefore arranged that our Annual Fair should be held a fortnight laterthan usual, and that the proceeds (a circumstance known only to themanagers) should be devoted to a series of choice suppers, at which weentertained, not only the Governor and our friends in both Houses, butalso, like true Christians, our legislatorial enemies. Olympia Knapp, who, you know, is so very beautiful, presided at these entertainments. She put forth all her splendid powers, and with more effect than any ofus suspected. On the day before the bill reached its third reading, the Governor made her an offer of marriage. She came to the managers ingreat agitation, and laid the matter before them, stating that she wasoverwhelmed with surprise (though Sarah Pincher always maintained thatshe wasn't in the least), and asking their advice. We discussed thequestion for four hours, and finally decided that the interests ofthe cause would oblige her to accept the Governor's hand. "Oh, I am soglad!" cried Olympia, "for I accepted him at once. " It was a brave, anoble deed!

Now, I would ask those who assert that women are incapable of conductingthe business of politics, to say whether any set of men, of eitherparty, could have played their cards more skilfully? Even after thecampaign was over we might have failed, had it not been for the suppers. We owed this idea, like the first, to the immortal Selina Whiston. A lucky accident--as momentous in its way as the fall of an apple toNewton, or the flying of a kite to Dr. Franklin--gave her the secretprinciple by which the politics of men are directed. Her house inWhittletown was the half of a double frame building, and the rear-end ofthe other part was the private office of--but no, I will not mention thename--a lawyer and a politician. He was known as a "wirepuller, " and theother wire-pullers of his party used to meet in his office and discussmatters. Mrs. Whiston always asserted that there was a mouse-holethrough the partition; but she had energy enough to have made a holeherself, for the sake of the cause. 

She never would tell us all she overheard. "It is enough, " she wouldsay, "that I know how the thing is done. "

I remember that we were all considerably startled when she first gave usan outline of her plan. On my saying that I trusted the dissemination ofour principles would soon bring us a great adhesion, she burst out with:

"Principles! Why if we trust to principles, we shall never succeed! Wemust rely upon INFLUENCES, as the men do; we must fight them with theirown weapons, and even then we are at a disadvantage, because we cannotvery well make use of whiskey and cigars. "

We yielded, because we had grown accustomed to be guided by her; and, moreover, we had seen, time and again, how she could succeed--as, forinstance, in the Nelson divorce case (but I don't suppose you ever heardof that), when the matter seemed nigh hopeless to all of us. The historyof 1860 and the following winter proves that in her the world has losta stateswoman. Mr. Wrangle and Governor Battle have both said to me thatthey never knew a measure to be so splendidly engineered both before thepublic and in the State Legislature. 

After the bill had been passed, and signed by the Governor, and so hadbecome a law, and the grand Women's Jubilee had been held at Gaston, the excitement subsided. It would be nearly a year to the next Stateelection, and none of the women seemed to care for the local andmunicipal elections in the spring. Besides, there was a good deal ofanxiety among them in regard to the bill, which was drawn up in almostthe exact terms used by Mr. Wrangle at the political meeting. In fact, we always have suspected that he wrote it. The word "male" was simplyomitted from all laws. "Nothing is changed, " said Mrs. Whiston, quotingCharles X. , "there are only 201, 758 more citizens in Atlantic!"

This was in January, 1861, you must remember; and the shadow of thecoming war began to fall over us. Had the passage of our bill beenpostponed a fortnight it would have been postponed indefinitely, forother and (for the men) more powerful excitements followed one uponthe other. Even our jubilee was thinly attended, and all but two of themembers on whom we relied for speeches failed us. Governor Battle, whowas to have presided, was at Washington, and Olympia, already his wife, accompanied him. (I may add that she has never since taken any activepart with us. They have been in Europe for the last three years. )

Most of the women--here in Burroak, at least--expressed a feeling ofdisappointment that there was no palpable change in their lot, no senseof extended liberty, such as they imagined would come to transform theminto brighter and better creatures. They supposed that they would atonce gain in importance in the eyes of the men; but the men were nowso preoccupied by the events at the South that they seemed to haveforgotten our political value. Speaking for myself, as a good Unionwoman, I felt that I must lay aside, for a time, the interests of mysex. Once, it is true, I proposed to accompany Mr. Strongitharm to aparty caucus at the Wrangle House; but he so suddenly discovered thathe had business in another part of the town, that I withdrew myproposition. 

