The lost model
page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] THE LOST MODEL. A ROMANCE. BY HENRY HOOPER, AUTHOR OF "WASH. BOLTOR, OR THE LIFE OF AN ORATOR."' '*' L ^4MS'" PHLADELPHA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 1874. page: 0[View Page 0] Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. DEDICATION. TO MY BROTHER, J. T. H., THS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. page: 0-5 (Table of Contents) [View Page 0-5 (Table of Contents) ] CONTENTS. BOOK I. CHAPTER. I. ?AGo The Waif,-Something New .. .. CHAPTER II, A Model Letter-wtitet . CHAPTER IIt. Mah has Six Senses ..... 32 CHAPTER IV. The Boshville Gasometer . ..... . 44 CHAPTER V. The Upper Teh amuse Thetselves. . . 56 CHAPTER VI, The Doctor rides his Hobby . ... 73 CHAPTER VII. Some People like Magdalens better than Madonnas , . . 85 CHAPTER VIII. Sowing the Wind ... . 94 CHAP-TER IX. Boshville can afford to keep a Sculptor . . . . Io6 CHAPTER X. A Man's Profession is sometimes a Cloak . .. . 17 CHAPTER XI. The Doctor celebrates the Day of his Birth . .. . 132 CHAPTER XII. Love is still warping the Woof of Human Events . . . 47 CHAPTER XIII. Is a Pope greater than God? . . . .. 58 CHAPTER XIV. War is not yet Dead .. z68 CHAPTER XV. "As you Sow, so shall you Reap" . .. 79 5 page: 6 (Table of Contents) -7[View Page 6 (Table of Contents) -7] p 6 CONTENTS. BOOK II. CHAPTE R, I. PAt The Doctor has the Last Word .... . 95 CHAPTER II. Order among the Dead .... . 205 CHAPTER III. A City with Artists and Two Art Critics . . . , 218 CHAPTER IV. A New Work of Art, and an Old Work of Love . . .23o CHAPTER V. Honor and Empty Pockets . ,. 244 CHAPTER VI. The Day of Equality in Boshville . . 256 CHAPTER VII. Renata pays her Tribute .2.... ,66 CHAPTER VIII. Mr. Maple is more successful in Peace than in War , . 2" CHAPTER IX. The Scales of Justice held by the Beam . . 288 CHAPTER X. The Doctor selects a Son-in-law . . . . . . 312 CHAPTER XI. A Modem Memnon ..... 321 CHAPTER XII. After Victory come the Laurels . 331 CHAPTER XIII. The Price of an Indian .... . . . . . 342 CHAPTER XIV. The Foundation for a New House and a Marriage is laid . 353 CHAPTER XV. The Promise kept and broken . .. 366 CHAPTER XVI. Five Years after . . . .. 379 l-;^ ; BOOK I. "Sehr zu beneiden ist Niemand, Sehr zu beklagen Unzaehge!" SCHOPENHAUER. , s page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] THE LOST MODEL. BOOK I. CHAPTER I. THE WAIF-SOMETHNG NEW. THE city was still slumbering in silence,-I mean Bosh- ville. The sun had just broken its first arrow upon the darkness, which hung over the reclining town, and folded it like Sancho in his cloak. A narrow lance of light shot up above the eastern hills, and gradually the shapeless mass of houses arranged themselves into streets at right angles with each other; the large court-house, town-hall, theatre, and numerous high-steepled churches came forth from chaos, and the rumbling of a milk-wagon sounded like the first yawn of morning. In answer to the light, the streets began to murmur, the steamboats upon the mighty river to throw up clouds of steam and smoke, the iron horse to snort in the depot, until this busy mart of men roared with the noise of toil and labor. Towards the western or aristocratic portion of the city, where fashion forbade early rising, and where a sense of quietness lingered long after the other portion of the city was immersed in strife, a slim and youthful figure hurried rapidly along the broad brick pavements. It was the same 2 9 page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] IO THE LOST MODEL. figure which, for the last hour, had been making its way from the broad plain which bounded the western line of the city; and the flat and grassy surface of which at this moment was dotted here and there by the black and squalid tents of a detachment of Indians on their way to visit their white father at Washington, and as a matter of course make a new treaty. With rapid, agile steps, the young man, for such the figure appeared when you ap- a proached it,-passed along the handsomest street in Bosh- ville, and, pausing at a house heavy and sombre in its stone front and high, surrounding poplars, slowly pushed open the gate, and disappeared behind the plants and rose-bushes into the house. The noise of the creaking gate aroused a large Newfoundland dog, who was sleeping upon one of the front grass-plats,-but he seemed as blind to the figure that passed him as Lady Macheth to the ghost of Banquo. There was one pair of eyes, how- ever, which saw the figure, and they belonged to Robert Dangle, chief of the Boshville police force; The worthy chief was just making an early round of the different beats, to ascertain if his subordinates were attend- ing to their duties. For a better view of the field he had stepped into a doorway, when his attention was entirely absorbed by the figure which entered and disappeared in the house opposite. He crossed the street to reconnoitre, muttering, "So there's that fellow again;"As he pushed open the gate to enter, the dog, who saw him plainly enough, interposed with a low, angry growl, which made the man step back and slowly move away. At the corner of the street he met a couple of policemen, who greeted him with, "How are you, chief? what brings you out?" "I just passed George Leslie's house, and saw that slim fellow go stealthily in; where has he been at this time in the morning?" THE WAIF-SOIMETHNG NEW. "Who, he? I seen him the other night out at the camp on the creek, with the Injuns. I guess he sleeps out on the prairie at nights, as we allus see him come home in the morning." "Leastwise, when it is fine," added the other. "What time is it?" The cathedral clock, as if in answer, struck five times. "Five o'clock," said the chief. "Well, go on your rounds; this mornipg I calls upon George Leslie, and finds out who this fellow is, and what he is after." Mr. Dangle kept his word, for three hours later he presented himself at the door of Mr. Leslie's residence, and as the dog was eating his breakfast in the kitchen, and the girl was cleaning the front door step, he met with a better reception. He was invited into the parlor until the proprietor had finished dressing; he walked in and threw himself upon the green silk sofa, as though elegance was no rarity to him. He paid little, attention to the costly furniture which surrounded him, nor would the rosewood etagere have attracted his attention, but among the many curiosities covering its shelves he espied a heavy, stone tobacco-pipe, which was evidently of Indian manufacture; and he was still busy examining it, when the door opened and Mr. Leslie appeared. Mr. Leshe was tall, thin, but well built; his hair was quite gray, his face wrinkled, and the lips thin and com- pressed. There was intelligence in the high forehead, but the square jaws and insolent gleam in the eyes made you mistrust it. Mr. Leshe was a Southerner, and for nearly twenty years a government agent among the Western tribes of Indians. He gave one finger to the outstretched hand of Mr. Dangle, and .said, familiarly, -"How do you do, Bob? Anybody broke out of jail?" page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] J .... iU ,' IVlUVlJ^iL. "Not as I knows of,-it wouldn't, however, be a difficult job." "Well, what's the matter? Sit down and let us have it." "Why," sitd the chief, " as you and I are pretty old cronies, George, I thought I'd come and ask you who this fellow is you have in your house. I seed him come in this morning at about five o'clock, and I could not make out, as he isn't a fireman or a policeman, or a doctor, for that matter, what takes him out them hours." "Oh, you are speaking of Parthee, as Bear-cloud calls him. Well, Bob, he is all right. He hasn't carried off any- body's daughter, I hope, has he?" "No," said the other, somewhat surlily; " but he don't act right. What does he want every night with those nigger Injuns camped out on the other side of the creek? Now, George, I warn you to look out; there is something wrong about that fellow. I jest warn you,-of course you can do as you please; but I wouldn't have a fellow like that about mny house, you bet." As he finished, the door opened and the subject of his remarks entered. He held in one hand a newspaper, and in the other a bouquet of flowers; he gave the paper to Mr. Leslie, and the flowers he placed in a glass vase upon the piano. As he passed, Mr. Dangle got up, and, stand- ing with his back to the light, scrutinized the young man with great earnestness. Parthee, as Mr. Leslie called him, was of medium height, slml, but very gracefully proportioned'; the head small, the nose high and slightly curved, his hair, eyebrows, and eyes of the deepest black, while the characteristic expression of his face was one of thoughtfifl repose. There were many handsomer faces than his, eyes with more fire and smiles with more warmth, but few which would so suddenly and continuously interest you. THE WAIF-SOIMETHNG NEW. 13 "I wish you would take one of those tea-roses, some time this morning, around to Dr. Knappe, will you?" said-Mr. Leslie, " and tell the doctor that I picked it out for him." The figure nodded and withdrew. "I guess there ain't much harm in that fellow, Bob," said Mr. Leslie, when the door closed again. "Perhaps there ain't; but where did you pick him up, and what is he doing here?" "Where I picked him up? That, Bob, is a very pretty- story. Did you never hear it? Well, I'll tell it you." At this juncture the door again opened, and in bounced ) a young lady in a silk gown with a great many pink rib- bons about it, and her iirs glittering with rings; she bore a striking resemblance t -Mr. Leslie, except that her nose had a very impertinent bend at the bottom. With a passing nod at the tjef-6f police, she turned to her father, and in one breat said, "Pa, good-morning, your breakfast is ready and you must come in right away,-and I wish you woud tell Pralee to go for my bonnet; he never minds me. Oh, excuse me, Mr. Dangle (with a simper), I did not see you;."/ "Your bonnet? Hang your bonnet! Fetch it yourself if you want it; and if yo. don't want it, let it alone. Now go away. None of four airs; don't make me mad before breakfast." The girl tossed back herihead, bounced out of the room, and closed the door with a;bang which made the windows rattle. ,- "Confound them! they have not got a bit of sense, and I have wasted more money on their education than would build a hospital for the sick. Did ypu ever see anything like it, Bob?" asked Leslie, with a glance of wrath at the door. "Oh, they are all alike," replied the chief, with a sigh. 2* page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " TIE LOS7' MODEL. "I've got 'em at home, too. Never mind that girl; go on with your story. I've got some of that kind at home: three of 'em,-high strung and saucy as the deuce." "Well, come in the dining-room, and while I eat my breakfast I will tell it you. Come along, Bob." The pair rose and passed into an adjoining room, where breakfast was laid for one, at the end of a very large dining- table; and at the side sat the young lady whose exit and entrance had been so sudden in the parlor. She was pouring out a cup of coffee, and arranging the plates for her father. "What have you got, Sallie?" "Why, there are eggs, corn-bread, and coffee; what you always have," answered the girl, without looking up at him. "Will Mr. Dangle have any, pa?" "Suppose you ask him," said Mr. Leslie, smoothing and spreading the napkin over his lap. "No, thankee, Miss Sallie. I've eaten onst this morning. I guess I can'get along till dinner-time." "There, give me the pepper. Tell the girl I'll want another piece of corn-bread presently, and then we won't need you here. You can go and fetch that bonnet of yours," said Mr. Leslie. The girl rose, and swept majestically out of the room. "So, Bob, did you never hear of my last visit to the Camanches with Colonel Douglas, the Texas ranger, and the escape we had from a party of Kansas Indians in our return?" "I? No. Never heard of the Indians dropping on you,-heard of your duel with Mullet,-thought you knew every Injun from Sacramento to Saint Louis. But what has this to do with that fellow Parthee, as you call him?" "A good deal; it is the nub of the story. Now 7TE WAIISF-SO METHRIG NE W. 5 listen. You know I was for years the Indian agent stationed at Fort Blair. Well, some time before the L commencement of my story I had purchased an interest in a silver mine a few miles from Sonora. Colonel Doug- las also had some shares. We-Douglas, a Mexican mule- driver, I, a team of mules and a wagon-were returning from a visit to the mine; and were about two days' travel from the fort. The weather was intensely hot, but we had got upon a little range of hills that day, and were just taking an after-dinner smoke under as pretty a clump of trees as you could find anywhere in that country. The mules were browsing off a little dry brush-wood,-for grass there was none,-the driver was lying under the wagon asleep, and Douglas and I had just commenced a game of euchre. When suddenly a shadow fell over my cards. Douglas leapt to his feet, ran to the wagon. I looked up, and a big Injun in war-paint and buckskin looked down upon me. When I scrambled to my feet, Douglas had his rifle and was cocking it. I told him not to shoot, but to let me talk a little, and I turned and faced the fellow. I then saw that about ten feet behind him stood another Injun, and behind him another; in fact, there were at least twenty of 'em. I tell you, Bob, I was pretty badly scared; but I put on a stiff upper lip, and was as cool as a cucumber. "He was a big-limbed fellow, of a tribe I did not recog- nize, long as I had been agent among them; he wore a string of bear's teeth around his neck, and with his red paint, feathers, and Injun fixings, he was about as pretty a looking cut-throat as a fellow could meet anywhere. Suddenly and without a word being spoken they formed a complete circle about us, and then stood still like a circle of stone pillars, "I offered the chief my hand, which he refused to take. -" page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] i6 , THE LOST MODEL. I then commenced the palaver in Spanish; told him who we were, and that his party must not molest us. "He asked if we had been hunting. "I told him no; and told him further, that he need not commence a quarrel with us, for if we were robbed or murdered the United States troops would exterminate the whole tribe. "In reply to this, he leaned forward, took hold of the end of my cravat, jerked it off, and wrapped it around his own neck. My right hand was on my knife in my belt, and where I stood I could have cut him in two; but I kept still. "I told Douglas we would let them take everything but our weapons, and rather than give them up we would fight the whole troop. I noticed there was not a fire-arm among the whole party, and in close quarters our re- volvers were more than a match for anything they carried. I had scarcely said so when one fellow seized Doug's rifle and tried to pull it out of his hands. I told the chief we would fight rather than give up our fire-arms; he saw that he would lose four or five of his men, and he made the fellow desist. Then they commenced plundering. They stripped the mule-driver as naked as he was born. They carried off the mules, the best part of our provisions, and then they closed around Douglas and me. One fellow took Douglas's breeches, and tried to put them on himself; he put his leg through one, and the other one he tied around his waist. They finally left Douglas almost as bare as a Mexican dog. "My turn came next, and the chief did the principal honors of taking off my clothes. My red shirt had taken his fancy, and in his impatience to get it he had pulled me several times around the ring. The sun was very hot; my patience was gone. Without a word I gripped my THE WAIF-SOME 7TIING NE W. 17 bowie-knife with the intent to give it him full in the' breast; when he' suddenly paused, pointed his finger in the distance, and made the usual exclamation of astonish- ment. "I looked ground; the red devils were hiding behind my wagon, and sending their arrows at the figure of a white man, dressed like an Indian, who came rapidly towards us. As he passed the tail of the wagon, one of the red men sprang out, armed with a hatchet, and aimed a deadly blow at the intruder. I shut my eyes at the coming murder; but when I looked again, hatchet and Indian were on the ground, and the white fellow stood at my side. "Now, Bob, remember I am not drawing bills upon my imagination, but upon my memory. I saw these things with my own eyes, consequently I know whereof I speak." "Where did the fellow come from?" asked Dangle, "and what language did he speak?" "Hold your horses now, Bob, and let me tell the story my way. Here, What-d'ye-call-em, give me a light for my cigar, and fetch my boots down for me." This was addressed to the servant. "Well, where was I? Oh, now listen. The young man-I called him Bearskin, for I noticed he had one slung around his loins-spoke a few words to the chief; amicably, I judge, from the tone of his voice, but as it was in Choctaw or some other Indian tongue, it was Greek to me. The chief eyes him with a good deal of mistrust, but at that instant a big brave came up behind him, and, shortening his arm, aimed a blow at Bearskin with some kind of a knife. Well, I declare to God I don't know how it was done, but in an instant knife and. Injun was thrown to the ground like you would knock a nigger off j a fence." And the excited narrator struck the table with ; page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] - J g*L o X ,' lU L. 'his fist so that the cups and saucers fairly danced upon the teaboard. "He suddenly tripped him," said the chief of police; "it is easily done. I once threw a fellow, Mellon, the counterfeiter, that I came near breaking his neck before he knew it. He tried to get out of the cars and escape, and I suddenly brought him on his back in the neatest style you ever saw." "Oh, I understand all that, Bob; I am not slow my- self in a thing of that kind. But this was done-well, if I knew how, it would be no mystery; but precisely be- cause I didn't, why, it scared us all, white man as well as Injun. I don't believe in ghosts nor magic, nor anything of that kind, but if there was not something above what human nature could do in it, then my name is not Leslie, that is all about that. Well, to cut a lohg story short, there was a palaver between our young Bearskin and the chief, which ended finally in their leaving us. I got most of my clothes back, and so did Douglas; but there were too many buttons on the mule-driver's clothes,-the In- dians would not give them up; and he came back to the fort with us with only a pair of drawers on. I tell you, that in two minutes from the time young Bearskin made his appearance there was not a cussed Injun in sight. Our surprise at the event, and at the queer turn things had taken, had so completely unnerved me, that I sat down and glared like an idiot at our deliverer. Douglas recovered first, and asked young Bearskin who he was, where he came from, and what his name was. All we could get out of him was, 'Me Injun, too; big Injun,- chief, big chief!' "I remember as though it was yesterday, we turned back to Fort Blair, as we had lost our mules; and young Bearskin went along. We camped that night THE WAIF-SOlMETH ZING NE I I9 about five miles from the fort, as we were too tired to go the whole distance. He took supper with us,-that is, he ate some deer meat that Douglas had killed, and at night he laid down with me inside the wagon, whiHe Douglas slept underneath. At daylight, the colonel woke me up, but Bearskin was gone. Douglas insisted we should wait for him, and he and the mule-driver pros- pected for him; but they came back at noon, and said they could find no trace of him. Of course at the fort, when we told the story, we only got laughed at for our pains. They thought it was simply a yarn to cover the loss of our mules,-which so interested Douglas, that he started out with a dozen troopers, and in a few days over- took a body of -Apaches, who had been robbing the overland travelers. A fight ensued, and poor Douglas was killed, so that H never found out if our deliverer was among them. Well, sir, you know that when my wife died I gave up my commission and came back to Bosh- ville, having had my share of the Indian troubles. You remember George,-my oldest son, George?" The speaker's face flushed as he asked this question, and the veins of his forehead swelled with the sudden passion. "God, how that boy has tortured me! I gave him everything. When I found he was too wild for school, I took him along with me out West,-taught him to shoot, ride, and hunt like an Indian. But he left me when he was nineteen, and joined a roving band of vagabonds, who went plundering through Mexico and California. There was no mad, crazy, desperate expedition but he made one of the party. I declare to God I lived in daily expectation of hearing he had been hung as a pirate or shot in some brothel. Oh, it was too bad! Finally, here in Boshville, two years after my return, one morning he-walked in, placed his rifle behind the door, held out page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] his hand to me as though nothing had happened, and asked where his mother was. I was too glad to scold or quarrel, for though he was as brown as a nigger, and had the same dark impudent look on his face he used to have when we would have a row together, still, Bob, he was as handsome as a picture, brave as a lion, cool as an Indian, and as generous as though he carried a mine of gold in his pocket. He nettled me, though, constantly asking for his mother, and not seeming to care for anybody else; but I swallowed all that in my delight at his return, and for a week, Bob, we were as happy as the days were long. Well, to come to the part which you want to hear, whom does he bring with him but our former friend Bearskin, dressed in buckskin, like a regular'ranger. "'Where did you find this boy, George?' said I to him; 'and what is his name? for he and I are old chums.' "George laughed in his quiet way, and replied, ' You have asked a very difficult question. We call him Parthee, and we found him not long ago in Mexico. We took a great fancy to each other, and I thought I would bring him along, as it is a pity he should waste his life in the backwoods. He can do a heap of things. If mother was alive, I know she would like him. Keep him here, and see if you can make anything out of him. What do you say, Parthee, will you stay?' "The boy said he would, and here he has remained. George, as you know, went as a filibuster to Cuba, and when he will return the Lord only knows. I keep Parthee, lowever, in the hope that, if not for me, he will some lay come back and see his old friend." The speaker )aused as he said this, and shook his head in a menacing nanner. "But what can the fellow do? You don't intend to give tim one of your daughters?" THE IVAIF-SOME THNG NEW. 21 "Do? He can do what he pleases. Since he has been here he has given the Boshvillians something to talk about. He goes every day to old Ferri, the sculptor, and helps cu4 his grave-stones. The old archbishop has been trying very hard to convert him. My neighbor's-wife does her best every day to flirt with him, and old Dr. Knappe carries him around with him as an inarticulate genius some way or another related to a Greek statue. In the mean time, he fools among my plants, makes me a bouquet, and eats as little as possible. He is harmless, and, as far as I can tell,-and you know I am pretty sharp, Bob,-more innocent than a school-girl. It is true he is always hankering after the Indians, and loves to sleep out on the prairie; but so do I, for the matter of that. And now you know all about him; don't interfere with his rambles. Now, if you will wait until I light my cigar, I will go down-town with you." As the two men sauntered to the gate and passed out into the street, close behind them came a very showily- dressed girl, with a red shawl and a white feather in her bonnet. As she passed the pair, carrying Very delicately in her hand a paper parcel, the chief of police eyed her very critically. "That ain't one of your daughters, is it,- Leslie? I never saw that one." Leslie, between the puffs of his cigar: "No! that is the help,-new girl,-cook or sewing-woman,-some- thing of that sort." "Help! I guess she does not help much. She is pretty tall in the way of dressing." "Dress! Oh, that ain't anything. I have got a coach- man wears two hats to my one. If you was to meet him on the street in his Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes you would take him for a German banker." 3 page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 THE LOST MODEL. They had by this time reached the corner of the street, and, with a parting salutation, the two men separated,- one to the police court and the other to the Boshville 'change. CHAPTER II. A MODEL LETTER-WRITER. "Now, Renata, leave your pottering, and come and So what I want you. All this blessed day you have had :o arrange and fuss with the furniture, and it is time you muit it. You must come and help me with that letter to 3urgmiller, or I shall never get it off." "Ach, papa, what for? So much letter-writing i You urely do not want to buy any more pictures. The house s full with the trash." "Now commence a row, will you? Am I to have no 'eace in this house? Must I work like a slave or a dog "day, and at night be badgered until I am crazy? I ever saw such a thing. I am no sooner out of one rouble than I am beset with another. All day my atients, and at night, a fool of a daughter!" "Now, papa, be just! what trouble have you had this ay? All the morning you ride around in your buggy ad visit your patients. Then you come home and take our dinner. And this afternoon, when you ought to be 3me writing the letter, you fool away your time at the cture-gallery; and now, when you ought to be thinking )out bed, you must write to Burgmiller." "My God, hear that! Here I am slaving all day, and night the devil is loose in the house." -A MODEL LETTER-WRITER. 23 Here the door-bell rang, and the last speaker hurried out to answer it; and while he is gone we will introduce the reader to the disputants. The male personage was Conrad Knappe, M D., and the other speaker his daughter Renata, or, more familiarly termed, Renchen. The doctor was a Prussian by birth, but American by adoption. He had lived in Boshville almost continuously for the last thirty years, and was consequently ranked among the oldest inhab- itants,-Boshville being not over fifty or sixty years old. He was a little above the medium height, with blue eyes, a receding, broad forehead, and a mouth more indicative of firmness than refinement. The upper part of the face was noble, the lower part coarse, bordering upon the vulgar. The same anomaly occurred in his figure: the head was fine, and the chest broad; but the arms and lower limbs were disproportioned. His most intimate friend compared him to the statue spoken of in the Bible,-the upper part of gold and the lower formed of clay. The daughter, Renchen, was small of stature, with blue eyes, light hair, features of exquisite regularity, and a complexion of such dazzling pink and white as is to be found only in Northern Germany. Her long, luxuriant hair was bound in plaits around her head, like a wreath; and the full, pouting lips and rounded cheeks spoke of health as well as beauty. When she spoke about some- thing which pleased her, there was a peculiar radiance in her face, a mixture of simplicity, good nature, and rever- ence, that was quite fascinating to the beholder. Like her father, Renchen had rather an awkward movement when she walked, or, as her father bluntly expressed it, she waddled like a duck. The doctor's household at this time consisted of Renchen, her brother Caspar, the doctor, and an old servant, who had been in his house ever since he married. The doctor had lost his wife some six years page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 THE LOST MODEL. ago, the last time the cholera visited Boshville, which it was in the habit of doing every eight or ten years. "She died," the doctor used to say, " because she had no sense; she yould not take the only remedy in such a case, viz., calomel and ice." The doctor, when he returned into the room, brought with him Parthee, the subject of the preceding chapter, holding in his hand a little cluster of roses. "You see, doctor," said his visitor, with a strong for- eign accent upon every word, "Mr. Leslie sent them to you this morning; but when I came to the door I saw you ride away in your carriage, and so I bring them this evening.' "Well, they are very beautiful, and when you go back thank Mr. Leslie for his kindness in sending them." "Yes," said Parthee, "the bush makes them; I will bring you a bush." "Here, Renchen, take the roses and give the young gentleman a chair, and don't stand gaping at him." The young lady blushed, but never moved; and the doctor took the flowers and placed them in a tumbler of water near his inkstand. "So you are the young man that Mr. Leslie met on the plains. Do you remember that a year ago I took you round, introduced you to the bishop, and to Ferri, where rou now go so often? You promised me that you would :ome and see my pictures, but you have not kept your vord." "I would not scold him for not coming, papa; if he loes not like us, why should he come to see us?" said enchen. And the blue eyes looked very firmly at Jarthee. "I have been here a good many times; but in the lornings you visit the people who lie at home in bed, in A AMODEL LETTER-WRITER. 25 the afternoon the people with sore bodies visit you, and at night-you talk with painters and fiddlers. When shall I come? You are always so busy." "Busy! You are right, after all. I am busy,-I have not a moment to myself." "Everybody here is busy. No one has time. Where does the time go to? for I never meet' anybody that has any time." The doctor placed his head on one side, like a bird about -tosing, and contemplated the young man for a moment in silent admiration. "Do you know, Parthee, that you are speaking the gospel truth? There never was such an infernal world for drive, hurry, and mad confusion.- Now, when I look at your thoughtful, earnest face, and compare it with the eager, hatchet faces that one is surrounded with, I am astonished at the comparison. Everything and everybody is diseased with excitement. When I pass down the street and meet the stream of people rushing past me, it seems as though at each end of the street there was a huge cleaver or axe, which chopped and chopped at the poor devils, and they got that eager look by trying to dodge the infernal blade." "Oh, papa, you exaggerate!, Surely it is much better to walk and work with energy than to dawdle one's life away. In Germany everybody wants ru/he, ru/le (rest), and the only place they seem to find it is in the church- yard, for there every grave-stone says, ' Hier ruhet-' (Here rests-- )" This unexpected attack cut the thread-of the doctor's grumbling, and he looked as though he was puzzled how to commence. "So you came this morning just as I had gone. Well, now, let me see: it is almost too late to show you my col- 3* page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] - "w- L f IU Z lUJLJL., lection, as it is very numerous; but if you will fix any evening this week, I will go over it with pleasure;-with great pleasure. It will interest you very much, because Ferri, the sculptor, tells me that you have a great deal of genius for modeling figures. My collection of prints, etchings, aquarelles, and engravings," added the doctor, throwing his head back and looking over his guest's head, "is, though I say it myself, very complete; it commences with-well, with Waterloo, Beham, and so forth, and comes right down to-to--" "Burgmiller's," said Renchen, with a little impatience. "Where is it? Where do you keep it?" said his guest, turning his eyes slowly around the room. "Here," said the doctor, pointing to a huge, square- looking box, with folding doors, where, upon shelves, were lying about twenty large leather portfolios. "Good, I will come! Come whenever you want me. I have plenty of time." And he held out his hand, first to the doctor and afterwards to Miss Renata, who took it as though she was afraid of him. The doctor went with him to the door, and watched his slim figure as it disap- peared in the darkness. "He is a nice, modest, intelligent fellow," said the doctor, when he came back; "he has a face I like to look at." "Er thut mir weh," said Renata. "I am really afraid of him." "Nonsense, my child! don't talk like a sheeps-head; you don't know what you like. Come, bring up your chair, and let us commence Burgmiller's letter, or it will be midnight before we get at it. Now, where are my notes? Get your paper ready, while I run over them for a minute." The girl sat down at the table, opened the letter-paper A AMODEL LETTER-WRITER. 27 in front of her, and, while waiting for the doctor to com- mence, played with the roses which Parthee had brought. The doctor had opened his mouth to dictate the first sentence, Wvhen in came a bright-looking boy of about sixteen, bearing a strong resemblance to Renata, except that the face wanted the good-natured, child-like smile which hers usually bore. "Good-evening, father and schwesterchen." And he threw his cap unceremoniously into the corner of the room. "Sit down, Caspar, and don't make a noise; I am writing a very important letter." The boy, Exchanged a significant glance with his sister, and, stooping down beside her, whispered, "Are we writ- ing fiddle-faddle for the mighty Burgmiller?" "Yes; and if you were generous you would write it, and let me'g0, to bed." "Could n5ot do it for money. The last time I wrote he said I greased the paper with my hand, and he got so angry he threw a volume of Nagler-think of it! Nagler -at my head. He swore I should never write another letter for him." And both laughed heartily at the severity of the punishment. "But, Renata, take a man's advice: write everything he says, word for word. The more non- sense, the longer the letter; and the longer the letter, of course the better it is.'2 "Ain't you ashamed, Caspar, to talk that way of your papa?" "Not a bit. But say! I was out this evening with somebody you like. Guess." "How can I tell? Miss Leslie?" "Oh, you are a long way off1 It was a gentleman,- a real, spanking, thorough-bred gentleman,-fresh from Heidelberg." page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 THE LOST MODEL. The girl's face was suffused with a blush, which she struggled to conceal, and cried, pettishly, "Go away, Caspar, and don't tease me; I don't know anybody from Heidelberg." "What! you don't know anybody from Heidelberg? You haven't been translating the German phrases in his letters to his mother for the past two years? Oh, no! You don't go and see his mother every day? Not you! You didn't work a pair of slippers for him? and that ring on your finger is not from him? Of course not!" cried the boy, elevating his voice at every sentence. The doctor jumped up. "My God! another fight! What is the matter now? Must the devil be loose in this house all the time? You children will send me crazy. My head is hot enough with trouble, without you adding to it with your ceaseless gabble.', "Father," said the boy, "Harry Denham is back from Europe, and he has got a portfolio for you." "Has he, my son? I am glad to hear it.. I should not be surprised if Burgmiller had sent me some more etch- ings and drawings. When did he say he would come?" s' To-morrow," with a nod at the girl. ' He is a noble fellow, modest, learned, and obeys his parents," added the doctor, significantly. "And handsome, too; ain't he, sister? Well, I am going to bed. Good-night." And as he went out he waved a kiss at his sister. The doctor waited until the sound of the boy's steps had died along the hall. "Now, daughter, commence." (Dictates in German.) "' My very highly respected and greatly esteemed friend,' -have you got that? So!-' your last poetically con- ceived and beautifully described letter charmed and de- lighted me. What a pleasure to be daily among, and to A MODEL LETTER-WRITER. 29 be in familiar communion with, the great and wealthy nobles of your court! Here, in this democratic land, where one man is as good as another, where the sole aim of life is in the arduous and never-tiring pursuit and chase of money, where the great and small spend their lives in a struggle for the material wants of their existence,-wants which arise from ignoble desires, and when satisfied add nothing to the real treasures of either the intellect or the heart; for what is---'" "Lieber Gott! Papa," broke in the girl, "don't make the sentence so long; no mortal can understand such long rigmarole sentences.." The doctor opened his eyes with an air of painful sur-, prise; but with a calm voice he inquired,- "Renata, tell me, is this your letter or mine? Are you writing to Professor Burgmiller, or am I?" "Of course you are, papa; but when you shut your eyes and talk while I write it, you don't know, you can't see, what dreadfully long things you are saying." "All right, then, we will make it shorter to suit you. Now go on and let us see if we can get through the letter without a fight over every line. A new sentence. " (Dic- tates.) "You aie surrounded with the great men of the age, men of letters, poets and painters whose fame is world- wide, and whose creations will live forever. See the difference in your position and mine. Take this very day, for instance. No sooner had I swallowed down my breakfast and got ready to make my daily visit to my humble lot of patients, living, as they do, in various wards of the city, when the door-bell rang, and in as brought----'" "Papa! papa! you are not going to tell that dreary story about the man falling off the steeple of the church, are you?" asked the astonished scribe. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] Jv' -' X1 . I -Vl iVUJL'. "Why not? why not? Burgmiller is a poet, he is a man of taste, of sentiment, of feeling; such a spectacle told in my plain, unpretending way would interest him. Now, tell me what is there wrong in it?" "Nothing wrong in it; but why trouble yourself to write it? Send him the Boshville 'Truthteller,' and he can read it in print." The doctor thought the matter over a moment, then, apparently convinced, said,- "Well, then, close the sentence by telling him that the inclosed newspaper contains the event which I was about to relate. And while you are doing that I will get out his letter, and proceed to answer it categorically." The doctor opened a large square bundle which was placed upon an adjoining chair, and upon the pasteboard cover of which was written in large letters, "FROM PROF. OSCAR NEOPTOLEMUS BURGMLLER." The bundle consisted of letters, carefully folded out and numbered, and so voluminous that the letter he was about to answer, and which the doctor considered a short one, contained over sixty pages. This precious bundle was known to all his neighbors, for it was the doctor's Constant theme. And as he seldom closed the outside shutters of this room, anybody passing at midnight might have seen the doctor bent over the precious manuscript, reading it aloud to himself for the hundredth time. As the doctor turned over and scrutinized. each leaf, the girl commenced singing: "Wer nie sein Brod mit thranen asz, Wer nie die kummervollen Naechte," etc. "Ah, what beautiful words!" said the doctor, pausing A MODEL LETTER-WRITER. 31 in his task,-' Who never ate his bread with tears.' Tell me, Renata, does any one in this God-forsaken place trouble himself because he never ate his bread with tears? No,-money is the only thing we weep over. Ah, here is the place where he asks me for my opinion about the 'Four Seasons' which he did for me in water-colors. Now, then, are you ready?" (Dictates.) "The Four Seasons pleased me very much, in accuracy of drawing, in fullness of color, and in purity of style; they are to modern French theatrically-posed and des- titute-of-ideas productions, what a Ruysdael is to a-- What is the name of that English dauber? Bless me, I know it as well as I know my own name." "Frith?" "No, not so bad as Frith; besides, Frith is a portrait painter, and the one I am thinking about is a landscape painter. Don't, for God's sake, Renata, make that noise with your pen; it puts me out. By the by, there is a pas- sage in one of Burgmiller's letters,where he speaks of him. Now hold on one moment, until I find it." He turned the package carefully over, and, taking the first letter, commenced reading it out aloud. He passed from page to page, calling the girl's attention here and there to a beautiful passage, until finally, not hearing any response to his remarks, he looked round, and found her sound asleep with her head and arm upon the unfinished letter. "I declare to Heaven, she is asleep! I'll never get this letter done. Here I have had the letter six months, and although I struggle and strive, I can't, somehow or another, manage to answer it. Renata! Renchen, my child, go to bed." The girl lifted up her head, and, catching hold of the pen, asked, "Well, papa, have you found it?" page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 THE LOST MODEL. "Found it! Yes, and much good it will do me now. Go to bed, and remember to-morrow afternoon we must, we must finish this letter." The girl rose, kissed him, and as her steps echoed along the passage and stairs, the clock struck twelve; and the doctor sat down to an uninterrupted read of his friend Burgmiller. The policemen who passed the window an hour later, finding the window shutters open, looked through and saw the doctor, his head sunk towards his chest, in a deep sleep, with the letters of Burgmiller still in his lap. They closed his shutters with a loud bang, which woke him up, and after looking a moment at the window in wonder, he took up'the letters and went on reading them. CHAPTER III. MAN HAS SIX SENSES. THE next afternoon when the doctor returned to his house, about five o'clock,-his usual hour for tea,-he was accompanied by a tall, slim young man carrying a port- folio under his arm. "Come in, come in, Mr. Denham," said the doctor; and then turning to the girl who opened the door, "Here, daughter, is Mr. Denham." That young lady's bright face gained additional color as she looked at the young man and said, timidly, "I was just thinking, Mr. Denham, of you, and wondering if you would come to see your old friends, since you have become such a learned man." MAN HAS SIX SENSES. 33 "A learned man?" said Denham, taking off his hat, and, after placing the portfolio carefully on a chair, shaking the girl's hand. "If I did not know that you do not make jokes, or, as you used to say, that you never make 'fun in this house,' I should think you were making fun of me. '" "Ol, we know all about you," said Renata; "your mother told us how many diplomas you have got,-and how you studied the civil law, and took so many degrees, and all that. Don't we know all about it, papa?" The doctor was too busy untying the strings of the portfolio and clearing a place on the table to open it upon, to heed anything else. "Oh, my mother is like the rest, all her geese are swans. Did you get my letter from New York, Renata?" "Did you really write me a letter from New York? Well, I did not get it, did I, papa? The last one I got from you was dated at London. Caspar! (raising her voice) did you get a letter for me?" "A letter?" said the doctor, pausing in his work with a perplexed look,-" yes, there's a letter. Didn't I give it you a week ago, Renata? No. Then it is in my overcoat pocket. You see, I am so troubled with one thing and another, I have not the slightest bit of memory." Harry Denham was a young man above the medium height, with regular features, bright, intelligent eyes, and an easy, confident manner. He had just returned from Germany, where he had spent two years in studying the civil law and modern languages. Unlike the average young and wealthy Americans who go to Europe to study, he had not allowed the usual se- ductions and alluring pleasures of the great capitals of Germany and France to turn him aside from his pursuit of knowledge. The squareness of his lower jaw indicated 4 page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] o* t c1fL"LUSy' MODEL. great firmness of character, and a slight bend in his nose was also-said by the Boshville Lavaters to proclaim an untiring ambition, which was one of the characteristics of the Denhams. According to his mother's account, both sides of the family ancestors had distinguished themselves for oratory and war, and you stumbled across the Den- hams in every page of American history. "There is the bell for tea," said- the doctor, "and I think we had better go in and have that first, and then we can look at these beautiful things afterwards. So you saw Burgmiller? Now tell me what you thought of him. Didn't he strike you as a man who did not live on this sordid earth hunting the contemptible dollar? Be frank now: you found a man who was an artist by the grace of God; who was the associate of kings and queens; who, when he walked the streets, people took off their hats in reverence to him, eh?" Denham smiled. "Not exactly that, doctor. He struck me as rather a fine old man, not prepossessing at all in his personal appearance, but so honest, earnest, and simple-minded, that he won your admiration as a man, even if you did not admire him as an artist." "Not admire him as an artist!" echoed the doctor. "Why, Denham, he is the greatest artist on the earth. In color he is a Titian, in drawing a Ruysdael, and in soul a Raphael." "Supper is ready, gentlemen; the bell is tired of ring- ing for you, you must come in immediately," said Caspar,. entering and interrupting the doctor. "Well, go in, Denham, go in, and I will be with you in one moment, when I have washed my hands." As they entered the dining-room, Miss Renata hastily folded up a letter, put it in her pocket, and seated herself at the head of the table. MAN HAS SIX SENSES. 35 "Mr. Denham, you may sit by me, and, Caspar, you sit on the other side, so that you can help-the things. I think you write such beautiful English, and after tea you must read to me this letter." Caspar burst out laughing. "There is a compliment for you, Mr. Denham; ,you write such beautiful English that Renchen cannot read it." "You know what I mean, Mr. Denham; you read so much better than I, it will be better still when you read it." "You are right, Miss Renata; I shall take great pleasure in reading it." '"What did you say to papa, that he looked so ex- cited?" asked Caspar. Mr. Denham narrated the doctor's inquiry about Burg- miller, and what he had said in reply. There was a loud burst of laughter when they both heard the cool, depre- ciating manner in which Mr. Denham had spoken of the god Burgmiller. The doctor came in, and the four seated themselves at the table, and presented rather a remarkable contrast with each other. Renata simply clad, with her brown, luxuriant hair in braids, and bound around the head like a wreath, with a complexion dazzling in its red and white, and a smile of irresistible good nature in her face. The doctor, with his spectacles on top of his head, his hair in artistic negli- gence, his necktie just under his left ear, and his large blue eyes rolling over the emotions he tried in vain to express. Caspar bore some resemblance to his father in the upper part of his face, but there the likeness ended. He had the usual careworn look of Young America, when not engaged in cultivating its private vices. "Now, Mr. Denham, help yourself," said the doctor; page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 THE LOST MODEL. "you need not stand, on any ceremony with us, we are plain people, who eat only to satisfy their hunger." "How did you like New York?" asked Renata. "When I was there it was a large, beautiful city." "Large enough, but for beauty not equal to Paris or Berlin. The truth is, I am not an admirer of New York. There is too much glitter and sham. You are nobody unless you have money. The great man is he who is worth a million, although he stole it or swindled it out of other men's pockets. They are nearly all Jews.. I don't mean what Falstaff calls a 'Hebrew Jew,' but Christian Jews, which, to my opinion, is the worst kind of Jews." "Do you know the reason of that?" asked the doctor. "It is want of reverence and the unnatural system of edu- cation. Why, we make fun of certain Indians who flatten their children's heads between boards, and we, who boast of being the most enlightened and freest nation on earth, have but one aim in educating our children,--that of blow- ing out their heads as big as possible. Big heads, big heads, is the constant cry, and as for the hearts, why, any leathern ventricle which can propel the blood will do. There is my neighbor and brother physician, Dr. Knox, who has got a boy which God made handsome, but the doctor, his wife, and the schoolmaster have made so ugly that to me he is worse than the itch. Why, sir, he is not twelve years old yet, and he can tell you the price of every piece of furniture in my house; he is so sharp, so know- ing, that he never saw anything in his life, be it human or inanimate, but that he made fun of it." "Yes, and he tells lies, and is an awful coward," said Caspar. "And what are, you doing nowadays, Caspar?' asked Denham. "Clerking, or rather assistant cashier, at Brown's." MAN HAS SIX SENSES. 37 "Indeed, I always thought you had a military tend- ency. Have you never offered your services to some of the recruiting officers?" "He is too proud for that," said Renata; "' he wants to be a general at once." "You're crazy, Renata, you are," said Caspar, peev- ishly. "Crazy! Tell me what that word means in German, Mr. Denham," asked Renata; "for Caspar is always call- ing me and papa crazy." "'Toll' is, I believe, the German equivalent." "You will never do for a soldier, Caspar, because you are afraid to go to bed in the dark," said Renata. Caspar was' about to retort angrily, when the doctor raised his voice. "Silence! silence! will you? Let me have one meal in peace, if you please." "Father has right," said Renata, gravely. "You always make fusses, Caspar; and to-day, as we have com- pany, you should be good." Denham laughed at the naivete of this speech, while the doctor shook his head dubiously at the speaker. "I am going to Russia," said Caspar, "and offer my services in the war against the French and English. I hate both those nations. Every true German should hate a Frenchman, and every American hates an English- man." "What has Russia done, that she has your sympathies in preference to England?" asked Denham. "Oh, Russia is a great country," answered the boy. "Yes," said the doctor. "Caspar, 'for once you are right, Russia is a great nation. Take only one feature of it,-twenty or thirty millions of people who call the em- peror their father, who love and reverence him, and would give their lives in his defense. Now, on one hand, what 4* page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 T'I-E LOST MODEL. a noble man he must be to have gained the love of so many millions of hearts! and, on the other hand, what a mag- nanimous, self-sacrificing people to love their king as a father, and to be always ready to die for him! I do not know what you think of it, but to me it is a grand thing. ' Denham shook his head. "That would depend upon the fact whether the love for the king was the result of fear and prejudice, or from knowledge and choice. It strikes me their devotion is the devotion of slaves. The greater part of the Russian people are in deplorable igno- rance. The day of knowledge for the Russians, the day the people reach the same step of knowledge and enlighten- ment which our people have to-day, will be the last of this blind devotion which you are praising." "Then," said the doctor, fervently, "may that day never come to them! God preserve them from such a day! To me, the Garibaldis, Kossuths, and O'Flips are the lepers of the age. Destroyers of men's best feel- ings. Liberty, indeed! Can liberty compose a symphony like Beethoven's Eroica, or make a statue like Apollo, or a picture like Raphael's School of Athens? No, of course not. Then what do I care for liberty." "Why, doctor," said Denham, laughing, "if ever you go back to Europe, your theory of reverence and divine right of kings will receive a severe blow. Why, sir, at Berlin a cadet of a military school outranks socially any painter, novelist, or poet in the country. And as for Russia, she has yet to produce a second-rate painter or poet." "I don't like the Russians," broke in Renata. "When mother lived near Koenigsberg, a regiment of Russian Cossacks passed through the town, and she says they were the ugliest and dirtiest men she ever saw. Caspar, you are MAN IAS SIX SENSES. 39 a goose if you join the Russians; because you won't fight, and then they will beat you with a stick." At this moment, Katerina, the old housekeeper, who still dressed her hair in the same fashion, and on washing- days wore the same thick wooden shoes which she did twenty years ago in Deutschland, bustled in to say that the four "musickanten" had come. "Are the musicians here?" said the doctor,-" that is right. We are going to have a quartette to-night, and, Denham, you shall hear Beethoven played in a style equal to the chamber-concerts in Berlin. Renata, go in and talk to them while we get ready." "Is Franz there, Kate?" asked Renata. "To be sure; he is always with the rest." "Then I won't go in," said the girl; "I get really afraid of him." Here the housekeeper turned towards the doctor, and said rapidly, in German, "Why should she go in and be annoyed by that grinning rascal?" "Whom do you mean?" asked the doctor. "Why, that rascal Franz, who is always sneaking around her. ' Doctor, with his eyes rolling in amazement: "My God, do you call him a rascal? Why, Kettle, he is the best / fiddle-player -in America. He is an artist, a man who carried off the highest prize at the Conservatorium. He has played before kings. Do you know that?" "Ach,", said the woman, shrugging her shoulders, "a donkey is a donkey, though the king ride upon him every day!" "Well," said the doctor, "I'll go in. Denham, when you are ready come in also. Renata, leave some tea for Redwood, and you and Caspar can come in and hear the music." And out he bustled. page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 / 7;A' LOST MODEL. "Who is this Mephistopheles of a fiddler?" asked Denham. "Oh, he is somebody father picked up at a concert," said Renata, blushing; "and he comes here all the time, asking for my picture, and-and-and speaks foolishness." "Why, I would kick him out," said Denham, indig- nantly. "I never heard of such a thing." Renata was delighted at her champion, and she gave him her hand with a comic grace and archness, and then ran away to help Kettle clear away the supper dishes, while Denham slowly followed the doctor. As Denham opened the door of the doctor's art-studio, the sound of a violin fell upon his ears. Near the table in the centre of the room sat three musicians arranging the music on the table and rubbing their bows on the rosin; while in the corner of the room stood the little figure of a Jew, below the medium height, with dark hair and eyes, and a slim, slight figure. He was dressed with scrupulous neatness, and as he posed himself, with his violin on his shoulder, his right leg thrown forward, and his bow-arm moving in graceful motion, he seemed to challenge the admiration of everybody to his little feet, his slender waist, his curled hair, and exquisite playing. This was Franz, the vainest of men. He was playing the Fantasie Caprice of Vieuxtemps. How beautiful, thought Denham, he plays! And he sat down and closed his eyes, that his enjoyment of the music might not be disturbed by seeing that a satyr handled so skillfully the lyre of Apollo. The doctor, his eyes beaming with delight, said, "Beau- tiful! Franz, you play magnificent. Now give us Ade- laide." "Oh, doctor, I don't think I can play Adelaide to- night; I am melancholy. H- " MAN HAS SIX SENSES. 41 Here the door opened, and Renata entered, followed by two persons, whom the doctor greeted with, "Come in, come in, Redwood, you are just in time; and, Parthee, I am glad to see you. Daughter, give this gentleman a chair." The face of Franz brightened up as the girl entered, and, making her a very deep bow, he said, "The Herr Doctor asked me to play for him Adelaide, and I tell him I have no fantasy, no nerve, for that piece; but now you come, I can play it. You shall now hear, for the first time in your life, Adelaide, the Adelaide of Beethoven." The girl never looked at him, but, taking the arm of Redwood, drew him to where Denham was, and there sat down resolutely between Redwood and Denham. "I am glad to see you back to Boshville," said Redwood to Denham, in a voice which had a singular musical accent and penetrating power. "Miss Renata here was so anxious I should see you, that she has prevented me from eating my supper." "Now, Redwood, listen," said the doctor, "and see if he don't play like the devil." With a leer at Renata, which particularly annoyed Denham, the musician led off, and played the theme with such a plaintive, passionate eloquence, and such well-sus- tained equality and fullness of tone and feeling, that the listeners applauded vigorously the musician when he finished.' "Redwood, you are right," cried the doctor; "music is the sixth sense, and, what's more, the noblest of the six." "What does that mean?" -asked Denham. "Why," said the doctor, "Redwood insists that the normal man of a noble type has six senses: the sixth one being the sense of music; and it is as true as the gospel." page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 THE LOST MODEL. "I wish, doctor," said Redwood, quietly, "you Would learn to introduce your guests; you let that young man stand there like an undertaker at a funeral." "That is a fact," said the doctor. And he introduced Redwood to Parthee, who-all this time had stood unob- served in the corner of the room; and the two men'sat down on the sofa together. "What do you say his name is?" asked Denham, of the pretty blue eyes which looked up at him. "Oh, never mind him," said Renata, and she reso- lutely turned her head in a different direction. "Do you know I hate a squeaking, screaming, scratching fiddle! There is some sense in a cello or in the human voice, but in that little wooden box there is neither sense nor music." Franz, unheeding the scornful glances which Renata occasionally shot at him, sat down at the table, and, after taking a consolatory pinch, of snuff, commenced with the others a quartette of Beethoven. ' "There," said the doctor, nodding his head to the time, " notice what a beautiful conversation is now going on. First the violin leads off with the theme, the alto an- swers it; then the second violin responds, and finally the base comes grandly in and binds the harmony together." "I love to look at papa when he hears music," said Renata; " he forgets all his troubles, he even forgets Burg- miller and the unfinished letter." "How do you like that violin, Franz?" asked the doctor, when there was a pause in the playing. "Oh, it is a pretty good fiddle. It is new, quite new." "I'm glad you like it. Redwood, you remember when I bought it. I tell you I was the happiest. man in Bosh- ville." "Happier than on your wedding-day, doctor?" asked Franz. MAN HAS SIX SENSES. 43 "No sensible man is happy on his wedding-day," said the doctor, "because---" Here a presto movement of the quartette, which swept through the room like a hurricane, and made the air throb with the rapid rhythm, drowned the doctor's voice, and he got up and stood behind Franz's chair to see how rap- idly the little player polished off the long lines of notes, no matter how thick they were crowded together on the page. "It beats the devil," muttered the doctor, as he poured some wine and handed a glass to Franz, "how you play that off at sight. I have been scratching for twenty years, and I could not play that if it was an andante movement, instead of apresto." The doctor's sixth sense was very largely developed, for no sooner was one piece finished than other music was brought out, and it was only when the players stopped from weariness that the doctor ceased getting out from his little cupboard fresh arrangements and quartettes. Redwood, who had passed the evening by the side of Parthee, now got up, and coming towards the doctor, said, gravely, in a low voice,- "I tell you, Conrad, he has some pretty ideas in his head, your new friend there. He says that man, of all animals, is the most self-loving. To be a poet is to write about men and women, to be a painter is to paint them, a sculptor to carve the human figure in stone, and a musician to put their troubles and joys into sound. Pretty good!"And he turned on his heel and slowly left the room. "Does Redwood still eat opium?" whispered Denham to Miss Renata, as she rose up to see the musicians out. She nodded assent, and then, for the first time that even- ing, went over to where her father was speaking with Par- page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " THE LOST MODEL. thee. As the doctor saw them all out, it amused Denham to see the grimaces which Franz made at Renata, and the resolute manner in which she avoided noticing them. As Denham bade them good-night at the door-step, the last of the company, and promised the doctor to be back another evening at the opening of the portfolio, he saw the bright eyes of Renata looking with wonder in the direction in which Parthee had gone; but his own heart was too full from the music, the wine, and those same sunny glances, to notice anything but his own feelings. CHAPTER IV. THE BOSHVILLE GASOMETER. THE next morning the doctor was seated in his office, reading slowly the list of patients from his visit-book,. while his horse, Philip, impatiently at the door gnawed the bark off the tree to which he was tied. "Phil! Phil!" ejaculated the doctor, as he looked up and saw the long white strips on the tree, where the horse's front teeth had torn away the outer rind. "If that was any tree but an ailantus it would be a great pity." And he knocked at the window, to let Phil know that he, the doctor, was watching him. He turned to his book and soliloquized as he read: "Mrs. Lane, 29 Harriet Street. Yes, I must go there this morning, and give her cathartic pills; the woman eats too much,-does in fact nothing but eat, drink, and sleep. Wells, that poor fellow, will die,-left lung gone. Redwood is right, consumption is the curtain which will THE BOSHVILLE GASOMrTER. 45 finally drop upon the human race. I do not think his theory right, however, that washing the skin with soap, and bathing without'afterwards oiling the skin, brings it on. Simpson; I wohder what is the matter with that fellow. Monday, I thought he had the scarlet fever, Tuesday, the smallpox, and to-day, I know no more than the dead what is the matter with him. I will let him alone for a day or two, and see what Nature will do. Phil! Phil! Let that tree alone, sir! Leslie! Leslie! that's a fact. I had forgotten it. He gives a party to- night, to welcome Captain George Denham home, on leave of absence. Renata is invited. We cannot go to-night, because I expect some gentlemen to visit me." Here he rose up, and, going to the foot of the stairs, called several times for Renata. When that young lady made her appearance, she, had her head tied up in a white handkerchief, and a broom in her hand taller than she was. "You here, papa? Why, I thought that you went out an hour ago." "In looking over my list, I see that I made a memoran- dum of an invitation to a party at Leslie's for you and me, given, as it appears, to welcome George Denham home." The girl's face brightened. "That is very kind of Miss Leslie. What shall I wear, papa?" "Well, don't bother me about your clothes. What I am thinking of is, that I have an engagement this night with some gentlemen to show them pictures, and I would not like to disappoint them." "You have three hundred and sixty-five nights in the year, papa, to show your pictures. You certainly can take one night for me." "Oh, you can go, my child, and take Caspar with you." - 5 " page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " THE LOST MODEL. "No!" was the resolute answer. "If I go to the party at Mr. Leslie's, I shall go with my father, and with no one else. I know many young ladies do not think as I do. Any young man is a fit companion for them, be he a rogue or a fool." "Provided he is stylishly dressed," added the doctor, nodding approvingly at the sentiment. "And I can just as well stay at home." ' Well, be it so," said the doctor, with a sigh of relief. "You can assist me in showing these gentlemen my col- lection, and in reading Burgmiller's last letter." There was a glow of indignation upon Renata's face as she cried, "No, if I cannot go to Mr. Leslie's, I shall not waste my time upon these loafers, who trouble you every evening, making your room like a coffee-lhouse. And they know as much about pictures as a pig does about clouds. " "Why, what has changed you so suddenly? It is not long ago since you declared that Leshe was an old false flatterer, and his daughter Sallie an overdressed fool,- and all the rest were loafers. For my part, I cannot tell where you got that idea, that everybody-you do not like is a loafer." "I got that idea from you, papa;" said the girl. "From me? When did you get it from me?" "When you do not like a person 'you call him a loafer; and I can prove it," said Renata, holding up her finger, and then proceeding in a logical manner to prove the proposition. "When that rich young man, Judge Boone's son, who does nothing but wear fine clothes and smoke long cigars, wanted to take me to the opera, in a handsolme carriage, you said, 'Renchen, don't go; that young man is a loafer.' And when that temperance lecturer, Green, came here, and everybody went to hear TIlE BOSHVILLE GASO1METER. 47 him speak, you said the loafer knew nothing. And didn't you, when Mr. Etinge, the artist, wanted to paint my portrait for nothing,-just for nothing?, You would not let me go to his studio, because you said he was a- loafer, and could not paint a sign." At the last sentence the doctor leaped to his feet. "And wasn't I right, you little sheeps-head? Did you ever see that picture he painted called the (Opera-box,' where a woman with the expression of an idiot, as bare as a baby, and with the features of an ancient Greek, looks at you with the intelligent look of a cow wondering where the rain comes from? Would anybody but a loafer waste the good colors and canvas in painting such a thing? And didn't I- There is no knowing to what extremes this discussion may have led, for the doctor was getting very excited, and his voice rising higher and higher, when the door opened, and Redwood entered. "Why, doctor, what is the matter'? they can hear you bawling over the river." "Come in, Redwood, come in. I am glad you came. You shall decide between us; because you have got some sense, and can tell this foolish girl whether I am right or not," said the doctor, taking Redwood by the hand and putting him in front of the blushing girl. With a great many gesticulations, and a voice rising higher in tone and emphasis, the doctor told the dispute between himself and his opponent, whom he designated as a sheeps-head. It took him nearly ten minutes to tell what he said, to read the memorandum he had made in his note-book, what he said and thought, and what she replied; adding, in sundry parentheses, his views, his reasons and counter-reasons, for it all. Patiently Redwood heard it all; and when the doctor page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 THE LOST MODEL. was through, and before pronouncing judgment, he took from a little silver box a small piece of opium, and, placing it in his mouth,-said, very quietly, but in the same earn- est manner,- "I think, Conrad, you can very well spare one evening for your daughter; these friends of yours can come again some other evening. Besides, these little hands work too much,-there is too much scrubbing, dusting, and cleaning." And he patted kindly the little red fingers of the girl. "You must let her play as well as work, Conrad." The-girl's face lit up triumphantly as she heard this, and, running out of the room, her voice was heard call- ing, "Kettle, Kettle, I am going to a grand party to- night!" The doctor, who -had been listening with his mouth open, said, naively,- , "Do you think she works too much, Redwood? Do you really think so?" "Of course I do. When I go out of a morning she is sweeping and bustling on the stairs, at noon she is rattling among the dishes, and at night she has to dust and fuss in your room. You must not let her drudge so much." "Well, you see, I cannot look after everything. But I'll prevent it in the future; and nbw, which way are you going? Step into the buggy, and I will drive you down-town." Both men got into the buggy, and Phil started off at a leisurely pace through the wide streets of Boshville. Though only February, the spring was struggling to make its appearance in the gardens and shade-trees of Bosh- ville. For a week heavy rains had fallen, and in response; the earth, where not covered with heavy paving-stones THE BOSI[VILLE GASOTMETER. 49 and bowlders, shot up the green tips of grass; and the black coats of the trees and plants were cracking beneath the pressure of the buds. As the men ride along side by side, let us in a few words explain Redwood's position and origin. Albert Redwood was the only son of what was then considered one of the first families in Boshville,-that is to say, his grandfather was the pioneer lawyer of the town, and the first person elected by the people as Judge of the County Court. When heW died, he left his sons and daughters for heritage nearly a fourth of the city, which was increasing daily in value. As usual, the girls married worthless men, who drank ,or ate up in a few years their wives' fortunes; and the sons lived like gentlemen, kept a large stable of horses, and a more expensive table, and died from apoplexy or delirium tremens, leaving their children with a collegiate education, the habits of spend- thrifts, and poverty. With the single exception of Red- wood, nearly all the other members of the family had gone farther West or South, in search of new homes and new fortunes; while he, at thirty-five, found himself in Boshville, with a passion for books, a restless desire for self-cultivation, a culture much superior to his fellow- citizens, and the rent of a couple of old houses for his sole support. One of these houses was the one now occu- pied by Dr. Knappe,-and between the landlord and the tenant a strong intimacy and friendship had sprung up, almost from their first meeting; and Redwood, at the doctor's earnest and repeated requests, lived with them now as one of the family. Redwood had graduated at one of the Eastern colleges, and had spent some three or four years in Europe. When thrown upon his own resources in Boshville, he had en- deavored to increase his little income by teaching Latin 5* page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 THE LOST MODEL. and French; and at last, when, disgusted at the drudgery, he was about to throw it up and seek his fortune in the mud-holes of California,-or rather the mines,-an old lady friend, who had been a latent admirer of him for years, interested herself in his fortunes and procured him a position on the staff of writers of the leading journal of Boshville. The proprietor of the "Truthteller" was one of those active, illiterate, unscrupulous, and bold men, who are not only native-born "hammers,'" but have the gift of making "anvils" out of their fellow-citizens. Redwood soon became indispensable to Ira Leonard, the wealthy proprietor of the Boshville "Truthteller." The favorite theories of Mr. Leonard on political economy and upon all political topics were now given forth with a force of diction and a show of learning which gave Mr. Leonard an immense influence in the public affairs of the West. Politicians were written up and politicians written down-demagogues were proclaimed as heroes and other demagogues as idiots-in a language as fierce and elegant as Junius; and all this at the nod of Ira Leonard. Leonard gathered the facts,-at least such as suited his purpose,- these he handed over to Redwood, together with a crude theory based upon some scheme of political intrigue. Redwood chewed his opium in silence, and turned the rude materials into fireworks, caring nothing either for the illumination they might give, or who was delighted or annoyed by the explosion. "For ten hours each day, and sometimes for fifteen hours," he would say to the doctor, "I put on my harness and work and pull like a horse in a saw-mill. I neither look right nor left, nor do I care whether the saw cuts mahogany or pine, nor whether they make billiard-tables or pulpits out of the wood. The thing I love is study, reading, thinking on those themes which please me; no TIZE BOSrSVILLE GASOMETER. 51 man in Boshville is rich enough to pay me, or hire me, to write on poetry, philosophy, or art: they belong to my sanctum, and not the thoroughfare of Boshville. But up and down the columns of the "Truthteller"I will trot at a regular hack pace, be the theme primary elections, ward meetings, railroads, telegraphs, stock-boards, fash- ions, concerts, or any theme about which the Boshville brain is getting addled upon. And at night, I pull off my apron, or put down my pen, go home, and for the balance of the twenty-four hours I am afree man." As they drove near a large five-story stone building on the principal avenue of Boshville, over which was painted an immense sign, bearing in huge letters the words, "Truthteller Office," the doctor drove close to the pavement and stopped; and, as Redwood got out, he said,- "Come in, Conrad; come in and see our new gas- ometer; and there is a celebrity inside there that you ought to know." The word celebrity aroused the doctor's curiosity, and he immediately got up, tied Phil to an iron post set up in the pavement for that purpose, and followed his friend into the building, or gasometer. If there was one thing the doctor liked almost as well as looking at pictures, it was lounging and gossiping about the principal places and men in Boshville. It was one of the contradictions of his character, that, while he always spoke depreciatingly of the tastes and pursuits of his great and rich fellow-citizens, he at the same time was never tired of visiting and talking to them. "They are an ignorant set of money-bags,-mere selfish materialists,- with not an idea above a stone-front house and elegant furniture," he was wont to say of them; and yet he could spend hours in their company on the streets or at page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] their houses, and forget home, his engagements, and his patients even. Passing'through a large front room with a counter, which was covered with files of newspapers, and around the walls of which blackboards were nailed, and bulletins and newspapers pasted upon them for the benefit of the idlers, they passed into the editor's room, where the proprietor sat talking loud and decisively to an old mal, upon some question apparently of great importance. "How do you do, doctor?" said Leonard, giving him two fingers. "Come in, and take a chair. Let me in- troduce you to Bela Brown, the father of Amos Brown, the President of the United States, sir." "Indeed!" said the doctor, taking off his hat and bowing very profoundly to the old gentleman. "It gives me great pleasure to see the father of so great a man as the President of the United States." "Yes?" said the man, inquiringly. "Oh, my son Amos was a pretty good boy, considering all things; and if he don't do all I want of him now, it is not his fault, but them confounded politicians. They pull him this way, and then that. Now, you know very well that if I had my way Chester Popcorn would not have been post- master of this town. You bet! I telegraphed Amos to give it to John Stokes, one of our fellows; and if the Senate would not confirm him, why, let the Senate be blowed." The old man paused with indignation, and, pulling out a small square package of tobacco, wrapped in tin-foil, tore off a pretty large piece, and crammed it into his mouth. The doctor's eyes were as large as saucers, and his mouth partly open, as he stared in astonishment at the old man. Leonard and Redwood were in close conver- sation over some dispatches, and the latter was rapidly THE BOSHVILLE GASOMETER. 53 noting down some points given him by Leonard for an editorial. "It is a great and responsible position," saidthe doc- tor, solemnly, "to be the chief magistrate of thirty or forty millions of people; and I presume, Mr. Brown, your son finds it a heavy and unthankful task." "I guess he don't mind it," snuffled the old gentleman; "he takes his own gait,-you can't turn him aside. It is his duty, however, to look after his own family first. The newspapers may say what they please; but I say it is the duty of every man when he is in office to look after his family and friends first. For instance, now; I've lived in this county over fifty years; I know it to a dot; can tell you who everybody is that is worth naming, I can. Con- sequently, when the officers are to be appointed in this region by Amos, my selection ought to be followed. Men of our party come to me and say, 'Bely, So-and-so is one of us,-is a good man, and ought to have such a place.' I telegraph or write to Amos, and say, 'Such a one is your man.' Isn't all that natural?" "Do the newspapers object to you because you recom- mend persons for office to your son?" asked the doctor, becoming quite interested. "You will excuse me for asking the question; but, the truth is, I Seldom-well, perhaps, I had better say I never-read the newspapers." "Object!" said the old man, indignantly. "They not only object, but they cuss me like-gracious! Didn't that lying sheet, the 'People's Friend,' say yesterday that Chumley gave me a white horse and a thousand dollars because I recommended him for assessor?" "And you did not get any money?" asked the doctor, eagerly. "Get money! I took that money for charitable pur- poses. Can't I take money for charitable purposes? , a page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] J r * -LI' L'- J Iv B UV.&L. Suppose I give that money to the pooi-, don't you suppose it will do 'em good? I think so!" "Then you haven't given it to the poor yet?" pursued the doctor, with a tone of disappointment in his voice. "Of course I ain't; them things take time. You don't cure your patients at sight, I guess. But I came here this morning to stir Leonard up,-he must go for them fellows, and silence 'em: I will do anything I can for-my party, but I don't want all the abuse. I'll take my share of it; but, as I don't get all the profits, I don't intend to stand all the losses. Now, here is my reply to the 'People's Friend.' The old man took from his pocket a long roll of legal cap paper, which was covered with writing, and com- menced to read his defense. The doctor looked long and critically at the old man in front of him, and, although he heard the long string of words, he did nt understand them, for his thoughts were flying in another direction. As he looked at the burly eyebrows, the long, wrinkled nose, the lips, stained with tobacco-juice, the black coat with its greasy collar, the yellow hands, with long fingers and dirty nails, the muddy boots, and the shirt and broken suspender which protruded from his vest and pan- taloons, he wondered if the son was like the father; and what would become of a country when the rulers looked like Bela Brown. Leonard here came to the old man, and, pulling him unceremoniously in a corner, held a conversation in whis- pers. The doctor rose to go, but before he went he took a critical look at the gasometer, as Redwood called it. In one end of the room, at a desk, a young man was seated, busily clipping with a pair of shears, from a pile of newspapers, certain paragraphs, which he pasted to- gether; another was engaged in copying a long writing in short-hand, and transposing it into the more readable THE BOSH VILLE GASOMETER. 55 characters. While Leonard listened to the garrulous old man, he turned his head, and gave directions to a young man with a very pale face to hunt up'the particulars of a reported suicide; and as the fire-bell tolled, another per- son seized his hat and rushed frantically out with his pen in his mouth. Redwood sat at the table and wrote upon long slips of paper; and in the room beneath could be heard the click, click, of the telegraph and the dull beat of the press, which made the building tremble. "I could not write here to save my life!" muttered the doctor. Men came in and out, lit their cigars, smoked, talked loud, laughed, and drank water out of a large brown pitcher. Little boys ran in with slips of paper from the telegraph-offices, which Leonard read, and then put them in a box, which disappeared through a hole in the ceiling. And through all the racket, the scribbling of pens, the click of the telegraph and the heavy jolt of the printing- press could be heard. The doctor felt he was not wanted, and, taking up his hat, slowly withdrew. As he was untying the horse, a carriage drove up, and quite a handsome, but very deli- cate-looking, lady stepped out. She blushed slightly as she gave her hand to the doctor, and timidly inquired if Mr. Redwood was at the office. The doctor pointed through the window to the table where he sat, writing away with the regularity of a machine. The doctor, as he mounted in his buggy, suddenly re- membered a little scandal he once heard, that this lady, Mrs. Leonard, was in love with Redwood; but he shook his head at the thought, and, giving the reins a jerk, he said, quite sharply, "Get up, Phil! get up!" And the latter answered by such a lively trot that the doctor was nearly jolted out of the buggy. page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] , X no z LU3J' MODEL. CHAPTER V. THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSELVES. "ARE you ready, Renchen?" shouted the doctor that evening up the stairs to his daughter, who was supposed to be arraying herself for the party. "It is now nearly nine o'clock, and you must hurry, if you want to get there before breakfast." "Baldfertig, papa," was the answer which came float- ing from the distance. The doctor sat down, and for the third time that even- ing commenced pulling on his gloves and feeling if his cravat was right. For want of something to do, he glanced over the room to where Caspar was seated in the arm-chair, reading very intently from a newspaper, and inquired of that young gentleman what he was reading. "Oh, a little love-story," said Caspar. "Why don't you and Renata read something else be- sides love-stories? Have you no taste for anything but trash?" "When a fellow comes home tired from work, papa, he don't want to bore his eyes out over heavy books; he needs something of a light, refreshing character." "Tell me, Caspar, how many murders and outrages does it take to rfake up a light and refreshing story, as 'you call it?" "Well, papa, don't let us get into an argument about it. I ain't hurting anybody when I read this trash, as you call it. You want me to stay home this evening, be- THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSEL VES. 57 cause you are going out; and I must do something which interests me, or I'll be asleep in fivelminutes and forget all your directions." The doctor seemed to appreciate the last part of this argument, for he dropped the subject, and Caspar plunged along in the blue-fire atmosphere of Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. The doctor's eyes fell upon a picture of Burgmiller, a scene from the Schwartzwald, and he commenced to soliloquize on his pet theme. "This very week that letter must go off, if everything else goes to grass. It is a shame that I should treat such a noble nature with such indifference. Let me see. I must first apologize for my neglect, caused, to some ex- tent, by the unusual amount or quantity, or rather preva- lence,-yes, prevalence is better,-of sickness in our city the past few months. My time being thus occupied or busied-engrossed-with the care of my patients, together with the usual trouble of the ordinary house-affairs,-such as putting a new wing, or rather a story, on the back part of the house,-which was done for the accommodation of a friend, who is, perhaps, one of the most learned and in- telligent men I ever met with; in fact, a real genius,-so far as an American can possibly be a genius,-which is partly owing to the fact that in modern times-" The doctor was in danger of being utterly lost, as Red- wood used to say, in a parenthesis, when a carriage stopped at the door, and Harry Denham made his appearance. "Brother and I drove down to Leslie's, and not find- ing you there, I concluded I would call round for you, doctor," said the young man. "That is very kind of you," said the doctor. "I have been ready for over an hour, but Renata, it appears, is still fixing herself. I never yet saw a woman who could dress herself in a reasonable time, did you? What is the 6 page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 THE LOST MODEL. reason they always take such an infernal time in doing anything?" Renata's entrance, followed by Kate, the housekeeper, put a stop to the discussion about woman's weakness. The girl was dressed in white, and for ornaments wore a coral breastpin, and the 'tiniest of roses in the folds of her beautiful hair. The handsome face brightened up with such a glow of childish good nature as she nodded good- evening to Denham and asked her father for his opinion of her toilet, that the two gazed at her in silence. One was carried back nearly twenty years, when he took home to his own house, in another land, just such a face and figure; and the other wondered if, in the future, he might not call that peerless face his own. "Well," said old Kate, "you two gentlemen say no- thing; is she not pretty?" "Charming," said Denham; "a mother could not have dressed her favorite daughter with more taste and sense." "Do you hear that, Kettle?'" said the doctor. "Never mind blushing, you old goose, you've got more sense than any woman I know of." "Except me, papa," said Renata, with a courtesy. "As Redwood says, I am not clear upon that point. But come, Mr. Denham's carriage is at the door; let us go. Caspar, don't go to sleep now; but if anything is urgent for me, why, you can step round and call me. We won't be later than twelve." The doctor had scarcely time to express his wonder, and ask what an ancient Greek or Roman would think of a modern party or ball, when the carriage stopped at Leslie's house. At that time Boshville did not own many palatial residences, and the present house occupied by Mr, Leshe was a large, old-fashioned, square brick house, THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSEL VES. 59 with a hall running through the centre; but surrounded as it was by the trees of a tolerably large garden, with every window'glittering with light, it presented a very lively appearance this night, however sombre it looked in the day-time. A darkey or negro servant took the male guests into one room, where they left their hats and coats, and the females into another one for a similar purpose, with their bonnets and shawls, and then ushered them into a large parlor, from the open door of which came the hubbub of many voices. When the doctor entered the room with Renata and Denham, a dozen voices greeted him with, "How do you do, Doctor Knappe?" "Why, you here, doctor?" "Glad to see you, doctor!" and so forth. And as he stopped to make a categorical answer to each person, when he finished Renata and Harry Denham were at the other end of the room, paying their respects to the daughter of the host. The doctor, like a thoughtful man, stepped aside and contemplated quite curiously the company. He had not met so many well-dressed people in his life before; in fact, he muttered to himself, he did not know there were so many ladies and gentlemen in Boshville. I wonder who they all are? There was old Binney, the pork-mer- chant, whom he saw yesterday in his shirt-sleeves rolling barrels of pork out of his warehouse, to-night dressed like a dandy, in a black dress-coat and white cravat, and with gloves on. There was Leary, too, dressed like a French ambassador, with his two daughters in red and blue silk, stalking through the room, who had bored every man and woman in Boshville to have their lives insured in the insurance company of which he was the sole agent. Jones, the banker, was talking in a very emphatic manner to Phipps, the retired merchant, and a young lawyer was page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] VV X zi L uTI ' MODEL. drinking in the wisdom with grateful looks. Barnet, the leading dry goods merchant of Boshville, was there, and was the particular star of the evening; in whatever part of the room Barnet went he was greeted with kind words and smiles. The old men respected him for his knowl- edge of business, the young men for his wealth and an only accomplished daughter, and the women were obse- quious to him on account of his handsome clerks, his elegant store, and the wonderful stock of silks and dresses which he imported every season. The doctor, who felt kindly to most men, did not, how- ever, look'kindly upon Barnet. When Barnet built his mansion, which threw Boshville into ecstasies of delight, the doctor and Redwood went with the rest to examine the house. They found lofty ceilings, broad staircases, large halls, beautiful chandeliers, costly paper on the walls, and most sumptuous furniture; but not a picture or work of art through the whole house. "He has a turned-up nose," said the doctor, "and is vulgar, and has no soul for the beautiful." If he turned his attention to the ladies of the party, he was equally astonished at the effects wrought by dress and the arts of the toilet. How beautiful they all look! Pure white complexions, luxuriance of hair, graceful figures, and all moving about with the majesty of queens. He glanced across the room, where Renata stood beside a group of ladies and gentlemen; and she appeared like a little white pigeon, surrounded with turkeys, peacocks, and swans. ' "Ah, here you are!"'said a voice at his elbow; " we want you for a game at seven-up. When you have done looking at the women, come up and join us in the green room. " The doctor looked round. "Well, but, Leslie, you THE UPPER TEN ACMUSE THEMSELVES. 6I know I so seldom play cards that I'm but a poor hand at it." "We \vant you to play, that's all; we don't care whether you win or not," was the reply. The doctor saw, with a smile, that even Leshe had undergone the party transformation,-the frill on his shirt was larger and whiter, and the large diamond which gleamed on his front seemed to possess light enough for the whole affair. Sud- denly the noise of fiddles and flutes was heard, the com- pany arranged itself into cotillion sets, and the white- gloved young men and white-shouldered young ladies, who had been ornamenting in silence the walls and cor- ners of the room, now came boldly forward, bowed to each other, smiled, and capered round the centre of the room like kittens. The man who called the figures especially struck the doctor. He was a tall, bright-eyed darkey, and played the first fiddle. He beat time for the rest with his foot, and while he bawled at the top of his voice, "Ladies chain!" "swing your partners!" "forward right!" "balancez!" etc., he put in graceful trills and tremnlandos into the screaming, gushing mel- ody. As he stood there working with his hands, arms, feet, voice, and eyes, the doctor thought him a marvel of skill; and if a lady had not at that very moment approached and taken him by the arm, he would have shocked the company by talking to that colored musician. Fortunately, Mrs. Denham saved him from any such im- propriety. "Now, doctor," said that lady, " let us give the young folks room to shake themselves; here are seats, and as we are older, if not wiser, we will sit and watch the fun. Have you seen my son George? Well, you must be sure and talk to him this evening; he asked after you not a minute ago. There he is, dancing with that 6* page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 THE LOST MODEL. red-haired girl, what's her name? Blinks." And, with her eye-glass across her Roman nose, she scrutinized Miss Blinks. "Let me see; he is captain now of the " "Brevet-major of the Fourth Infantry," interrupted Mrs. Denham, with her usually decisive manner. "He ought to be colonel, and will be before long; if not here, why, somewhere else." And she looked at the doctor and gave her head a significant shake. "Promotion, I presume, is veryslow in times of peace," said the doctor; "and unless an unusual sickness should befall the officers of the army, I don't see, Mrs. D., how your son will rise soon." "There are windfalls sometimes, doctor." She sat a little closer to him, and added, "Wonderful times are coming. The North will soon learn a lesson that the Southern States are-not to be trifled with; they'll fight- yes, fight-first. You'll see!" The doctor's eyes were as wide open as saucers, trying to see the good lady's meaning. "Well, but what have they got to fight about?" inquired he. "Fight about? The same thing which would make you fight,-their rights, their properties, their liberties. Do you suppose for a moment, doctor, that we will let the North and the East ruin us with their tariffs, their manu- facturing subsidies, and the general swindling process of their legislation, and steal our property, and try to de- grade us to the level of our own negroes? Not much. No, sir; this must be changed. Virginia has a hundred thousand armed men; Georgia, fifty thousand; Alabama, Tennessee, and Louisiana, a million of the finest troops of the world; while Kentucky and Missouri alone have men enough to drive every Yankee into the sea." And she snapped her fingers at the contemptible foe. "But TIlE UPPER TEN AMUSE TIIEMSEL VES. 63 here's George. George, Doctor Knappe, whom you no doubt remember." A bright, handsome-looking young man came eagerly forward and greeted the doctor. "I have been trying to pay my respects to your daughter, Miss Renata but my brother Harry is telling her such an interesting story that I have not yet had a chance. You have not forgotten me, I hope." "Not at all," said the doctor, smiling with pleasure; "I always remember you,-you were such a manly boy, with such hearty, earnest ways, that it was a pleasure to see you and hear your talk." "There, mother," said the young man, blushing, "you are wrong when you say I am not decided." "To tell you the truth, Captain, or Major Denham- " "Oh, call me George, doctor, by all means." "Well, George, then," continued the doctor. "I like to see youth earnest and hopeful. Hlike the young to be thoughtful; but, above all, I like to se,e them kind, joy- ous, and sympathizing earnestly with everything around them. What do you say?" "Here comes Miss Leslie, George," interrupted the anxious mother. "She has been looking all over the room for you; now show her a good deal of attention, as I told you." And she trod on the doctor's foot, mistaking it for her son's. A strong perfume of musk heralded the young lady's appearance. She was gorgeously dressed in blue silk, with as much of her shoulders bare as could well be got out, while on her fingers, her arms, her neck, and ears were hung costly jewels of all varieties, from a diamond to a moss-agate. Her hair itself was a wonder of ingenuity and skill. This the doctor found out, for as she turned her back to him he had a very good chance of observing how cunningly the various plaits, braids, and page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " THE LOST MODEL. curls were stuffed and bound together. It was the time when it was fashionable to have a bunch of curls hanging from the back of the head, and every woman you met wore huge bundles of hair-false hair-on their heads, the whole terminating in an avalanche of curls. "Why, major, how do you do?" said Miss Leslie. "I am so delighted to see you!"And she giggled from the top of her head to her toes with delight. "Perfectly well, thank you, Miss Leslie; my mother and I were just talking about you." "Indeed! Talk of the sun and its rays appear. Ha! ha! Well, you look so elegant to-night! Ain't you glad to get home among civilized people? You must feel so glad to get away from those nasty Indians, eh?" "Not so much the Indians which drives me home," said the major, gravely, "as the friendship which still, you know, lingers between mother and myself." "Oh, of course; I forgot that. Why didn't you wear )our epaulettes this evening? As you are the only military gent present, you might have made a regular sensation." "Shall I have the pleasure of waltzing with you?" said the major, bowing, as though he had suddenly found out that the beautiful girl could talk best with her feet; "I see the fiddles are going to strike again, and they do say that you are incomparable in the dance." There was a giggle in reply, and the two disappeared among the excited crowd of dancers. "Come, doctor," said Mrs. Denham, "let us go up- stairs and play a game of whist, and let the young people shake themselves. Renata is enjoying herself yonder, in a waltz with the tall Doctor Bedill, while my son, Harry, is trying to smile at the performance." And she dragged him up-stairs to the card-table, and won his money with an air of determination to do something. TIE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSEL VES. 65 Mrs. Denham was not far from the truth about Renata enjoying herself. She was very fond of dancing, and her pretty face and simple manners brought her quite a crowd of admirers. She danced with the old as well as the young;. in fact, she liked old men then better than young ones. She had danced with Harry and several strangers, and had refused but one, and he was the delight of the other ladies, being the only dandy present. "I hate dandies," she said to Mrs. Leonard, the pale, but pretty; wife of the proprietor of the leading Boshville newspaper; "there is some excuse when a woman dresses like a fool, but none for a man. I wish Redwood were here; I wonder what he would say to a man like that?" This subject of Redwood was a grateful theme to Mrs. Leonard, and Renata, with woman's penetration, found it out. "I remember once he took me to a party given by the Beethoven Club, at their hall on Second Street, and as he would not dance, he sat down in the corner of the room with old Farnell,' the chemist, and drank wine and talked science with him. When we Went home, I teased him to tell me what he thought of the party; he said it reminded him of Pyramus and Thisbe, in one of Shakspeare's plays; and when I praised the company, he repeated the verse from Heine: 'Schwartze Roeche, seid'ne Struempfe, Weisze, hoefliche Manschetten, Sanfte Reden, Embrassiren- Ach! wenn sie nur Koepfen haetten.' I like him very much. He is kind, and very wise, but something has gone wrong with him, and he has become a misanthrope, as Harry Denham says. I wonder what has become of papa? See, there comes the young preacher, page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] VV 2InZ LL'UST MODEL. Mr. Maple, who is turning all the girls' heads. To me he is so hatefil! His hands are so soft, and his eyes are so close together, I know he is wicked. Don't look at him, Mrs. Leonard, for I am afraid of him." As the girl prattled away, her bright eyes constantly sought for some object in the room; and every-time the door opened, she looked quite critically at the new-comer. At last, turning to her companion, she said,- "Let us go and look at the conservatory while they are dancing that stupid quadrille, and see the flowers which Mr. Leslie prides himself so much about." ' "He looks like a man who cared more for a good din- ner and a bottle of wine than flowers," was the reply. "Do you think so? Why, that big Mrs. Demick thinks he is the most elegant gentleman in Boshville. But come, I know the way." A little circular glass house, in the centre of the garden, was the green-house, towards which Miss Knappe and her friend picked their way. The inside was not very large, and yet it had been so arranged with the fountain, little circular walks, and plant-beds, as to seem quite an exten- sive collection of rare flowers, shrubs, and trees. Different colored lanterns, suspended from the roof, served more to illuminate than to light up the place. At the farther corner, watching intently the slow unfolding of a cactus flower, stood Parthee. There was a brighter smile than ever upon Renata's face as she hurried towards him and said,- "Is this the flower which only blooms after the sun has sunk?" "Yes, Miss Renata, it is one of what Mr. Leslie calls the night-blooming ceres,-come nearer and see it. It com- menced to open about ten o'clock; in a few more minutes it will be entirely open. " THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSELVES. 