As the summer passed over, and the first and second call for volunteershad been met, and more than met, by the patriotic men of the State (howwe blessed them!) we began to take courage, and to feel, that if ournew civil position brought us no very tangible enjoyment, at least itimposed upon us no very irksome duties. 

The first practical effect of the new law came to light at the Augustterm of our County Court. The names of seven women appeared on the listof jurors, but only three of them answered to their names. One, the wifeof a poor farmer, was excused by the Judge, as there was no one to lookafter six small children in her absence; another was a tailoress, witha quantity of work on hand, some of which she proposed bringing with herinto Court, in order to save time; but as this could not be allowed, she made so much trouble that she was also finally let off. Only one, therefore, remained to serve; fortunately for the credit of our sex, she was both able and willing to do so; and we afterward made asubscription, and presented her with a silver fish-knife, on account ofher having tired out eleven jurymen, and brought in a verdict of $5, 000damages against a young man whom she convicted of seduction. She toldme that no one would ever know what she endured during those three days;but the morals of our county have been better ever since. 

Mr. Spelter told me that his State exchanges showed that there had beendifficulties of the same kind in all the other counties. In Mendip (thecounty-town of which is Whittletown, Mrs. Whiston's home) the immediateresult had been the decision, on the part of the Commissioners, to buildan addition at the rear of the Court-House, with large, commodious andwell-furnished jury-rooms, so arranged that a comfortable privacy wassecured to the jury-women. I did my best to have the same improvementadopted here, but, alas! I have not the ability of Selina Whistonin such matters, and there is nothing to this day but the one vile, miserable room, properly furnished in no particular except spittoons. 

The nominating Conventions were held in August, also, and we weretherefore called upon to move at once, in order to secure our fairshare. Much valuable time had been lost in discussing a question ofpolicy, namely, whether we should attach ourselves to the two partiesalready in existence, according to our individual inclinations, orwhether we should form a third party for ourselves. We finally acceptedthe former proposition, and I think wisely; for the most of us were soignorant of political tricks and devices, that we still needed to learnfrom the men, and we could not afford to draw upon us the hostility ofboth parties, in the very infancy of our movement. 

Never in my life did I have such a task, as in drumming up a few womento attend the primary township meeting for the election of delegates. Itwas impossible to make them comprehend its importance. Even after I haddone my best to explain the technicalities of male politics, and fanciedthat I had made some impression, the answer would be: "Well, I'd go, I'm sure, just to oblige you, but then there's the tomatoes to becanned"--or, "I'm so behindhand with my darning and patching"--or, "John'll be sure to go, and there's no need of two from the samehouse"--and so on, until I was mightily discouraged. There were justnine of us, all told, to about a hundred men. I won't deny that oursituation that night, at the Wrangle House, was awkward and not entirelyagreeable. To be sure the landlord gave us the parlor, and most ofthe men came in, now and then, to speak to us; but they managed theprincipal matters all by themselves, in the bar-room, which was such amess of smoke and stale liquor smells, that it turned my stomach when Iventured in for two minutes. 

I don't think we should have accomplished much, but for a 'cute idea ofMrs. Wilbur, the tinman's wife. She went to the leaders, and threatenedthem that the women's vote should be cast in a body for the Democraticcandidates, unless we were considered in making up the ticket. THAT helped: the delegates were properly instructed, and the CountyConvention afterward nominated two men and one woman as candidates forthe Assembly. That woman was--as I need hardly say, for the world knowsit--myself. I had not solicited the honor, and therefore could notrefuse, especially as my daughter Melissa was then old enough tokeep house in my absence. No woman had applied for the nomination forSheriff, but there were seventeen schoolmistresses anxious for theoffice of County Treasurer. The only other nomination given to thewomen, however, was that of Director (or rather, Directress) of thePoor, which was conferred on Mrs. Bassett, wife of a clergyman. 

Mr. Strongitharm insisted that I should, in some wise, preparemyself for my new duties, by reading various political works, and Iconscientiously tried to do so--but, dear me! it was much more of a taskthan I supposed. We had all read the debate on our bill, of course; butI always skipped the dry, stupid stuff about the tariff, and finance, and stay laws and exemption laws, and railroad company squabbles; andfor the life of me I can't see, to this day, what connection there isbetween these things and Women's Rights. But, as I said, I did my best, with the help of Webster's Dictionary; although the further I went theless I liked it. 

As election-day drew nearer, our prospects looked brighter. TheRepublican ticket, under the editorial head of the "Burroak Banner, "with my name and Mrs. Bassett's among the men's, was such an evidence, that many women, notably opposed to the cause, said: "We didn't want theright, but since we have it, we shall make use of it. " This was exactlywhat Mrs. Whiston had foretold. We estimated that--taking theCounty tickets all over the State--we had about one-twentieth of theRepublican, and one-fiftieth of the Democratic, nominations. This wasfar from being our due, but still it was a good beginning. 

My husband insisted that I should go very early to the polls. I couldscarcely restrain a tear of emotion as I gave my first ballot into thehands of the judges. There were not a dozen persons present, and theact did not produce the sensation which I expected. One man criedout: "Three cheers for our Assemblywoman!" and they gave them; and Ithereupon returned home in the best spirits. I devoted the rest of theday to relieving poorer women, who could not have spared the time tovote, if I had not, meanwhile, looked after their children. The lastwas Nancy Black, the shoemaker's wife in our street, who kept me waitingupon her till it was quite dark. When she finally came, the skirt of herdress was ripped nearly off, her hair was down and her comb broken; butshe was triumphant, for Sam Black was with her, and SOBER. "The firsttime since we were married, Mrs. Strongitharm!" she cried. Then shewhispered to me, as I was leaving: "And I've killed HIS vote, anyhow!"

When the count was made, our party was far ahead. Up to this time, Ithink, the men of both parties had believed that only a few women, hereand there, would avail themselves of their new right--but they wereroundly mistaken. Although only ten per cent. Of the female voters wentto the polls, yet three-fourths of them voted the Republican ticket, which increased the majority of that party, in the State, about eleventhousand. 

It was amazing what an effect followed this result. The whole countrywould have rung with it, had we not been in the midst of war. Mr. Wrangle declared that he had always been an earnest advocate of thewomen's cause. Governor Battle, in his next message, congratulatedthe State on the signal success of the experiment, and the Democraticmasses, smarting under their defeat, cursed their leaders for not havingbeen sharp enough to conciliate the new element. The leaders themselvessaid nothing, and in a few weeks the rank and file recovered theircheerfulness. Even Mrs. Whiston, with all her experience, was a littlepuzzled by this change of mood. Alas! she was far from guessing thecorrect explanation. 

It was a great comfort to me that Mrs. Whiston was also elected to theLegislature. My husband had just then established his manufactory ofpatent self-scouring knife-blades (now so celebrated), and could notleave; so I was obliged to go up to Gaston all alone, when the sessioncommenced. There were but four of us Assemblywomen, and although themen treated us with great courtesy, I was that nervous that I seemedto detect either commiseration or satire everywhere. Before I had eventaken my seat, I was addressed by fifteen or twenty different gentlemen, either great capitalists, or great engineers, or distinguished lawyers, all interested in various schemes for developing the resources of ourState by new railroads, canals or ferries. I then began to comprehendthe grandeur of the Legislator's office. My voice could assist in makingpossible these magnificent improvements, and I promised it to all. Mr. Filch, President of the Shinnebaug and Great Western Consolidated Line, was so delighted with my appreciation of his plan for reducing thefreight on grain from Nebraska, that he must have written extravagantaccounts of me to his wife; for she sent me, at Christmas, one of theloveliest shawls I ever beheld. 