67 "How delightful is the perfume!" said Mrs. Annette Leonard. "Do they have such flowers as these in your country?" asked Renata. And she turned her eyes firmly and eagerly upon the young man's face. "Better ones, and they last longer." He smiled as he continued: "Everything here is so short-lived; some things only live a minute, others hours and days; and even a man lives only a few years. Trees last longer; but the mountains and the sea are always the same." "True," said Mrs. Leonard; "that is the fate of everything on earth. No country or race in that respect is better than another. If you come from South America or Mexico, your flowers are more plentiful, but they last no longer than ours." "See," said Parthee, unheeding the interruption; "now it is full, and nature commences to go back; the leaves will soon straighten, the color fade, the perfume give place to a disagreeable odor, and the stalk will bend to the ground." "Oh, not yet, not yet," said Renata; " it is not dying yet. Of course such beautiful, delicate things cannot last, but they come and go all the time; and a thing which is constantly new is as beautiful and wonderful as though it always remained. But you are not polite: you did not answer Mrs. Leonard's question, of where you came from." "I came from beyond the mountains." "Are you Spanish or Indian? What name is your father? and what language do you speak when you are at home?" "My father has no name, and my people do not speak," was the laconic answer. "I notice you laugh whenever I ask you questions. page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 THE LOST MODEL. What do you laugh at? Do you think I am a silly Dutch girl?" "Why, my dear Renata," whispered Mrs. Leonard, "you must remember he is Mr. Leslie's gardener." "I laugh when I am pleased," said Parthee, "and it pleases me when you ask such funny questions; but they, are difficult for me to answer. Have patience; some day ,I will try and answer them all." "You are a great favorite with Mr. Leslie; do you like him?" inquired Renata. "He is a great man, and we small people must admire him." "Yes, great in stature, but small in mind. What do you say, Mrs. Leonard? Do you think him great?" "When young theysayhe was handsome, but verywild." "Oh, I know it all by heart," said Parthee. "I have heard it over and over again; these are his own thoughts; now listen and you will find that he is the greatest of all men. When he walks, when he eats, when he dreams,. and when he talks, this is what is in his heart: "'My country-this boundless continent-is immense, enormous in wealth, inexhaustible in mines, and its mountains are the highest, its rivers the deepest, and its cataracts the mightiest in the world. Our people are better than other peoples; we are braver, know more, are quicker, more inventive, better looking, and! more self- reliant; and we have fought the bloodiest battles, and built the swiftest ships, and are by force of our own in- dustry on the top rung of the ladder of manly excel- lence. My native State is the largest, most fertile, and most productive part of the whole country; and its air, wood, and water far surpass all the rest. My native city, Boshville, is the first city in the State in manufactures, in politics, in wealth, and in fortunate position, and it THE UPPER TEN AMUSE THEMSEL VES. 69 stands unrivaled in the State for the number of its streets, the beauty of its buildings, and the wealth and culture of its citizens. In the city my family is the oldest; the great lawyers, soldiers and merchants in this city sprung from, or are allied to, my family. And Jam the head of my family.' " "Oh, if papa could only hear that!" cried Renata. "It is so true! so true! How did you learn all that? That is precisely what he thinks!" "I thought that Mr. Redwood could say bitter, satiri- cal things," said Mrs. Leonard, laugling; "but that cer- tainly caps them all." There was a noise of footsteps upon the gravel-walk outside, and immediately afterwards Redwood and Harry Denhami entered the conservatory. "Oh, here you are," said the latter, " studying botany, while all the young gentlemen are inquiring what is be- come of Miss Knappe-and Mrs. Leonard," he added, slowly, bowing to that lady. . a "We were backbiting and watching that beautiful cactus open," said Renata. "Come and see it." "Why did you not come later?" asked Mrs. Leonard of Redwood, reproachfully, as he stood beside her, and she gave him her ungloved hand. "You must remember, Annette, that I have to wait until the telegrams come in fromi the East before I can leave the office." "Where is he this evening?" "We came together. He is looking for you among the guests. "Let him look," was the answer. And the little foot kicked impatiently the narrow border of moss which sur- rounded the fountain. As Harry Denham and Renata passed the open window 7 page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 -1IE LOST MODEL. of the conservatory, on their way back to the house, both stooped their heads and looked eagerly inside. "Are they in love with each other?" asked Denham. "Of whom do you speak?" asked Renata, blushing. "Of Mrs. Leonard and her companion; did you see how they looked and listened to each other?" "No, I didn't look at helne. It is nonsense to say that he is in love, for Redwood is a philosopher; and philoso- phers, you knoiw, are above all such weaknesses." "I hope that he is not teaching you philosophy, then." "No, Mr. Denham, no woman can be a philosopher; if she has brains enough to understand it, and heart enough to admire it, she never has the will to be it." "For which constitutional defect let us praise the Lord." When they reached the house, the band were playing a march, and the company were pairing off in the direction of the supper-room, where tables, covered with all the delicacies of the Boshville markets, stood ready for the occasion. A furious onslaught was made on the dishes of oysters, quails, and truffles, while the pyramids of ice- cream vanished beneath the digging of a hundred spoons. Amidst the clatter of the plates and chatter of the guests, the pop of the champagne bottles, always accompanied with a little scream of the lady in whose presence the ex- plosion was made, came in regular intervals like the heavy artillery of a battle. "If you want to keep the effervescence going on in your wine-glass," said one of the guests, who seemed very anx- ious to make a sensation, "you should clap your hand suddenly and firmly over the wine-glass, and thus force the air into the wine. For instance, you see my glass of wine is already dead; now I will make it foam over with THE UPPER TEN A MUSSE THE MSEL VES. 7 life, thus." And he suddenly brought his hand down over the glass so awkwardly as to break it in pieces. "You must show that to our host," said one amid the general titter; "he would appreciate the operation much better than we lookers-on do." "When I was at Paris I always drank my bottle of Sau- terne for dinner, and felt splendid after it," said a very young man to a pale girl in red silk. "Oh, how I'would love to go to Paris!" was the re- joinder. "And pa says if business is good this winter and pork goes up, he will take me and ma there." "Bananas are good in the South, say at New Orleans," said a gentleman, while he skinned that vegetable; " but here they don't taste much better than papaws." "Take brandy, take brandy," whispered Judge Hickey to his companion; "it is very good, and won't sour on your stomach like that red vinegar which they call Ca- tawha." "Did you hear that terrible story about Miss Short?" inquired fat and childless Mrs. Pilgers of her neighbor, the parson's wife. "They say that her father had to take her to Europe because she fell in love with the nigger coachman, and--" A shout of laughter from the other end of the room drowned the balance of this speech. "They are laughing at one of papa's experiences, I pre- sume," said Renata, as she noticed the doctor gesticulat- ing in the midst of the laughing group. "Did you go long or short on Erie?" said Stubbs, the banker, to a stockbroking friend. "I bought Erie at 25, and I will bet a hundred dollars that in ten days it is 82. Fisk's scheme failed, and Tweed's a rogue; look out, there is money in it." "There, Miss Knappe, there is the most beautiful tea- rose in my garden, and you will remember that my garden page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 THE LOST MODEL. is not to be beat," said Mr. Leslie, with a very red and excited face, as he handed the blushing girl the flower. "What funny things take place in this world!" said Renata to Harry Denham when the donor was gone. "Leonard, it is late and I am very tired; had we not better go home?" asked Mrs. L. of her husband, who, flushed with the wine, was attempting to make a speech on politics. "Home? No!" blustered out that gentleman, and he took hold of another bottle. "Why, hang it, we have only just come. You can go home if you want to; Red- wood will call the carriage. Now, boys, give us a toast! Fill up your glasses, every one of you!" The ladies gradually retired from the supper-room, and left it in the possession of the old gentlemen, who pulled out their cigars, smoked, and told each other stories fit only for male ears to hear. In the parlors the dance again went on, and in the upper room a couple of tables were occupied by card-players, who watched each other like tigers. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning when Renata and the doctor got home, and found Caspar still in the chair, with the newspaper on his lap, but he fast asleep, with his head back and his mouth wide open. "Caspar! Caspar!" cried Renata, as she placed the end of a banana in his mouth, "wake up, and see the pine- apple and bananas I brought you from the party." "Did you have a nice time, sister?" asked the boy, rubbing his eyes, and looking pleased at the fruit. "Splendid; I would not have missed it for the world." THE DOCTOR RIDES HS HOBBY. 73 CHAPTER VI. THE DOCTOR RIDES HS HOBBY. "AH, Kettle," said Dr. Knappe, "the room looks nice and clean this evening, and I am very glad of it, as I expect some company in a few minutes to see my en- gravings. Now, I must keep it this way, and I certainly will not let it get so dirty again." "I cannot understand," said Renata, looking up from her work, "why you will not let us clean this room every day like the rest, and not let it go until it is as dirty as a hog-pen, and fine people are coming, when it must be suddenly cleaned, and consequently only half cleaned." "I want you to keep your brooms and brushes out of this room; there are plenty of other places in the house where you can flourish them, but don't do it in here except when I ask you." "You need not be afraid, papa; this is the only ugly room in the house; Kettle and I, if we can help it, never go near it." The doctor was too much absorbed in admiring the pic- tures on the walls to heed this unkind criticism. "Turn the gas down a little, Kettle; the heat and smoke are very injurious to paintings. You see how it has discolored that Achenbach, while Burgmiller, which is protected by the glass, is as fresh as though it was painted this morning." "What company do you expect this evening, papa?" "Well, I do not know all their names. Theophilus 7* page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 THE LOST MODEL. Maple is, however, one of them. What are you laughing at?" I was thinking how foolish he acted at the party." "Foolish or not foolish, he is a very finely educated man, and has traveled all over Europe. Leslie tells me that he is considered one of the greatest preachers in the West. I must show him my 'Last Supper,' by Morghen, as he saw the original in Italy." "Kettle," said Renata, quietly, in German, to the old housekeeper, "when he comes you look at him, and see if you do not think him to be a loafer. His eyes are too close together." A few minutes later the company were assembled in the doctor's art-parlor. There were Mr. Leslie, Mr. Maple, Harry Denham, and one or two brother-physi- cians present; and the doctor, as he stood in the centre of the group, in front of a large portfolio, and descanted upon the merits of the work he exhibited to them, was in the height of his pleasure. "Now, Mr. Maple," said the doctor, pausing in his work, and putting his spectacles up among his hair, "I shall show you some of the great Italian masters; works, as you very well know, for you saw many of the originals, full of the highest and deepest religious feeling. Now, I am no church-goer,-for what time have I to go to church? -and yet I know that no great work was ever created but the artist was inspired to it by feelings of reverence, of devotion, and of humility. This modern spirit of 'one- man-as-good-as-another' has made a good many machines, steam-engines, and all that kind of thing, -but it never called forth a great work of art, like the Catholics pro- duced in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries." "I hate Catholics!" muttered Mr. Leslie. "You consider this world, then, like a garden," said TIE DOCTOR RIDES HS IIOBBY. 75 Mr. Maple, "and the men and women plants in it, with a strong tendency to become weeds, and that they need the pruning-knife and shears of the gardener to keep thei within the bounds of order and bpauty." "Precisely! precisely! And I'll tell you why. Here-" " If you are going to get up a discussion on plants," interrupted Mr. Leslie, "say so, and I'll clear out; and if you are going to show us some more pictures, doctor, why, out with them." At this moment Renata entered, followed by Redwood. "I caught him just as he was going out," said the girl to her father, triumphantly, "jand I told him he must stay,-and. keep me company the-whole evening." "That's right; sit down here in front. I have got something new you have not yet seen, Redwood." Then turning to Leslie: "Why, what is the hurry nbw, Mr. Leslie? This is not a stock-market, and neither of us are going long or short, as you call it. You certainly have nothing to do between now and morning." "I don't know about that," said Leslie. "Well, go on,-go ahead." "Is that a new landscape? Who painted that?" in- quired Redwood of Renata, pointing to a flat scene with a number of windmills in it. "Oh, yes, that is the latest Burgmiller; don't look at it, or papa will never cease praising it." The doctor by this time had got out of his portfolio, and placed upon the easel in front of his guests, a very fine copy of "The Last Supper," engraved by Raphael Morghen. "Now there is one of the greatest works ever conceived by man. You saw the original, Mr. Maple, when you were abroad. This is Morghen's engraving of it. Redwood, tell us about the picture, what it represents from the Bible, and who all these figures are. My mem- page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 THE LOST MODEL. ory is so bad that I cannot remenber names. These, however, are the twelve disciples: the one with the bag is Judas; Peter has a knife in his hand, and Thomas holds his finger up; and the figure next to Christ is the beloved disciple John. I wish I could describe it like Redwood can, when he likes. It represents, as you all know, treason in friendship. Here are the founders of a new religion,-the greatest, so they tell me, which the world ever saw,-and, unfortunately, among these chosen men of the earth is a traitor, false and treacherous. (I wish I could tell all this like Redwood tells it.) You see what noble forms and magnificent heads these men have, worthy of the noble theme which occupies their minds and hearts. Now, think of the mean, petty faces with which we are surrounded in this life, and then say what must the artist have been who could create such a splendid scene for his fellow-men to look at, admire, and be chastened and elevated by the sight." "I would like to know how these men-the disciples -really looked," said Renata to Denham, who was bend- ing over her, admiring her knitting. "Don't talk nonsense, my child," said the doctor; "it makes no difference to us how they looked. Of one thing you may be quite sure: that they did not look half so noble and handsome as these men do." "Indeed!" said Mr. Maple. "I beg leave to differ from you. I would rather possess a real portrait of one of the disciples than the whole dozen by Da Vinci." "Tell me why, Mr. Maple, tell me why." "They didn't have table-cloths in those days, nor did they sit all on one side of the table, like children at a school," said Leslie, sotto voce. "The reason why," said Mr. Maple, raising his voice and looking at Renata, "is because one is truth, and the THE DOCTOR RIDES HS HOBBY 77- other is a fiction of man's invention. The only merit of this picture is to remind us of how they might have looked; but how insignificant must this be beside the portraits of the real Christ and his disciples!" "One is a question of mere curiosity," said the doctor, getting excited, and looking over to Redwood for sup- port; "I don't care if you had them all, yes, the very real portraits of the fishermen who were the disciples of the founder of Christianity; and yet, I say, these men and this great picture would outshine the other." "What! Do you care nothing for truth? Is an im- aginary thing equal to the reality?" "Yes, of course it is." "Doctor, do you make the hand of man more power- ful than the hand of God? Can you compare, for a moment, the brush of DaVinci with the incomprehensible productions of the Deity? Think of it 1 Had we the portraits of the apostles and the disciples of our Saviour, we should then see the faces of those men, and through their faces the souls of the founders of our religion. There must be some sympathy, doctor, between the soul and the body; consequently, their faces would harmonize with their noble thoughts and deeds, and we should then see the proper form of goodness, we should then have before us the true types of the greatest of our race. Take the figure of our Saviour, for instance. We say, or rather the Bible says, that man is made in the image of God. But these images differ very much upon the earth, and it is a question of the keenest interest among men to know that iflthe Deity, for a brief period of time, should de- scend 'among us and put on an earthly covering, which one of the many human types He would adopt. Now, if we had the real, true portrait of Christ, we should see the noble features which won the hearts of nearly all beholders, page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 THEI LOST MODEL. -the face which fascinated every woman who looked upon it,-the face which children loved, and which loved children,-and, above all, we should have the face of Him who died upon the cross for us all. Whereas this is but the work of a man, who has certain aesthetic types of beauty in his mind, and cuts all his men and women after that one type. And as no painter can draw or paint any- thing but what he has seen with his eyes, so these figures are but the idealized faces of the Italians which Da Vinci found in the streets and cities of his own country!" The doctor sat down and sighed before the ardent attack, and was silent. "I think you have misunderstood our friend, the doc- tor," said Redwood, gravely, turning to the triumphant preacher. "Truth is one thing and beauty in art is an- other. If you mean by truth, in art matters, the servile copying of nature, defects and all, then that kind of truth would degrade the art. That is the kind of truth which Ruskin clamors for when he scolds Raphael for not paint- ing mud on Peter's legs, and bunions and flea-bites on his flesh. The only kind of truth which the artist has to do with, is the relation between his ideas and the objects by which he represents them. But now, suppose that you had the real portraits of Christ and his disciples,-this picture would outrank it for a very simple reason. Experience has taught us, and I think truly, that in this world, unless under a sky and culture so favorable as Greece once was, the human face and figure seldom reaches the high point of beauty and perfection of which it is capable. Men are the productions of climate, food, habits, work, occupations, and all the petty surrounding circumstances of life; and they consequently bear upon their faces and figures the imprint of their past sufferings, as well as their passions. You will always find some defect in every hand- f THE DOCTOR RIDES HS HOBBY. 79 some face you meet with; it may be one of race, or habit, or climate, or culture, or birth, or some circumstance arising from a private vice, which mars its otherwise perfect character. Not so, however, with the creation of the artist; these very defects his aesthetic eyes soon detect, and, taking the rest from nature, these he throws away. The ideal type he carries in his mind was equally given him by nature, and, when he draws, he still gives to his model upon canvas the excellence which nature in some circumstances denied him; he does not create, but when one human face is before him, he can leave out an accidental defect, and add the trait which would have made the model almost perfection. Then, again, Mr. Maple, you must consider that the qualities which distin- guished the disciples of Christ were those of the heart, not of the head; and nature, you know, often pours her most sacred fire in the humblest and meanest of human vessels, so far as looks are concerned. History tells us that the disciples were men of the poorest class and meanest of occupations; and it would be nonsense to ex- pect that they had faces like Greek philosophers, or noble and dignified figures like great Roman senators. They were not athletes, nor did they cultivate beauty and grace of the body. I am speaking now of the race. They had been conquered and enslaved, and were simply hewers of wood and drawers of water for their conquerors. Had we the real portraits of the disciples, it would no doubt gratify a very keen and natural curiosity; but, to my thinking, if would give Christianity a fatal ,blow. The forms and faces which Fra Angelico, Francis, Da Vinci, and Raphael have given us, form a nobler a:d more fitting basis for Christianity, as we believe and teach it, than would the narrow faces and bent figures of the real persons who lived and acted out that wonderful drama." page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 8o THE LOST MODEL. "You do not mean to say," said Maple, with a sneer, "that a Madonna by Raphael, and a Venus by-Titian, are more beautiful than the fair Italians who served them as model or that a painter's creation can be more beauti- ful than a work by nature?" "I do. I say precisely,that the San Sisto Madonna is more beautiful than the simple peasant girl whose face and figure inspired him with the thought. Her face told of the drudgery of her daily life, of the petty passions of her nature-be it for a dress or a man; but when it had passed through the crucible of the artist's imagination,- through his brain and heart,--the mean, petty, and mortal part of it was thrown aside, and only the permanently beautiful remained." "Precisely! precisely!" said the doctor, beaming with admiration' upon his friend; "just as " "See here, doctor, if you are going to start a debating club, or a wrangling society, just say so on the spot, and I'll go home; I came to see your pictures, and not to hear your oratory," said Leslie, very energetically. The doctor laughingly told Leslie that he was a prosaic kind of a steam-engine, and then, good-naturedly, went on with the exhibition. "What a delightful time you must have, Miss Renata, to live in this casket, amid all these beautiful works of art!" said Mr. Maple, leaning over that young lady's chair, and bestowing upon her one of his most impressive stares. "I never, think of it. I never come in this room, ex- cepf to clean it; so that to me it is not much of a casket. Besides, I don't think the pictures so very fine; it is sim- ply papa's enthusiasm which mak'es them seem so." "Oh, but you are mistaken, Miss Renata; these en- gravings are really very beautiful, and you, of all the per- sons in this room, ought to appreciate that quality most." THE DOCTOR RIDES HS HOBBY. 81 "Why?" "Because you are so handsome," was the reply, sotto vore. Then aloud, "That is a beautiful engraving of one of Lessing's landscapes, doctori; I saw the original at Dusseldorf." "When I was in England there was not a good modern landscape in the whole country,-I mean of an English artist," said Harry Denham; "and yet the-names of Les- sing, Schirmer, and Ashenbach were almost unknown." "In England," said the doctor, "they have no school of art, and, consequently, no art. There, as here, de- mocracy takes the place of art. Every man paints as he chooses,-on his own hook,-and all that is produced is an accumulation of portraits in one picture by Frith, or a great, glaring, exaggerated portrait by Watts." "How small your hands are! What pretty piece of work is that you are knitting?" asked Maple of the girl, as he edged still nearer to her. "Oh, that is undoubtedly intended for an ornamental cassock, to be given to some favorite preacher!" said Harry Denham, who had overheard the question. "All our young ladies are in love with eloquent and fervent preachers, and they express their admiration by working them slippers, morning-gowns, aid -" "Night-caps," suggested Renata, laughing. "This is intended for a footstool for papa; he always complains that when he sits in this room his feet get so cold; and as he hates carpets, this will be better than the cold floor for him." Mr. Maple gave Denham a most unapostolical sneer and disdainful look, and went over to the other side of the room. "This is the first opportunity I have had of asking you if you enjoyed yourself the night of the party." 8 page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 THE LOST MODEL. "I love to dance, and as I danced a good deal you may be sure I was happy. I am glad you drove that nasty man away from me; my heart sinks when he stares so. - Bring your chair nearer, then he can't come back." "Your father seems quite struck with him; see how admiringly he gazes upon him." "A bad man, who flatters papa, always imposes upon him. It is so funny! Redwood the other day told papa that the Lord sent him for the benefit of the rogues." Another discussion had suddenly sprung lp between the doctor and one of his guests. "I tell you, doctor, I have seen the Alps, have been up the Jardin and Montanvert frequently, and I say that the real scene looks finer than your Calame." "You are entirely mistaken," was the rejoinder; " you never in your life saw the Alps look so grand and beau- tiful as this painting! Look at the yawning abyss, the blasted pine, the snow nestling in the clefts of the rock, and the wonderful distribution of light!" "What of that? what of all that? Isn't the same thing in nature, and a thousand more besides? This is pretty, but the real thing is beautiful beyond all expres- sion." "In the sense I speak," said the doctor, waving his arms in an excited manner, "the artist must surpass what he sees, or he is not a great artist. I cannot express myself clearly upon that point." "I think with the doctor," said Redwood, coming to the rescue, "that beauty, or rather this kind of beauty, - can only properly be predicated of the work of an artist. In nature the tree, the mountain, the meadow, and the river are dumb, uncouth, and generally more or less injured in their forms by man, and by the accidents of nature. A cold wind has chilled the sapling, and given it a squatty THE DOCTOR RIDES HS HOBBY. 83 ' growth; the rains have washed the banks into the river, and man has placed a cotton-mill just below the cataract, and the scene in nature is frivolous and unmeaning ; the artist comes and drowns the cotton-mill, curves the broken bank, heightens the tree, and gives a new current and power to the river. You will find in Switzerland those trees, that valley, those mountain peaks and clouds tinged with golden light; but altogether, in that grouping, in that color and light, never,-never." "My God!" said Leslie, "you are like a lot of school- boys, you wrangle over everything. I have known Red- wood for fifteen years, and I never heard him speak so much before; if you go on this way, the doctor will talk all night." "Now, you are a strange man, Leslie," said the doctor, good-naturedly; " if we were talking about stocks, bonds, or railroad shares, you would listen with a pious devotion, but because it is only about pictures you break it up with contempt. Why, one of these works will outlast'even the Erie swindle. Why don't you take life like my friend Burgmiller takes it? Tell him, Mr. Denham, tell him, if you please, how Burgmiller passes his life, and then you will say that is how a man ought to live." Denham, thus appealed to, reluctantly left the side of Miss Renata, and turning to the speakers described the life of 'the Dusseldorf artist. When he moved away, Maple, who had watched the opportunity, immediately sat down beside the girl and said in his sentimental manner, "I was admiring your picture on the wall there, beside that fat little boy. Tell me, who is the cross old lady who holds you by the hand?" "That is our dear old Kettle, the housekeeper, and she is not cross." "Do you know that your face is handsomer than any page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 THE LOST MODEL. ever; painted by Guido Reni or Raphael?' I am aston- ished that your papa should prize so highly an engraving of beauty, when he has in his own daughter so choice a work of nature." This was spoken so low that it only reached the ears of Renata. "That is nonsense, nonsense. What do you say to that, Mr. Denham? this gentleman says I am as fine as a picture by Guido Reni or Raphael." "I hope he did not say it as loud as you do; it was possibly a corner compliment, not to be repeated." The discomfited clergyman fell back upon his sneer, and Renata, laughing at the angry look on Denham's face, went out to get the wine for the guests. The clock struck one, and the doctor had one of his guests in the corner reading to him a letter from Burgmiller, Denham was explaining to Redwood his theory of the Wagner music, Maple with a glass of wine in his hand was shooting very -tender glances at Renata, who was holding her brother Caspar's hand and listening with delight to his account of the play, from wlich he had just returned, while Leslie with uplifted finger-the one with the large diamond upon it-wkas explaining to his neighbor the difficulties of the Indian question, and what a good speculation it would be to buy lands where the Pacific railroad was about to run. "Kettle," said Renata, when she retired that night, and the old servant was tying up the girl's braids of hair, "what is jealousy a sign of?" "They say it is a sign of love. When you were little, yo were very jealous. I dared not look at or touch any other child in your presence."' "Then I'm not in love now," after a pause. "But I think I know somebody who is.,' MAGDALENS AND MADONNAS. 85 CHAPTER VII. SOME PEOPLE LIKE MAGDALENS BETTER THAN MADONNAS. THE doctor sat at his morning meal, and opposite him sat Caspar, with a newspaper in his hand,' which he read very attentively, occasionally stopping to take a bite of the toast or a sip of the coffee. The doctor, with his gold spectacles pushed back among his hair, had his large blue eyes bent very closely on the boy, as the latter with crossed legs paid more attention to his paper than to the breakfast. "What are you doing, Caspar, my boy?" "Reading the newspaper." "What do you read the newspaper for, Caspar?" The boy looked up in astonishment. "What do I read it for? Why, for the news. To know what is going, on,-to learn what the world is doing, and all that kind of thing." "Tell me, what news do you want to find out, Caspar? Anything relating to your business?" "What kind? Why, papa, how can I tell that? Every- body reads the papers to know what is going on." "Ha! Well, tell us what you have found out this morning; let us see how much wiser you are." "Well, there was a man stabbed in the Fifth Ward last night, Benson's house was burned down, and there is a report that the Emperor of the FrencH was shot at while returning from the opera; all kinds of things like that." "Well, my boy, how do you feel after knowing all that? 8* page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86' THE LOST AMODEL. Is that kind of information useful to you in your business, or are you wiser and nobler in knowing it, or is your mind more at ease? Suppose in to-morrow's paper every one of those items is contradicted, how far are you advanced in the knowledge of things? But stop a minute. Give me that bundle of old pap rs in the corner. There, take this one, and read the first column, and tell us what this paper which is twenty years old says. Now read it." The boy read : "Terrible fire on Fourth Street-explo- sion of a river steamer-elopement of a young lady in high life-man killed in a brothel-and the Queen of England shot at--" "There, there, that will do, my boy. As these items were published twenty years ago, you consequently did not know them, having never read that newspaper. Did you lose anything by your ignorance of all those interest- ing events? Or do you really suppose that these kind of things constitute knowledge?" I "Oh, father! you carry things too far. I had better been born a fool, than not know what is going on." "How many times must I tell you, you sheeps-head, that these accidents do not constitute knowledge, and that you are sullying your memory with lies, not facts?" "Oh, well," said the boy doggedly, " it's exciting to read them, and I like to be excited." "Do you? then suppose you saw .up my fire-wood in the cellar, and that will excite your muscles as well as your brain." To what length this discussion might have gone there is no telling, for the doctor was quite a long lecturer whenever he struck one of his favorite themes when the door-bell rang violently and put an end to the dispute. When Caspar opened the door, a man insen- sible and covered with blood was carried in and laid on the sofa, and a crowd of men filled the doctor's office. AIMAGDAl. ENS AND AZADONANAS. 87 "How are you, doc?" said a policeman who helped to carry the wounded man in ; "there was a fire down on Ninth Street, and Dick Mulberry here got into a fight with some of the engine boys, and he got his head opened with a slung-shot. Look at it; it is a pretty bad lick!" The doctor took off his coat, and pulled up his sleeves. "Go up-stairs," to Caspar, "and tell Renata not to' come down; and bring me a'basin of warm water and a pair of scissors. Get away from the window, there! I cannot see if you block out the light that way." "I'll go for those fellows," said the policeman, catch- ing up his club, and as he hurried out the crowd backed away from the windows. When the doctor had washed the blood away from his patient's face, he recognized in him the leading rowdy of Boshville; a man who was as celebrated for his brutal fights as the doctor himself was for his pictures. The fellow never flinched once as the doctor sewed up his wound and plastered and bound up the ugly gashes on his head and back. But he would occasionally mutter out his determination to "chaw up". a number of people, whom he named, as soon as he was "fixed up" again. Two of his companions stood close to the doctor, with their hands in their pockets, closely watching, with a scowl on their countenances, his movements. They never offered to assist, but were critically observing the whole operation. One asked the other, with a wink at the doctor, "Who is he?" "A Dutchman!" was the laconic reply. When the dressing was all over, the doctor said, "There you are, Mr. Mulberry, as sound as ever. If those bandages pain you, come and see me, and I'll loosen them for you." "Boys, where is my coat and hat?"They were handed to him, and he put them on. Then without a word to the page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 TLHE LOST MODEL. doctor, without a gesture,-almost without even a look, -he turned upon his heel, wrenched open the doors, slammed them behind him, and tramped away with the crowd at his heels. The doctor gazed for a moment at the retreating mob, then picked up the pieces of lint, put aside the basin of blood and water, and, looking intently at Caspar, asked him what he thought of that. The boy blushed crimson, but did not answer. "The German equivalent for freedom is ' Frechheit' or impudence, and this fellow is the natural product of liberty and the principle that 'one man is as good as an- other.' Whenever you pray, my boy, for my sake ask that you may never become one of these brutes of free- dom. Now, supposing I had done this much for a dog, don't you think he would have made some motion ex- pressive of his gratitude towards me for relieving him from pain? Why, I tell you, my boy, in every city of the Union there are hundreds, yes, thousands of such loafers, who are more ignorant than an Esquimaux, more blood- thirsty than an Indian, and have less kindness in them than a spider has of milk. As sure as there is a God above me I would take them all,-and there is certainly a million in the country,-and set them on the prairie, and pray the Almighty to strike them dead with lightning, just for the honor of the human race. The Assyrian hosts that the angel smote while they slept were gentlemen in comparison with these rowdies. Now go to your work, and as you go out send Renata to me; tell her to put on her bonnet and shawl." While the doctor was speaking, Redwood entered, and, after waiting until the boy closed the door behind him, he asked, "How is Annette Leonard? You were there this morning, were you not?" AMAGDADLENS AND MADONNrAS. 89 "Yes, Redwood, they sent for me at four o'clock this morning. The poor lady is very sick,-high fever,-and what is most astonishing to me, she has a cut on her cheek and temple two inches long, besides black eyes and other bruises about the face. They tell' me'that getting up in the night, in the dark, her night-dress caught against something, she stumbled and fell, striking her head against the sharp corner of the bureau, and- " "An invented lie!" said Redwood, bitterly. "You know the truth, don't you, Conrad?" "Well, of course, I have my thoughts or rather my suspicions how it is; but as to what has really taken place I am ignorant!" "Then I will enlighten you. Leonard, her husband, beats her whenever he gets into a jealous fit. He drinks, and when he is. sufficiently mad with the' whisky he goes home, pulls her out of bed by the hair, kicks her, and strikes her with anything he can lay his hands on. Then he is suddenly stricken with remorse, cries, kisses her hands, and begs on his knees to be forgiven 1" "Great Heaven! that is the secret, then, of her pale face and that timid air. But jealous, jealous of whom?" There was a pause, when Redwood answered, as bis forehead and ears mantled with the rising blood, "Of me! Yes, Conrad, of me! It is too long a story to tell at present," he added, as he avoided the earnest look of the doctor. "Have you ever quarreled with Leonard?" "Yes; but we quarreled for the' last time the other day. When he first hired me to write for his paper, he told me he was going to break up the political rings and cliques of politicians who were living on the spoils of what they stole from the public treasury; and he wanted me to assist him in publicly lashing the impudent scoun- page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] drels who robbed the people and boasted of their robbery. His paper, the now famous 'Truthteller,' was then an unknown sheet, kept alive by the advertisements and by the sale of copies bought by the idiots who wrote for the paper. I entered upon the task with earnestness, and you know very well that I exposed the swindles of the men who got millions to build parks and bridges, and who put one-half of the cost into their own pockets; and I explained the caucus frauds, the ballot-box stuffing, and the thousand other cheats which political tricksters prac- ticed upon the people. The paper sold well; the rogues who were not detected laughed to see the rogues who were found out writhing beneath the lash of a newspaper. At first they tried to bully Leonard into silence and re- spect for those who had money, but at that time he could not afford to be still, and he only lashed the louder for the threats; that is to say, he brought me the facts, I wrote the articles, and he gave himself out as the author; and, armed as he was, snapped his fingers and sometimes his pistol at their faces. But every man has his price. The man they could not bully into silence they bribed, and then came the change. The fellow whom yesterday I had denounced as a forger, a treasury thief, and a demagogue, to-day I was to praise as a patriot, and eulo- gize for his honesty and integrity. Now I know that honest men are scarce, and patriotism simply a tradition. What I had labeled as 'poison' yesterday, I refused to mark 'elixir of life' to-day. We had a stormy interview, and we parted in anger; he, as I left him, emphasizing the fact that henceforth his house was closed to me." "Simply because you left him?" "Not so much that, as when he heard I had accepted a position among the writers of the 'Spread-Eagle,' with the proprietor of which he has a bitter quarrel." MAGDALENS AND MADONNAS. 91 The doctor sighed, and, feeling somewhat perplexed, looked upon the ground and fell into a reverie. He was just going to warn Redwood to beware of Leonard, for he was a very dangerous man, when he looked up and noticed that he had left the room, and in his place came Renata, ready dressed for the walk. "Did you see the beautiful picture Redwood has in his room? It is a portrait of Mrs. Leonard. Did you, papa?" "No. When did he place it there?" "Yesterday, I think. She is very pretty; but so shy for a great rich lady." The doctor was silent, and was sinking again into another reverie, when that young lady aroused him with,- "You ain't going to the hospital, are you, papa? be- cause I can't go there. I don't mind the sick people, I feel sorry for them; but those foolish boys who are studying to be doctors, I just hate them. They stare at me,-and then when you are away they talk such non- sense! Besides, no other doctor takes his wife or daughter there, except Dr. Bovine, ind his wife goes everywhere where there is a man." "No; I want you to go with me to Ferris's." "The stone-cutter?" "The sculptor, my child. Don't speak so disrespect- fully of his occupation; he is an artist by education, if not by the grace of God. As I told you the other day, the archbishop gave him an order for a 'Pieta;' you know what it means,-' Mary with the dead Christ upon her lap.' You have seen my engraving of Michael Angelo's famous masterpiece. Well, this, when finished, is to go on the right-hand side of the altar in the cathedral; and on the left is to be another group, also ordered by the archbishop, representing Mary Magdalen washing or page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] , --an- KNOX vuC L. kissing the feet of Christ, or something of that sort. I met Ferris the other day, and he was complaining to me of the difficulty of getting models in this country. He also said it is easier to find a fine figure or form than it is a fine face of the type which he requires, of what is called the Madonna kind. The other night he saw you at Leslie's, and was very much impressed with your face, and asked me as a favor to bring you and let him take it as a model for the--" "Me, papa ? Ain't you ashamed to taik such nonsense ! Why, I never heard of such a thing. My face is no more like a Madonna's than a cat's is." The girl laughed, blushed, pouted, and looked indig- nant at the doctor. "Don't be silly, my child; but put on your gloves and come along," said the doctor, calmly, although he saw a storm was brewing. "Why, father,- think of it! I ain't handsome a bit." "You goose ! who said you were?" "Well, but only handsome people sit for Madonnas; they never take girls like me, who know nothing; it is so ridiculous that I wouldn't go there for all the world;" and she ran out in the direction of the kitchen. "The devil's broke loose again! Another row!" muttered the doctor, putting his spectacles into his pocket, and following her into the kitchen. There he found her ensconced behind the old housekeeper, Kettle, who was busy peeling potatoes for the dinner. !} " "Did you ever hear such a foolish thing, Kettle? And yet papa insists that I shall go and sit there for a Ma- donna; and a Madonaa, you must remember, was the mother of God. I ain't a mother! Papa, you really must think I am crazy i" and the girl commenced to cry. "See here, Kettle," said the doctor, "you have got ALA GDALENS AND MADONNAS. 