I had frequently made short addresses at our public meetings, andwas considered to have my share of self-possession; but I never couldaccustom myself to the keen, disturbing, irritating atmosphere of theLegislature. Everybody seemed wide-awake and aggressive, instead ofpleasantly receptive; there were so many "points of order, " and whatnot; such complete disregard, among the members, of each other'sfeelings; and, finally--a thing I could never understand, indeed--suchinconsistency and lack of principle in the intercourse of the twoparties. How could I feel assured of their sincerity, when I saw thevery men chatting and laughing together, in the lobbies, ten minutesafter they had been facing each other like angry lions in the debate?

Mrs. Whiston, also, had her trials of the same character. Nothing everannoyed her so much as a little blunder she made, the week after theopening of the session. I have not yet mentioned that there was alreadya universal dissatisfaction among the women, on account of their beingliable to military service. The war seemed to have hardly begun, asyet, and conscription was already talked about; the women, therefore, clamored for an exemption on account of sex. Although we all feltthat this was a retrograde movement, the pressure was so great that weyielded. Mrs. Whiston, reluctant at first, no sooner made up her mindthat the thing must be done, than she furthered it with all her might. After several attempts to introduce a bill, which were always cut off bysome "point of order, " she unhappily lost her usual patience. 

I don't know that I can exactly explain how it happened, for whatthe men call "parliamentary tactics" always made me fidgetty. But the"previous question" turned up (as it always seemed to me to do, at thewrong time), and cut her off before she had spoken ten words. 

"Mr. Speaker!" she protested; "there is no question, previous to this, which needs the consideration of the house! This is first in importance, and demands your immediate--"

"Order! order!" came from all parts of the house. 

"I am in order--the right is always in order!" she exclaimed, gettingmore and more excited. "We women are not going to be contented with themere show of our rights on this floor; we demand the substance--"

And so she was going on, when there arose the most fearful tumult. The upshot of it was, that the speaker ordered the sergeant-at-arms toremove Mrs. Whiston; one of the members, more considerate, walked acrossthe floor to her, and tried to explain in what manner she was violatingthe rules; and in another minute she sat down, so white, rigid andsilent that it made me shake in my shoes to look at her. 

"I have made a great blunder, " she said to me, that evening; "and it mayset us back a little; but I shall recover my ground. " Which she did, I assure you. She cultivated the acquaintance of the leaders ofboth parties, studied their tactics, and quietly waited for a goodopportunity to bring in her bill. At first, we thought it would pass;but one of the male members presently came out with a speech, whichdashed our hopes to nothing. He simply took the ground that there mustbe absolute equality in citizenship; that every privilege was balancedby a duty, every trust accompanied with its responsibility. He had noobjection to women possessing equal rights with men--but to give themall civil rights and exempt them from the most important obligationof service, would be, he said, to create a privileged class--a femalearistocracy. It was contrary to the spirit of our institutions. Thewomen had complained of taxation without representation; did they nowclaim the latter without the former?

The people never look more than half-way into a subject, and so thisspeech was immensely popular. I will not give Mrs. Whiston's admirablereply; for Mr. Spelter informs me that you will not accept an article, if it should make more than seventy or eighty printed pages. It isenough that our bill was "killed, " as the men say (a brutal word); andthe women of the State laid the blame of the failure upon us. You mayimagine that we suffered under this injustice; but worse was to come. 

As I said before, a great many things came up in the Legislature which Idid not understand--and, to be candid, did not care to understand. ButI was obliged to vote, nevertheless, and in this extremity I dependedpretty much on Mrs. Whiston's counsel. We could not well go to theprivate nightly confabs of the members--indeed, they did not invite us;and when it came to the issue of State bonds, bank charters, and suchlike, I felt as if I were blundering along in the dark. 