93 some sense, and I will leave it to you if I am right or wrong. Ferris wants me to bring Renata so that he can use her'face as a model in moulding or cutting his statue. I promised him I would bring her this morning, and now the little fool don't want to go." "Ah, doctor ! why should you worry the child, if she does not want to go? Let him find another face; there are plenty of pretty American ladies who would be glad to be his model." "Because," said Renata, sobbing, "they are too good to sit in his studio and be cut into stone, and afterwards stared at by all the common people. But as I am only a Dutch girl, why it makes no difference." "They have got too much sense to keep up such a fuss about nothing as you are doing, that's certain." "Oh, yes," said Kettle, laughing, "they have got lots of sense. Why don't you take one for a wife ?" "Yes, there is that Miss Dent, who makes such beautiful biscuit,-she is a Yankee girl, -take her. She is dread- fully smart, and has what you admire, big feet." "She'll read the newspaper in bed for you every morn- ing; or Mrs. Bovine will get you one, with handsome feet, like she has.'" "And put on a clean pair of white silk stockings every hour." The doctor turned his head from one to the other as they bandied their phrases at him, then exclaimed, " Stop your nonsense, both of you! You know very well I never said anything about taking a wife; there are more women now in the house than I can manage. And, Renata, put on your bonnet and come with me, and if Ferris wants you to sit for a Magdalen-- " "Magdalen !" said Renata, brightening up, "why, papa, you said a Madonna." page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " THE LOST MODEL. "A Magdalen! a Magdalen! you sheeps-head, you!" thundered the doctor; "that-is what he wants you for." "Ah, well, that is a very different thing. I don't mind sitting for that poor creature, but a Madonna never." The two started off and walked slowly down the street. Occasionally the girl would stop and express some doubts that perhaps, after all, when she was there, Ferris might make her sit for a Madonna instead of a Magdalen. But the doctor would coax away these scruples, and the two would start forward again, although it must be confessed at a very slow pace. CHAPTER VIII. SOWING THE WIND. THE mansion of Mrs. Denham, which, like the rest of the aristocratic residences in Boshville, was surrounded by a large garden and thickly-set ailantus trees, was, on this day, the scene of a very interesting dinner-party, which that lady told a friend would one day be an important historical event. The ostensible purpose of the dinner was a complimentary meeting on account of Major Denham's sudden departure for the South, but the hidden gist of the affair was a meeting of persons engaged in a desperate and hazardous enterprise, and who came to- gether to compare notes, inspire courage in the weak- hearted, and make arrangements for future action. A glance at the guests at the table would show that Mrs. Denham had selected them with great knowledge of. character. There were the Binghams, of Kentucky,-one SO WING TIZE WIND. 95 a colonel in the militia and the other a major in the regular army,-both fighting men, and skillful with bowie- knife and rifle. They were each over six feet high, and possessed the long, thin lips, square jaws, and severe look so characteristic of men with ungovernable passions. There was also Colonel John Shadow, a handsome young man of about five and twenty, whose oval face, large black eyes, and slim; athletic figure excited universal admiration, but who also had gained some notoriety in having killed a darkey servant,-one of his father's slaves, -in a fit of passion, because the fellow refused to obey him. Colonel Shadow had gained his epaulettes and his rank from the filibuster Walker, to whom he acted as aide- 'de-camp in the Nicaraguan expedition; and Shadow would have shared the fate of his leader, had it not been for a Spanish woman, who concealed him and aided him in his escape. Mr. Leshe was also of the party, and he seemed to find himself in very appropriate company, for he too, it was whispered, had occasionally "drawn a bead" on- i e. shot down-an Indian; and when one of the Binghams would tell of an adventure, the old man, warmed with the wine, would bring out some old half-forgotten "Injun" fight. The only non-combatant present was Mr. Maple; and when it was considered that the hostess was a Roman Catholic 'aind the gentlemail Protestant preacher, it will be seen that in this instance the proverb was illustrated that "Politics makes strange-bedfellows." "Where is Harry?" said Leslie to the hostess. "Oh, he is always late," said that lady; "what with his law and his lady-love, I don't get to see much of him." ' Who is the lady-love?" inquired Mr. Maple. "The last one is Miss Knappe," said the lady, rubbing her nose as though partly vexed at the remembrance; "a very pretty girl, but Dutch as krout." page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 THE LOST MODEL. "The Dutch are a staple article here in the West," said one of the Binghams. "They make good soldiers," said George. "I have about twenty in my company; they are clean, sober, prompt, and reliable men. I like them very much." "Give me Irishmen," said Shadow; "they have got more dashl vim, and love of fight, than any other for- eigner I ever met with." "Irish!" interrupted Leslie "(I thank you for the sauce), Irish! I wish they were all in Africa! Fight! of course they can fight, but so can a wild-cat or a wolf. Why, confound them! they cost us millions every year, to build jails, police courts, and work-houses for them, simply because they love whisky and fighting. Now, sir, a good soldier, in my opinion, is a man who does not love fighting, but does it from a sense of duty and necessity; and then he does it without anger and consequently with more skill." "Try the Catawha, major," said Mrs. Denham. "Leslie, you are about half right. The Irish are well enough for modern warfare. You want a man at twenty dollars a month, who can walk thirty miles in a day, live on spoiled pork, sleep in the mud, carry a pack on his back weighing seventy pounds, and when the time comes to throw away his knapsack and blaze away at something which, in the far distance, is trying to hurt him. That is modern war- fare, and the Irish are good enough for that." "Provided you have intelligent Americans for officers," said Mr. Maple, who was anxious to say something. "In the North and West," said Major Bingham, haughtily, "you have got a pretty thick substratum of both Dutch and Irish, if they are of any use to you." "They are better than your substratum of niggers, any- how," said Leslie, with some warmth. SOWING TIE WIND. 97 This remark was received with a loud laugh by the Kentuckians, who immediately complimented Leslie for standing up for his part of the country. "Oh, I was born in Georgia, so I know something of both sides of the question; and if there is a worthless, unreliable element to depend upon, it is your nigger ele- ment! And I'll tell you one thing: you look out, for they'll serve you a mean 4ick yet, you see if they don't." "Pshaw!" said Mrs. Denham. "What do you sup- pose we care for the niggers; if they revolt, the women will take care of them. I can use a revolver as well as the next one, and so can any Southern woman. No, you need not be alarmed on that score. Take a little brandy, Leslie; you do not care for sour wine." "Well," said Shadow, "I think that after producing the all-knowing, skinning, howling, delving, and univer- sal Yankee, we can afford to be silent over the defects of other nations." "Do you include Mrs. Bovine in your category of dis- agreeable Yankees?" inquired Mr. Maple softly. Shadow laughed and replied, "Oh, the women have more sense than the men; but whether a large pumpkin is better than a small one, is a question for a cook to decide." "I'll tell you how it comes that the Yankee women are smarter than the men," said Leslie. "There's too much intermarriage in those little Yankee towns; you can find villages in which, from the doctor to the grave-digger, they are all blood-relations," interrupted Mrs. Denham. "No, no; that ain't it. That may be true or not; it would not affect my theory. In the first place, the soil in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and other places is about six inches deep; all below that is pure rock; so that even 9* page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 TIlE LOST MODEL. the sheep wear their teeth out in browsing the moss off the rocks, which they call grass. Of course, agricultural pursuits being of no use, they must rely upon manufac- turing. Now, here in the West and South, we have all soil and no rock; we grow oaks while they are cultivating weeds. The men of any enterprise, finding their native States good places to emigrate from, come West, make their fortunes, marry, and settle down; and, of course, upon the women devolve many of the duties which prop- erly belong to the man. Hence, at home, the Yankee woman is superior to the man." "Idon't mind their superiority," rejoined Shadow; "but what I dislike is, that their maxim of life-the great first cause of this existence-is to make money. For in- stance, a clergyman is about the last man in the community who should trouble himself about making money; and yet, look at their great clerical gun, the Reverend Obadiah Shrub. He is a man of good literary ability, combining humor with pathos; and has sufficient dramatic talent and gift of the gab to make his Sunday sermons a first-class literary amusement. Being a shrewd man by nature, he becomes proprietor of a newspaper, and the sermons which on Sundays draw out the tears and smiles of the congrega- tion in church, are printed for the benefit of those who live too far away to attend, or who, liking mental fire- works, have a prejudice against seeing them fired off in a pulpit. Thus, he makes a handsome income as preacher, and as religious (?) journalist also a very handsome share of profit; for, to-day, there is nothing pays so well as an advertisement; and a newspaper, as you are aware, even a religious one, is one-fourth advertisements. I have seen them as sculptors and painters at Rome, as musical stu- dents in Germany, and studying surgery at Paris; but the universal measure of a work of art was its price, and of SOWING THE WIND. 99 the professor's merit the fees he received. And I do not suppose that the wildest imagination could conceive of a Yankee monk." There was a long pause of silence, Shadow's subject having made the rest thoughtful; and in the mean time the servants carried away the dinner-plates and table- cloth, and left only fruit and decanters of wine upon the table. "Well," said Mrs. Denham, " we have done with them." And this seemed to be the signal for business. Papers were produced and quietly read to each other, and George laid a large map upon the table, and to one of the Binghams traced with his fingers certain places, which he called "points d'appju " Mrs. Denham, in reply to aquestion from Leslie, ex- plained to him, in her voluble manner, the wrongs of the South and the perfidy of the Yankees. She told, in an exasperated manner, how the Yankees, with their high tariffs, sat down by the gates of commerce, and taxed everything that came in for their own benefit; how they conspired to steal the property of the Southerner, the one- sided laws they made, their want of political honesty, their avarice, their meanness, their arrogance, their grow- ing strength by. dint of living off the produce of the South, and getting two prices (one from the State and the other from the purchaser) for their own wooden nutmegs and coagulated clocks; how every man had his price, and how they increased like flies and locusts until the Southern sky was darkened with them. When Leslie rather tauntingly asked how they were going to help themselves, the answer was equally ready and the voice equally voluble. They would divide and separate; a line should be drawn through the so-called Union, and it should be the page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 THE LOST MODEL. boundary between the dis-United States. On this side- our side-the Southern side-time-honored slavery, ladies and gentlemen, large estates, freedom, oratory, and a martial population of white men; on the other side, a hodge-podge of dough-faces, grocery-keepers, Dutchmen, atheists, political hucksters, niggers, white trash, and penny newspapers. Leslie suggested that before that took place, a very bitter and bloody fight would take place. Mrs. Denham snapped her fingers at the foe. Rapidly on her fingers she counted the States which were ready for the revolt, and could throw a half-million of men into the field. Besides, the North had no soldiers; all the educated officers were from the South. And they had the navy, too, for all the ships of war, owing to Secretary -- 's foresightedness, were away off in distant waters, and before they could be recalled the battle would have been fought and won. "A very pretty theory," interrupted Leslie, "and, like all women's plans, no room for an 'if.' Do you know that manhood makes a soldier, and not education?" "Well, that's precisely what the Southern men have: courage and manhood in its noblest sense. You need not shake your head; you cannot make a soldier out of a counter-jumper, nor a gentleman out of a barber, though you try often enough to do it." In the mean time a discussion had sprung up as to the most effective mode of settling the war by a brilliant coup de tonnerre, between the Binghams and Shadow. I "I take it," said the major, whose voice was the loud- est, "that the most effective blows are those bestowed on the vital parts, be it of man or beast. Well, now sup- pose George is right, before we can do anything effectual, they, as they are greater numerically, surround and hold SOWING THE WIND. I10 the periphery of the circle, while we are inside the ring. Now you must admit they have the most difficult position; while they are watching the whole, we can concentrate and move along a given radius, strike, breakthrough, and before they can collect their reserves we capture the Capitol, seize the Treasury, destroy the roads, and dictate a peace to them in their own legislative halls, or cripple them beyond the power of resistance." "My opinion is," said Shadow, "they will never hold out that long. Why, it is simply a question of dollars and cents. If the Yankee stops business to play the soldier, he cannot attend to his trade, consequently he will lose his customers; and as barter and profits are the breath of his nostrils, fighting won't pay him, and he'll soon quit that kind of thing." Leslie laughed at the picture, but he added significantly, "They may sell you yet on that question. I remember when we had the last trouble with the Indians, a regiment of volunteers came from Kansas, and they camped for some time near Fort Clinton. Well, sir, they had a Yankee sutler-what they palled a Green Mountain boy- who sold the soldiers everything from a skein of thread to a German sausage; of course all this was done on trust, and when pay-day came some of the boys would pay up, but generally towards night a party of boys, pretty drunk, would break into his tent, drink up his whisky, throw his crackers into the ditch, break his bar to pieces, an ' scarcely leave a piece of whole furniture as large as a man's hand. In a week, however, he would have everything set up again, and he would do a smashing business. He stood this kind of settling-day twice, without saying a word, but the third time he took a hatchet and a rifle, and of the drunken crew that came that night there was not one who dared to commence the fight. No, no, there is page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] I 2 THE LOST MODEL. pretty good fighting-stuff at bottom; they get it from the English. Trade, of course: they were born traders! This very fellow built a saw-mill, and when he found it would not pay, he sold it to the government for a fort and a storehouse, at ten times its real value. You will find his name cited in all the New England primers, as an instance of-what industry, perseverance, and Yankee ingenuity can achieve. " Shado, who had been impatiently treading the floor, here broke in-"Pshaw, Leslie, you talk as though you had lived all your life in an Indian fort. Why, I will in two days raise a regiment of a thousand men,-every man a gentleman, and mounted on a blood-h6rse,-who will come here and sack this very city before the mayor could be brought from his shoe shop and could draw up a reso- lution calling upon the city council to meet and the city militia to turn out and defend the city. A man who can take charge of a saw-mill or a lying, bragging, insurance company, is one thing, and a fellow of courage, spirit, and dash, is quite another thing. Do you know how the English went through the Sikhs, in their troubles in India? Well, we will repeat that story on the Northern dQugh-faces." And his eyes flashed and nostrils dilated at the certainty of the result. "Oh, there is a good deal of difference between the men, Mr. Leslie," said Maple, in a soft, apologetic voice. "I remember very well that when Congress voted five millions to settle the bogus Buchu claim, and referred it for settlement to the Secretary of the Interior, my uncle was on quite intimate -terms with old Secretary Bowie, of Alabama, in whose hands the matter was placed; and he once offered old Bowie any sum he might mention simply to know the day when the claim would be paid off, and the old fire-eater only snorted, and said SOWING THE WIND. I03 never a word. Chivalry, after all, you know, is a great thing!" The discussion was here interrupted by the entrance of several gentlemen with long hair, Byronean collars, large shirt-cuffs, who were all addressed and introduced as colonels, majors, and generals, and who seemed to be very polite, and to place a strong accent on the word Sir! which was loudly' and frequently repeated. Old Leslie at this point got up, made his excuses to Mrs. -Denham, who urged him in vain to stay, and then quietly left the room. As he passed along the hall he lit his cigar, and said, half aloud, to himself, "Old Thundercloud was right when he said that ' White Face always made a great noise with his mouth,' " and then passed out. That evening Harry Denham had come home in a great state of excitement. The South had taken up arms, had driven away the civil officers of the Federal governmenghe had taken possession of the arsenals, and had formed a provisional government for the establishment of a new Republic; and his excitement was considerably heightened when he was told by his mother that George had resigned his commission in the Federal army, and had already received the commission of a colonel in the rebel or Con- federate army. A quarrel ensued. He reproached his mother with her furious ambition and her meddling spirit, which, in the vain hope of distinction for her favorite son, was leading them both to ruin; and he added that he hoped her feelings of pride would be gratified when George should be hung as a traitor, or shot down for treason. "See here, George," said the mother to him, as he entered the room at that moment, "Harry and I are quarreling upon the old theme of my ambition; and he speaks of our enterprise as though we were a band page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 H 1z L UST MODEL. of pickpockets, and only had purses or watches in view. ' Something like a shade of pity stole over the face of the young soldier, as he looked at Harry, and an- swered,- "Well, mother, we will not discuss that question now. Harry has his views, and I have mine. In a very few months we will be able to speak definitely as to who is right ail who is wrong." "I always blamed your father for over-educating you, and now here is the result," said Mrs. Denham. "The time is come when the South is about to win the place to which she is entitled in the government of the country, and at this moment you have no more spirit than to sit down with these dough-faces rather than join the standard of men who are about to vindicate their right to live, to have their property, and be in the councils which they pay for and support." "Stick to your books and philosophy, Harry," said George, with the same shade of pity upon his open counte- nance; " no one can foretell the future. We may fail, you know, and, as you sometimes say, we may after all be only fighting for a shadow." "Humph!" chimed in Mrs. Denham; "if you are a good boy, and please old Dr. Knappe, and his daughter should take a fancy to you, you might marry her, and then you could open an apothecary shop, and thus be some help to your father-in-law,-for you have never been much to me." "Miss Knappe," said George, lightly, "is a very pretty girl; but if I were Harry I should take Miss Leslie. She is plumper and don't know much,-an ex- cellent thing in a woman." "Or you might go into the pork business, grow very SO WING THE WIND. o5 rich, and some day come to the high honor of being elected by the charming people as mayor of Boshville. Think of it: what a distinction for a Denham!" "If you do, Harry, I hope you will write better English than the present Mayor Daly, who spells bearer with one e and a large B, and opinion with two p's." "When do you leave, George?" said Harry, with an effort to be calm. "In a half-hour." "Then, let me bid you good-by. It may be the last time I shall see you, and I cannot bear the thought of parting from you in anger." "Come, Harry," said George, holding him' by the hand, "let us take the'stirrup-cup; if not to our enter- prise, why, Harry, old boy, we will drink to 'Auld Lang Syne.'" The face of Harry; Denham was white with suppressed emotion, and the hand that held the glass shook like a eleaf; but he said, with the same earnest, constrained manner, "When I think of you as an officer of the rebels, -one who has taken up arms to fight the mother who nurtured and educated you,-I cannot help but despise you from the bottpm of my heart; but as a brother, knowing as I do your generous, impulsive nature, your incapability of doing that which your conscience pro- nounced a wrong, and when I see you with the old boyish, ignorant confidence, rushing to your ruin, I have no words to express my feelings---'" He paused, as his emotion seemed to choke him, then touching the glass of his brother, he drank off the wine, shook him warmly by the hand, and went out of the room without saying a word. The parting seemed to dash the high spirits of George; and his mother, who watched his expressive countenance, IO page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 1o6 TILE LOST MODEL. rallied him upon being influenced by Harry's sentiment- alities; but the confident look soon returned, and his face shone the brighter for the tears that glittered in his eyes. And he added with a sigh, "No, mother, for us there must be no such word as fear or regret." CHAPTER IX. BOSHVILLE CAN AFFORD TO KEEP A SCULPTOR. "TURN your head slightly downwards; don't frown; let your lips be at rest; there, that gives a thinking repose which to the artist is very beautiful." The speaker was Ferris, the 'sculptor of Boshville,-or Andrew Jackson Ferris, as he usually wrote his name. Ferris had been educated in Europe,-in short, had spent nearly the best part of his life in Rome, and had come back to his native city, Boshville, more at the earnest solicita- tion of his wife and relatives than from his own choice. While abroad he had supplied many of his wealthy coun- trymen with copies of antique statues, and had also fur- nished the capitol with a fpill-length figure of De Soto, which had been very much admired. His masterpiece, however, was the marble figure of Justice which sur- mounted the dome of the State legislative building; and which represented a beautiful woman, with bare arms and breast, her head surmounted with the cap of Liberty, with bandaged eye, her right hand holding a drawn sword, while her left held aloft a pair of scales, and beneath her feet a broken crown, a chain) and a bent sceptre. Ferris BOSHVILLE CAN KEEP A SCULPTOR. 107 received twenty thousand dollars from his delighted coun- trymen for this noble work of art; and, what was equally advantageous, he received more orders for portrait-busts than he could finish in a lifetime. The head and figure of this Justice were very much admired, except by Mrs. Ferris, his wife, who told her friends in strict confidence that it was taken from a miserable, poor peasant-girl in Rome, who, she was afraid, was not as good as she ought to have been. Whereas, the arms and shoulders were really fine, as her husband always used hers as a model, -this was always modestly added. Ferris had been living in Boshville for the last ten years, and he was so highly esteemied by his fellow-citizens that they bought his cut marbles and placed them in their gardens, and whenever distinguished strangers came to the city, the atelier of Ferris was pointed out as one of the many beauties of the city. On one of the principal avenues of Boshville you would come across his modest-looking brick house, with a large yard in front, every foot of which was covered with huge pieces of rock and stone of every description, and: over the door was the sign of "Ferris, Sculptor." These stones, or, as the natives called them, " indigenous rocks," had been gratuitously supplied him by the Boshvillians. It came about in this way: As the country was opened up' around Boshville, and the hills broken open for bowlders, and the earth pierced in all directions for oil or water, various kinds of rocks were suddenly revealed, each of which, to the discoverer, was going to be a mine of wealth. The following colloquy would take place between Ferris and the enthusiastic discoverer of new rock: "Oh, say! Oh, say, Ferris!" "Well, what do you want now, Mr. -- ? I forget your name." page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] i08 TIlE LOST MODEL. "What is the name of that fine marble which them I-talians brag so much about, and you think so fine?" ' Carrara." "Yes, that's it. Well, in a few weeks I'll send you a block which will beat it all hollow. Give me the direc- tions. "All right; only don't send a big piece." And in a month would come along a huge block of granite, or sand- stone, which Ferris, with a sigh, would pitch among the rest in his front yard; and which he threatened to build a pyramid with, and christen it Boshville Carrara. The lower floor of the house served him as an atelier, and, almost filled as it was with Bacchantes, Apollos, Hercules, and quantities of casts of all descriptions, it was a very picturesque studio or workshop. All the windows were covered with heavy curtains which excluded the daylight, but from a skylight the golden radiance poured down in a line as straight as the ladder of Jacob. Seated in front of a mass of wet clay sat the sculptor, Ferris, cutting and moulding with his hands the pliant brown mass. On a wooden elevation, with his arms extended and leaning upon the rest, stood the model, who, on this occasion, was our acquaintance Parthee; as the bright light broke upon his head and shoulders, it revealed the beautiful curves of the face, the graceful and lithe figure, and solid repose of every limb. By. the side of the sculp- tor sat John (as he signed himself), the archbishop of Boshville. He was a small man with an upturned face, expressing confidence, zeal, faith, and the perpetual smile of one who is lost in wonder and admiration of the eternal fitness and beauty of things here below. "There is as much art in moulding drapery sometimes as in the flesh itself," said Ferris, in answer to a question. "Of course I mean that'disposition of it upon the human BOSHVILLE CAN KEEP A SCULPTOR. 109 figure which, while it attempts to hide, still reveals the limb beneath." "Having been educated to consider the mode improper to be shown in public, you must not grumble if it inter- feres somewhat with our appreciation of ancient art. Be- sides, my dear Ferris, when you carve a statue, you are not doing it to please the orniansQ r Greeks, but the Christians; then give us works which are in harmony with our ideas, and not those which we would like very much indeed if we were Atlhnians, but which we don't like at all, being Americans' Ferris gave a very energetic dig, with hs knife, into the clay, and threw the piece he dug dut down upon the board, like a man who seeks to vent his impatience upon something. "What do you think of my model, sir?" asked Ferris, somewhat abruptly, of the archbishop. "Quite interesting," answered the latter in Italian, and running his eyes critically over the face and figure as he proceeded. "And that is the repose, I presume, which you artists admire so much in the human figure. I can- not say that I like it, it seems so-expressive of indifference and disdain. I prefer the animation and curve of the flame. His eyes are large, but very cold, are they not? The chin is very good, but a little too expressive of self- will; and the lips are thin,-good lips for a scholar. The forehead is low, fine. How beautifully the light and shadow set off the arching eyebrows! The cheek-bones are a little too high. , I think I am prejudiced against that peculiarity, as I notice that my parishioners who have that prominence give us a good deal of trouble: am I right? The neck is slim. The antique busts have always struck me as peculiar in the stolid thickness of their necks,-even their women are almost bovine in that IO* page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "OO THE LOST MODEL. respect. I think upon a young, imaginative woman," he added with a sigh, "your model would have a very danger- ous influenced." "And yet, so far as my observation goes, sir, he has not shown much partiality for the fair sex; although-" The door opened, and Dr. Knappe and his daughter entered. The sculptor rose, buttoned up his military frock-coat, and extended both hands to the doctor. "I am glad you have come. After so many promises and no appearance I had almost given you up. You know the archbishop?" "Oh, yes," said the doctor, smiling; "I have very often bored the archbishop with my troublesome art matters. My daughter Renata." The sculptor made a very courtly bow to that blushing young lady, and the archbishop took her by the hand and patted the little fingers with a fatherly air. "Miss Knappe," said Ferris, "I am very glad your father has brought you along, as I have been desirous of seeing you for some time. At Mr. Leslie's party I took an artist's liberty of staring at you, and have been won- dering ever since when I should again have that pleasure." "Oh, papa made me come this time, or I don't think I should have been here, Mr. Ferris." "That is not very flattering, Miss Knappe. But if it is a fair question, may I ask you why?" "It was not on your account," said the girl, who had evidently made up her mind to take the bull by the horns; "but father said you wanted me as a model for a Madonna; and as I am not handsome, and don't look a bit like the Madonnas do, it is only nonsense to make me sit for one, and I hope you won't ask me, Mr. Ferris." "Let me put a case to you, Miss Knappe," said the archbishop. "Supposing our sculptor, Ferris, here, has BOSHtVILLE CAN KEEP A SCULPTOR. IiI to cut a bas-relief representing that beautiful passage in the Bible where our Saviour calls the little children around Him, and he comes to you and says, 'Miss Knappe, come and sit for oneof the little children,' what objec- tion would you raise to that?" "That is different, sir. A child! Oh, yes, very will- ingly. But a Madonna is the mother of God, and if you give her a face like mine, people would laugh at you and be angry at me." "So far so good, my child. Well, what do you say to Mary Magdalen?" "I would sit for her, sir, because Mary Magdalen was a poor unfortunate woman." The sculptor rubbed his hands, and added, sotto voce, "I can get a hundred young ladies who will sit for a Juno, Venus, Hebe, or a Madonna, but not one for a Magdalen " Here the doctor, who thought that his daughter was monopolizing too much the attention of the gentlemen, broke in with, "Is that so, Ferris, that you can get plenty of models for Madonnas, but not for Magdalens? Well, you see, we are all kings and queens here; we walkdress, and look like sovereigns; but, unfortunately, we don't think like them. 'Now, Renata is not troubled with too much sense, still she knows that fine feathers make fine- looking birds, but it don't make them sing." "That is what the poet says," interposed the arch- bishop; "the fruit-trees are cripples among trees, and the song-birds are in general very plainly clad." "Now, tell me," asked the doctor, inquiringly, of the archbishop, "you have traveled a great deal, and have seen the world,-not only our new portion of it, but the old one in Europe,-is there not a great want of harmony between the way we dress and the way we live, and what we really know? For instance, I am called out to page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 THE LOST MODEL. visit a patient sometimes, and he lives in one of those handsome marble-fronted houses on Broadway. Now, here, I say to myself, is a rich gentleman, and I expect to find a man of culture, and, in some respects, answering to the imposing appearance of his house." "A fine cage, and you expect the bird to correspond." "Well, I not only find the walls bare of pictures, but the owner of this mansion a very unfit being for such a splendid dwelling-place. In short, I find him a man without an idea beyond his own material comfort, and to have the soul and tastes of a footman. Now tell me, that thing does not occur in the old country, does it?" "Not exactly," answered the archbishop; " the man is oftener, there, as superior to his house, as here he is inferior. But if we go a step further, my dear doctor, and compare the exterior of the man to the inner being, the disparagement of our citizen in a fine house ceases. I have very often found, over there, that the outside of the man was good,-that is to say, he had courtesy, dignity, knowledge, grace, and fine taste,-but his heart, for all that, was full of vanity, self-conceit, and selfishness, and sometimes even cruelty; while here, I find men who are vulgar, ignorant, pretentious, and vain-glorious, who nevertheless are very large-hearted, and are never indif- ferent to the troubles of their fellow-creatures." "Is that really so?" asked the puzzled doctor, and his large blue eyes gazed 'vacantly in astonishment. The archbishop took out his snuff-box, and quietly took a pinch, and the sculptor smiled at the perplexed air of the doctor. "And yet it seems to me," commenced the latter, "that after all we may judge those people wrongfully. Be- cause, where a people are surrounded with noble works of art and by high-cultured nobles, who love these beautiful BOSHVILLE CAN KEEP A SCULPTOR. 113 creations and preserve them for the education and benefit of the people, there the people certainly must reflect the influence of such beauty and nobleness. Now, in Rome or Florence for instance " "Why, my dear doctor," here interrupted Ferris, "the statues of antiquity and the pictures of Raphael have no more moral influence upon the people of those cities than the grand figure of Neptune has upon the fish which swim and play in the fountain at its feet." This the doctor considered as a dreadful heresy, for beauty in his estimation was more precious than truth or justice. And he immediately launched forth into a very elaborate and critical exposition of the mission and effect of art; the archbishop encouraging him with approving nods and smiles, while Ferris accompanied him with a running commentary of ironical examples. In the mean time Parthee had descended from his wooden throne, and having procured a piece of wet clay and placed it upon a pedestal, was very seriously engaged in modeling a small head; while Renata, blushing and smiling with pleasure, was sitting for his model. "When will the red and yellow flowers come out on the hillside, and the-tops of the trees be white with buds?" asked Parthee. "When the sun calls them," said Renata, demurely. "Besides, you are a gardener, you ought to know. How nice you are doing that; if you have talent for an artist, why do you spoil your life and waste your time at Mr. Leslie's?" "Spoil! I ain't spoiling. Your upper lip is too short." "God made it, and you must not find fault with your Master's work." "Your forehead, Miss Knappe, is too high and broad for a woman." page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] " THE LOST MODEL. "For which woman? What nonsense. My forehead is large if you compare it with Miss Sallie Leslie's, as there is scarcely room on hers for her eyebrows. Perhaps you admire that young lady?" "Oh, no. That girl is in love with fine clothes; she frowns at me, and I laugh at her. Now I shall make your face without any dimples and without any laugh in it," and he kneaded with his knuckles the clay figure. "I saw you yesterday come down Baldhill; isn't that a beautiful place? Father and I go there very often. There are pine-trees on the top, looking like sentinels. And you can see the beautiful river for miles, and the Ken- tucky hills, and the great forest with its front-garden of a valley. And so you don't like Miss Leslie?" "I don't think about it. This is the way you should wear your hair." "Thank you, that looks more like a horse-tail than a human head of hair. Is my right ear as large as that?" "And so you are come to sit for the Magdalen that Ferris is cutting for the cathedral?" "Yes. Isn't it funny? You and I will stand for years in that large silent church, long after we are dead. That makes me shudder." "You will be near me; I will protect you, and when the church is empty I will tell you a story." "What, the story you promised,-about where you come from, and what the people do there? Mercy! you must tell that to me here, and not to my statue. Tell it me now. I'll give you the commencement in German. 'Es war ein Koenig.' Now you have made my head look exactly like that Greek girl there, Hebe, or whatever you call her." "Yes; and supposing I was to place my finger upon your forehead, and by repeating three words very loud BOSIVI'LLE CAN KiEEP A SCULPTOR. 1I5 was to change you, as you sit here, into a statue."' And he raised his finger in an impressive manner over her head. "Don't do it, please, Parthee, don't do it; you don't know what might happen," pleaded the girl. "I didn't know that your daughter knew my friend, Parthee, here," said Ferris, whose attention was attracted by the voice of that young lady. "Oh, yes," answered the doctor; "he has often been to see me. It is singular that Leslie should have taken a fancy to him." "Leslie has a son,-a very wild-boy they say,-who found our guest, here, among the Apaches, and took such a fancy to him that they were inseparable. And old Leslie still thinks the boy will come back,-for it is now four or five years since he left Boshville for the plains,-to see his old companion, if not for the sake of his home'and family. -But, excuse me, I must call my wife down to keep Miss Renata company, while I take a first sitting." He rang a side bell, and a few minutes afterwards a pompous little lady, dressed rather showily, entered and greeted the guests, and was introduced to Miss Knappe as Mrs. Ferris. While the latter looked at and talked to each other, Ferris showed the doctor the drawing for the new group which the archbishop had ordered in marble, and which consisted of two figures,-one, Christ seated, while at his feet, with an upturned face, was kneeling Mary Magdalen. The doctor surveyed the picture critically, and, though not very enthusiastically, he nevertheless praised the design and the idea. The next step was to persuade Miss Knappe to occupy the little wooden eleva- tion directly under the blaze of light which poured down from the skylight, and upon which the model was always placed. It needed a good deal of coaxing from the sculptor, and promises on the part of his wife that she page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] ri6 THE LOST MODEL. would sit quite close to her, and one or two ejaculations in German of "sheeps-head," on the part of the irritated doctor, before this was achieved to the satisfaction of the artist. And when she was finally seated, with her hair arranged, falling in golden streams over her shoulders, she begged so hard for something to do that Mrs. Ferris finally got her some woolen thread and knitting-needles, and the young model worked her fingers in silent rapidity with a glow of satisfaction upon her face. "Fine head, but no bust," said Mrs. Ferris to her hus- band. And she complacently drew her jeweled hand over her own motherly-looking bosom. The sculptor at a distance surveyed critically his task; the doctor, with head on one side, also looked inquiringly at the model and at the drawing; while the little, bright gray eyes of the archbishop scanned the faces, figures, and surround- ings with that dubious smile which, in late years, was so often seen on the face of-his eminence. Parthee, who sat upon the pedestal of a plaster Silenus, saw this look, and tried to explain it to Renata afterwards by telling her'that the archbishop looked like Bing, the stage-manager of the Boshville theatre, although Renata declared that there was not the slightest resemblance between he men. As the doctor handed the archbishop in o his carriage, which had been waiting at the door the last hour for him, the latter said, "You never come to see me; and there is my picture of the 'Deliverance of St. Peter,' which was sent me from Florence, you do not come and admire like a true art-amateur." The doctor, in excusing himself, added, rather bung- lingly, that being a Lutheran he did not know if the arch- bishop would care to talk with him. The latter shrugged his shoulders, settled himself carefully upon the cushioned seat, and then replied, "You surely, doctor, are 'never A MAN'S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAK. 1 7 angry with your patients because they get sick or are cripples? No. Well!" And, waving his hand, the carriage drove off, and the doctor repeated to himself the archbishop's words, as though he was trying to find the answer to a conundrum. CHAPTER X. A MAN'S PROFESSION IS SOMETIMES A CLOAK. "WHY, Renata, child, are you home?" said Kettle, as she bustled through the dining-room, and discovered that young lady seated upon the sofa, her bonnet still on, and the girl lost in a little reverie. "Ja, Kettle." "Who brought you home?" No answer. "What dost think of so seriously, my pet?" "Nichs, Kettle, gar nichts." (Nothing.) "Come here, and let me take your bonnet off. Your father says that Mr. Ferris is making a very beautiful statue, and that this little head is the model. Who gave you that flower? Nu! nu! why are you so pale?" "Tired, Kettle, very tired. Is tea ready?" "Yes; -but you must wait awhile, for company is coming. The handsome preacher, Mr. Maple, is coming to tea." "Ach, Gott, Kettle! I can't bear that man; he stares so. Send me some tea up-stairs. As papa invited him, he can entertain him." "That cannot be," answered the old housekeeper; "the doctor has just been called away to some person page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] I8 THE LOST IMODEL. very dangerously sick, and it will be late before he returns. He told me to tell you to excuse him to Mr. Maple." "Ach, Kettle! what will I do? A'whole evening with those cat's eyes staring at me will kill me." She paused and thought a few moments; then suddenly jumping up, she cried, " I know, Kettle, what to do: I will go for Mrs. Bovine; she will be delighted to have a new flirtation." And catching up her bonnet she hurried out after that lady. Portia Bovine, wife of Dr. John Quincy Adams Bo- vine, was one of the celebrities of Boshville. While her husband was filling his time with scientific pursuits, and gaining fame for his accomplishments and triumphs in that quarter, his wife, having no children, sought her amusement in the social circle. She had gained quite a reputation for her skill in a flirtation. Of all the virtuous, high-bred ladies of Boshville who danced up this perilous road with ease, and always came back with, safety, Mrs. Bovine took the lead. If there is any pretipice in the neighborhood of a flirtation for a virtuous lady, Mrs. Bovine had danced on the edge of it a hundred times, and had never fallen over once. She had whirled along that dizzy path with nearly all the good-looking males of Boshville, and, as I stated before, had always returned safe and sound. She had a cool head and a sure foot. She had no beauty; in fact, she was almost ugly; and, so far as intellect goes, no one had' ever seen her read- ing "a book. But she was vivacious; she felt kindly towards the masculine race, and you felt this kindness in her presence; although afterwards you called yourself a fool for being influenced by it. But she possessed a nat- ural gift, which had contributed to her name, and added a charm to her otherwise homely person. And this gift- be it said sotto voce-was a small foot and a large limb. Considering that the word leg was never pronounced in A MAN'S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CL OAK. 9 polite society in Boshville, necessity, when called upon to -speak of it, always designating it as a limb, it would be difficult to account for the fact how this esoteric beauty of Mrs. Bovine's became known; but, nevertheless, it was as familiar a truth as that the thwn-clock was a very unrelia- ble time-piece. Every man and woman in Boshville knew of it, except the doctor, her husband, who is said to have denied its existence. And yet, if the good man had pre- served his wife's dry goods bills, his incredulity would have received a very severe shock. For there was one item which occurred very frequently, and accompanied with such figures as, if the doctor had taken the trouble to read them, he would at once, as the lawyers say, have been put upon inquiry. This item was silk stockings. Whenever Mr. Furbelow, the great haberdasher and dry goods dealer of Boshville, received any very fine silk stockings from Paris, he immediately notified Mrs. Bo- vine, who caihe immediately and carried off the article triumphantly. Of course, the word "stocking" never occurred either in Mr. Furbelow's bills or in his corres- pondence with Mrs. Bovine; her delicacy-in fact, Bosh- ville etiquette-requiring that such articles should have a more elegant and ideal name. Hence they appeared always under the flattering titles of "warm-tinted silk cover- lets," or "superfine laced-topped cases;" and this-was the reason, perhaps, that the doctor never found out his wife's expenditures in that respect, and the natural cause of these outlays of money. What influence this invisible but ever-present limb exercised upon the Boshville mind it is difficult to explain; one thing is certain, that the owner of it could get up a flirtation quicker than all the beauties of Boshville, even if the other part of the story was true, that these affairs were dreadfully short-lived. When Mr. Maple made his appearance that evening, page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 THE LOST MODEL. and was informed by Miss Renata, in her blushing man- ner, that her father was out, his eyes brightened at the news; but when she added that she had prevailed upon Mrs. Bovine to come and help entertain the guest, he regretted that she had taken that trouble, in a voice which carried conviction with it. "I didn't know that you were acquainted with each other," said Renata, as she saw Mrs. Bovine exchange greetings with the guest. "Oh, yes," they both cried at once; "we are very well acquainted!" But they said nothing of the violent flirtation which was the result of their acquaintance, in which, while one fenced with his eyes, the other parried with her limb, and that so far it was a drawn battle. "Did you hear the news?" inquired Mr. Maple of his neighbor, Mrs. Bovine; and upon that lady declaring she had not seen a newspaper for a week, and was as ignorant as a moth of what the world was doing, the former re- plied,- "Art is about to receive a new star in the firmament or galaxy of its beauties. I have been credibly informed that our young hostess has condescended to sit for a statue, which the good bishop of Boshville has ordered." "Why, no. That is impossible; surely you do not mean to say a statue-like-like-the Greek slave?"And Mrs. Bovine blushed crimson at the nude thought. Renata's peal of laughter drowned Mr. Maple's expla- nation, as she cried out,- "Not that kind of a statue,-only the head for the figure of a biissende Magdalene. Caspar, what is the English word for biissende?" "Penitent," said Mr. Maple; "but don't say only a head, when a real, beautiful, classic face is the noblest cre- A MfAN'S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAKI. 121 ation of art. And I must say, Miss Knappe, that your head is a peerless specimen of the Greek type." "Don't you let papa hear you say that, or he will think you are no judge of what real beauty is. Papa is right, after all,-you gentlemen do not know what beauty is. A pretty face, with red lips, red and white complexion, wavy hair, small feet and hands, and languid eyes is your type of beauty. Redwood says that is the cat's idea of beauty; the reason why one cat likes another cat. But real beauty is not a mere passion or liking,-it is a permanent thing, like religion." "Why, Renata, you really commence to talk like your father," said Mrs. Bovine; "those two men, the doctor and Mr. Redwood, are making you as old-fashioned as they are themselves." The old housekeeper here announced tea was ready, and Renata, catching hold of the arm of Caspar, as that young gentleman was rushing out by himself, she led the way to the tea-table. If Mr. Maple's testimony was to be believed, there never was so interesting a tea-party. The tea was delightful, the bread and butter savory, the preserves delicious, and the fried oysters beyond expres- sion. He wrinkled his forehead, pouted his lips, and rolled his black eyes in theemost insinuating manner. Seated opposite Miss Knappe, and by the side of Mrs. Bovine, he seemed to be " n excellent fooling." He told of his college exploits, and his travels abroad, and he showed, with an app,arelly unwilling air, the daguerreo- type of a countess whom -his eloquence had converted from a -Catholic to a Protestant. He paid especial atten- tion to Renata, and when he asked for another cup of tea, he did it with the imploring air of a man who is begging for his life. Mrs. Bovine felt slighted; but, like a skillful engineer, I I* page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 THE LOST MODEL. she hid her own mortification by making a lively attack on the boy. Caspar had hitherto divided his attention between the edibles and Mr. Maple, whose stories, air, and brilliant talking powers had more than once made him forget that his favorite preserve was within reach of his spoon; but suddenly to have the stylish and over- dressed Mrs. Bovine, with her sea-green eyes, hovering around him, touching him with her soft fingers and lean- ing affectionately upon him with her shoulder, so dis- tracted him that, from blushing and simpering, he re- lated, in a loud voice which filled the room, how the base ball club to which he belonged had whipped all the base ball players in the world. / "Don't open your mouth so wide, Caspar," said Re- nata, quietly, in German, after she had vainly attempted to frown him into some kind of decorum. "My mouth ain't as big as yours," blurted out the boy, "when you talk about what you like. Last night you talked for three hours about Parthee; you know you did." "What, Mr. Leslie's prot6g6?" inquired Mrs. Bovine. "You must be mistaken, Caspar, my dear; your sister don't talk to Mr. Leslie's gardener." "Oh, don't she, though? It makes her awful mad if you tell he is only a gardener. Why, she-she--" Here he caught sight of his sister's face and neck, which were crimson with indignation, while her blue eyes light- ened with scorn. "Oh, ain't you in the country! Ain't you among the roses and the posies!" And he clapped his hands with delight at his sister's confusion. "You naughty boy, to tease your dear sister so before Mr. Maple! But you may whisper and tell me all about it." "He is a young man of heavenly talent," said Maple, A MAN'S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOOAK. 123 in a soft, soothing voice. "I saw a little figure he had modeled, which for grace and elegance was really worthy of the antique. I have repeatedly complimented my friend Mr. Leslie upon so gifted a protege. And you will allow me to add, Mrs. Bovine, that he is not a gardener, but stands upon the same footing as any of Mr. Leslie's children." "Which is no doubt a great privilege. I heard the other day that you were a candidate, also, for similar honors; and you know Miss Sallie will one day have money!" The reverend gentleman had got past blushing, or Renata would have had company in her rosy complexion. "She is an excellent girl," said Maple, solemnly, while he folded his napkin, "and will no doubt make an excel- lent wife, provided she marry one of her own age and understanding." And as Mr. Maple led Miss Renata from the tea-table to the parlor, he urged upon her, in a tolerably loud voice, the great importance of marrying one of her own age and similar tastes. For a young lady who marries an old man seeks elsewhere the youth which nature makes her covet. "The reason young girls marry old men, is because, in general, a man hasto get old before he has sufficient sense to take care of a wife ;" said Mrs. Bovine, tartly, as she and Caspar brought up the rear. "Good," cried Renata, laughing; " that is exactly what the Bible says. God made man first, and after he had lived a very long time, and was getting old, then God gave him a young wife. But, I think, after all, I should prefer a young one." A little later in the evening Mrs. Bovine, in spite of Renata's entreaties, excused herself and went home, taking with her Caspar, as an escort; and who, promising to return in five minutes, did not come back at all, page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 THE LOST JMdDEL. ' Renata, frightened at the coming /Mie-d-tete, invited her guest to the piano, which the latter obeyed with alacrity, for among his many accomplishments, pianoforte-playing was, perhaps, his best. Begging her to seat herself near him, and always keeping her beneath his glittering eyes, he launched out into his favorite Chopin, rolling his head, and nodding to the sensuous rhythm of the composition. The piano, strange to say, was an object of great dis- like to Renata, and many a heated discussion had she maintained with the doctor upon this subject. "There is no music in it," she would say; "I can only hear the ivory and wire; it is, after all, but a kind of modulated drum." Of this, Mr. Maple knew nothing. He had found the Boshville ladies very fond of the piano, and in general of piano-players. In nearly every house in Boshville was a piano, and, what is worse, four or five players to every piano. A stranger needed no better letter of introduction than to be able to execute with ease and aplomb upon this instrument; and to be able to play Chopin was simply to be irresistible. "Oh, I adore Chopin!" muttered Mr. Maple, as he bent over, rolled, ogled, and thumped the instrument until the room was flooded with the rhythmical sounds. But all this time Renata sat with her hands folded in her lap, gazing at a picture, and as unmoved, outwardly, to the glittering, eyes and dulcet tones, as a pyramid to the rising Nile; and yet inwardly her heart paid the tribute to music by putting in images her dearest thoughts. She saw the stone-cutter's atelier, and once more the slender figure of Parthee stood beside her, and moulded her features in clay; she felt the warm breath on her cheek, as he told her a weird story of the deathless men, who came once every thousand years to the earth, and A MAN'S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAK. 1:25 carried off a mortal as one would pluck a flower from the meadow. Suddenly the music ceased, and the player fell over towards her, and would have fallen upon the floor, but she stretched forth her hands and caught him by the arm. His face was pale as death, and from his lips the blood slowly oozed. He held her firmly as a support, and stag- gered to the sofa, where with a sigh of pain he laid down as though in utter exhaustion. The poor girl was wild with terror at the sight, and she was going to run to the door and call for help, when he stopped her, and whispered in broken phrases that it would soon pass away, and that it was only a passing spasm. The girl wiped the blood from his lips, and, in real pity for her evidently consump- tive guest, smoothed back the hair upon his forehead, and, dipping her handkerchief into cool water, held it to his temples. He still held her by the hand, and, although his cheeks were pale, his black eyes shone with unabated fire. Fortunately Renata heard the latch-key in the street door, and rushing to it, was delighted to find Redwood. She almost embraced him as she cried, "Ach, Gott! Albert, how glad I am you are ,here. Father is out, and Mr. Maple, who came to spend the evening, has suddenly had an attack of bleeding at the lungs, or something of that sort. And I don't know what to do. Come in, quick!" Redwood pulled off his overcoat, and said with a very marked sneer,- "So Mr. Maple is here, is he? and has bleeding at the lungs? Well, Renata, just go and tell old Kettle to go for Jinks, the veterinary surgeon, and we will have him cured at once." The girl felt hurt. "You are cruel, Redwood; when one is sick it is wrong to make fun." "So I say," he answered, t nd walked into the parlor. page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 THE LOST MODEL. When they entered, the sick man was standing adjusting his cravat and hair at the glass; his paleness had disap- peared, and except the red stain upon his lips, there was no trace of his late indisposition. "Good-evening," said Redwood; "I regret to hear that you have been suddenly taken sick,-and yet, it is pleasant to find you so suddenly recovered." Maple quailed beneath the steady look, and answered, while his ears tingled with the sudden rush of blood to them, "Oh, thank you, it was nothing very serious. Lately I have overstudied, and I find myself prostrated without being able to explain the cause. I am afraid that my lungs are affected." "And yet," said Redwood, "you have a chest for a fighting-man. If your lungs are not healthy, they are certainly pretty large." Renata gazed in astonishment from one to the other. "Why, the blood ran down from his lips, and he was as pale as death!" ejaculated the girl. "Won't you wait until the doctor returns?" asked Redwood, as the other turned and took up his hat and prepared to leave. "You may not be strong enough to take care of yourself." Mr. Maple bowed, and said in a voice which trembled with suppressed emotion,- - "I am perfectly able to take care of myself. Good- night, Miss Knappe,-my respects to your father," and out he went. "He is angry at thee, eh?" asked Renata in German. "Explain all this to me; I can't understand it." ' "There is nothing to explain, Renata. Where is your father?" He has gone to see some patient, I think." "Knowing he would be galled out, whr didn't he leave * \ A MA'N'S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAK. 127 some excuse for this man, so that you might not be troubled with him?" "Why, Albert, papa said I was sure to entertain Mr. Maple until he returned." "He is just the biggest ass in Boshville then, and his ears ought to be a foot long." The girl looked wonderingly upon the resolute face of Redwood, and added mechanically,- "But the blood on his lips-" "Was very likely chewed logwood, my child. But don't break your head over it, Renata; it will not pay the thought." "It is strange," said Renata, as the old beaming look came back to her face, and she leaned it against Red- wood's shoulder; "when these kind of men come near me and even papa is present I am still afraid; but when you come, my heart feels perfectly sure, no matter who is here." It was late that evening when the doctor returned; and when the girl had told him all that had happened, and Redwood had scolded him for his imprudent manner of making everybody his friend, the doctor only rubbed his nose, and said apologetically, "Well, the whole human race are worthless; the difference of wickedness being only one of degree. You are no better off if you pick your friends; you may as well take them as they come." And made a sign to Redwood to say no more about it. When Renata put her arms around her father's neck that night to embrace him, before going to bed, she pulled him on one side to look at his ears, and as she did so, she burst out laughing. "Well, what the deuce is loose now? What are you laughing at?" The girl laughed the louder, crying, as she kissed him, i page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] I28 TIE LOST MODEL. "O papa! if you knew it, you wouldn't write to Burg- miller any more." "I expect," said Redwood, " she is laughing at a com- pliment I paid you, that your ears were a foot long." "There, go to bed, my child, and don't make me angry with your foolishness; and, before you go, see if the shutters are fastened in the parlor." The doctor waited until the sound of the pattering feet had died away in the hall and stairs, and as he seated himself upon the sofa, said, with a look of disappointment, "There is nothing but trouble in this world; if you go out, you meet it, and if you stay home, it calls upon you. What with the scoundrels and the fools, one has a hard time to get along." "Where have you been this evening?" "Didn't Renata tell you? I have been to' Leonard's. They sent for me at three in the afternoon, and I have been there ever since. I found her in a dreadful condition,- he had been beating her,-her face was cut, and it was nearly two hours before she recovered from the swoon." "What an infamous villain Leonard is!' ejaculated Redwood. "I am afraid so." "You have more bad news to tell," said Redwood, looking earnestly at the doctor's grave face, and then, with a nervous hand, he took from his pocket a little silver snuff-box, and taking out a piece of opium of the size of a pea, he put it in his mouth, and, closing the box, tapped playfully upon the lid. "Annette is better," answered the latter; "t much better so far as her bodily health is concerned, but a dreadful scene took place while I was there. I would to God I had never heard it." And this time he avoided the glance of Redwood. 4,MANrS PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAK. 129 "Let us know the worst, Conrad: as well this evening as any time; and when you have told your story, I will tell mine. And when you have heard both sides, you shall judge between us." The doctor rose up, opened the door which led into the hall, and listened for a moment as if to find if any- body was still stirring in the house; then he came back to his seat, and said slowly,- "I shall not judge you, Albert, but it is perhaps better for. you to tell you what I have heard. If you choose to explain it, all well; if, for reasons which you deem suf- ficient, you are silent, it is still well so far as I am con- cerned. As I said, when I went there this afternoon I found Annette in a swoon, her face badly cut and bruised, and he acting like a madman; he would rave over her, shake his fist in her face, wish she was dead, and then suddenlylfall down, kiss her hands, and cry like a child. When I had brought her to her senses, I had then a fear- ful time with him. He got his pistol out, and threatened to kill her and then blow his own brains out. He said he was dishonored,-and a thousand wild and dreadful things. He told me, Albert, that you had robbed him of the affection of his wife, and had seduced her; that he had fed you, clothed you, gave you a home, and you had repaid him with this terrible ingratitude. When she heard this, she said it was a lie; he leaped towards her and took her by the throat and asked her if she loved you. My God! what a dreadful time we had! In spite of all I could do to stop her, she insisted upon telling him she loved you; that he had bought her, and that he really cared more for the horse in his stable than he did for her and her honor. That he loved money and his own self so well, and that he was so eager for notoriety, and so mean and small in his heart, that he would not care who 12 page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 7THE LOST MODEL. possessed her, so that he had the price, and could keep the secret himself. It was well for her that I stood between them, for he was at that time in such a furious, senseless condition, that he would have killed her." "And yet, Conrad," said Redwood, in a deliberate manner, while his voice trembled with the excitement, "every word she uttered is true. What is honor or dis- honor to him? He knows no more about it than the pig did the price of the pearl! You remember when he married her,-or I should rather say purchased her, know- ing her previous story,-and you also remember how he paraded her at concerts and operas, or any other public meetings; then came his card-parties, political meetings, and private caucuses, at which-you know it-he trotted her out like a circus rider does a favorite horse. Those who scorned him came to see his pretty wife, and the men of Boshville-I mean the monied men of the city, who would have much rather dined with their barbers-came to his house and to his evening parties, drawn there by the beauty of the wife and the apparent stupidity of the husband. No loafer,-always provided he had money,- but the society of the pretty Mrs. Leonard was offered to him, by the very man who ought to have shielded her from even the knowledge of such human refuse. You know very well that when Leonard was told and remon- strated with, by the good-hearted fools, who did not know this fellow's cunning, that he acted imprudently in thus allowing every loafer an entree to his parlor and to the acquaintance of his wife, he would reply, with that hot- headed frankness which so charmed and delighted his hearers, that he had married a woman whose innocence and virtue were as certain and as unalterable as the sun- light. " He paused and walked the floor for a moment or two, A MAN'S PROFESSION SOMETIMES A CLOAK. s 13 then continued: "Then I came. The 'Truthteller' was just started, and he picked me up at first as a trans- lator of German and French; when he found I could write and lampoon his enemies, I became the pet idol of the household. The best room in the house, the best place at the table, the carriage and horses at my com- mand; his wife was constantly drilled and instructed that even my caprices were to be gratified; and he planned- let him deny it-a thousand excursions to balls, parties, concerts, and other amusements, in which the wife was my constant companion. He was soon on the flood of high political favor; his journal from obscurity became famous; he carried the offices in his pocket; for he had a machine which, at a nod, would rush in and lash his enemies or eulogize his friends. He became a political power, for he had found the only thing he lacked, educa- tion and brains. And when I sat in his studio and penned the political diatribes for his morning's paper, and he wanted to bring me some fresh scandal or polit- ical slander, he would cough and rattle with his feet upon the stairs, to hint that he was coming, and if she was in there-why-the mean reptile! No, Conrad, you know that between those two people there is no comparison, and their association is like the lizard or saurian with the god Apollo. "You know what caused the change. Those who had paid the price were to be whitewashed, and those who refused were to be scourged. I had eaten long enough the bread of dependence; I loathed myself for being such a tool and instrument of wrong-doing;- my price was killing me, and I left him. Had I courage, enterprise, or sufficient determination, she and I might have found a home in another land, where neither he nor this hated slavery would have troubled us. If she loves me, I ,. page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 THE LOST MODEL. deserve it; I have purchased it with years of suffering, toil, and unmerited drudgery. Jacob served twice seven years for Rachel, but his labor was honest labor, mine was the drudgery of the damned." "You must leave here, Albert," said the doctor. "I have money; your life is not safe while you are within the reach of that man." "Too late," was the answer. "I have made my bed, and must lie upon it." That night the doctor had terrible dreams; he dreamed his friend Redwood was Damocles, and that he heard the snapping of the thread which held the sword suspended in the air. CHAPTER XI. THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES THE DAY OF HS BIRTH. THE doctor stood outside his house, writing upon the little porcelain slate which was nailed to his office-door that " the doctor is absent in the country, will be back at five;" and as he did so, he muttered, "I play the pack-horse pretty well all the year round, and I think I ought to have one day to myself." "Ah, good-morning, lieber Franz; come in, come in. I was just announcing to my patients that I was about to play the deserter for one day." "That is right, doctor; you know the good book says, "et the blind lead the blind,' and certainly after three hundred and sixty-four days' drilling your patients can go alone for one day. Ach, Gott! Fraulein Renata, how pretty thou art this morning." 7HE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HS BIRTHDAY. I3 The dapper little man bowld and smiled, and touched with his lips the little red firgers of that young lady, as she came to the door. This was the doctor's birthday, and Rena:a had insisted that the day should be spent upon the beautiful hills, as te summer sun was breaking up the cold, black rind of he earth, and was draping it hastily in green and red. To honor the occasion, the girl wore a iplain, white dress, with a large straw hat to shade the fe Autiful face from the burning glare of the sun. ^Insid&the house there was a great deal of bustle. Caspar' :i old Kettle were very busy in packing a couple of baskets full of eatables, the doctor occasionally suggest- ing something also, such as a bottle of pickles, or a bowl for punch; Redwood, dressed in an old hunting-suit, was rubbing and cleaning a fishing-rod, while Miss Renata was busy making a bouquet of flowers, which the doctor was to carry in his hand as his birthday present. "You see," said Renata, quietly, to Franz, who was watching her with admiring eyes, "papa generally. manages to spoil everything. This morning early, Caspar and I go out and get fresh flowers, to make a beautiful bouquet, so that when papa comes down we can present it as a birthday preseht. Now he never comes down before eight, but this morning he was down at seven, and he would come in the kitchen and see what we were doing, although Kettle told him not to come in, and that spoilt it all. Now he must carry this in his hand all the way, and when we get on the hill we will make him a wreath, and he must wear that, too." "What a happy man he must be to be so loved," was the only response. "I am sorry Harry Denham is not here," said the doctor; "I think he would enjoy a day out on tlh hill- top." I2* page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 7THE LOST MODEL. "Why, he promised me he would come," said Renata. "Yes, and if you had read the paper," said Caspar, "instead of laughing at me for doing so, you would have known that he is gone to the capital to get his commission as a colonel; and that a war has broken out in the South, and that they have blown up all our forts, and are now coming North to take-- " "My God! don't put that ham on top of the pie, boy," said the doctor, who was watching the process of packing; "there, put it on one side. Now run and see if the wagon is here. Well, Albert, is the fishing-rod in a good catching condition? It amuses me very much when I think of you and your fishing-rod; you have had it for ten years, and never used it once. Yet we never go out but what the fishing-rod forms a part of the baggage!" "I have never had a good opportunity to fish as yet. The last time we went the creek had dried up with the drouth; and the year before that, the heavy rains had so overflooded the country that we could not get within a mile of the river, or at least the fishing part of it." "Here is John with the wagon,", cried Renata; and she went out into the hall, and returned with Parthee. "Now each gentleman before he goes out-must have a flower in his buttonhole;" and Renata distributed the roses, taking care, however, to give a beautiful moss-rose to Parthee, and even spending some time in properly pinning the flower in its place. "I declare," said Mrs. Bovine, looking through her blinds, "if our friends, the Knappe's, are not going out somewhere in a wagon-yes, a common express wagon- like a lot of Dutch cabbages!" A few minutes later she stood at the street-door, smiling and bowing at them, and screaming in her most fasci- nating manner,- THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HS BIRTHDAY. I35 "Good-morning, Dr. Knappe; how is my dear old beau this morning? And the charming Renata, she looks as pretty as a rosebud; and dear Caspar, too, with gloves on! Why didn't you invite me to go along, you cruel, un- grateful people? Don't you smile at me, Mr. Franz; I won't forgive you for not making me one of the party. Why, there is my dear old crosspatch, Redwood; what are you going to do with that bundle of sticks, you per- versest of nen?" "She do 't mean a word of all that," said Renata to Parthee, as he helped her in the wagon. "She would not be seen on Broadway with us in this wagon, for all the world." Franz wa the only one who swallowed Mrs. Bovine's flattery, and he bowed and smiled for the whole party. "The Lord never made her head and neck like a snake's for nothing," muttered Redwood. "Now are we all in and ready?" said the doctor, putting on his large driving-gloves, and picking up the reins. "I think I fastened up everything, eh, Renata? Oh, stop, I forgot; I must have that portfolio of Burg- miller's sketches, so that we can compare them with nature, and see how far superior they are to anything in this hemisphere." Finally the portfolio was obtained, and after Renata had clapped her hands, Caspar had snapped the whip, and the doctor wound the reins over his hands so as to hold on better, the party started off, to the inextinguish- able laughter of Mrs. Bovine, who declared "that it was the Dutchest affair she ever saw in her life." Nature, however, fortunately for the pleasure of the party, was not like Mrs. Bovine; she (I mean nature) sent the fragrance of the hay and honeysuckle to welcome them outside of the city, and the stately catalpas which page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 THE LOS' MODEL. were on Renata's favorite hill-wore crowns of blossoms, as if in commemoration of the doctor's birthday. "Now let us stop here a few moments and enjoy the view," said Redwood, "and let the horse rest awhile, Conrad." This was said as the party was fairly outside of the city, and half-way up Cedar Hill, where they intended to spend the day. "Burgmiller is right," said the doctor, as he turned from the city, enveloped in its blanket of smoke, to the clear atmosphere and sunshine of the hill; "wherever man goes he spoils everything; the beautiful in nature can be found only where he is not." ' Which, by the by, was said by Schiller, long before Burgmiller lived." " If I was rich, I would build a palace and live on the top of Cedar Hill," said Renata. "Pshaw! The best way is to live in the town, and read about the country,-or go out and look at it once a year; then you enjoy it," said Caspar. "Herr doctor," cried Franz, " that is a glorious valley over there, with the beautiful river winding along in front of it. Did you ever visit the Siebengebirge? Ach! this is almost as beautiful as that." "Whew! the sun is getting hot; we must get to the top before noon, or we will be roasted," and the doctor hurried his steed around the ascending slope. An hour or two later the party were seated on the broad sward that crowned the top of the hill, protected from the strong rays of the sun by a group of cedars, whose dark branches and leaves stood out in bold con- trast against the bright blue of the sky. The horse, tied to a tree, was quietly browsing on the thick and luxuriant blue grass. A large table-cloth had been spread upon the ground, and ham, bread, pickles, cakes, and pie were THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HS BIRTHDAY. I37 strewed in fragments all around. The Catawha wine bottles were opened, and the doctor, whose eloquence the wine had stimulated, was proving that one m'an was not as good as another; Caspar was quietly trying a very mild cigar, which he had purchased for that occasion, while Renata and Parthee, seated on the edge of the de- scent which overlooked the forest and the river, watched. the hawks which sailed and screamed above their heads, and prattled of the things which youth delight in. "No, Franz, you must not make a mistake about that. You may take it as a-what do you call it?-as a maxim, that no great man ever lived who did not possess rever- ence. You cannot be a poet unless you revere the great and good things which have been done- by other poets and other men; you cannot be a true artist unless you love and admire what a Raphael and a Da Vinci have created; and you cannot be a great musician unless you reverence and almost worship Bach and Beethoven. Well, then, if the great men of the earth must have reverence, why, how much more must the little men have it? for they need guides the most of all. Here, our motto is, 'one man is as good as another,' and as the Irishman adds,'-yes, and, be jabers, a good deal better.' I say to you, so long as that maxim is taught and believed in, we will never produce one really great man." "And in Deutschland," said Franz, " we go to the other extreme. When the field-marshal frowns, the general swears, the colonel raves, the captain scolds, like a maniac, the lieutenant, and the latter flogs the private." "I really believe," said Redwood,-laughing, "that when the Emperor of Germany sneezes all the courtiers tremble, and are shocked at the impudence of the wind in thus troubling the regal nose." "So much the better," said the doctor, who was not to * . page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138' THE LOST MODEL. be laughed out of his position. "Here stands the king, the father of his country, and the guardian of his ignorant / and thoughtless children, the people,"-and1 the doctor stood up with the bottle in his hand, better to illustrate the doctrine,--" as he looks around him, and sees igno- rance here, sloth there, and general incompetence every- where. " "Look, Conrad, at the eagle; there is a splendid fellow for you!"The bird made one circle above the heads of the party, and then slowly ascended until lost in the dis- tance. "Der Rhein! Der Rhein 1 da wachsen unsere,"-and Franz burst into song, while the doctor forgot his theme and joined in the chorus until the hills echoed again. "Papa won't wear the wreath, so you shall; and if your forehead was higher you would look like one of those poets one meets in picture-books," said Renata, as she placed the wreath on the head of her neighbor. "Tell me another story, Parthee; I love to hear you tell stories." "Renata does not believe them; what is the good of telling them?" "Oh, that story of the deathless men, who come every thousand years to this earth, and who, as they wander through the woods and over the mountains, sometimes lose one of the stragglers, who stays and wanders around among we poor mortals until his companions come back and-take him away, is very beautiful, but it isn't true. I asked Redwood about it, and he says there is nothing on this earth either above or below nature; and when men talk of the supernatural and spirits, and all that kind of thing, they talk nonsense." "And that Dr. Knappe, Mr. Redwood the philosopher, and rosy-faced Renata, all came from monkeys." TIlE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HS BIRTHDAY. 139 "I would like to know where you came from, Parthee. Now, your name is Spanish, yet you don't speak Spanish. Tell me where you lived and how your mother looked and what you did when you was a boy." ' "What one does no:t know he cannot tell," was the laconic reply. "If you live in a land where there are no nights, and where the beings do not die, you cannot tell what took place yesterday, for there was no such thing as a day gone by." "You are a naughty boy; you don't tell the truth. But, come, we won't quarrel; let us walk down that beautiful path to the river." As he pushed aside the thorn-bushes for her, helped her over the rocks, and occasionally plucked a wild flower to put in her hair, Renata's face beamed with delight; and, when she stood upon the brink of the river, she said, slowly, "I don't know how that comes, but some people cry at the theatre, others over a novel, but when I am in the woods, in the free, open air, with the beatutiful trees and flowers around me, then I could cry like a baby." And already an ominous tear glittered upon her cheek. "Well, isn't that what I tell you? You are sad be- cause it passes away so soon. But you must come where I live, where neither the river dries, nor the flowers fade " "Hush!" said Renata, placing her finger on his lip; "here in the woods God hears everything, and all the flowers He makes fade. I wonder what papa is doing; I don't hear them sing." "Doing!" said Parthee;. "he is cursing that man who will come here some day and plant a saw-mill on the side of this hill, and run his saw through every tree within sight and reach." "Poor papa! how much nothing worries him. See page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O THE LOST MODEL. how the crows are flying towards the forest; it must be their dinner-time."' "They are going home before the storm comes." "Storm!" said Renata, holding her hand out against the breeze; "there will be no storm to-day. Now, if Caspar was here he could fish, for whenever you see bubbles on the water it is the fish which make them." 9 Are you very fond of Caspar?" was the inquiry. "Yes; I like him more than he likes me; but, then, you know" (gravely), "girls always love stronger than boys do. You know we are twins, and when we were little he used to play me awful tricks. Once Kettle says she made me a dish of custard, and I agreed to give Caspar half of it; so he got a spoon, and I had a spoon, and one eat from one side, and the other from the other. All at once he proposed I should let him eat his half first, because he was in a hurry, and I was to hold my spoon in the centre of the dish, to keep or mark off where my half was. 'Well, I held my spoon there; but he kept eating, and as it all ran over on his side, he ate it all; and when I cried, he called me a goose. I am glad you don't laugh at me. I told this story once to some company papa had to see his pictures, and they laughed and looked at Caspar and said what a smart boy he was; and they really ad- mired him. But Redwood was angry, and said it was bad in a boy to think so much of himself." "Poor Redwood!" said Parthee. "Poor i he is not poor, except perhaps in money; and the pretty Mrs. Leonard is in love with him! and that is something that even money will not buy. Ain't this beau- tiful! I could sit here forever. Give me that yellow flower,-I forget its English-name. Now, hold it under my chin, and see if I like butter." Presently the woods and hills echoed with the cry of THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HS BIRTHDAY. I41 "Oh, Renata!" and Caspar came running towards them. "Ah! there you are, Miss Flirt; never mind, I'll tell Harry Denham of you! Come, Mr. Linwood has invited us all into his beautiful house yonder, and father wants you to come right away." "Do you think his house is much finer than this?" asked Parthee. "Oh, yes; lots! You ought to see his beautiful car- pets, and chairs with gold ornaments, and all that kind of thing. Come on, they are waiting for you."' Mr. Linwood, whose castle-like mansion stood upon the summit of a neighboring hill, was standing at the door, as Renata, Parthee, and Caspar came there. He -took Renata with both hands. "I have just been scolding your father for thinking no more of me than to sit down in front of my house and eat his dinner, and never invite me out to take a glass of wine with him; and then you, my favorite, wander over all the hills, but never invite me to be of the party." "I have teased papa a great many times to bring me out to see you, but he always tells me he has no time. To-day is his birthday, and we are celebrating it in the woods and on the hill; if I thought you would have liked to be one of the party, I should certainly have asked you to come. But, then, as you live here all the time, Mr. Linwood, it may not seem so be utiful to you as to us." Here the doctor broke in with, "Do you know, Mr. Linwood, that I have always admired you for that? Now, you are very wealthy, and could live wherever you please, -in Paris, in London, or ikRome, where all the immortal works of art are; and ins ad of doing what so many of our rich men do,-keep a big house in town, and spend the time in making more money,-you live here on this 13 page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] I42 THE LOST MODEL. beautiful hill, cultivating the neighboring grounds, tend- ing your flowers, planting your trees, and living a thought- ful, quiet life." "I get along better with the trees than I do with my fellow-man." Taking Renata by the hand, the genial old man led them through the stately mansion to his library and picture-gallery, where his sons and daughters were together; he introduced Franz and the ' 1s"lptor," as he called Parthee, to his family, and in a? few moments-the guests were as much at their ease as though they had lived together for years. Redwood rummaged the books; Franz, at the earnest request of the young people, was playing them a violin solo; the doctor seated at the bow-window with the eldest boy, who was studying to be a doctor, was showing the portfolio of Burgmiller's etchings and aquarelles, and comparing them proudly even with the beautiful landscape which was spread out before them. For, as the doctor insisted, "The imagination of a man is more wonderful than nature." Mr. Linwood was walking Parthee over his grounds; and, at the same time, consulting him here as to the proper place for a path, and there the best trees for the view. Franz was delighted at Parthee's absence, and he played all sorts of tunes and imitations of sounds of nature to please his smiling auditory; and when the rich Miss Esther Linwood praised his skill, or Renata laughed at his accent and grimaces, he was a happy man. "An artist needs praise," he would say; " it is the breath of life to him, and without it he dies and becomes a shoemaker or something of that sort." They gave him wine, and he played them waltzes, and even Renata forgot Parthee in the charms of a waltz. Franz also had lots of stories to tell; and when -,2, U.,cI , ct'SLL-SK/z IJ^3' nl"S BSIR7HDA Y - 143 tired with playing, he would put his fiddle down and take up a story. "I remember that about ten years ago, on my way up here from New Orleans, I stopped to see an old friend just a few miles out of Natchez. He was a jolly old bachelor, lived on his plantation, and had a hundred niggers to do whatever he wanted, He was very rich, always had more money than he could spend. Well, he was very glad to see me. He would not let me go for two weeks, but. kept me there, gave me the best to eat, and every night I played to him the air from 'Norma, 'Take my children.' That was his favorite melody. In fact, it was the only one he liked. He would get out the whisky-such splendid whisky-make two big punches; and then I would play 'Take these, my children,' and he would drink punch and listen to my playing until the tears rolled down his cheek. Well, one morning while walking over his plantation, for he had a big, beautiful place, I saw some fine-what-do-ye-call-'ems-.mint. Yes, mint. It is a green herb; and I says, 'See here, this is the stuff for your punch.' 'I never knew greens was good for punch,' he says. 'Oh, yes,' said I, 'in New York, at the Bobolink Hotel, everybody puts mint in their punches.' 'All right,' he says. 'Here, Uncle Sam,' calling a. big darkey; ' every afternoon, bring me in a bunch of them 'ar greens.' 'Yes, massa!' That night he put some in the punch, and he liked it so well that he took an extra punch, and made me play 'Norma, take these children,' six times over. Well, next day I leave, promising next time I go to New Orleans to call again. Now last year, after spending the winter in the South, I comes to Belleville; and when I gets to Natchez, I says to myself, I will go and see my friend Brown, and play him 'Norma' again. So out I goes, and takes my fiddle with me. Well, when page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 THE LOST MODEL. I reaches the place, I find the fence down, the roof broken in,- the windows out, and everything-in disorder. I went in, and could not see a soul; the doors were off the hinges, the furniture was gone, and big cobwebs blocked up the doorway. I think to myself, the cholera has been here, and every soul has died; and I feels bad for my 'Norma' friend. But just as I passes the end of the garden, I sees a very old nigger sitting on the grass, and warming his head in the sun. 'Where is your master, Uncle Sain?' says I. 'My massa! which one you want? 'I mean Master Brown.' 'Oh, yah, Brown; well, he's dead.' 'Dead!' said I, 'what did he die of; what was the matter with him?' 'Well, now,' said the old nigger, 'he died of greens, he did; yes, sah, he died of greens. A long time ago, a little fiddler came here, and he showed massa how to eat greens. And massa took greens in the morning, and he took 'em at noon, and he took 'em at night; and finally massa did nothing but took greens; and them cussed greens killed him.'" "It was not the greens that killed the poor man, it was the whisky," said Renata, gravely; and the party laughed louder at this than they did at the story, much to that young lady's confusion. Franz fairly surpassed himself this afternoon in pleasant stories of his adventures, in imitating upon the instru- ments the inmates of a farm-yard, and above all in show- ing them how some of his pupils played and talked about music; for in the full shine of Miss Renata's beautiful face, and under the smiles and white teeth of the wealthy Esther Linwood, his artist's soul rejoiced, and he caroled like a bird in the sunlight. "For," as he afterwards told Caspar on his way home, "what a glorious thing a real beautiful woman was, and what a desert this would be but for her!"And the latter promised laughingly to THE DOCTOR CELEBRATES HS BIRTHDAY. 145 steal his sister's daguerreotype and give it to the enthu- siastic fiddler; who declared to Heaven that he would say his prayers to it. Caspar wondered at this, and thought to himself how much more elegant Miss Linwood looked in her blue silk and graceful ways, and how fine'it must be to live in her grandt house and be liked by her; but he said nothing for fear that Franz might take a fancy to her himself. When evening came, and Mr. Linwood and Esther, his daughter, accompanied their guests to the road where their wagon was waiting for them, they were a delighted lot of people. The doctor, who had been drinking very freely of Linwood's Hungarian wine, was praising a life in the country, and declaring that at last he had found out the proper sphere for a thoughtful man; which Red- wood insisted was of no use unless the man had money. The host, walking between Renata and Parthee, was complimenting the former upon the high position she was to occupy in the Catholic church,in being permanently placed upon the altar; while Franz was explaining to Esther Linwood that Vienna was the loveliest and most affectionate city in the world. And Caspar walked at the side, holding .with both hands a pretty bouquet of flowers which the fair hostess had suddenly given to him. "Now, doctor, that means a storm," said Linwood, as he handed up the reins, pointing to the sky, which looked as though the milky way was on fire, so gorgeously red were the clouds in all directions; "and rain, you know, will spoil the pretty ribbons on Miss Renata's bonnet." But the doctor was busy planning a new house to be built out here when he had got money enough to buy a lot; so, smiling at the friendly advice, he turned his horse round and went the longest way home, so that he could enjoy the sunset. The doctor was driving very leisurely 13* page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 THE LOST MODEL. along the banks of the river, stopping every now and then to admire the view, when Redwood called his atten- tion to the black clouds, the increasing wind, and the heavy drops of rain which occasionally fell. The doctor increased the pace, but the storm traveled a good deal faster than they did, and, before they could reach a large barn by the roadside into which they drove, the roads and fields became suddenly dark, the rain fell, and the very earth trembled with the-noise of the thunder. The men scrambled out of the wagon, and, helping Renata out, they crowded back into the barn, out of the reach of the searching storm. "Where is Parthee?" asked Redwood, as the lightning showed the absence of that person. "He ran under yonder tree," said Caspar, "but that is not half so good a place as this is. I love to see the rain come down." The doctor called his name several times. "Tell him to come away from the tree," whispered Renata, to her father; "but that isn't him, papa,-he isn't there." "No, I saw him riding across the field- on a broom- stick," said Franz, who was delighted at the thought that Parthee was out in the storm. The doctor was stepping out to look for him, when a sudden flash of lightning struck the ground in front of Y the barn, and burst like a bombshell, scattering the blue flames in all directions. Renata caught hold of the doctor's coat-tail and pulled him back, and clung to him as the thunder broke louder than ever above their heads. "It is wrong," muttered Renata to herself, "to gh out into such a dreadful storm, and tempt the lightning to strike you." The storm passed almost as suddenly as it came, and "OVE IS WARPING THE WOOF. 47 the evening shone out in gray and silver; the party jesting took their places in the wagon, and the doctor, as he drove, explained to Redwood that one of the famous landscapes of Burgmiller was painted immediately after a storm, when the dust was all washed off the face of nature, and even the cows had clean and shining coats. Parthee, however, did not make his appearance, and Renata, that night in her dreams, saw him taken away by the deathless wanderers, to whose dreadful band he claimed to belong. CHAPTER XII. "OVE IS STILL WARPING THE WOOF OF. HUMAN EVENTS. "RENATA, come down and look at the soldiers!" screamed Caspar. "Come quick." Out on the porch that topped off the doctor's office stepped simultaneously the doctor, Renata, and Caspar. The streets were alive with people, flags were floating from every window, and the atmosphere throbbed with the unceasing beat of the drum and the squeal of the fife. "Here they come," said the boy, and he pulled his handkerchief out ready. "This is Denham's regiment; you'll see him on horseback; this is going to be the crack regiment of the war." "And is it really true, my child, that we are, at scarcely a moment's warning, plunged into war?" A shout drowned the rest of the doctor's sentence, as a regiment of men, eight abreast, suddenly turned the corner, and marched with a firm, regular step beneath the window. The sun was hot, the roads dusty, and the accoutrements page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 THE LOST MODELS heavy at such a season; but the animated glances of the men, and the elastic tread, showed that such difficulties made no impression upon their enthusiasm. The girl had darted in and caught up all the flowers she could lay her hands on, and as they passed she threw them with a \ smiling face upon the marching men. The men broke their ranks, picked up the flowers and leaves, placed them in their caps and guns, and waving their caps at her, gave cheer upon cheer for the scattering blossoms; while Colonel Denham, as he rode beneath, and bowed re- peatedly to her, thought he had never seen a face so beautiful as hers. "Poor Denham!" said the doctor; "who knows if we shall ever enjoy his society again!" "Oh, yes!" said Caspar; "the regiment is only marching to the camp, and will not leave until to-morrow morning; the colonel is coming to see you before he goes." "How handsome he looks in his military clothes!" said Renata. "But what is it all about? who are we going to fight?" "The South! Didn't I tell you last week there was going to be a great war, and all about the slaves? See, here comes a cavalry regiment-look, Renata-all on brown horses, with rifles and long swords. Hurrah! These are the best fighting soldiers in the world. I'll :tell- you how they stand. One Frenchman can whip five Germans, one Englishman can whip five Frenchmen, and one American can whip five Englishmen. See there, pa, isn't that Dr. Green? He is the regimental surgeon; I wish you had a regiment." Boshville was in a dreadful fermentation. The roads were occupied with the troops which suddenly sprang into existence, and the footways were lined with the women and children, who, flushed with the excitement "OVE IS WARPING THE WOOF. r49 and the heat, still marched along in sight of their brothers, sons, and fathers. In front of the aristocratic houses were large water-coolers, filled with ice-water for the passers-by; evergreens and flags decorated the streets, and any man with the uniform of a soldier upon him could obtain food, drink, and tobacco without money and with- out price. Some rolled barrels and kegs of beer into the street, and, filling little tin-cans and cups, would offer them to the soldiers; others brought cigars and packages of to- bacco; and every now and then you would see an excited group of friends suddenly pull a man from the ranks, shake him by the hand, put a wreath around his hat, and cheer him as he hurried forward to his place in the ranks. "Never mind, major," said Denham, to the major of his regiment, as the latter directed the adjutant to order the men to keep the ranks. "Never mind, let them alone; we will be outside of the city in a few minutes; let the boys bid their sweethearts good-by." And yet, amid all the excitement, the men in uniform, who had at a moment's warning left their desks, books, counters, and machines, and the comforts of home-life for the "flinty couch of war," were sober, earnest, and determined. "They look so young," said the doctor to Redwood, "and yet how well they march and carry their heavy accoutrements beneath a blistering sun, and the weather a hundred degrees in the shade. But come tell me all about it: what is the dreadful trouble into which we have so suddenly plunged? that boy for the last week or so has been gabbling about slaves and territory and tariffs; and Virginia arming and Tennessee getting ready to throw a million of men upon the North, and all that sort of thing, but I paid no attention to it. But you understand politics; what now is the real cause of this war?" page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] Redwood gravely explained that the Southern poli- ticians, finding political powr passing from their hands to the men of the North, an[ their institution of slavery hampered and threatened by the adverse sentiments of the people, now claimed the right to withdraw from the Federal compact and rule themselves; and had suddenly taken up arms to force the Northern people to accede to their wishes. The doctor was just commenting upon the dangerous precedent of a war, when a crowd of men suddenly surged into the offia, carrying a soldier, who had fallen from his horse, sunstruck. The doctor hurried to his patient, and Redwood passed into the street. "If I had a grain of courage," he muttered to himself, "I would go, too; better a death upon the battle-field than this sneaking life." As he passed into the suburbs he found men in citizens' clothes drilling as soldiers, and though he smiled at their awkward appearance, he blushed when a bystander asked him if he had drilled that day, or if he had turned out yet. He hurried to'the river, stepped upon a ferry-boat, and was landed on the other side. Listening for a moment to the fife, drum, and hum of voices which came across from the opposite shore, he walked slowly around the base of the hill, and creeping beneath the shadows of the huge elms which lined the road, he inhaled gratefully the cooling breeze, He turned up the narrow country road which wound in among the hills, and passed the cows munching the luxuriant grass; and the horses in the pasture, with flying manes, started up and fled from his approach. The grasshopper flew by him like a bird, and mingled with the songs of the birds was the creak, creak of some winged insect. He stopped at the bend of the road and descended into a little valley, whose narrow, grassy sides were covered "UV c/L Is WARP'ING THE WOOF. I51 and crowded with huge, silent, and majestic trees. As he walked among these forest kings which had sheltered the birds and covered the ground with leaves for a hun- dred years, the squirrel ran along the branches, and the crow cawed at him from the summit. "Too soon," he said, and gazed all around with a searching and impatient glance. A moment later, he heard the branches crackle upon the ground, and from the wood came the figure of a woman, heavily veiled. "Annette!" "Albert!" She pulled aside her veil, and sat beside him upon the slope of the hill; her face was deadly pale, and her hands trembled with the excitement. As she leaned'her head upon his shoulder, he noticed a mark of a bruise upon her temple; and the lips that kissed him were hot and feverish. "You are very sick, Annette. Great God! why did you come out to-day? this weather and excitement may kill you." "I had rather die here with you near me, than be killed in that horrible house," was the quiet and de- termined response. "I tell you," she continued, "it is dreadful! To have that mean, selfish face hovering over me night and day; to hear his monotonous voice croaking about himself, and his stocks, and his lying paper, and to be beaten when he is drunk, and when sober to have one's soul crushed with the praise of them, and the eternal incense burnt to any humbug that brings money or notoriety! I tell you, Albert, there is no hell equal to that man's tyranny." "Well, Annette, then let us end it. Come, go with me now; the world is wide enough for us all, and we can live where not a soul from this region would ever find us-" c page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] ,152 THE LOST MODEL. She interrupted him with an impatient gesture and a reproachful look,- ' Too late, Albert, too late! Five years ago, had you thought of it, had you dared it, I would have gone wil- lingly. But then you were afraid; your reputation, your fears of being able to support me. Well, I won't quarrel with you now about that; it is all over." She looked at him as he leaned his head upon his hand and gazed fixedly at the grass at his feet, and as she noticed the dark hair turning gray, and the youthful face already furrowed with care, she sighed, and play- fully kissing the thoughtful forehead, she added,- "Come, look up, Albert; we have no time to lose; and I have much to tell you." He only sighed at her caress, and gazed fixedly at the weeds that covered the ground. She looked at the hand- some mouth and rounded chin, and as she noticed the lines which many a mental struggle had furrowed there, and remembered her own magical influence over him, her heart smote her, that the power so gracefully given should yet be abused. "There must be some way out of this, Annette; some escape from this torture; but I am too imbecile to find it. My plan, my first plan,"-and his voice gathered energy as he spoke,-" was to have worked along until I acquired an interest in the paper,-say eight or nine shares of the stock,-and then when the paper had the highest circulation to sell out at the best possible figures. With the money realized, we would have been free,-it would have given us wings; you should have had your divorce, and I would have claimed you publicly, or we might have gone to the far West, and lived in peace and contentment. Oh, I should have had courage to have done it! - But to take a step, without money or means,- "OVE IS WARPING THE WOOR. 53 to take you among stangers, and run the dreadful risk of poverty as well as di grace,-that was more than I could venture. You know, Annette, I make no new friends; there is not an atom in my whole composition which is attractive to my fellow-man, and right here, where I'have lived twenty years, it is as much as Ican do to earn my daily bread. The very thought, Annette, of taking you to a strange town; where perhaps I might have to beg the opportunity to earn the food we should eat, utterly and entirely unmanned me,-I would have died rather than have placed you in such a position," And he glared and frowned at the imaginary foe. "Of course my own im- prudence spoiled that hope; after eating dirt for five years, I got suddenly very sensitive about dust. Well, Annette, you must pardon that weakness in me,-when the devil is once roused in me I have no more control of it than the crow has on yonder limb. But, now see, Annette, in my new position I think I will gain more money. Only have patience; in two or three years-" She stopped him. "Put my shawl over my shoulders; the breeze in the grove is chilling me. Now, listen, you impetuous boy. Let us waste no more time in discussing what we ought to-have done, or even what we will do some three years hence. We must first get rid of to-day. Give me your promise, Albert; that you will do what I desire." "If it is to leave you in your trouble, it is useless to ask such a thing. I am incapable of such a piece of cowardice. " "So far as I am concerned, Albert, the climax has been reached. When he was ill-treating me, I always had a presentiment that he was a coward, but my own con- science made me silent, and I submitted. The other day he goaded me beyond endurance; for not content with " page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 THE LOST MODEL. striking me and kicking me, he heaped upon you and your name everything mean and contemptible his treacherous nature could suggest; you had neither talent nor sense, you were ugly, ungrateful, and stupid, and any man or woman could buy you for a trifle, a'bagitelle." She paused. "You know, Albert, you are mine, by the grace of God. I,-well, I have given my soul for you. And when I saw him, and heard him sneering lying, and slandering you,-you, to whom he has cri ged, smiled, and upon-whose brains he has gathered and built his dirty thousands! God pardon me! I could have killed him, as one kills the viper or the insect that stings you- with contempt. In that moment, Albert, I found out what a sneaking coward he was. Have no fear for me for the future; the quarrels are all over. He has his room and I have mine. I tell you, Albert, he ran from me, as the boa runs from the schoolmaster,-and he will no more rouse me to anger than he will tell the truth, forget him- self, or be honest." He looked at the flashing eyes in admiring wonder, and kissed the trembling hands. "So far as I am concerned, Albert, have ,no fear; for, unless he should cut my throat as I sleep, he will not offer me any more violence. And now comes what I have to say to yon, Albert, and which I implore you to take into con- sideration. Be assured, that upon the very first oppor- tunity, he will kill you, or attempt it. Do not be deceived, Albert; I know him, as one knows a disease with which one has struggled for years. He will meet you a thou-- sand times, nod and pass on; and there Will come a time when, drunk with his imaginary wrongs,- he will watch an opportunity, come behind you, and strike you down, without the slightest remorse or a moment's warning." "Then I will arm myself, Annette; and the first time "OVE IS WARPING THE WOOF. I55 I meet him I will make him retract, or he shall fight me on the spot." "He will apologize, Albert; he will eat dirt in your presence. You will go home and generously put aside your pistol, and the next day he will stab you unawares. No, Albert, you are perhaps the only man in the city unable to cope with him. For that very reason you must obey me. To-morrow we leave for Virginia. There is some secret political interest behind this sudden rebel- lion, which Leonard is driving at; what it is I know not. We shall be gone about three months, as in that time the great event, whatever it is, will take place.' In the meantime, Albert, you must seek another home. You will never know what it costs me to advise you to such a step, for you are all to me that makes life bearable; and yet better that you should be beyond the reach of his malice, although I should never see you again." He only slook his head and muttered "Impossible." "No, Albefh;t is not only possible, but it must be done. Go to Californial throw aside this dreadful distrust of yourself, for wherever intelligence is prized, there you are needed. Go there by all means. You may meet with great success, and then, Albert, who knows, the castle you have built in imagination so often may after all come to be a reality. Don't, I beg you, shroud yourself in that terrible mantle of indifference, which of late has grown a custom withlyou; but if you love me, obey me this once, for it may be the last thing I shall ever ask of you!" He rose up, and, taking her by the hand, they walked slowly through the narrow glen; he paused as he reached the end, which opened upon fields of waving corn. "Well, Annette, do not worry about me, and do not ask me to promise you anything now; give me time, and page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 THE LOST MODEL. everything you desire shall be carried out. I will think earnestly-about it while you are gone, and when you re- turn, if I think that you are right this time, I will obey you cheerfully. But at this moment don't ask me to promise. We are on the eve of a great war; what the result will be, no one can tell. The very ground upon which we stand may in a few days become a battle-field. See the beautiful blue-bird!" and he paused for fear of disturbing the graceful little creature that nodded, hopped, and pecked among the fallen leaves. As the moment came for parting, she clung to him and sobbed like a child. He petted her, and yet rallied her upon the want of courage. All would yet be well. He was making great progress in his new position, he would soon have money, and then, away beyond that blue line of the horizon there was a home for them both, ard the time was yet coming when they w6uld laugh and jest at their present fears. She smiled )through her tears at his earnest- ness, and the innocent manner with which he described the happiness that was coming; that was so near, and yet, to her, so invisible. When she left him and crossed the open space which led to the road where her carriage was waiting beneath the shadow of the elms, she turned, and still saw upon his face the smile of hope, and heard ring- ing in her ears his words of confidence, and, as they sank into her heart, she thought, perhaps after all he may be right and fate may yet smile upon us. Slowly he turned toward the city, wending his way so distractedly, and stopping so often to muse with himself, that evening closed before he reached the river; and to have seen the desperate look with which he lingered upon the river brink, you would have thought it was some suicide preparing himself for the death-leap. That night when Redwood returned late to the house, "OVE IS WARPING TIIE W OOF. he found the doctor and Mrs. Denham having a very ex- cited discussion in the little parlor, into which, as usual, the doctor very unceremoniously dragged his friend. The good lady was rejoicing at the war, and at the news which had a few moments before reached Bosliville, that a battle had been fought in Missouri, in which the Northern forces had suffered a defeat. The South,she insisted, with spark- ling eyes, would be certain to conquer, and before a month was over their heads'they would sweep over Bosh- ville as the hurricane sweeps over the prairie; city after city, and State after State, would fall before their victori- ous banners, and America would be once more in the hands of statesmen and true military chieftains. "Do you speak the sentiments of the people, Mrs. Den- ham," asked Redwood, "or only what these statesmen and military chieftains say?" A I speak the sentiments of the whole South," said this voluble lady; "of every man, woman, and child below Mason and Dixon's line. As for the sentiment or feel- ings-of what you call the people, hang them! In my household, neither my coachman nor my gardener has any voice in the direction of affairs. Pretty state of things it would be, if my Irish cook or my English coachman decided when the dinner came upon the table, or the carriage should go out!" "And yet, if a rebellion were to take place in your house, and the question became one of brute force, what would become of you in a contest with the cook, the gardener, the coachman, and the housemaid?" "I'd show' em." And the undaunted lady snapped her fingers at such a contemptible foe. As the doctor showed her to her carriage, she stopped in\the doorway, and said quietly,- "Was Harry here?" 1 4* * page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] x58 THE LOST MODEL. "He left a few minutes before you came; he only came to bid us good-by." "Where is his regiment going to?" The doctor shook his head. "It makes no matter, I shall see it in the papers. Harry is a fool, an obstinate fool. He will be killed and disgraced forever; I begged him on my knees to spare me the anguish of seeing a boy of mine fighting against his own flesh and blood,-his own brother! Not he, forsooth! I tell you, doctor, he is a bad boy I There is malice in him. He told me in a passion, if he met George in battle, fight- ting against the flag that educated him, he would-" "Hush!" said the doctor, "we must not talk these matters over in the streets; the times are dangerous." "A little gunpowder, doctor, will clear the atmosphere! Good-night. Tell Renata to come and see me. Good- night i"And with a bang the carriage-door closed, and the horses started at a half-gallop down the street. CHAPTER XIII. IS A POPE GREATER THAN GOD? "WHERE are you going so early this morning, Renata?" "This is the morning I go Ferris's; and, you know, papa, he wants me to be there always punctuallyat nine." "True, my child, but it is only eight now." "Well, I will walk slowly." And nodding her head at the doctor she hurried off, as though she wanted to get rid of his questions. The doctor put up his spectacles on his forehead, and IS A POPE GREATER THAN GODf 159 gazed after her a little perplexed: "A woman's mind is, after all, the' most incomprehensible thing in the world. At first she would not go there at all,-I had almost to drag her; and now she is there before Ferris is out of bedl." At this moment Mrs. Bovine shook her head and winked at him through her parlor window, and for fear she would come to the door, the doctor hurried back into his office. Renata, in the meantime, hurried along, glancing every now and then at a little white rise she held very gingerly between her fingers; and the' lerks and merchants on i their way to business, who-knew the "pretty Miss I Knappe," bowed and smiled A her radiant face. Ferris had on his linen sleeves and white bib, and was cutting and modeling his figure in wet clay, while his model, Parthee, posed as before on the raised dais, and listened to the garrulous sculptor, ihen the girl entered and bowed to the industrious artistr r "Am I too early, Mr. Ferris?" "Early! you are like the sun, you cannot come too early. Just a inute ago I was sp aking, and wondering if you would ' here this morning. I'm glad you have come. -Parthee is tired of posing. My wife has gone to market, and my girl is at mass, so I will trouble you to go in the sitting-room, take off your bonnet, and let out those auburn locks; they are pining for liberty this morning." When Renata appeared, the sculptor stood before a huge block of pure white marble, from the centre of which rose up the figure of a woman in a kneeling posture, with the face upturned and one hand pressed upon the breast, ;and the other stretched forward pointing at something. The head, although not yet quite completed, bore a strik- ing resemblance to Renata, except the expression of the face, which was too mournful and sad for her. "I expect the bishop will be here this morning, and -I . , page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] x6o THE LOST MODEL. we must show him that we are progressing with our new altar-piece." And the sculptor placed the' girl on the dais, arranged the curtain for the light, and then, as he cut and smoothed the marble, he prattled on and kept the smile of pleasure upon the girl's face. At a pause in the sculptor's running commentary she turned to Parthee, who had been silently chipping a figure out of a block of common sandstone. "What are you making?" "An old friend. I don't see him any more, so I make him. here. See; he is an Indian!" "Yes; a very mild one," said Ferris, laughing at the brown-stone image. X"I didn't make him to fight," was the quiet answer. "In that, my boy, you differed from nature, for she always makes an Indian for fighting purposes, and not for much else." "The Indian is made to swim rivers, to ride ponies, to hunt, to kill his enemies, to eat, drink, walk, and think; now, my Indian only thinks." "c He has got a nice face," said Renata, encouragingly; "but a real, live Indian has got hateful eyes,-eyes like a tiger; if all Indians were like yours, it would be better for us all." "My Indian is made for your minds; it is not made for scalping other Indians." "You must put an ideal bear, my boy, at his side,- a bear that is not carnivorous, but is simply ornamental. Turn your head a little towards me, the chin slightly down; thank you. What a deal of fudge the Germans write about the ideal,-the ideal warrior, the ideal land- scape, the ideal tree, ahd all that sort of thing. My ad- vice is," and he drew himself up proudly, "to throw all that nonsense aside, go to nature, study her, learn her - IS A POPE GREATER THAN GOD? I6i by heart, and train your hand to tell what your eye sees. That is what the Greeks did. A sculptor then was a great sculptor, not because he had written a book on aesthetics, or lectured about the beautiful; it'vas simply because he had imitated nature successfully in stone. This is the age of books; everybody has a small Alexandrian library, and he rushes to that for everything. (A little more towards me, Miss Renata, if you please; there, that is good.) Why, there is the great English critic Ruskin, who wrote five volumes about one painter; and he was a poor dauber after all. And will any man in his senses say that all of Turner's pictures are worth the Laocoon, which, the other day, some wooden-headed wiseacre said was a degenerate specimen of Greek art? Five volumes about a third-rate painter, and only a hundred lines about Shakspeare! Why, the world is crazy about writing and publishing books. Whenever sensible people wake up to the idea of the immense injury done to the-human mind by bad books, slangy newspapers, and all the trash which is yearly penned and printed, they will make it a penitentiary offense to either print, write, or aid and assist in writing or publishing a bad. book." "My'papa don't read much, but he writes a good deal," said Renata. "For that very reason then, Miss Knappe, his writing may be worth something; for it certainly is not the result of his reading." An hour later the bishop entered with a couple of gen- tlemen, who, to judge by their black coats and sallow complexions, were also priests. Renata fkipped from her post, and sat down beside the amateur sculptor, who was very earnestly cutting a belt around his Indian. "Where did you 'go so suddenly the other day when the storm came? we were worried to death about you." page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 , THE LOST MODEL. "You don't believe me that I like storms. Some day I will go away in one, and if I ever come back it will be in a great noisy one." 'You cannot frighten me in daytime with those kind of stories; it is only at night-time I am afraidh Miss Leslie thinks you only a ghost; she told me yesterday she doesn't believe you ever sleep." "Miss Leslie knows what she wants to put into her mouth, and what clothes she likes to wear; all beyond that is the land of the unknown." "Well, a pretty girl need not trouble herself about much else, especially if she is rich." "Yes; but nature did not make her pretty for me; as your father says, at my standpoint she is quite ugly. Now, my Indian here is better looking, because you know what you buy. Some things deceive you if you are ignorant,-lead looks like silver, and tomatoes like apples or peaches; a loafer looks like a good man, and it takes a wise head to know a thief by his looks. So with Miss Leslie. If she was only half as handsome as her clothes, how beautiful she would be!" "Where do you learn those thinrgs? Sometimes Red- wood, when he speaks philosophy, talks like that, only I don't understand it all. Miss Leslie told me what she considers issomething awful about you; she says that you are not a Christian,' and she believes that you do not know the difference between the Holy Ghost and Satan." "Do you?" "Oh, yes. I learned all that before. I was confirmed;. when I was quite a little girl. I tell you what, Parthee, to-morrow, or some other day, you must' go with me to Father Kreuzer, and he will explain it all to you. It's beautiful when you know it." "Why go to Father Kreuzer when the great Bishop of IS A POPE GREATER THAN GOD? 163 Boshville is here at our sides; he says he knows and has spokFn to the man-the only man I in this world-who knows God and talks with him often." "No, no, Parthee," said the girl, froning, "don't you believe that. In his church, God j a dreadful way off. Why, there is first the commo priest," and she commenced to count them on her fipgers, "' then there is another one a little higher, then thee or four before you reach the bishop, then comes the/archbishop,-and he is awful sometimes, with his gold hat, gold stick, red and gold garments, and a great bald head; then come a lot more with eyes close together and a sickly kind of smile, until you reach the cardinal, and he is like the archbishop only with different clothes and another shaped hat, and finally you come to the pope, and he-I saw him," and she lowered her voice, "and he is a little fat Italian with a bad cough. Now, remember, Parthee, you haven't yet come to God." The young sculptor put aside the tools, folded his arms, and looked admiringly down into the earnest face and bright eyes of the girl as she expounded the mysteries of the "Holy Roman Catholic Church," as she saw it many years ago at'Rome;- "And what are you speaking about so earnestly, you two idle ones?" inquired the archbishop, with the con- descending smile on his healthy countenance which charmed and delighted so many of his flock. "I was telling Parthee," said the girl, blushing, "that six years ago I was at Rome, and saw the pope." "So your father has often told me; he is very proud of the smile the holy father gave him; but' Renata prefers a younger-looking person. Nicht? And you, my ama- teur sculptor, have you been receiving aqesson in theology, you seem so puzzled?" i page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 64 THE LOST MODEL. "She thinks that God is a long way off in your religion," said Parthee. "Ha, how is that? Does Miss Knappe want the sun as near as the stove or the lamp on the side-walk? Tell me what you mean." "I don't know how that comes," said the girl, hesi- tating, "but when I was at Rome, God seemed a dreadful Way off from the poor people there. The day we went to St. Peter's was a holy day, and there were thousands of people there in the beautiful church. Presently the pope came in, carried on the shoulders of tall, handsome men, dressed in green velvet, with swords and spears; and he had caught a cold for as he passed us he coughed once or twice. In front o him was a big stately-looking man, with a large feather fan, and he waved the people on their knees. Then on the sides, and behind, there marched long rows of men in red dresses, with petticoats, then a long row of men in black gowns and bald heads and long, handsome beards, and then a long row of men, some so fat they could scarcely walk, in white robes with black sticks in their hands, and after these came still long rows of monks with cowls and big black eyes staring at you. Now, I thought if I had to go before all these peo- ple, walk by all these men in their showy dresses and solemn faces and kneel down before the, pope and tell him my trouble, I should die long before I ever reached his footstool. And God is still away behind all these great men! Now, in my church it is very different; you know I am a Lutheran. On a Sunday morning, it takes papa so long to clean himself and get ready to visit his patients that I am always a little late. Last Sunday morning, when I got there the hymn'as sung and all the people were on their knees praying. When Father Kreuzer sees me come in, he pauses in the p ayer, smiles at IS A POPE GREATER THAN GOD! 165 me, and before he closes his eyes, sees that I am in the little pew, and then he stretches out his big brown hand over me, and I feel that God is so near that. I have only to think, and He hears even me! Oh," said the enthu- siastic girl, and the old radiant smile came back; "Father Kreuzer says, 'Come late, Renata, if you cannot come soon, but always come; because when I pray, and I see you there before me, I feel that my little chicken is safe under the wing of the protecting angel.' And then he takes a pinch of snuff, and nods his head earnestly at what he says." "You did not tell us, Miss Renata, if this snuff-taking pastor of yours was a hard-shell or a soft-shell," said Fer- ris, coming to the rescue in the awkward silence which followed. "From the mouths of babes and sucklings,' etc.," said the archbishop, smiling and patting gently the fingers of the girl as he held her hand in a manner which perplexed her very much. When Renata afterwards narrated this scene to her father and Redwood, the latter laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks, but the former was very angry, called her a sheeps-head and other uncomplimentary terms, and went secretly that very night and apologized to the archbishop for the girl's rudeness and stupidity. The wary old divine told him that the lazy gardener was always troubled a good deal with the weeds, and that the crime of neglect was sometimes the greatest crime of all. "There,' said the sculptor, returning from showing his guests to the carriage, "our friend, the archbishop, has imitated his master by returning good for evil. You, Miss Renata4 treated the holy father very unceremoni- ously, and I don't doubt irritated the old gentlerpan a good deal, for he winced in spite of his perennial smile; i5 page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 100o e 1 LJJ1 lvlaI . but he nevertheless praised your image here very much. In expression and general contour, he said it was the noblest head he had ever met with in life; and those excellencies I have taken from you, leaving out a promi- nent trait of your beauty-I mean your clear red and white complexion-which, of course, is lost to the sculptor." "Oh," said the girl, laughing, "you have been doing what you scolded Parthee for, making an ideal. The Renata that cooks, scrubs, washes the dishes, and once caught the scarlet fever, is a very different being from the pure white figure there. That is an ideal; but this is- something else," and as she looked at Parthee, she sighed. "Redwood explained all that to me once, and to understand it one has to think it out like a sum in arithmetic." "Redwood is an intelligent man, and a very paradoxi- cal one. For instance, he says that the Christian religion is founded upon a fiction, and yet the reason why we have no art in England or America is because -our relig- ious worship is based upon selfishness and sham. The religion itself is a humbug, but as long as you believe in it you are all right, and can do something really clever, but the moment you discover its fallacy, all capability leaves you so far as art is concerned," said the sculptor. An hour later, Renata and Parthee left for home. It was a curious sight to see the pair arm in arm, like a couple of children, saunter along the pavement, now stopping to admire the beauties of a shop-window, and now pausing while a regiment of soldiers marched by with beating drums and flying flags. "I hate war," said Renata, with a sigh; " it is noisy. Look at the wives and children of these men,-poor and left without anybody to protect them. Don't you wish it would stop forever?" IS A POPE GREATER THAN GOD? 167 "' Not I, little girl. Every day I look at my hunting- dress, and say to-morrow I will go." "Yes, you are just as selfish as the rest." When they had reached the doctor's office, and before Renata could bid her companion good-by, Caspar rushed out, and, pulling his sister by the dress, hurried her in. "Colonel Denham has been here since ten o'clock waiting to see you. He is going to the front, and may never come back. I tell you they are fighting in the South, but we will thrash them for their nonsense." Colonel Denham rose as she entered. ," I began to think," he said, "that I should have to leave without seeing either you or your father. We have received our marching orders, and this day we start." She looked at him in his military costume, and said, naively, "How well you look. Poor papa, how he will miss you; he will have no one, now, to talk about Burg- miller with!" "And is papa, then, the only one who will miss me?" She looked at him with her large blue eyes, and he saw that his words awoke no echo in her heart. She pressed him to stay, but he refused with a dejected air. As he took his hat and moved towards the door, she said, "Stay, I will give you an amu'let." And taking the blue ribbon from her wrist, she made a pretty bow around the button of his coat, and said, earnestly, "Now, whenever you are in danger, wear that, and you see you will never be harmed. That is a real charm, and it ain't foolish a bit." He kissed the little fingers, and muttered something to her in a whisper. After he was gone, she said to Caspar, "He seems altered, don't he to you? Poor fellow! he, too, has his troubles; I shall soon begin to think with father, tha this is a wretched mean world." page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] i68 THE LOST MODEL. CHAPTER XIV. WAR IS NOT YET DEAD. DOCTOR KNAPPE and Redwood sat at the breakfast- table, and discussed the war. "What a deuce of a time we are having! it gets worse and worse; it is enough to drive a man crazy. Here for the last six months is war-civil war-raging, and young and old are drilling, drumming, and marching; and -night after night the air is filled with squealing fife, tattoos, and men, women, and children howling in the streets like Indians. My boy is out every morning at sunrise, and comes home late at night covered with mud and dirt. And now in the midst of one pandemonium, another starts up. Here is an election which, of all things under heaven, is the most chaotic. Bonfires and torch-light processions by loafers are now taking place, and at every street-corner is a patriot with a voice like a cannon, howling at you that Jones is a liar and a thief, and you must consequently vote for Brown. You know, Albert, how we have been forced to subscribe for militia uniforms, guns for the home-guards, and all that kind of thing, and now they pluck me for money for an election campaign. It beats the devil:!" '"The news is bad," said Redwood; "we have lost a fight in Missouri; and before I left the office last night, there came a dispatch that the president would call for one hundred thousand-more men for ninety days. The chances are that we will get a visit herd from some of the WAR IS NOT YET DEAD. I69 cavalry guerrilla parties, unless they organize a pretty strong defense." "Organize! Great heavens, there is nothing else but organization! Every othdr man you meet is a general or a colonel, and the officers are galloping around and through the city like circus-riders." "We are in the fight, Conrad, and grumbling won't get us out of it. There will be a number of wounded here from the battle yonder, and you had better attend at the landing, and see that everything is ready for their reception." "Everything is prepared," said the doctor; "I must give them credit for that. There is lint enough to dress the wounds of a million of men, and as for bandages we have stacks of it; and I presume not a lady in the city but has sent in her name for a position as nurse. But what in the name of common sense do we want an election for at such a time as this? No wonder we have no great works of art, music, or poetry of our creation: we have never as a nation hed the moment of repose at which immortal works arise. We rush from selling a big bill of dry goods to a rough and tumble fight; and where does meditation come in?" "The Italians of the fifteenth century were knocked about like shuttlecocks between His Holiness the Pope, and their Imperial Highnesses the German Emperor, French King, and Italian Dukes, and yet amid all the confusion of murder, sudden death, pests, and inquisi- tions, Raphael painted his Madonnas, and Michael Angelo cut his mighty figures." "I know what I am going to do," said the doctor, abstractedly. "I shall pack up carefully all my engrav- ings, letters of Burgmiller, and sketches, and -" "Send them to the cemetery, and old Gottheb, the 15* page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] THE LOST MODEL. 170 sexton, will hide them in the Blair vault, or place them where even a rebel will not go to look for them." "If I were to lose those sketches and aquarelles by- come in, Mr. Leslie, come in; we were just talking about the hard times." "I found your street-door open," said the latter, as he entered and sat down, "so I walked in without ringing the bell. Good-morning,-Redwood; you are almost a stranger." ," What brings you here so early, Mr. Leslie?" "I want you to give me something for the stomach; I can scarcely sleep, I suffer so much from dyspepsia. "What did you eat this morning for your break- fast? "Oh, scarcely anything. I spend more money on my household than any man in Boshville, and yet I get less fpr my outlay." "Well, but what did you have, for instance, this morn- ing for your breakfast?" ". Confound me if I remember. Some eggs, a couple of chops, coffee, and hot biscuit-,-what are you laughing at, Redwood? You must remember I only eat two meals a day. I don't do like you do, stuff myself every hour.." You ought to be sick, you ought to die," said Red- wood, rising from the table and slowly pacing the floor. "Twenty years ago I heard you say you could only have a certain number of dinners in this world, and by - you were going to have them all good! With such a declara- tion of faith as that, you ought to have one tremendous meal,-ommencing with oysters, and closing up with bottled beer,-and then burst." "Well," said Leslie, shaking his head at Redwood, "when I want any clerks to instruct me what and when WAR IS NOT YET DEAD. 7 I shall eat, I will call upon you; but in the meantime I am running this establishment myself, and don't need any help." "And a pretty big establishment it is," said Redwood, laughing; "I suppose you allude to your stomach." "It don't make any difference now to what I allude. Let me tell you something. You can't afford to throw stones, because you are living in a glass house. Yes, I mean what I say. You sit down there, and wait; I have something to tell you,-and something important, too. And now, Knappe, give me something to get out of this trouble." The doctor put his spectacles up among his hair, as he answered, deliberately,- "In the first place you must change your habits; you must quit for a time coffee, hot bread, lobster, and all that kind of thing, and live upon bread and milk, or rice or cracked wheat, or-- " "See here," said Leslie, interrupting him, and striking the table with his open hand. "I came here to get some- thing to relieve me from this infernal trouble in my chest, but I don't want any of your d-d lectures. I've heard that from you for the last fifteen years. Now, it is all very pretty, and if I was a little lamb and had white wool, what a pet I would make. But I ain't, and so we won't cry over it. When I can't live except I eat nothing but sour-krout and gruel, why I'll jump into the river and end that kind of business. Now, if you have got anything to give me, just trot it out." I "Perhaps a little bromide of potassium would relieve you,", suggested the perplexed doctor. "All right; give me some. I don't care what you call it, so long as it goes to the spot." The doctor left the room in search of the remedy, and page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] !72 SETHE LOST MODEL. Redwood sat down beside Leslie, with a look which be- trayed his ill-concealed anxiety. "You are one of those men," said Leslie, shaking his long finger at his companion, "who, like Timon, care for nothing or nobody, except what lies in "the immediate circle of their own sympathies. There was a time when an ignoramus like I am was treated with some respect,-you would condescend to shed upon me a little of your supe- rior intelligence; but to-day all that is changed. I don't know anything about Sanscrit or Hindoo philosophy, nor am I posted about the latest German metaphysical moon- shine, consequently you turn up your nose at me and my material tastes." "You are very much mistaken, George Leslie," said Redwood, starting to his feet. "I have contempt for no man, least of all for you. But you and I think of dif- ferent things; and when we meet, I am silent, because I cannot speak of matters which would interest you." "Interest me? Why, everything interests me, if it is a real thing, and not a brain cobweb. The grass has grown a foot deep over my door-step since you crossed it, and yet I was the first one in Boshville who backed you, and said that you had more brains than any of 'em.'I "Boshville!" said Redwood, bitterly. "What a rock to be chained to by poverty, and the chain of wretched, indigent circumstances! Who would not be silent when he is surrounded by men and women who worship what is ignoble, and hate what is really and permanently noble? Why, I came near starving to death, because I was modest! They who call themselves my friends, lecture me because I have a quartette of fiddlers in my room on Sunday, and prefer Beethoven to a ranting, howling. Methodist; and lately because I hinted that there was WAR IS NOT YET DEAD. I73 more truth in the Indian Vedas than in the Old Testa- ment, even the old swindler, Boggs,-who has failed in business every four years, and grown richer at every alleged bankruptcy,-why, even he insulted me on the street for my infidelity. Oh, we are a nice lot of Philis- tines!" "All that is a matter of taste. You like one thing, we like another. There is one thing, however, of more im- portance to you, and let me tell you that. Rumor for a long time has been busy with your name. I presume you know what it says; if you don't, you can hear it from my lips as well as reading it some morning in the public newspapers. ' "I know what you allude to," said Redwood. "You mean the Leonard affair." "Precisely! Now I have my opinion of the whole thing; but that would not help you in the present case. For instance, I have purchased Leonard and his lying sheet on several occasions, and I know that anything which is his can be purchased with money. The long- eared public does not know that fact, nor are they likely to find it out. Now, since you have gone over to that other paper, there has been more or less sparring between you--" "I never wrote a line against him personally." "Well, if you did not, the chief editor did; and to- day the people talk of the lashing which you gave Leonard; so you get the benefit of it. Now I come to what I have to say. Leonard pretends that he has just discovered his wife's falseness, and threatens to kill you at sight. This may be mere brag. It may be a trick to turn those in his favor who have already hinted that his virtue is imaginary. At all events, you know his state- ment of the wrong would win everybody who does not / ,} page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 THE LOST MODEL. know him like you or I, to his side. Had you not better leave this place,-leave it this very day,-go to Kansas, go anywhere in the West, and get out ofa trouble which, I warn you, is too much for you?" Redwood paced the floor for a few moments in great agitation. "He forced that woman upon me for his own pur- poses. It was his infamous boast that every man had his price, and he had found mine. Be it so. But you do not know, nor ever will, the price'I paid. The slave for years of a scoundrel who possessed no stronger motive in his heart or head than the love of money, and sought no higher reward on earth than a cheap, but constant notoriety. On my shoulders he stepped from the dung- hill of his own obscurity to the tripod of a public prophet. To-day I tire of the burden, and fling it off, and now he threatens to kill me. Well, a man dies but once,--and yet, Leslie, he dares no more attack me to my face than he dares to tell the truth." "Do you say so?" said Leslie, starting up. "Then come with me and we will settle this business on the spot. You shall tell your story to him in my presence, and if he wants to fight he shall fight right there, and if he at- tempts to take advantage of you, I'll settle him, by -, and fifty like him. You shall have fair play. I have not been in a fight for twenty years, but, as I believe in you, you shall be righted. You're no sneak, and he shall not treat you as one. I don't scare much on these kind of things, and the sooner you let Leonard know that you will fight him on this line, the better for you." "No, no, Leslie, that will only make matters worse. The public scandal will be worse than death to her, if not to me. She is worthy a better fate. There are some things I cannot explain at present; time, however, will WAR IS NOT YET DEAD. 15 tell the whole story. Besides, I must not drag youdown into the mire with me. I know him, and think that at present he will do nothing; he is a dreadful braggart. There must be some other motive, some public notoriety to be gained, before he will take such a step. It is a dreadful thing, but at last I can see a way out of it. Give me another month,--say nothing about it,-and we will be beyond the reach of his hurt. Conrad knows my plan and approves of it; it is feasible, and there is nothing to prevent its execution. Hush! here he comes." "There, take a little of that upon your tongue, Leslie, and that may give you some relief; and as you go by Brown's drug store, have this prescription prepared and use according to the directions. In these kind of com- plaints, it is precisely as I tell you: deal gently with your stomach, and it will deal gently witi you." "Yes, yes, we know all about that," said Leslie; "your lectures are very entertaining, but I prefer your drugs. Whew! that's bitter stuff! I wonder if I am going to be plagued with this thing for the balance of my life?" "You don't mean to say, Leslie;" said the doctor, "that you are plagued, that you have any trouble? A man as rich as you are, and as independent as you are; with the finest house in town, the largest garden, and the longest bank-account. Why, if you are plagued and are not happy, what do you think we poor devils suffer?"' "What does the philosopher say?" interposed Red- wood; "upon the stage one plays the role of a prince, another that of a councillor, and a third a servant, or a soldier, or general, and so on. The difference between them, however, is simply external, in the dress; inter- nally they are all alike; the kernel; the centre of each figure or phenomenon, is a poor devil of a player, with * page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 'THE LOST M1ODEL. his troubles, wants, and necessities. It is the same in life. Is he right or wrong, Leslie?" Caspar came in dressed as a Boshville zouave; and holding in his hand a letter. "Oh, papa, we are all ordered out for ninety days to Virginia. The governor's proclamation has just been issued, and our regiment starts this afternoon at two o'clock. And here is a letter from Colonel Denham, offering me a position upon,is staff; now if I only had a horse, what a time I would have!" "You will go to neither," said the doctor, decidedly. "You are too young for a private, and too silly and thoughtless for an officer. Denham is talking nonsense when he fills your head with such propositions." "See here," said Leslie, "doctor, I do not want to interfere with your family arrangements, but I would advise you to let the boy go. He is not too young, and we are not too old, and before a year the chances are that you and I will have to play soldier as well as the rest. This is no ninety-days' war, whatever the newspapers or Scott may say. It is going to be a fight for life. Mark what I tell you. Now, Redwood, come with me; I want to say a word or two to you," and the pair left the house together. That afternoon, while Renata was crying and packing things in Caspar's knapsack, and the doctor and Kettle were solemnly looking on, and the latter was specially admiring the handsome boy in his showy uniform, Franz, the musician, came in. He had a face a yard long, for this "war bissiness," as he called it, was driving him away, and he came to say good-by. The doctor did not say much to Franz's long tirade about the uncertainties of everything, from a pupil to your own life, in a republic. The doctor was brooding over a speech which he was WAR IS NOT YET DEAD. 1" about to deliver to Caspar, and watching his opportunity he took the latter aside, and commenced very gravely an address. I "War, actual war, is not the circus you imagine, my dear boy. A bleak, severe winter does not differ more from a soft, genial summer than does the actual contest of men from the dress-parades of soldiers in times of peace. You are going to make a very bitter experience, and I feel sorry, Caspar, from the bottom of my heart for you. What will become of you on the long and weary marches, the nights you will spend sleeping, or trying-to sleep, in muddy fields and sloppy roads, the dirt of the camp-life, its brutality, its selfishness, its fevers, and its predatory life?" "Oh, father," said the boy impatiently, "that thing is all changed now. War has become a science as accurate as mathematics, and it has its rules and regulations just as peace has." "Well, so much the better, my boy. I only hope that it will answer your expectations. One thing, however, I want you to remember: let the killing and destruction be limited then by your scientific rules, and no more of it than is absolutely necessary. Another thing: Colonel Denham has written" that he will see that you get a posi- tion on his staff, so that you will, no doubt, become an officer, and have men under your command. Now, they tell me that many of the rich Southern gentlemen have houses full of fine pictures and statues which, as men of high cultivation and love of beauty, they have surrounded themselves with. Now, Caspar, no vandalism! I tell you, my boy, a noble work of art is of more importance than a thousand lives. If I was President of America, there are a hundred thousand men,loafers, political bum- mers, and vagabonds, whom I would willingly give for the one-armed statue of Apollo, at Rome." i6 page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178 THE LOST MODEL. While the good doctor was thus instructing his son how he should behave on the thorny path of war, Franz was pronouncing his own valedictory to the fair Renata, which made her laugh even through her tears. "I am a ver' sad, miserable man," he added, in alow, whining voice, which he intended to be pathetic. "Here, in Boshville, get along ver' well, know nice people, see you, and feel first-rate, when boom! war comes, people stop going to work and cut each other's throats. No more pupils, no more opera, no more nothing. Ah, life is dreadful. Now I go to Canada; must make salt some way or another. And if, Mees Renata, I only had your beautiful picture to pray to, to look at in my solitudes and misere, I should still have some sunshine.' There is no knowing how far the agile tongue of the musician would have gone, had not the doctor stopped for breath, and Caspar insisted that he must leave instanter. "Dear Caspar," said Renata, in his ear, as she kissed him good-by, "now be brave; don't think nor worry about glory, honor, fame, and all that kind of nonsense. But do your duty, like papa does, and leave the rest to God." Franz got the picture he desired from the good-natured doctor, and a new Tuart bow for his violin; and yet, when he saw Renata kissing her brother, he went away with a very unsatisfied expression upon his face. "AS YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAP." CHAPTER XV. "AS YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAP." ' Is Ira Lepnard in?" inquired our old acquaintance, Mr. Leslie, of the servant, as he stood holding his horse's head with one hand, and with his riding-whip broke off the tips of the grass that fronted the mansion of the pro- prietor of one of the leading newspapers in Boshville. The servant hesitated a ioment, as debating in her own mind what to say, and then 'said she would see, and disappeared up the broad staircase .which fronted the hall. Leslie tied up his horse, and when the servant came back she told him Mr. Leonard would see him in his library, and she pointed to the door of the editor's sanctum. When Mr. Leslie entered the library he found its occu- pant pulling up the blinds to let in the daylight, and yawning and stretching himself like a man who had been awakened from an afternoon siesta. There were bottles upon the table, some containing whisky, and others which had contained Congress water, stumps of cigars, the remains of a breakfast, and a large pile of newspapers. Leonard himself had a very white and bloated face, his hands trembled and his eyes were bloodshot. "Come in, Leslie, come in. You are about the last man in Boshville I expected to see here. Take a seat, take a seat; things are pretty much mixed up here, but I guess we can find one another." As the speaker seated himself upon a lounge in front of page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 8go THE LOST MODEL. the window, and the light fell upon him, he presented rather a striking appearance. His thick throat was swelled out almost level with his jaw, and when he spoke he looked something like a bullfrog his small, black eyes were nearly hid beneath the beetle brows which overshadowed them; and as he sat rolled up in his dress- ing-gown, he jerked his head and shoulders like a man going into or coming out of a fit of delirium tremens. "Upon my word," said Leslie, after he had critically surveyed his host, "you look as though you had been through the mill as well as the meal. Have you been fighting the tiger? or been buried by mistake?" "I wish to God I was buried, or something else! No, no, I don't fight the tiger." (A slang phrase for gam- bling.) "I have had a devil of a time generally} Leslie, but itis no use talking about it. Have a little Bourbon? There's some splendid stuff in that bottle: it is tEn years old, or Watkins lies; take a little: it goes right to the spot." "Has Erie been giving you a shake? I hard the market broke yesterday, and the bulls were lying thick on the field of battle." "Oh, of course, the swindling thieves of Wall Street got up a corner, in which I was to have a share, Put they sold, me out as usual." Leslie laughed. "For a sharp man you astonish me. You believe in betting your money on stocks. ; Now, I used to gamble myself, and am pretty good at'monte, euchre, or even keno; I have played the rascals on the Mississippi, but I warrant you I held my own. ' But to bet a copper on the railroad stocks which are bought and sold in Wall Street is to throw away your money on a lot of thimble-riggers. And you don't even have the satisfaction of knowing who has got your money." , \ "AS YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAP."' I8 "Well, that is only half true, Leslie. I have made money at it, and-I have lost; it is like everything else, it needs judgment." "Judgment! Between ourselves, Leonard, you need not brag about your judgment. Why, man, even in your profession you've got somehow on the wrong side. It is a strange thing that for years your paper has been inde- pendent, neither advocating Democracy nor Republican- ism, but pitching generally into everybody; and in that line it made itsmark, as well as you made a fortune. All at once, however, it takes a side in politics, and, what is worse, it takes the losing side. Now, where is the judg- ment in that?" "You are wrong, Leslie; I understand these things better than you do, because I am in the ring, and you are merely an outsider, a spectator. Please push that bottle towards me; thank you." r "Well, the best you can do is to get out of the ring. In this war the North will conquer, it is sure to conquer; and the why is as plain as the nose on your face. We have ten men to their one. The same thing will take place here as in Mexico. They will teach us how to fight, and then we will whip them." "I