One day, I received, to my immense astonishment, a hundred and moreletters, all from the northern part of our county. I opened them, oneafter the other, and--well, it is beyond my power to tell you whatvarieties of indignation and abuse fell upon me. It seems that I hadvoted against the bill to charter the Mendip Extension Railroad Co. I had been obliged to vote for or against so many things, that itwas impossible to recollect them all. However, I procured the printedjournal, and, sure enough! there, among the nays, was "Strongitharm. "It was not a week after that--and I was still suffering in mind andbody--when the newspapers in the interest of the Rancocus and GreatWestern Consolidated accused me (not by name, but the same thing--youknow how they do it) of being guilty of taking bribes. Mr. Filch, of theShinnebaug Consolidated had explained to me so beautifully the superioradvantages of his line, that the Directors of the other company tooktheir revenge in this vile, abominable way. 

That was only the beginning of my trouble. What with these slandersand longing for the quiet of our dear old home at Burroak, I wasalmost sick; yet the Legislature sat on, and sat on, until I was nearlydesperate. Then one morning came a despatch from my husband: "Melissais drafted--come home!" How I made the journey I can't tell; I was in anagony of apprehension, and when Mr. Strongitharm and Melissa both met meat the Burroak Station, well and smiling, I fell into a hysterical fitof laughing and crying, for the first time in my life. 

Billy Brandon, who was engaged to Melissa, came forward and took herplace like a man; he fought none the worse, let me tell you, becausehe represented a woman, and (I may as well say it now) he came home aCaptain, without a left arm--but Melissa seems to have three arms forhis sake. 

You have no idea what a confusion and lamentation there was all over theState. A good many women were drafted, and those who could neitherget substitutes for love nor money, were marched to Gaston, where therecruiting Colonel was considerate enough to give them a separatecamp. In a week, however, the word came from Washington that the ArmyRegulations of the United States did not admit of their being received;and they came home blessing Mr. Stanton. This was the end of draftingwomen in our State. 

Nevertheless, the excitement created by the draft did not subside atonce. It was seized upon by the Democratic leaders, as part of a planalready concocted, which they then proceeded to set in operation. Itsucceeded only too well, and I don't know when we shall ever see the endof it. 

We had more friends among the Republicans at the start, because all theoriginal Abolitionists in the State came into that party in 1860. Oursuccess had been so rapid and unforeseen that the Democrats continuedtheir opposition even after female suffrage was an accomplished fact;but the leaders were shrewd enough to see that another such electionas the last would ruin their party in the State. So their trains werequietly laid, and the match was not applied until all Atlantic wasringing with the protestations of the unwilling conscripts and thelaments of their families. Then came, like three claps of thunderin one, sympathy for the women, acquiescence in their rights, andinvitations to them, everywhere, to take part in the Democratic caucusesand conventions. Most of the prominent women of the State were deludedfor a time by this manifestation, and acted with the party for the sakeof the sex. 

I had no idea, however, what the practical result of this movementwould be, until, a few weeks before election, I was calling upon Mrs. Buckwalter, and happened to express my belief that we Republicans weregoing to carry the State again, by a large majority. 

"I am very glad of it, " said she, with an expression of great relief, "because then my vote will not be needed. "

"Why!" I exclaimed; "you won't decline to vote, surely?"

"Worse than that, " she answered, "I am afraid I shall have to vote withthe other side. "

Now as I knew her to be a good Republican, I could scarcely believe myears. She blushed, I must admit, when she saw my astonished face. 

"I'm so used to Bridget, you know, " she continued, "and good girls areso very hard to find, nowadays. She has as good as said that she won'tstay a day later than election, if I don't vote for HER candidate; andwhat am I to do?"

"Do without!" I said shortly, getting up in my indignation. 

"Yes, that's very well for you, with your wonderful PHYSIQUE, " said Mrs. Buckwalter, quietly, "but think of me with my neuralgia, and the pain inmy back! It would be a dreadful blow, if I should lose Bridget. "

Well--what with torch-light processions, and meetings on both sides, Burroak was in such a state of excitement when election came, that mostof the ladies of my acquaintance were almost afraid to go to the polls. I tried to get them out during the first hours after sunrise, when Iwent myself, but in vain. Even that early, I heard things that mademe shudder. Those who came later, went home resolved to give up theirrights rather than undergo a second experience of rowdyism. But it wasa jubilee for the servant girls. Mrs. Buckwalter didn't gain much by herapostasy, for Bridget came home singing "The Wearing of the Green, " andlet fall a whole tray full of the best china before she could be got tobed. 

Burroak, which, the year before, had a Republican majority of threehundred, now went for the Democrats by more than five hundred. Thesame party carried the State, electing their Governor by near twentythousand. The Republicans would now have gladly repealed the bill givingus equal rights, but they were in a minority, and the Democrats refusedto co-operate. Mrs. Whiston, who still remained loyal to our side, collected information from all parts of the State, from which itappeared that four-fifths of all the female citizens had voted theDemocratic ticket. In New Lisbon, our great manufacturing city, withits population of nearly one hundred thousand, the party gained threethousand votes, while the accessions to the Republican ranks were onlyabout four hundred. 

Mrs. Whiston barely escaped being defeated; her majority was reducedfrom seven hundred to forty-three. Eleven Democratic Assemblywomen andfour Senatoresses were chosen, however, so that she had the consolationof knowing that her sex had gained, although her party had lost. She wasstill in good spirits: "It will all right itself in time, " she said. 

You will readily guess, after what I have related, that I was not onlynot re-elected to the Legislature, but that I was not even a candidate. I could have born the outrageous attacks of the opposite party; but thetreatment I had received from my own "constituents" (I shall always hatethe word) gave me a new revelation of the actual character of politicallife. I have not mentioned half the worries and annoyances to which Iwas subjected--the endless, endless letters and applications for office, or for my influence in some way--the abuse and threats when I couldnot possibly do what was desired--the exhibitions of selfishness anddisregard of all great and noble principles--and finally, the shamelessadvances which were made by what men call "the lobby, " to secure my votefor this, that, and the other thing. 

Why, it fairly made my hair stand on end to hear the stories which thepleasant men, whom I thought so grandly interested in schemes for"the material development of the country, " told about each other. Mrs. Filch's shawl began to burn my shoulders before I had worn it a half adozen times. (I have since given it to Melissa, as a wedding-present). 

Before the next session was half over, I was doubly glad of being safeat home. Mrs. Whiston supposed that the increased female representationwould give her more support, and indeed it seemed so, at first. Butafter her speech on the Bounty bill, only two of the fifteen Democraticwomen would even speak to her, and all hope of concord of action inthe interests of women was at an end. We read the debates, and my bloodfairly boiled when I found what taunts and sneers, and epithets she wasforced to endure. I wondered how she could sit still under them. 

To make her position worse, the adjoining seat was occupied by anIrishwoman, who had been elected by the votes of the laborers on thenew Albemarle Extension, in the neighborhood of which she kept a grocerystore. Nelly Kirkpatrick was a great, red-haired giant of a woman, veryilliterate, but with some native wit, and good-hearted enough, I amtold, when she was in her right mind. She always followed the lead ofMr. Gorham (whose name, you see, came before hers in the call), anda look from him was generally sufficient to quiet her when she wasinclined to be noisy. 

When the resolutions declaring the war a failure were introduced, theparty excitement ran higher than ever. The "lunch-room" (as they calledit--I never went there but once, the title having deceived me) in thebasement-story of the State House was crowded during the discussion, andevery time Nelly Kirkpatrick came up, her face was a shade deeper red. Mr. Gorham's nods and winks were of no avail--speak she would, and speakshe did, not so very incoherently, after all, but very abusively. Tobe sure, you would never have guessed it, if you had read the quiet anddignified report in the papers on her side, the next day. 

THEN Mrs. Whiston's patience broke down. "Mr. Speaker, " she exclaimed, starting to her feet, "I protest against this House being compelledto listen to such a tirade as has just been delivered. Are we to bedisgraced before the world--"

"Oh, hoo! Disgraced, is it?" yelled Nelly Kirkpatrick, violentlyinterrupting her, "and me as dacent a woman as ever she was, or everwill be! Disgraced, hey? Oh, I'll larn her what it is to blaggard herbetters!"

And before anybody could imagine what was coming, she pounced upon Mrs. Whiston, with one jerk ripped off her skirt (it was silk, not serge, this time), seized her by the hair, and gave her head such a twistbackwards, that the chignon not only came off in her hands, but as hervictim opened her mouth too widely in the struggle, the springs of herfalse teeth were sprung the wrong way, and the entire set flew out andrattled upon the floor. 

Of course there were cries of "Order! Order!" and the nearestmembers--Mr. Gorham among the first--rushed in; but the mischief wasdone. Mrs. Whiston had always urged upon our minds the necessity ofnot only being dressed according to the popular fashion, but also aselegantly and becomingly as possible. "If we adopt the Bloomers, " shesaid, "we shall never get our rights, while the world stands. Where itis necessary to influence men, we must be wholly and truly WOMEN, notsemi-sexed nondescripts; we must employ every charm Nature gives us andFashion adds, not hide them under a forked extinguisher!" I give hervery words to show you her way of looking at things. Well, now imaginethis elegant woman, looking not a day over forty, though she was--butno, I have no right to tell it, --imagine her, I say, with only herscanty natural hair hanging over her ears, her mouth dreadfully fallenin, her skirt torn off, all in open day, before the eyes of a hundredand fifty members (and I am told they laughed immensely, in spite of thescandal that it was), and, if you are human beings, you will feel thatshe must have been wounded to the very heart. 

There was a motion made to expel Nelly Kirkpatrick, and perhaps itmight have succeeded--but the railroad hands, all over the State, made aheroine of her, and her party was afraid of losing five or six thousandvotes; so only a mild censure was pronounced. But there was no endto the caricatures, and songs, and all sorts of ribaldry, about theoccurrence; and even our party said that, although Mrs. Whiston wasreally and truly a martyr, yet the circumstance was an immense damageto THEM. When she heard THAT, I believe it killed her. She resigned herseat, went home, never appeared again in public, and died within a year. "My dear friend, " she wrote to me, not a month before her death, "I havebeen trying all my life to get a thorough knowledge of the masculinenature, but my woman's plummet will not reach to the bottom of thatchaotic pit of selfishness and principle, expedience and firmnessfor the right, brutality and tenderness, gullibility and devilishshrewdness, which I have tried to sound. Only one thing is clear--wewomen cannot do without what we have sometimes, alas! sneered at as THECHIVELRY OF THE SEX. The question of our rights is as clear to me asever; but we must find a plan to get them without being forced to share, or even to SEE, all that men do in their political lives. We haveonly beheld some Principle riding aloft, not the mud through which herchariot wheels are dragged. The ways must be swept before we can walk inthem--but how and by whom shall this be done?"

For my part, _I_ can't say, and I wish somebody would tell me. 

Well--after seeing our State, which we used to be proud of, deliveredover for two years to the control of a party whose policy was sorepugnant to all our feelings of loyalty, we endeavored to procure, atleast a qualification of intelligence for voters. Of course, we didn'tget it: the exclusion from suffrage of all who were unable to read andwrite might have turned the scales again, and given us the State. Afterour boys came back from the war, we might have succeeded--but theirvotes were over-balanced by those of the servant-girls, every one ofwhom turned out, making a whole holiday of the election. 

I thought, last fall, that my Maria, who is German, would have votedwith us. I stayed at home and did the work myself, on purpose that shemight hear the oration of Carl Schurz; but old Hammer, who keeps thelager-beer saloon in the upper end of Burroak, gave a supper and adance to all the German girls and their beaux, after the meeting, andso managed to secure nine out of ten of their votes for Seymour. Mariaproposed going away a week before election, up into Decatur County, where, she said, some relations, just arrived from Bavaria, had settled. I was obliged to let her go, or lose her altogether, but I was comfortedby the thought that if her vote were lost for Grant, at least it couldnot be given to Seymour. After the election was over, and DecaturCounty, which we had always managed to carry hitherto, went againstus, the whole matter was explained. About five hundred girls, we wereinformed, had been COLONIZED in private families, as extra help, for afortnight, and of course Maria was one of them. (I have looked atthe addresses of her letters, ever since, and not one has she sentto Decatur). A committee has been appointed, and a report made on theelection frauds in our State, and we shall see, I suppose, whether anyhelp comes of it. 

Now, you mustn't think, from all this, that I am an apostate from theprinciple of Women's Rights. No, indeed! All the trouble we have had, as I think will be evident to the millions who read my words, comes fromTHE MEN. They have not only made politics their monopoly, but they havefashioned it into a tremendous, elaborate system, in which there isprecious little of either principle or honesty. We can and we MUST "runthe machine" (to use another of their vulgar expressions) with them, until we get a chance to knock off the useless wheels and thingumbobs, and scour the whole concern, inside and out. Perhaps the men themselveswould like to do this, if they only knew how: men have so little talentfor cleaning-up. But when it comes to making a litter, they're at home, let me tell you!

Meanwhile, in our State, things are about as bad as they can be. The women are drawn for juries, the same as ever, but (except inWhittletown, where they have a separate room, ) no respectable womangoes, and the fines come heavy on some of us. The demoralization amongour help is so bad, that we are going to try Co-operative Housekeeping. If that don't succeed, I shall get brother Samuel, who lives inCalifornia, to send me two Chinamen, one for cook and chamber-boy, andone as nurse for Melissa. I console myself with thinking that the end ofit all must be good, since the principle is right: but, dear me! I hadno idea that I should be called upon to go through such tribulation. 

Now the reason I write--and I suppose I must hurry to the end, or youwill be out of all patience--is to beg, and insist, and implore mysisters in other States to lose no more time, but at once to coax, ormelt, or threaten the men into accepting their claims. We are now soisolated in our rights that we are obliged to bear more than our propershare of the burden. When the States around us shall be so far advanced, there will be a chance for new stateswomen to spring up, and fill Mrs. Whiston's place, and we shall then, I firmly believe, devise a plan tocleanse the great Augean stable of politics by turning into it the riverof female honesty and intelligence and morality. But they must do this, somehow or other, without letting the river be tainted by the heaps ofpestilent offal it must sweep away. As Lord Bacon says (in that playfalsely attributed to Shakespeare)--"Ay, there's the rub!"

If you were to ask me, NOW, what effect the right of suffrage, office, and all the duties of men has had upon the morals of the women of ourState, I should be puzzled what to say. It is something like this--ifyou put a chemical purifying agent into a bucket of muddy water, thewater gets clearer, to be sure, but the chemical substance takes up someof the impurity. Perhaps that's rather too strong a comparison; but ifyou say that men are worse than women, as most people do, then of coursewe improve them by closer political intercourse, and lose a littleourselves in the process. I leave you to decide the relative loss andgain. To tell you the truth, this is a feature of the question whichI would rather not discuss; and I see, by the reports of the recentConventions, that all the champions of our sex feel the same way. 

Well, since I must come to an end somewhere, let it be here. To quoteLord Bacon again, take my "round, unvarnished tale, " and perhaps theworld will yet acknowledge that some good has been done by

Yours truly, JANE STRONGITHARM. 

[Footnote 1: Little Boris. ]