know better, Leslie, I know better. Virginia alone has got fifty thousand men in the field, and each man is equal to five of our shop-boys. Don't tell me! Why, they will serve our fellows like a handful of English did the Sikhs in India and the savages in Africa; they will go through them like a dose of salts. Yes, sir, like a dose of salts. But latterly I haven't got a man on my staff that can write worth a d-n." He paused, and then added, slowly, "The fellow I taught to do the business sold me out like the rest?" "You mean Redwood." I 6* page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 lfJ-11 LJOJ 1IVUL/^,. There was no answer, but an impatient clutch at the glass, anda muttered imprecation. ' Wait until I light my cigar; it is on that theme I came to see you, Leonard. Now, don't fly off thehandle; we will talk that matter over, if you have got any talk in you. " He lit his cigar, and, drawing his chair near to the lounge where Leonard sat, blew the rings of smoke over his head, towards the open window. "You and I know each other well enough to talk a matter over on which we differ, without quarreling. I may be wrong, and you may be right, nevertheless, I can give you my view. I can give you my advice; and if you don't like it; why, don't follow it. Now then. I have known Redwood from childhood,-not intimately, as you have, but I have known him over a longer period. His father and I were old cronies. He kept the best. horses in the West, and the best table at his house. When any man of distinction came out here, they took him to old Redwood's, on the river bank, and he would entertain him like a prince. He was munificent, and, consequently, like Timon, he got poor at last; but he always kept up his old, generous habit, and they say he spent his last fifty cents in treating five of his friends to drink. He com- menced life in the large end of the horn of plenty, or cornucopia, and died in the small end of it. This boy- who was always a pet of the old people-went to Europe, and we lost sight of him for a number of years. When he did come back, his parents were dead, and the rest of the family scattered; and he himself was the oldest young man in the West. He had studied everything which was of no earthly value to him, such as philosophy, and all that sort of thing, and, although he could speak five lan- guages, he could not make out a shoemaker's bill to save "AS YOU SOW, S SH4ALL YOU REAP." 83 his life. He was reflective, speculative, wore his hair and beard long, read all the night, slept half the day, and wandered through the city like a stranger in search of the lunatic asylum. His friends had managed to save from the wreck of his mother's fortune a house or two, and, of course, the rent of these gave him something to live on, and we tried to get him something to do in the way of teaching. Do you remember old Boker, who owned the saw-mill just over the creek?" "No; he was before my time." "Well, it makes no difference. Old Boker hired him to teach his two cubs Latin and arithmetic. They say that one day old Boker, who had a religious turn of mind after playing the scamp for fifty years, asked Redwood what was the difference between religion and philosophy. "'Religion,' said Redwood, 'attempts to teach you something about God, which is impossible; while phi- losophy teaches you to know yourself, which is not only possible, but the only thing worth knowing.' "'Well,' growled old Boker, 'I prefer to know some- thing about God.' "'You are right,' was the answer; ' for you certainly are not worth knowing.' Oh, he was mighty impudent when he had an inclination to be so. (By the by, what are you drinking there, whisky? Take care, that is a pretty stiff horn.) Well, what was I saying? So, he passed from pillar to post, harmless enough, but doing little and making less. Finally, to make a long story short, you got him, and your paper, Leonard, from an evening became a morning paper, and from five thousand subscribers got to fifty thousand. And people here say, They say, that Redwood made the change." While Leshe was speaking, Leonard had frequently helped himself to the contents of a bottle which stood page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] I84 THE LOST MODEL. near him, and after each drink the bloodshot eyes rolled, the mottled face got alternately red and pale as he listened, and, taking off his cravat, he frequently raised his trem- bling hand to stop the voluble speaker, at whom he finally glared in disdainful silence. When the latter stopped, he said, in a voice trembling with passion,- "He is a scoundrel, that's what he is; and I know it, if you don't. Let him look out I taught him to write; yes, I did, in spite of your sneer. He is a snake, he is, by G-! What did I do for him? Just look at it. I took him in my house, I fed him, clothed him, gave him books, money; I introduced him; I said he had latent genius, and I bet my bottom dollar on him. I was his Macsenas, and you ought to know it. Never mind: there will be a funeral some day, and I know who will be there. I could tell you a story, Mr. Leslie, about him, that, if it had been played on you,-yes, on you,-with all your latent friendship for him, you would have killed him at sikht!" "Oh, I know what you mean. Sit down and listen. Sit down, I say; you know me very well; I don't scare, I don't. I am not afraid of you, nor anybody else, and what I make up my mind to say, I am going to say it. Do you know what the world says about that story?" "I don't care what the world says,-they are all liars and thieves, and they shall let me alone." "Pshaw!" said Leslie. And he took Leonard by the shoulders and pressed him down upon the lounge, and, standing over him, said,- "Pshaw I See here. This story of yours is well known in Boshville. Let me tell you their side of it, or, if you prefer it,. my side of it. Your wife, and you knew it, be- fore you married her, had a child by Redwood; now, stop a minute,-don't squirm until you hear it all. You knew the fact, for she told you; she told you, also, she "AS YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAP." 85- only loved him, and could never love you. You marjied her, and swore you would never repeat the story of her disgrace. You were satisfied to have the wittiest, and one of the prettiest women in Boshville for your wife. You took Redwood there; you insisted he should make his headquarters there; you were delighted with him, he was witty, wrote pungently, and was, for five years, your right bower. And what followed, if you did not know and abet, then, instead of being one of the sharpest men, you are, without doubt, the dullest head in Bosh- ville." There was a singular gleam in the small, black eyes of Leonard, as he said, in a constrained manner, "All right; I see you are well posted. Now get off of me and sit down. There is only one word to say about it on my part, and that is that as I have always fought, my own battles through life, I shall not call upon anybody to assist me. You can't judge for me. At all events I shall do what I think to be proper, and let the rest slide." There was a tap upon one of the windows, which served as a door and led into the garden, and when Leonard opened it and stepped out upon the veranda, Leslie saw him in close conversation with a man who turned his back to the house. When Leonard came back his manner was quite changed, and, with a simulated cordiality, he spoke and looked at his companion. "It may be as you say, Leslie, at all events you and I won't fight over it; nor is it your fight anyhow. Some of these times, when my head is a little clearer than it is to- day, you and I will talk it over; and in the meantime say nothing about it. I have got some business on hand at present which needs my instant attention, and you'll excuse me if I go at it." And he commenced pulling off his dressing-gown. page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] I86 THE LOST MODEL. ",Oh, certainly," said the other, relighting his cigar; "no apologies, you are in your own house; and, as you say, we will talk this matter over at some other time. And as I don't intend to say anything, why, I expect you won't do anything. Good-by. You need not trouble yourself; I know the way out, and my horse is at the door. Good-by." When Leshe had mounted his horse, he seemed a little uncertain which way to go. He muttered, as he adjusted his feet in the stirrups, "That fellow looked to me like Pritchard, the detective, who used to be on the police force. I wonder if it was! There is something up here now. I'll ride over to Bob Dangle'ssand take his-advice." And he started off at a canter in the direction of the office of the chief of police. On the very same road, a few minutes before, Redwood had passed, walking hurriedly in the direction of the beautiful Valley and woods called Beech Grove. The autumn, or fall, was advanced, and the trees wore their gayest colors, as though celebrating the carnival before they entered upon the bleak austerities of winter; an4 the edges of the roads and pathways were strewed with their "golden tears." The squaw's winter had passed over the wood, field, and valley, and every bush, tree, and fern had recorded the event in gold and red. The sky was cloudless, the sunlight and air warm, and but for the dry leaves which crackled beneath his feet, and dropped upon him as he passed, Redwood would have thought he was meeting the spring. As he walked he muttered to himself, "The summers are too hot, dry, arid, and oppressive; the winters are too changeable,-to-day freezing the mercury in the ther- mometer, and to-morrow a warm rain; and the spring itself is cold, bleak, and comfortless, but the autumn is "AS YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAP." 187 the real harvest for me. The air is breezy, yet warm; and Dame Nature is quiet and expansive, like a man after a feast, who, as he sits with the dessert, and his brain sings with the fumes of the wine, tells the half-fledged thoughts of his heart to the smile of a friend." He paused a moment as an immense flock of birds, following in broad circles, drove, wedge-like, their way through the air in a southerly direction. ' "Follow the summer if you like it! If I were a bird I should follow the autumn; a gleaner is as good as a reaper any day." He turned from the main road, and descended the slope that led directly to the grove; and as he leaped the rude Virginia fence, which served as a kind of boundary line from the neighboring fields and pasture-lands, a veiled figure of a woman came eagerly towards him. "Woman-like, I have been here in advance of the time. It is some time since you scolded me for being late, Albert." / "Did I ever scold you? Take up your veil, and let me see if the summer roses of the East have left you any of their col6 Humph, very littlel and yet you are greatly improved. Sit down on this mossy bank, and tell me how you have enjoyed yourself; for with me your absence has been keenly felt." "It is delightful to hear you say so. Do you remember you once tried to persuade me that time did not exist? Well, a week ago, when the train was almost flying with me towards you, I felt that time was a terrible reality. I gave up my philosophy in my agony at the time which separated us. Why, Albert, how gray you are getting! Fie! what an old-looking lover! Tell me, how long has your excellency been prue to me?" "Ten years." page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 88 ETHE LOST MODEL. "Say twelve, Albert; for the fifteenth of next month will make twelve years since Emma died. Poor Emmy! and yet how glad I am she is not here. Tell me, honestly, at that time what kind of a Heloise did I make? For I was only a green girl, fresh from school, with more vanity than anything else. I cannot imagine how you ever came to love me at that time." "You had better, Annette, ask me why, having had the sense to love you, I did not marry you- " "Stop, sir! no introspection and reproaches. It is too late to cry over yesterday, too soon to cry over what to- morrow will bring; let us think of to-day." "One thing is certain, Annette. No man in the world has the right to you that I have. -Leonard paid'money for you,-yes, and money got dishonestly; 'and possession was all I cared for. While I have served more faithfully than Jacob did for Rachel, and, what is more to the purpose, have worked harder and performed meaner services than ever he did. Oh, let me finish, you impatient girl; I am not complaining, but like a man whose title to his land has been disputed, and he brings out his deeds and receipts, so I, when people say I have robbed another man of his wife, I say to myself, I have won her with ten years' slavery, in which my soul was not my own; and she is mine, if the sacrifice of one life can win another." "Poor boy, what a price to pay!"She smoothed with her fingers the wrinkles on his forehead, and then kissed him. "What do you think I made you while I was away? You will never guess. A sky-blue cravat, sir, that I will warrant will not get under your left ear. Oh, I have not got it with me. Tell me, what prospects are there of success in your new paper?" "Everything looks splendid, except this cursed war, which is raging like a prairie fire. Within a year, Annette, "AS YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAP." 189, -yes, within a year,-I will be able to take you from the claws of that dragon; and away in the far-Vest-oh, I know the spot!-you shall yet forget this disgrace, and say if I was careless enough to drag you down into the mud with me I had also sufficient courage to rescue you. You smile, Annette, and yet I am in deadly earnest." - "Dear Albert, I could not help laughing, for the tone. of your voice reminded me of my first lesson in philosophy, in which you insisted that the great aim of life was to conquer one's passions; and yet, within a year we both sadly forgot our philosophy. Kiss me, and I will tell you a secret. Leonard is in a dreadful debauch; he has not been sober for a week. He lost in stocks, he lost in politics, and the war goes wrong for him. Look out! avoid him, Albert, if you love me. To me he is silent; he watches me when I go out, and when I come home; what he thinks he keeps to himself. Although I do not fear him, for when faced he is a terrible coward, yet he is very dangerous. We are polite to each other before com- pany, but alone we neither speak nor look at each other. Great God! Albert, never desert me, or I shall go raving mad! This meeting with you is the only pleasure I have; and when a week passes, and I neither see nor speak to you, it seems as though I could crush the world between my fingers. No, Albert, no more schemes or plans; let us be patient and wait. Let me beg of you not to ruin your health by work at night, or by overtaxing your strength. I feel at heart utterly broken: I have no longer the strength to battle I had even a year ago." "You look every bit as young as you did ten years back, Annette. With other circumstances, other feelings will come." "Perhaps, perhaps! Put my shawl over my shoulders; this glen is too cool for nme. Let me see, what was I 17 page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] g9o THE LOST MODEL. saying? Did you hear the trampling of the branches? Somebody is coming this way. Give me my veil;" "No, you are mistaken. -It is the noise of the men working in that field yonder, or my friend the squirrel there, who has been eyeing us for the last five minutes." "See, Albert, the sun is setting, and I must leave you. God.! how rapidly the time passes when you and I are together! Now, remember, all I want is your love, and that I must have; and let the rest go. The human race, as your favorite philosopher says, "ist erbaermlich," and, except yourself, I have no interest here. Let me see you at least once a week. Come, Albert, surely you can manage to meet me that often. In a short time winter will prevent us meeting here, and you must appoint another rendezvous. Do you hear me now?" "See how thoughtful I am. Take this letter; you will find I have thought all the matter over, and I have written down the places and the times when we can meet. Never fear me, Annette; I have staked my life on this throw, and here, by your side, I live or die." They walked slowly up the glen, between the huge poplars and buckeyes, which threw their giant shadows over them as they passed beneath their branches; and the squirrels on the limbs, and the hawk on the topmost branch, started at the noise of their footsteps. "Do you know what I was thinking of, Albert? Listen. I wish in my heart that Leonard would lose every cent he owned in the world, and then, my dear boy, he would sell me to you for a hundred dollars." "You are mistaken, Annette. He holds you in his possession from the strongest feeling in his nature, that of selfish pride. Love is a stranger to him, and he knows in this world but one person whose will he obeys, and that is his own." "AS YOU SOW, SO SHALL YOU REAP."' I "Ah, if ever the time comes, Albert, when you can claim me, we will build a cottage in this beautiful glen, here, beneath this giant beech; and you and I might live and be happy, even though the grocer's and the pork- merchant's haughty dames of Boshville should turn up their noses at such a naughty pair." He laughed. "Good! you are reversing the story of the Garden of Eden! It would please me very much to be driven into such a paradise." "It is singular, Albert: when I am alone, and don't see you, how much I have to tell you! and yet in your pres- ence I forget everything. Shall I stay till I remember?" "The sun is setting, Annette, and in half an hour the road will be too dark for you to walk home alone. See, the men are returning from their labor in the city, and even the birds yonder are flying to the forest. Good- night; have patience, be courageous and strong for only one year longer,-one little year longer, Annette,-and then we will be beyond the reach of these mean and petty circumstances." She clung to him eagerly as he spoke, and as he fastened the shawl around her, and arranged her veil, she embraced him and walked silently and reluctantly away. He stood with his hat off, close by the thicket where they had last embraced each other, and as he gazed at the slender, graceful figure, which turned and kissed her fingers at him, he said, with a sigh, "When that is gone, all is lost." Suddenly, from behind him, the report of a pistol rang in his ears like a clap of thunder; something struck him in the back, and, as he staggered from the blow, his brain reeled, and he felt himself sinking in a sea of blood. As he fell, the bushes were crushed and broken aside, and Leonard burst his way through them, his bloated face page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 THE LOST MODEL. pale with passion, and his bloodshot eyes glaring in hatred at the man who was struggling upon the ground. With an oath, he pointed the revolver in his hand down upon Redwood, and would have fired upon him again, but that Annette had rushed to the spot, and thrown herself with such force against him that he staggered, and the shot from the pistol struck the ground. Quick as thought, she seized a broken branch, and struck Leonard such a blow upon the outraised hand that it fell to his side, and the pistol dropped from his grasp. With one hand she tore aside her veil, and with the other she picked up the pistol and leveled it at Leonard, who cried,- "For Christ's sake, don't fire!" But that moment would have been his last, had not the stifled cry of Redwood, "Annette, Annette!" chilled her blood and arrested the movement. She turned aside, threw the weapon to the ground, and, stooping to the wounded man, wiped away the blood that bubbled over his lips, and pressed to her bosom the trembling, cold hand. Leonard fled, and a moment after, a loud, long, piercing shriek rang through the glen, startled the travel- ers upon the road and the laborers crossing the field; and when they rushed to the spot, they found a man lying dead upon the ground, and lying upon his breast was the senseless form of the wife of Ira Leonard. BOOK II. "La raison ne connatt pas les interets du coeur." VAUVENARGUES. I7 ' 193 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] BOOK II CHAPTER I. THE DOCTOR HAS THE LAST WORD. WINTER had just passed, and the spring, fluttering like a bird in the air, was trying to settle upon the trees and grass of Boshville and its suburban woods. No very great changes had taken place for the past year or two in the circle of the reader's acquaintances in this nest of free trade. An inquest of six men, who were in that business, had sat upon the body of Redwood over two years ago, and, after examining the few witnesses who knew any- thing about it, had solemnly declared that he was killed by Ira Leonard, who was forthwith indicted for the crime. The body of Redwood was lying in the Excelsior Ceme- tery, in a lot purchased especially for that purpose by Dr. Knappe; and beneath a simple tablet, with the name of Albert Redwood upon it, the jaded traveler slept in peace. War, civil war, was still roaring through the land. Battles had been fought upon the red cornfields of sum- mer, upon the brown leaves of autumn, upon the snow- drifts of winter, and upon the early spring grass. At Boshville the cannon had been heard more than once, I95 page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 THE LOST MODEL. and the tide of strife seemed to be rolling towards it. Thousands of wounded men had been brought into the city, and large impromptu hospitals for the sick had sud- denly been erected, and every possible provision made for the care of wounded soldiers. The ladies and women of Boshville turned out as nurses, and, besides doing duty night and day in the wards of the hospitals, they con- tributed, in very large quantities, bandages, lint, beds, and all kinds of food and delicacies for their hurt de- fenders. Many, let us hope the majority, did it from charity, and from a high sense of duty. Others followed the example because it was a novelty; others to kill the dreadful ennui of their monotonous existences, and still others because it was a fashion, and the rest did it. Among the ladies who took a very prominent part in superintending these wounded sons of Mars, none were more zealous or prompt than the irrepressible Mrs. Portia Bovine. Her husband, as one of the head surgeons, was very busy upon the adjoining battle-fields, cutting off legs and arms; and his wife being debarred from the privilege of assisting him there, stayed home and helped bind up the wounds of those sent to Boshville. As be' fore explained, Mrs. Portia Bovine took an immense delight in man's society. Everything pertaining to the masculine gender entertained her; the tailors' shops, with the illustrated cards of baby-faced men in fashion- able suits, were more precious to her eyes than the hand- some display of shawls and silks made by the dry goods dealer,-and she could never pass a barber shop, where the lords of the creation were stretched out in the elegant chairs while a aarkey manipulated their heads and faces, but her revolving eyes slowly, but surely, took in the whole scene through her veil, even though the expression on her face would be that of a saint looking on a sinner. THE DOCTOR HAS THE LAST WORD. 197 Now to be called upon to attend and wait upon sick and wounded men was, so far as Mrs. Portia Bovine was con- cerned, like paying an epicure to cultivate his appetite. She was at the hospital early and late. It is true that she generally selected the young and good looking, but then she was indefatigable in her atten- tions. She was always changing the-pillows for them or wrapping in their feet, and sometimes even turning them over on their sides or backs, as the case might be, for it was as difficult for her to keep her hands off them as it would be for a child to play with a piece of candy with- out biting it occasionally. But the reader will also remember that Mrs. Portia Bovine never forgot that she was a high-toned, virtuous lady; and, fond as she was of the male sex, they never saw any other expression on her face than that of the severest propriety. In fact, as she had a very thin face with eyes the color of boiled gooseberries, there was not much room for expression of any kind, but'the general set of her features was self-denying. The presence of men gave her an agreeable sensation, but sh h took great care while indulging and repeating the sensation to keep the secret to herself, caring nothing for the effect upon the men themselves. On the morning in question she sat in Mr. Leslie's parlor with his daughter Sallie, and sipped wine and ate biscuits; both ladies had just returned from the hospital, and a couple of hats and feathers, with the long brown curl which it was the fashion for all ladies to wear on their backs, were lying side by side upon the table- cloth. "Did you notice that handsome, black-bearded man in the second bed from the door in the long ward?" in- quired Mrs. Bovine. page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] It38 ETHE LOST MODEL. "I saw you talking to him a good deal. What was the matter with him?" "Oh, the poor fellow is fearfully wounded on the limb just above the second joint,-just. above the knee, you know. It is placed in a box,-I saw it. Poor fellow, and he is so very handsome!" "Well, Portia, it is all very well for you, who are a married lady, to go there and wait upon them. But it don't suit me a bit. I am afraid that something will be said or done which will compel me to leave immediately. It is a very indelicate position for a lady, and if it was not for Theophilus, who insists it looks well, I certainly should not go at all." "Indeed! Why, I just love it. I've been with Quincy so often when cutting off limbs, and all that kind of thing, that I can put on a bandage as well as he can. It was a great grief for me, I can assure you, that I could not join Quincy when he started to the front; but he is so peculiar, he thought General Hagar would not like a lady at headquarters, whereas I know that they would be delighted to have me. But so the world goes." "I tell you who I think is a real handsome fellow: that is Belmont, the photographist, on the avenue; he is so large and splendid." "Oh, he is one of my especial pets. When I played 'Imogene' for the Shakspeare Club, he took me 'en costume,' and it is really a splendid picture. He always tells me if I was only a widow, and the doctor was dead, how he would set his cap for me. Yes, indeed, he is charming. Nothing vulgar about him." "I tell you, Portia, who I think also quite handsome, only he is such a slovenly dresser: and that is Dr. Knappe; but there is such a want of style about him, that half the time he looks ridiculous." THE DOCTOR HAS THE LAST W4ORD. "Don't I know it? Didn't I catch him asleep the other night in his picture-room, the dear old thing, and push up the window, and tell him I would crawl through : the window and kiss him if he didn't go to bed like a good boy Oh, I have lots of fun with him! But his daughter Renata has got the impudence of the devil.'" "I think she is very pretty. I rather like lher. Why do you say so; did you ever quarrel with her?" "She acted outrageously to me one day, and I shall never speak to her as long as I live." 4 : She looked down at the little foot and elegantly clothed "Iimb," as she called it, and warming it carefully at the fire, she went on: "I'll tell you about it. Shortly after that terrible affair of Redwood and Leonard, Iysaw her one evening coming from the hill, and I overtook her, and as it was growing late, we walked home together. At first she tried to get away from me, and acted quite rudely in not noticing what I said to her; finally, how- ever, she walked by my side, and in answer to my ques- tion of where she had been so late, she answered she had been visiting Mrs. Leonard, who was not expected to live. Mrs. Leonard I mind you, the woman who so far : forgot her station, her position, her education, and her reputation, as to visit the woods with an old lover I said something like this, when she turned upon me like a lion. 'Mrs. Leonard is a nobler and better woman than you are,' said she. 'What!' I said, 'do you dare to compare me with a woman who degrades her body?' 'Better degrade her body to one man than her soul and mind to every good-looking fool she meets with!' she - cried. I declare I did not know what to say; she spoke so loud that I was scared to death for fear the people should hear us. 'Well,' I said, 'Miss Knappe, we will not quarrel on page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 - THE LOST MODEL. the street, like a couple of fish-women,-at least, I will not; and, in closing this affair, I shall simply remark that a virtuous lady-' Before I could get the words out of my mouth she turned upon me like a tigress, and said, 'A woman who is virtuous from calculation and fear, is worse than the baddest woman in the city.' And then turned on her heel and walked, or, I should say, waddled, directly away from me. What do you say to that, for a piece of Dutch impudence?" "Why, how funny! She is so mild and good natured whenever she comes here, that I am astonished at what you say. If I were you, I should see the doctor, her father, and tell him of it." "I intend to, my dear. I shall not let it pass in silence, I can assure you." Father thinks she is one of the prettiest and bright- est girls in the city. I think all the men rather like her. Hush, here is Theophilus; put your dress down!" That gentleman came in, smiling and bowing; he was quite delighted to see Mrs. Bovine, who winked at him in quite a familiar manner; and as for Miss Leslie, he kissed the tips of her fingers with the gallantry of a knight of the sixteenth century. "Just in time for the good things," said Theophilus, helping himself to a glass of wine and a biscuit. "We have had a very delightful morning; one of the largest prayer-meetings, I think, we have ever had. There was Dimity, the wealthy dry-goods merchant, and Bond, the proud banker. It certainly is the first time I ever saw Dimity in church; but it is said the South has confiscated his cotton-mills, and appropriated his property, while you are aware that trade is so dull here that he has discharged more than one-half of his clerks. There is nothing, after all, like adversity for turning a man's attention towards I THE DOCTOR HAS THE LAST WORD. 20I his neglected Creator; we have had, in the last few days, more conversions than in the last ten years." "Isn't that singular, now?" said Miss Leslie. "Just the least drop of wine," said Mrs. Bovine. "There-that is plenty; thank you. Oh, I have not the slightest doubt in my mind that wars, fevers, epidemics, and all those kind of things are sent down simply as a punishment for peoples' wickedness." And she closed her eyes with a severely-virtuous look. "What is the news from the war?" asked Miss Leslie. "Nothing, except we are getting very badly beaten. You see, when you come to think of it, what right have we to say to the Southern people, you shall not depart from the Union, or--" He paused at catching a glance from Miss Leslie, directed towards her companion. "But, of course, with these things I have nothing to do. What were you talking about when I came in?" "Miss Knappe. You used to admire her very much." "Oh, she certainly is very pretty." And the slightest possible color glowed for a moment in the cheeks of Mr. Maple. "But her 6ducation has been woefully neglected. I don't think that she ever reads the Bible." "I think her moral education has also been sadly neg- lected," said Mrs. Bovine, severely. "Indeed?" said Mr. Maple, opening his shallow black eyes to the utmost. "I never heard anything-against- the reputation-of Miss Knappe." "Of course," throwing up her head, "I speak merely of the estimate she places upon certain people's ac- tions, and the rude, violent way,she has of speaking to people." "Well, Portia, I would not repeat that; if she don't like you, what do you care? you know the doctor himself is one of the oddest of men. Isn'the, Theophilus?" i8 page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 THE LOST MODEL. -"Odd? Tremendously so. You heard what he said over the grave of his friend Redwood?" "No," said both ladies at once; " do tell us about it." "Oh, that was very characteristic of the doctor. You are aware that Redwood's body was carried to the house of Blake, a cousin of his, and from there the funeral took place. Now, Blake is a hard-shell Baptist, and he, con- sequently, had old Dipper to perform the funeral rites. Dipper is an inflexible, severe old man; and he hinted, in the course of his remarks, that Redwood's death was a punishment for his previous denial of religion. The doc- tor was present and heard it. What the Reverend Mr. Dipper really said, I never heard, but simply that, what- ever it was, it deeply offended our friend, Dr. Knappe. When the funeral party reached the cemetery, and they had lowered the body into the grave, here is what took place, as narrated by an eye-witness and published in the 'Evening News.' Now, listen--it is very rich." He took from his pocket-book a newspaper-slip, and read as follows: "The body had been lowered into the grave, and the friends, after taking a parting glance, were turning to leave the resting-place of the gifted but unfortunate man, when, suddenly, his intimate friend, Dr. K., took off his hat and addressed them: ' One word, my friends, before leaving. To speak falsely of the dead is more hurtful than to slander the living. Something has been said of this man who lies here at my feet which, however well meant, and spoken by a high person, is, nevertheless, untrue; and I must not let it pass in silence. To say he was a scoffer and denied God, is not true. Punished he was, but whether for his own sins;or those of others, what mortal can tell? I knew him, and I say that he loved truth, and always spoke it; he was generous, learned, and sim- THE DOCTOR HAS THE LAST WORD. 203 ple as a child, for anybody could dupe him. He loved everything in nature, from the green leaf with the bug upon it, to the mountain with its perpetual cap of snow, and his heart was full of reverence. It is true, he seldom went to church. "Why," he would say, "shall I dress my- self in fine clothes, and upon a certain day and certain hour go to a public building and say,' Look at me,--I am a religious man; observe me now, I am going to pray to God,' when, in my own room, and with nothing to dis- tract my thoughts, I can open my heart to the great Creator?"If that is to deny God, then he denied it. But some one will say, "Where was his love of truth, when he cheated his friend of his wife and seduced a good woman?" -My friends, I know more of that story than any person here, and I cannot say that he cheated his friend or anybody; and God, who knows the whole, will blame him less than I do. What the church requires of man I do notknow,-that is something too learned, too complicated, for a man of my limited knowledge. But what God requires everybody knows, without learning and without study. And I say, reverently and earnestly, that this man at our feet was one whom it was an honor to know and a pleasure to love. Amen.'" "Did' you ever!" said Mrs. Bovine. "I am glad I was not there, for I should have shrieked with laughter." "The impudence of the thing, and a clergyman present!" echoed Miss Leslie. "And here comes father; I wonder what brings him home so soon?" And sure enough the figure of that gentleman, dis- mounting from his white horse, appeared through the windows. Mr. Maple with an embarrassed air withdrew, whispering a few words to MissTeslie as she saw him to the door. i "You see," she explained, in a whisper, "Portia, page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 XTHE LOST MODEL. although we are engaged, Theophilus has not yet had an opportunity of speaking to father about it. You know how cross he is, and what a disagreeable way he has of treating everybody as children. Of course, Theopihlus being a clergyman, expects to be treated like a gentleman, and father, you know, treats everybody like a child. If he likes you, he speaks to you; if he don't, he just glares at you." "That is very true," said Portia, sympathizingly. "But, George, we expect George will be here every day, and he, you know, can just turn father around his finger, and he will be able to fix it fQr us." Here the window was suddenly elevated, and the ami- able voice of Mr. Leslie thundered into the room. "How many times must I tell you to keep your traps out of my garden?"And he flung a delicate parasol into the room, and closed the window with a bang. "Yoa see, Portia," said her friend, apologetically, "he suffers a good deal lately from dyspepsia. He will eat cold lobster, and he knows it nearly kills him." "Oh, make him lobster salads by all means," said Portia, in a whisper; "the richer the better, and encour- age him to eat 'em. I could make him one that would occupy the balance of his life in digesting." And she left the house, holding her skirts tolerably high and her nose still higher. ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 205 CHAPTER II. ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. THE city had a very beautiful cenetery, more like a park than a burial-ground.: By a singular freak of fortune, an old landscape-gardener had come all the way from Germany tcd seek his fortune in Boshville, and by a still stranger freak had got charge of the grounds in question. We say, byta strange freak of fortune, for here as else- where the people ruled, and as the majority of the people were ignorant, selfish, and perverse, it was the custom to select the worst man as mayor, and the bankrupt as treasurer; i short, the round pegs were at every election enthusiastic tly placed in the square holes, and the square pegs, with e ual enthusiasm, were slapped into the round holes. But even Boshville had its exception, and the cemetery m n was that one. It took a great deal of bitter discussion, however, before this man of sense per- suaded them that a cemetery should be a beautiful, and not a repulsive place, and that as the dead were not wild beasts now, whatever they might have been alive, it was not necessary; to cage them in like tigers and lions, with massive and heavy rows of iron railings. Step by step he drove them from their tasteless preju- dices, and worked upon the landscape, giving it graceful curves, and breaking the long lines with beautiful trees. And to-day, when strangers come to Boshville, they take them to the cemetery and say, "Look well at it; there is nothing like it on this broad continent of ours!" I18" page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 TIIE LOST MODEL. Every citizen purchased a lot in it except the Catholics, and they never even squinted at it, because the bishop had never sprinkled it with water, although God had done so a good many times; and there was- quite a scramble for the best places. Our friend Dr. Knappe had a lot there, and thanks to his friend the superintendent he had one of the best, close to the lake and its isle of artificial beauty. Besides evergreens, a large willow stood in the centre, and tried to drape it, and hide the knolls upon it, with its pendent boughs and grass-like leaves. There were four graves already upon this lot, and yet none of them contained kith or kin to the doctor. The centre grave, at the foot of the giant willow,-a place he had previously selected for himself,-was occupied by a fellow-countryman, who, when young, had fought in Blucher's army, and had lost a leg in sight of that dis- tinguished general, of which fact he was very proud. The octagenarian soldier, the last few years of his life, was supported by the doctor; and when the poor, broken- down soldieryied, like a generous host, who had given his guest the best seat at his table in life, so the doctor gave his friend the best place in his burial-lot. In the corner were two other graves which the doctor said were "anonymous." A girl of nineteen in one, and a babe of a month old in the other,-mother and child. The doctor had found the girl in the hospital, half starved and dangerously sick; she had crawled there one night, from no one knew where. Her beautiful face had specially attracted him, he had brought Renata to see her, and he laid out all his skill and kindness upon her. But she died, leav- ing the fragile baby behind, and he had never heard the sound of her voice, or learnt her name. They tell a funny story still in Boshville about that baby and the doctor. ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 207 How, failing to find a nurse, a wet-nurse, he bought a cow so as to have pure milk for the child, and what soft sponges he purchased to wash daily the red body, and how he made Renata study up a famous book upon chil- dren, and how in the midst of all his preparation the life of the little "anonymous" flickered and went out. "It did really seem as though the devil had broken loose, and was doing me all the harm he possibly could," the doctor would say, when telling the story. The last mound in the lot was the freshest, and bore a marble crucifix upon it, with the ominous words: "Al- bert Redwood: born 18-, killed 18-" Strange to say, the doctor's wife was not buried upon this lot, for he had been so busy in burying his indigent friends, that he had never had the time or money to remove the remains of his wife from the old church-yard in the city, to this cemetery; although that was one of things which every spring he promised Renata he would certainly do, and which every fall saw him neglect. By the side of Redwood's grave on thip sunny morning stood Renata, with a sprig of ivy in her hand, which she gave to the stooping superintendent, who was busy plant- ing and arranging the mould. Renata wore no black for her friend, but her cheeks were paler than usual, and if there were no tears in her eyes; the voice trembled, as she spoke, with emotion. "No, no, my child, this is no trouble for me, it is just in my line. Redwood and I have spent many a pleasant hour in discussing one matter and another, and if I cannot plant a flower on his grave now and then, I must be a cold-blooded fish." "Papa said you grumbled at the stone crucifix, and thought it would spoil the appearance of the lot; but beauty is one thing, and love another." page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 THE LOST MODEL. "The doctor," said the superintendent, laughing, "understands sometimes more than he hears. I say that, in general, a tree is handsomer than the usual slab of marble or stone with which people decorate their graves. Now look over yonder, and you will see what. I mean. See the beautiful group of evergreens on the side hill, and right beyond it see what a mass of ugly stones: it looks like a stone-cutter's yard; there is neither order nor beauty, but simply a display of what money can buy." "What trouble you must have had in making the people give up such a favorite idea as an iron railing around a grave!" "Not long ago, I had a bitter fight with some of the directors because they had given permission to the fellow who had invented some improvement of the sewing- machine that a gigantic model in stone should be placed on his lot, as a monitor to posterity of the importance of the remains which rested there. I made up my mind that no such frightful advertisement should be stuck up on these grounds while I had charge of them, and I finally persuaded them to withdraw the permission. My refusal so offended the fellow that he refuses to die, much less to be buried in a place where they won't let him carry on his business after death." ' Poor Redwoqd used to say that there were two things, which tended to degrade us: one was sham Christianity and the other machinery; and he used to consider every inventor of a machine as an enemy to mankind. Poor Redwood! do you know, I never saw him from the day you met us at Ferris's. When he was killed they carried his body to Blake's, from there the funeral took place, and. when they brought him here I never saw him, although I longed to see his face. You cannot tell how much we, miss him. Papa has no one now to read his letters to, ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 09 and to consult about his pictures; and who is there now to give me advice?" "It was a terrible affair," and the superintendent rubbed his nose in perplexity. "I see my frau standing at the door yonder; won't you stay with us to dinner? and in the afternoon I will take you home in my buggy." "No, thank you. Parthee is here somewhere," and she looked hurriedly among the tombstones for her escort. They discovered him down on his knees before an old slab, rubbing, with his fingers, the dir- off the inscrip- tion. "Well, good-by, my child; I see a funeral procession coming in, and unless I watch the drivers of the carriages they will drive over my grass-plat, and destroy my flower- beds out oft pure devilment. A full-blooded hackman is impervious to the sense of beauty. As the Greek repre- sents the highest conception of beauty, so your Jehu is the lowest! Tell the doctor to come out; I have some- thing interesting to show him. And, Renata, when you go home, take the omnibus; the roads are fth of soldiers. Adieu." He paused a moment and watched the girl join her companion, muttering to himself, ' She is as beautiful as a painting;" then he shot in the direction of the proces- sion, and bawled to one Jehu to stop galloping, ashe was not on a race-course. "What are you rubbing that tombstone for, Parthee?" "Read what it says." "'Here lies Charles John Racket, who'-the rest is decayed, except the date. Now in German we say, 'Hier Ruht,' that means, here rests, which to me sounds more beautiful; for rest is the highest desire of man." He looked up astonished, and asked, "Where are the page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 THE LOST MODEL. men who think rest is the highest desire of life? There are none in Boshville." "Yes, you dull boy. There is father, and-and, well, you and I. There must be lots of other people who also desire rest, only I don't know them." He shook his head. "That is another of Renata's illusions." "Oh," said the girl, smiling, "you find everything an illusion; I only hope that I shall never find you one. Come, let us go home across the hills yonder, where the Indian encampment is. I tell you, Parthee, I do not like stories which end badly, in which the dragon kills the beautiful prince, and the princess dies for love. No, let us be like the flowers, and open when the sun comes, and always be glad." "To-day the sun is out, the sky is clear, the wind is gone, and Renata and her papa are smiling; to-morrow the storm comes, or there is a cloud before the sun, and then neither Renata nor her papa are glad." Renata laughed. "That is one of your illusions, 'Parthee. There is no girl in Boshville sev happy as I, at heart; there it is always quiet." "We will see about that. Where is Caspar?" "Ach! Poor Caspar, he is in Virginia, and I am afraid he is sick, for he has not written for a month." "What does Burgmiller say now in his letters?" "Oh, don't speak to me of Burgmiller. Papa worries the life out of me to write those dreadful letters, when I have scarcely time to write to Caspar." "And the colonel-what is his name-Denham-yes, but then Renata finds time to write to the colonel." She looked at him, vexed and astonished. "Is your heart quiet now, Renata?" he inquired gravely. ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. "It is always quiet, except when you trouble it. You must never tease any one, Parthee; it looks as though you felt yourself superior. But come, you know we promised to be home by dinner-time. Let us cross the hill yonder, and then you can take me to the Indians' encampment, for the paper says it is a tribe with which you and Mr. Leslie are quite intimate." "I will introduce you to the chief, 'Little Thunder;' he and I have hunted together a good many times." "Do you know, Parthee, I have often thought about you and the queer story you tell about the race of beings which left you here a thousand years ago; and I don't believe a word of it. Now I'll tell you your past fortune, whatever your future may be., You were a white boy, which this very tribe, or some other one, has stolen; only it was so long ago, and you were so little, that you have forgotten it." "Well," he answered, "now let me tell you a future story. You don't believe the past one, perhaps you will the future. You see my face now, smooth, no wrinkles, eh! young face like Renata'?" She laughed, and said "Yes." "When you are an old woman, and there are lines all over your face, I ill come to you, and you will see me then as I am now. What will Renatasay?" "Say? Why, I will say it is all an illusion, as you now say everything is." They walked side by side in silence for a few minutes, when suddenly the girl stopped, and said,- "You are not going away?" "Yes; you know I am going to seek Leslie's -son George." "Will you come back?" He nodded. I 21 1 "\ page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 TEIE ,LOST MODEL. "Parthee, I am a true-hearted girl, and tell you the truth. You promised me you would not go from here without my leave, and that you would have nothing to do with this terrible wad. 'ow, if you go, you must give me your darest word tat you will come back soon." And she emphasized the last word very energetically. He looked down a moment in the troubled face, and then said, slowly,- "Fighting shadows again, Renata. How many times must I say I will come back; I will come back? Yes, and when I leave for the last time, you shall go, too." By this time they reached a little brook which ran at "I wonder what Miss Leslie would say if she saw you doShe is so busy chasing that big clergyman, that she forgets the rest of the world u Like a couple of thoughtless school-children, they sauntered through the fields,.plucking the leaves as they passed, and occasionally pausing to watch the manceu- vring of the birds among the branches of the giant trees. When they reached the open plain where the Indians were encamped, Renata's courage fled at the sight of the dusky red-skins, and it needed a good deal of coaxing before she would approach the ugly-looking tents made from buffalo hides, and the group of bandy-legged squaws who squatted on the ground beneath their blue cloth blankets, and the big-limbed Indians who reclined upon the ground, or stood in a circle around one of the chief warriors. ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 213 "I am dreadfully afraid, Parthee,-see how fierce they look at us,-but, if you-nnow them, why they will not do us any harm." And for better security, she took hold of his arm with both hands. The approach of. these two caused considerable com- motion in the camp. The squaws gaped at them for a moment in astonishment, then, without rising, chattered away like a lot of geese. The warrior, with his face painted red on one side and blue on the other, with a long feather drooping from his scalp, and wearing a dress of buckskin, or- namented with shells, left the group, and came quickly towards Parthee, to whoim he spoke in a harsh, gut- tural tongue. The others followed his example, and Renata found herself in the centre of a crowd of half- clad savages, the smell of whose dress and bodies was almost insupportable. One of them raised his finger and touched the red ribbon upon her neck, and almost at the same moment Parthee put the end of a withe he held in his hand into the fellow's r, which made him step back in astonish- ment, while te rest grinned at his movement, and the painted warrioV nodded in satisfaction. Renata felt in her pocket for a coin, and, upon finding one, held it out to the discomfited brave, who took it rapidly and put it in his mouth. Themnovement, how- ever, caught the eye of the chief, who, holding out his hand, made the fellow spit-it out, which caused the rest to grunt with satisfaction. 'This is 'Little Thunder,' " aid Parthee. "Don't be afraid; I will show you his wife presently." As he spoke, a white cloud of smoke shot from the summit of one of the neighboring hills, followed by the loud report of a cannon, which shook the air over their 19 page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] '214 THE LOST MODEL. heads, and was echoed back by rolling thunder from the distance. The noise excited the Indians, and, scattering, they hurried up towards the fort from which the shot was fired. Even Little 'Thunder rolled his eyes at the noise, and shook himself, and his nostrils dilated with excitement. "That is the place where they fortified the hill, for the. protection of the city," said Renata, following with her eyes the movements of the Indians, who were running towards it. "If the rebels only come in that direction, they will all be killed with those big cannons. Ask the chief what he thinks of those big guns." "He is too much afraid of them to "go near enough to inspect them," said Parthee. The Indian brought his eyes slowly around from the fort to his guests, and he spoke deliberately, and, as Renata thought, in anger, to her companion. Occasion- ally he would pause in his speech, and point to the city beyond them, or to his tent, and once to a deep scar below his shoulder bone, and his eyes stared steadily and searchingly upon the face of Parthee. And when the latter answered, it was with a different tone and accent than she was accustomed to hear in the well-remembered voice, and a feeling of dread crept over the girl, that they would take him away with them, and the dearest dream of her life be dispelled in grief. "Come," said the girl pettishly, " show me his squaw, then we must go; you forget that I cannot understand a word you say, and I want to leave before those Indians come back." The chief followed them to the centre tent, and then turned upon his heel and left them. Sitting in the middle of the inclosure, upon the ground, and rocking herself backwards and forwards as though in pain, sat an O ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 215 ugly dark woman dressed in blue flannel, ornamented with shells and beads; she held to her forehead a few leaves, and down the side of her face slowly trickled a stream of blood. "See, Parthee, the poor woman is all over blood. Why, who has done that?" At his request, the squaw took away her hand and showed a cut upon the side of her head, which was bleed- ing profusely. While Parthee went out in search of some more leaves, Renata, forgetting her fear, and overcoming her repugnance to the nauseating effluvia which filled the tent, went close to the squaw, and with her fingers pushed aside the hair from the edge of the wound, and dipping her handkerchief in a little stream of water out- side the tent, she washed away the blood, and held it to the poor creature's head. Slowly and deliberately, Par- thee, when he returned, separated the leaves, and then placed them over the cut, and tied up her head tightly in the handkerchief, to all of which the squaw submitted silently, and without a murmur. Renata saw, for the first time, in the back part of the tent an older and an uglier squaw still, who, after watching Parthee very closely, spoke to him repeatedly, and whom he answered more in gestures than in speech. "Who did that cruel thing?" asked Renata, when they emerged from the tent into daylight. "Little Thunder broke her head because she would not go and get fire-water for him. But, after all, the wounds on the outside are not so bad as those on the inside of the head, are they, Renata?" "He is a cruel wretch!"And she cast an indignant glance at the Indian who had been a dignified, but passive witness of the scene; and who followed by the side of Parthee, without speaking. page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 THE LOST MODEL. "Ach! what will he with us?" asked Renata, in some alarm, as the chief continued to stalk by the side of her companion. "Stay a moment and hear what he wants, and I will wait for you on the pike." And the girl ran up the bank to the main road, and then turned and watched them. ,Renataf sighed as she looked at the slender figure which gesticulated to the Indian. Rapidly through her memory passed the period of her acquaintance with this waif of an unknown race. The sit- tings at Ferris's, the sculptor's, the promenades and romp- ings upon the hills, the evenings at the doctor's, when he listened solemnly to the quartettes and smiled at the doctor's enthusiasm, and the long saunterings through the city, when arm-in-arm they wandered, like the children in the wood, from store to store in search of novelty. How well she knew the voice aid step, the meaning of his gestures, and felt the warmth of his glance! Other men embarrassed her; they were either too grand in their manners and language, or too small in their thoughts and trivial in their desires, too rich and ostentatious, too poor, too mean; some were large, others small to insignifi- cance,-in fact, the Boshville beaux were thoroughly foreign to her nature and sympathy. But with this man came a new revelation, every sense awoke in his presence like the blind, dumb earth at the touch of the sun. Just when she had begun to understand and enjoy this drama of life, there comes an unknown fear over her that it will all pass away like a dream. First comes a war that rages over the land with the cruelty of a fire, and then the sudden death of Redwood; and before her senses have recovered from the shock of this catastrophe, comes the hint that this being who holds, as it were, her life in his hand, may pass away as suddenly as he came. When Parthee joined her, she scarcely saw him for the ORDER AMONG THE DEAD. 217 tears in her eyes; and she only half heard his laconic account of his former acquaintance with Little Thunder, on the other side of the "Rocky Mountains, and how the chief wanted him to go as an interpreter to Washington, and explain to the White Father that they must have more presents, or they would kill the white men who came upon their hunting-grounds. But the natural joyousness of her nature soon prevailed, and her face beamed with pleasure as she listened to his running commentary on men and things. As they entered the city, they saw Miss Leslie and her betrothed leaving it, the former veiled so as to see but not to be seen. To an inquiry from Renata if he did not think her very pretty, he answered, "No; I see her as she is. And so did her father the other day. He told her, ' You are twenty-six years old, and yet to my certain knowledge, during all that time, your mind and soul has had but one theme: What shall I put in my mouth, what shall I wear on my head and wrap around my body, and where shall I go to see some fun, and who will come to amuse me? and the next step is, who shall I take for my husband? And so the world is simply your kitchen."' "And yet, is there much difference between them? For, if I remember rightly, he told papa once that as he could only eat a certain number of dinners in this world, he had made up his mind to have them all good. Papa is baclk: I can see his buggy at the door. You won't come in? Well, good-by! remember to-morrow night we have company, and be sure to come." "Oh, here you are!" said the doctor, as Renata, -looking pale and fatigued, passed into his, office. "My child, there is no necessity of wearing your life out in walking backwards and forwards to that cemetery." 19* page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 ATHE' LOST MODEL. Renata made no answer, but took off her hat and shawl, and, after kissing him, she looked him full in the face and said, "You promised to tell me why Leonard killed our friend, and you have never done so; tell me now." The question fairly stunned the-doctor, and, after look- ing vacantly at her for a moment, he told her not to bother him, and then hurried out upon some pretext or another. CHAPTER III. A CITY WITH ARTISTS AND TWO ART CRITICS. THAT evening our friend the doctor was a delighted man. In his little parlor, where every inch of the wall was, covered with an artistic sketch or frameless old painting, and where a huge box containing portfolios, filled with etchings and engravings, was the principal article of furniture, the doctor stood in the centre of a group of gentlemen, his face all aglow with pleasure, his head-hrown back, and his tongue pronouncing a eulogy upon art., He had already, as usual with him when once fairly started on his favorite theme, worked the bow of his cravat under his left ear, and had rubbed his hair up until it stood upright over his forehead, like a lot of broom-corn. This was his only real pleasure - He seldom went to any amusements, except occasionally to the little German theatre, and this was more to please his daughter than himself; and, with the exception of a quartette or trio at his house, public or private amusements never occupied much of the doctor's time. But to show his pictures to his friends and acquaintances, to read them the A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 219 letters of Burgmiller, to give the history of every sheet, and to dilate on their undying value to the human race, was a constant fountain of delight. It was appropriate in all seasons and at all times. Meet him at twelve o'clock at night, returning, jaded, from some. patient, who had worn out his patience as well as his strength, stop him and ask him if Burgmiller is painting anything new, and he will take you home to his little parlor, light up the gas, get out a huge boia of letters, every one of which has eighty or ninety pages, and he will read and comment upon them until you fall dead with fatigue under the table. Three of his guests this evening were painters, the lead- ing artists in Boshville. Washington Blake was a land- scape painter, Howard Waldemar a genre painter, and Gottlieb, a German, was the best portrait painter in the West. Blake was a stalwart, long-haired individual, who had gained some celebrity from the likeness he bore to the portraits of Albrecht Diirer. Redwood, who knew him very well, used to say, "The friend who first discovered Blake's likeness to Diirer, and told him of it, did him a mortal wrong; he was satisfied with looking like Durer, without trying to paint like him. His personal vanity killed his merit, or talent, as a cabbage planted near a vine will kill the grapes." The doctor was not so harsh in his judgment, and in- sisted that he could paint with excellent fidelity a dog, or other animal of the so-called lower creation. The other two artists shall speak for themselves, as a novelist, it is said, ought to let the characters describe themselves, except when their especial merits lie outside and not inside of their heads, in which case, of course, some out- lines must be given. A part of the present excitement of the doctor, however, page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 THE LOST MODEL. arose from the fact that two of his guests were the critics of art and music par excellence; that is to say, they were the official expounders of the merits of every distinguished picture and every musical performance in Boshville. Abbot published his criticisms in the "Wide Awake," and Bishop laid himself out in the "Steel," both of them journals of high literary, musical, and critical ability. Of course the good citizens of Boshville, being absorbed in the pork business, in the manufacture of sewing machines, sale of dry goods, and the ordinary occupations of trade, had no time to devote to any- thing so unremunerative as art or music; and yet as it was the fashion, imported, as usual, from Europe, for the wealthy to hang up gold frames on their walls, and to accompany their daughters to the opera on certain fashionable occasions, why, there became an urgent necessity to have some one to say to them, "M'lle Cadenza is a good singer, go and hear her; and Brown has got a fine landscape, go and admire it." Consequently when Snob and Truckle, in the whisky business, returned from their summer trip to Europe, bringing with them huge boxes filled with plaster casts, and a great number of modern pictures, and they were showing their treasures to their friends, the first inquiry was, "Well, what do Abbot and Bishop say?" When the answer was, "They consider my Turner a pearl of priceless worth," the eager cry came in response, "Oh, let us look at it again, and how much will you take for it? What a stunning frame it has, eh?" So, what a well-drilled group of claqueurs was to a French theatre, the above critics were to the wealthy citizens of Boshville. Abbot had been formerly a clerk or salesman in a picture-dealer's store in New York, where he had learnt all the slang terms peculiar to artists, and, conse- A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 221 quently, he was somewhat the more fluent of the two; he also insisted that the greatest school of modern art was in France, and he would utter the'names of Rousseau, Cou- teau, Gudin, Lambinet, Frere, and Meissonier with a rapidity and wonderful accent that would make your head swim. Bishop, who, in some respects, was the rival of Abbot, had derived his knowledge and taste for art from a very careful and elaborate study of Ruskin's Modern Painters, and an English translation of awork upon German artists, and, consequently, while his friend sang the glories of Ary Scheffer, he went down on his knees before Tur- ner.; When the doctor brought out a fine engraving of the Mona Lisa of Da-Vinci, Abbot cried,- "By Jove, how that reminds you of Frere!"While Bishop, after a painful contemplation of five minutes in silence, said, emphatically,- "That picture is either by a pupil of Millais or Hunt." There was one thing, however, they had in common, and that was ignorance. Neither had ever seen an original Raphael or Michael Angelo; and if they had, they could no more have understood the merits of them than they could read at sight the cuneiform inscriptions on the As- syrian marbles. Of this, however, the good doctorwas not aware. It is true that not long ago he received a copy of the "Steel," in which was an article, six columns long, upon a fountain, written by Bishop, and which the good doctor sat down to read, but never could get farther than the fourth sentence, which said that the Laoc6on was a degenerate work of art. "Could he not praise the fountain without insisting that Greek art was a child's toy beside it? And how he can write six long, solid columns, close print, With Latin quotations, about some- thing you never can find-out what, is a mystery to me!" was the doctor's soliloquy at the time he sat looking at the page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 ETHE LOST MODEL. article in question. But, as the d6ctor was in the habit of accusing his own understanding rather than other persons' ability, he acted on this occasion as though he really was showing his collection to two people who knew more about them than he did. "There," said he, placing before them a fine copy of the Reading Magdalene of Correggio, by Longhi, " what do you say to that?" "Allegri," said Abbot, reading the name on the bot- tom; "nice face, pensive, carefully done; reminds you of Scheffer." "Yes," groaned Bishop, "or one of Millais' Sisters of Charity." "Oh, what bad drawing!" blundered in the Boshville Diirer. "She is leaning on her elbow, and yet the part that rests on the ground has no dent in it. I tell you, those old fellows knew nothing about drawing or per- spective." "Oh, I don't see any bad drawing," said the doctor, looking at it with admiration. "Of course you don't; if she had a blister behind her ears, you would, perhaps, find it out." And a loud laugh went round the room. "Mit dem old bainters," said Gottheb, "ideas is de ting; you must not yudge 'em as do it was a bainting of a tog." "Translate as you go, old fellow," said Blake. "You are right, Gottheb," said the doctor. And he took away the engraving and placed an etching of Marc Antonio before them. "Queer-looking thing!" said Blake. "So dark and scratchy!" echoed Waldemar. "That is a mighty nice, artistic thing," said Abbot, who wished to encourage the doctor. A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 223 "Whistler does that kind of thing much better," said Bishop, sotto voce, to his neighbor. Das is yust so good as one of Raphael's," said Gott- lieb, enthusiastically. "You are right, Gottheb." And the doctor placed before them a landscape of Claude, engraved by Woolett. "A very pretty piece of work; nice trees-general effect artistic," said Abbot. "Thoughtfully done-good lines-broad in treatment, and picturesque," said Bishop. The two painters had a violent dispute whether the trees on the right were palms or pines. "Now, doctor," said Blake, "show us something modern. You go crazy all the time over what you are pleased to call old masters, who, no doubt, were very well in their way and day, but nothing to compare with the artists of the nineteenth century." And he shook out his long hair and looked down, majestically, upon the host. "That's sol" echoed Waldemar. "No doubt Michael Angelo, Raphael, and Cherubini were masters in their time; but they are long since out of date. And then, again, it is as Ruskin says, they are only preserved now because they are Roman Catholic pictures,-they illustrate certain things which the Catholics believe in; that is their only merit." "Now, see there," said Blake, pointing to the engraving of the "Last Supper," on the wall. "Look at all those fellows, sitting all on one side of the table, like a lot of school-boys on a form; see the table-cloth, with its marks of folding, as though on the table of a first-class hotel,- with glass tumblers, china plates, and things they never had in those days. Where is the truth to nature in that?" "You see that fellow with the butcher-knife," said Wal- page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 THE LOST IODEL. demar, putting on his spectacles; "what had he got to carve, that he needed such a cheese-cutter as that? And see that other one, with his hand up, like an inverted leg of mutton! Now, doctor, where is the merit in that picture?" "See that other one, which they call ' Leda and the Swan,' said Blake. And he pointed at it with his gold- headed cane. "What does a respectable, stout-looking, intelligent girl want to be grinning at a long-necked goose for, eh?" The doctor, while this running commentary was going on, turned his face from one speaker to the other, open- ing and shutting his mouth, .without getting a word out, for each new sentence required a different answer; and, finally, overwhelmed with the situation, he sat down, and gasped out, "My. God, if only Redwood was here!" "Redwood!" said Blake. "What an outrageous mur- der that was! I hope they will hang that Leonard." "What good will that do me?" sighed the doctor. And he held up his finger, to stop them talking about Red- wood, as his daughter Renata and Parthee entered. What- ever difference of opinion the company held as to the merits of the pictures, there was none as to Miss Renata; and that young lady blushed beneath the weight of the compliments; even Bishop forgot to think what Ruskin said, but smiled, and admired in silence. "I was at Ferris's the other day," said Blake, "and I saw that- face of yours cut in marble, Miss Knappe. I recognized it instantly." ' Oh, mercy, it is much handsomer than I am! Ask the doctor if it isn't." "Of course it is, my child; he has idealized it into a classic antique face." A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 225 "What!" said Abbot, "do you mean to say that man can make a handsomer face than God can?" "In the sense I mean, of course he can," answered the doctor. Here followed a very violent discussion, in which Blake, Waldemar, Gottheb, and the critics joined, where all spoke at once, except the doctor, who only got a word in about once in five minutes. Each man was so anxious to deliver his own view of the question, that he shrieked it out without waiting for the other one to hear him. Renata, who tried to catch the thread of the dispute, could only hear such fragmentary sentences as the fol- lowing: "Look at Frere, for instance-" "When I painted my picture of The Lost Dog-" "'Truth to nature,' as Ruskin says, 'is the sole aim and end of-' " "Ach, Gott, das ist Faselei-" "Now take Burgmiller, and he is the acknowledged prince of color-" "Pshaw! he doesn't know what color is-" "As I told Gipps, when he brought his fine collection from Florence the other day, 'Gipps,' says I, 'be sure and prize-' " 'Oh, well, let the books alone, doctor; that is all very wefl for you Dutchmen to know what the books say, but I'm an artist-" "Take my word for it, get a picture of Tur- ner, and there you'll find-" "I give you my word of honor, if I would give that little etching of Marc Antonio for all the pictures Ruskin ever painted, may I go-" "Missonier-" "Bierstadt--" etc. In the meantime, Renata, seated near the stand upon which the doctor exhibited his pictures, was knitting and smiling'at Parthee, who, seated in front of her, was very intently examining the engravings. As he placed one after the other upon the easel and closely scrutinized it in silence, Renata thought, in her heart, How handsome he 20 page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 THE LOST MODEL. is when he becomes absorbed in anything! he has the innocence and intentness of a child. The talkers were scattered through the room, each one having selected his opponent, and, holding him by the button-hole, was trying to convince him by dint of a storm of words; the doctor skirmishing first with one and then with the other. Unheeding the noise, Parthee sat absorbed in his task, and except when the dark-blue eyes wandered over to Renata, he seemed utterly lost in contemplation. "Parthee, you are like a little girl with her first doll. You are so wrapt up in those pictures that you scarcely know where you are. You told me the other day I fretted and worried over shadows, and yet you are quite carried away with them." "Shadows? These ain't shadows. This is the real thing. Move your chair around here, and see this one. See the little girl, with a bouquet and letter in her hand; her little bare feet, the smile upon her mouth, and the long yellow hair." "Yes, that is very pretty. I like that much better than that Mater Dolorosa, who is always crying." "Now, that is what I would call a sham grief. Now, see this one," and with great care he placed upon the easel the School of Athens. "I will show you the one I like best. There, at the left, that handsome face and figure; they call it Georgias. " "You always pick out the young, smooth faces. But see, Renata, all these men and faces; in all Boshville not five could be found so grand. Now, that man there with his finger raised: he could plane pyramid, but he could not invent a sewing-machine. There is not one there which would care about a sewing-machine. It takes stump-legged, bald-headed little men to invent machines. A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 227 Now, this one, with his wrinkled eyebrows and his deep- set eyes: he never read a newspaper." "That Mr. Abbot over there," said Renata, softly, "has such a pretty little wife; I wonder, now, if you would like her; she's very rich, and what she married this man for makes my head ache to think of, for I certainly never could find out. He hasn't even got any sense." "There, Renata, there you are; just like you." And Parthee placed upon the stand-a portrait of Rubens's daughter. "Let the pictures alone, and tell me something. I got l letter from Colonel Denham, and papa says I must answer it to-morrow. Tell me what to say. When I write to Caspar, I talk about all the neighbors and every- thing I do, and that is very easy; and when I write to my school-friend Lizette, I write about you, and a letter 9 is soon filled; but when I write to Colonel Denham, I am puzzled. I must not speak about you; it is foolish to talk about the neighbors, and it is more difficult than a school composition." "Oh, yes; you may speak about me. Tell him I am going away on what the Indians call a long hunt." "That would not be true. I don't care what you say, Parthee, I have thought it all out, and here you must stay. Yes, indeed, you must," and a queer, sad earnest- ness settled upon the girl's eyes and mouth. "Renata," said the doctor, "get up some wine." He had 'leared out his antagonists and reduced them to silence. As they only spoke from memory, and even the best memory will give out some time or another, the doctor, who relied more upon his imagination and reason than what he had read, finally prevailed. Bishop, in fact, for the last five minutes, had been hurriedly writing down, in a little pocket-book, certain phrases and terms which page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] v228 THE LOST MODEL. some of the wordy combatants had used, and which he was storing away for future use. "Now I will show you what Nagler says about him; and stop, so that you may know what kind of a writer Nagler is, I will read you what Brockhaus says. N-a-g -here it is-" "Hold on, doctor. You are bad enough, but those Dutch books of yours are worse. I'll take your word. Besides, here comes the wine and the prettiest Gany- mede in the country. But that is something you never found out, with all your love of beauty." "ws hat is that?" "Why, that your daughter's face is much handsomer than any Madonna in your collection." "No, thank God, I never found that out; and hope I never will. Now, gentlemen, take your glasses, and see if you like the wine." "I was just telling Abbot here about Pogley," said Waldemar. "Do you remember him, doctor?" "Oh, yes. I attended his family for two years, and never got acent for it. Hecould take the premium formeanness." "Well, sir, he is a genius in his way. He has a nice farm back in the State. A hundred or so of acres of well-timbered land. He sent for me last summer, and in the evening, as we were smoking upon the porch, he asked what I would paint a hundred portraits for,--to do them at my leisure,-boarding at his house, and painting them between whiles? 'A hundred portraits, Pogley!' says I; 'why, there are not more than a hundred people in this county; are you going to get up a panorama of the inhabitants?' 'Never you mind,' says he; 'just answer my question. I will supply you with the canvas and the subjects, as well as the room. Now, what will you paint a hundred of them for?' o A CITY WITH ARTISTS. 229 "'Life size?' "'Yes,' said he, 'and like life, too,-real portraits.' "'Tell me what you want them for, so that I may know how to pose them, and whether they will be of old or young people.' ".'They will be mostly old people, and what I want 'em for is for a private gallery of my own.' "'All right,' said I; 'I will do them at twenty-five dollars apiece, cash down.' "Well, we agreed upon the contract. The next day he brings me an old man about eighty years old, and I did the business for him; the next was a very old lady, and in a couple of sittings I got her facial expression; and so it went on, until I will take my oath there was not an old man or woman of a respectable family, within a hundred miles of his farm, but what he had her or his portrait. It was a pretty good neighborhood, and as he kept a pretty good table I worked away until there was not a room in the house but the walls were covered with these solermn-looking portraits." "Why, what did he do with them?" they all cried. "See, now, what a sharp fellow he is. As soon as one of these old people died, their families in the first blush of grief would go to Pogley, and say, 'Pog, my dear grandfather or grandmother is dead, and you must let me have that portrait; I Must have some good likeness of him or her.' 'Well,' Pogley would say, 'I don't like to part with the old gentleman or lady, but I don't want to be selfish; pay me what I gave for it, and promise to sell it me back when you are tired'of it, and you take it away with you.' 'Oh, they never wquld be tired of it!' and, as a matter of course, Pogley made them pay five times what it cost him, and took care never to ask for it back again. And I tell you, gentle- men, he made a heap of money by it, just a heap." 20* page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 TiTE LOST MODEL. "Yes, and he will go to Hades for all his pains," said the doctor, who was an indignant listener. It was very late that night when the doctor showed his guests to the door, and Bishop'pulled the doctor aside, and after thanking him very obsequiously for the tre- mendous pleasure he had received, told him solemnly that in the next number of the paper he should furnish an elaborate article upon the beauty and variety of Dr. Knappe's collection of art treasures. The doctor's heart sank within him when he heard this announcement, but he was too good natured to object to this doubtful honor. "Think of it," he said, to Renata, whom he found at the side window which looked down the street, and from which that young lady was in the habit of watching the figure of Parthee when he left the house, "think of it, that Bishop is going to write four of five columns of non- sense over my pictures, and the people will think that they are as bad as his foolish phrases! What have I done that I should have such a punishment?" "That hurts nothing," said the girl; i' I believe there are only two people in the city who read Bishop's criti- cisms, he and his wife." CHAPTER IV. A NEW WORK OF ART, AND AN OLD WORK OF LOVE. "AT last," said the doctor to himself, one morning, as a constable placed- in his hand a piece of printed paper, called a subpoena, and which notified him that, at the criminal court, the case of the State against Leonard would be called for hearing on a certain day, A NEW WORK OF ART.' 231 and he was commanded to be present as a witness. "If ever there was a deliberate, cold-blooded murder com- mitted on this earth, that was one; but why they should subpoena me is a mystery, for I know nothing of it, except that my poor friend was barbarously murdered, and that in intellect, heart, and character, he was worth them all. Yes," said the doctor, warming with his theme, "worth the whole kit of them." "How is his wife?" said the old housekeeper, who overheard the doctor's soliloquy. The doctor sighed. "She has lost her reason, Kettle, and I fear never will recover it. She goes out at night and stands upon the road near that dreadful grove, and waits for her lover. It is dreadful. For God's sake do not let Renata go that way in the evening, or I shall have a fearful time with her. The Lord knows I have trouble enough; there's Caspar at the war, there are all my letters neglected, Redwood killed, and the rebels advancing upon us; I really don't know what will be the final up- shot of it all." '"Ach! the poor child knows all about Mrs. Leonard, for she came crying home the other evening about it; you ought to have told her yourself. There's Caspar's box must go off to-day; the poor boy does not get enough to eat, and we must not let him starve. I have made him some nice cake, pies, and also some nice preserves. The box ought to have gone off yesterday, and you promised you would stop at the express office and tell the man to call for it. It will all dry up into cinders before it reaches my poor boy." "Well, Kettle, you must not blame me; you see my head is full of more important things than pies and cakes for Caspar. Yesterday the foreign mail came in, and I ought to have received a letter from Burgmiller, but I page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 THE LOST MODEL. didn't get it. The devil is certainly loose again in this town. " "Don't forget, papa, that to-day at twelve o'clock Ferris will exhibit his new group, and he sends you and me a special invitation," said Renata, as she entered. "Then you must ride round with me, Renata. I have only four patients to visit this morning, and after seeing them we will stop at Ferris's; and go and put on your bonnet at once, for that fool of a horse has lately taken it into his head to gnaw all the bark off that nice walnut- tree. Stop it, sir!" he shouted through the window at that animal, who was reaching around the tree to nibble a distant piece of the hanging bark. "You have seen a lot of geese," said the doctor to his daughter, as they rode away together, "stretch their necks through the fence, and cackle at a traveler as he passes by? Well, that is what will take place at Ferris's. In the time of Michael Angelo and Da Vinci, when an artist did anything fine or noble the admiring nobles and friends-would write sonnets to him, and send them to him, or crown him with laurel. Now, a fellow in a newspaper crams for five minutes on art, and then writes an article upon it which takes you an hour to read, and which you would never understand if you read it every day fora hundred years." "Yes, and in those good old Florentine times, these same admiring friends and artists would secretly throw a stone and break the statue to pieces, or they would quietly stab the artist," said Renata. t "Now you are talking nonsense, my child." t "Well, papa, I am as near right as you are. Did they E not have a guard of men, when David, the great statue of a Angelo, was being moved to its place, to prevent the en- it vious or malicious from secretly destroying it?" ca I A NEW WORK OF ART. 2 t1 - 1 2 3 3 "I don't know which is the worst of the two, that, or a crowd of giggling, impudent women, each of whom fancies herself a queen, and who cackle, 'Oh, Mr. Ferris, what big feet your statue has got!' 'Oh, Mr. Ferris, why don't you dress your statues!' and ' Oh, isn't that lovely!' and 'Ah, ain't that charming!' "And the doctor imitated the childish treble of a fashionable beauty. The doctor's round of visits that morning took longer than usual, for at several of the houses, when it was known that Renata was outside in the buggy, the doctor had to bring her in, for she was quite a favorite with many of his patients. Once inside the house, so many things were discussed among the women, and the doctor was always so delighted to talk when he found attentive listeners, that Renata had great trouble in getting him back to the buggy, in order that they might be in time for the exhi- bition. They were half an hour behind the time when they reached the sculptor's atelier. "And we never thought of a flower, bouquet, or something of that kind for Ferris," groaned the doctor, as he tied up his horse. "That is to say, you did not think of it; now I am more thoughtful, papa, and I made Parthee promise me, a week ago, that he would make the prettiest one to be seen." The place was filled with people, who made way for the new-comers, as Ferris, dressed in his military frock-coat, with a rose upon the lapel, with both hands welcomed them in. The aristocracy and beauty of the city were there, and the doctor felt ashamed of his dress and bare hands, amidst the handsome coats, yellow gloves, silks, and feathers of the rest of the company. Every city has its aristocratic circle, or "upper-crust," as it is vulgarly called. You go into a village of twenty-five inhabitants, page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 THE LOST MODEL. and there in that wilderness you find one family in which the men wear long hair and big shirt-collars, and the ladies wear faded fashions and talk French. You are notified that this is the Dillon family, one of the greatest in the Union; the grandfather fought in the Revolution, the father fought in the war of I8I2, and the son was a colonel in the Mexican War. You find that they own all the land in the county, and, what is worse, that the men are dissipated and vicious, and the women vain and friv- olous. Of course, Boshville had its aristocracy, the head of which reached back to the Revolution of I776 or to the first settlement of 800o; it owned the greater part of the land, and it was represented to-day in Boshville by dressy young men, who were strong in clothes, if weak bodily and mentally, and young ladies, pale, thin, little-footed, and with a wonderful ability for flirtation. Our male aristocracy, as a rule, is not a success; the young men scarcely or ever get over the private vices they studied with so much eagerness at Paris, and consequently they only illustrate the maxim: there is one thing poor human nature cannot stand, and that is continued prosperity. A man may reach ninety years in poverty, while your pros- perous, wealthy fellow gets a paralytic stroke long before he is fifty. But we will not repeat what everybody knows. The great Boshville politician, Bigtalk, was there, high, hawk-nosed, solemn, and with the words dripping from his lips with the regularity and indifference of the water that ran out of the mouth of the stone nymph in the fountain. The artists were also there; seated in the front was old Leslie, and next to him the archbishop, smiling and be- nevolent; and at the side was Bishop the art critic, with his head upon his hand, lost in profound contemplation. A NEW WORK OF ART. 235 This pose served two ends: it drew the attention of the audience towards him, and then his abstract look pre- vented you from asking him any question, and thus find- ing out that he had no ideas. Mrs. Ferris was at the side talking to Parthee, who held, wrapped up in paper, a beautiful wreath of flowers; and it was with unerring instinct that Renata found herself in the neighborhood, and took the seat at his side, offered to her by the smiling sculptor's wife. From the front to the door were seated the male and female aristocracy of Boshville; and we can say that the faces of the ladies were as pale, their hair as long, their feet as small, and their clothes as costly as anj of their peers in the Commonwealth; and as for the gentlemen, they were only the reverseside of the same medal. "It represents," said the sculptor, in reply to a ques- tion from the doctor, and there was silence to hear the explanation, "the moment when Mary Magdalene visits the sepulchre, and, stooping down to examine the place where our Saviour was laid, discovers the angel, who, with uplifted hand, tells her that her Master is not here, He is risen from the dead." A stream of sunlight poured upon the group from the skylight, and showed, cut in white marble, two figures, one standing with hand uplifted, the other kneeling, with the hands outstretched as though in supplication. "Yes, yes, I understand now," said the doctor; "I am really so ignorant of the Bible"-he dropped his voice as he saw the archbishop near him-" that I did not perceive the application at first. And very beautiful it is. There is a dignity and grace in the form of the angel, and noble expression upon the features, that one rarely meets with in modern works of sculpture. The kneeling figure is Mary Magdalene, the standing figure is the angel. Yes, page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] it is fine-upon my word. Let me see the face of the Magdalene. Ah, what an innocence and purity there beams in her face! Well, Ferris, with such faces as you have around you, how you can imagine and form such a noble, Madonna-like face, astonishes me. It is certainly wonderful!" "Oh, as to that, doctor," said the artist, smiling, "the original yonder has still a grace in it that I have been unable to catch." And he nodded in the direction of Renata, who was discussing the work with Parthee and Mrs. Ferris. "What does he say?" said the wealthy Miss Dillon; "that Doctor Knappe's daughter is the model for the Magdalene?" "That accounts for the big foot," said her sister; " it is a regular toe-crusher. Just look at it! Number six, at least."' "You are mistaken," said Leslie, who overheard them; "Miss Knappe has very small feet; but Ferris says it is one of the conditions of high art that it should have good understandings; so he took the original of those feet from his own or his wife's." "It appears to me," said Bishop, suddenly awaking from lhis fit of contemplation, and groaning out the idea which he had just dug out of the depths of his conscious- ness, "that in these two figures art now appears in new forms. Art has been symbolized in Greece and Italy, and is manifold in all the forms and beauty of those of older civilization; but now comes a new epoch,-a higher civili- zation, -our civilization; and these two noble figures shadow forth the future that awaits us." And he fell back into his reverie. "That depends upon how you look at it,-upon your standpoint," said Waldemar. A NEW WORK OF ART. 237 "You see lots of those kind of things in Florence and Rome," said a pale-faced young man, with a moustache that completely covered the lower part of his face; " every- body cuts statues there,-they are quite common." "Oh, how lovely that must be!" was the reply. "Yes, indeed; a friend of mine was mighty anxious that I should sit for his model; he was a sculptor, you know, and there was something, you know, in my face he was mighty anxious to cut." "Oh, of course!" echoed the young lady. And she examined the puerile features with renewed admiration. "Where did you get your bonnet, or, rather, your hat?" said the sculptor's wife, examining that article upon the head of Miss Knappe. "I purchased the frame, and trimmed it myself; the verbena in it, however, is from nature, as Partheb calls it. Do you like it?" "Now, Renata," said Parthee, gravely, "this gentle- man behind me is going to make a speech to Mr. Ferris, and then you and I will present him with this wreath." And he uncovered a very beautiful circle of flowers and leaves. "And I must fix you up for it, my child," said the sculptor's wife; "you must let your hair down, and look as artistic as possible." And she hurried out with the girl. "I don't know, my dear doctor," said the archbishop, quietly taking a pinch of snuff, " that I can appreciate so highly as you do ancient or Greek art. Christian art has a higher aim, a broader sympathy and interest for the human heart. It not only seeks to portray the beautiful form, but it has a moral to convey. It is not a mere ques- tion of skin and muscle, but of the soul and life eternal. Are you never struck yourself with the cold and unsym- 21 page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 THE LOST MODEL. pathetic expression upon the faces of your antique gods and goddesses? Contrast that with our modern idea of the face, and the advantage is certainly ours, eh?" "Pardon me, pardon me; it is the very objective character of the beauty," said the doctor, "which gives them immortality. To-day we lead very artificial lives, and, consequently, our desires and sentiments are false and artificial; and our painters seek to express this, and this only, and the result is, they paint deformities, and the people admire them. For instance, now, take England. Her modern pictures are full of a morbid sentimentality, which have no meaning-no possible meaning-outside of a life and civilization at once nervous and sensual, and -" The doctor was interrupted by General Flareup, who advanced to the centre of the room, where Ferris was standing and listening, followed by Parthee and Renata, carrying a very beautiful wreath of flowers; and, taking the pose of an orator, commenced a very flattering eulogy of the statue and the statuary. With -dark, rolling eyes and a loud, ringing voice, the orator apostrophized now the sculptor, and now the marble group. He spoke of the fact that at this very time, when two immense armies were grappling at each other's throats, when the very existence of the nation was at stake, when in the horizon, by day and night, was the red light of war, and in the atmosphere the roar of the dreadful clash of arms, yet here, in a peaceful city, a citizen of the great Republic was modeling and forming for posterity a work of art which might outlast the brazen monuments. of war and the ornaments of peace. When he closed, the other two advanced, and, amidst the applause of the spectators, placed the wreath upon the blushing sculptor. Ferris returned his thanks in the best manner he A NEW WORK OF ART. 239 could, and after taking off the wreath and placing it upon one of the stone pedestals, so that it would not be injured, he invited his guests to a light collation which had been prepared in an adjoining room, and to which the best part of the company adjurned, headed by the sculptor and the venerable archbishop. Toasts were drank, speeches made, and lively, animated discussions took place among the company. Bishop somewhat dashed their spirits by at- tempting the history of sculpture, which he had lately crammed from the pages of the Encyclopaedia Brittannica, and which, in his manner of treating it, was worse than an explanation of a logarithm. Waldemar, however, in one of his amusing Western stories, restored the equilib- rium, and the doctor, in reply to a toast, made, as the paper said next day, his greatest effort. "It certainly is not more tharr a week ago," pursued the doctor, "that I was called upon to visit a family professionally, one of the wealthiest in the West. The house cost a quarter of a million to build. It was much handsomer than the Pitti Palace. It had a marble colon- nade; rooms twenty feet high; a staircase under a dome like the entrance to a cathedral; blue paper on some walls, others had gold and white, and everywhere rich woods, thick carpets, and giant mirrors. The furniture was what is considered superb, although it was machinery- made, and in my opinion worthless; however that may be, there was the house,-lofty, grand, brilliant, and cold. There was not a picture in the house worthy to be looked at in daylight; not a statuette, not a shred of anything but what tended to material comfort. And the owner was jtst like the house; he wore a coat which cost a hundred dollars, but he never in his life bought a book which was Worth more than five cents. He was high, well dressed! cold, aaA material. There were but two page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 THE LOST MODEL. themes he could talk about: one, the price of real estate, and the other, that the Democrats were going to carry the next election. He paid two hundred dollars for a table to eat his dinner upon, and yet lie grumbled at me and called me extravagant because I paid one hundred dollars for a violin. My violin, in fifty years, will sell for five hundred dollars, and his table will be bought for ten, and will one day light the kitchen-fire. Now, what I want to say by all this is, that--" "What kind of a fiddle is it?" here interposed a little, dark-haired man, leaning eagerly across the table. The question nonplussed the doctor, and while he was recover- ing himself to either answer or go on, the company broke into a laugh, the glasses clinked, the ladies whispered and giggled, and the doctor's moral was lost. "Ach, eieber Papa, plaudern sie nicht so viel; and do not wait for me; I and Parthee are going to walk home, it is such beautiful weather," whispered Renata, in the ear of her father. "Tell me, Fraulein Knappe," said Gottheb, as she passed, " have you been to the beautiful park we have now north of the city,-we call it Belleview?" "No; is it a pretty place?" "Oh, charming! there are hills, slopes, graveled walks, and groups of the finest trees in the country; besides, from one of the hill-tops, where Schnapps sells Catawha wine, you can see the whole country for miles around." "Oh, Parthee, let us go there! let us all three go there!" said the delighted girl, to whom an invitation for a walk upon the hills was the most delightful of all occupations, especially when it was shared with Parthee. An hour later, the three were seated upon the top of one of the highest hills in Belleview, where an old German had erected a kind of platform, with tables apd chairs; 4A NEW WORK OF ART. 241 and while Renata, with her hat off, sat and watched the bending of the majestic river, the distant hills, woods, valleys, and roads, interspersed with straggling farms and houses, the artist smoked his pipe, drank wine, and told adventures to the listening Parthee. "I tells you vat, dere's noting like an artist-man's life. Liberty is de best ting on dis earth. He is a free man, he goes where he vants, and does vat he likes, and shust enjoys himself. In de summer I goes and baints on de Peever River. I baint a bicture after a storm, when de rain makes everyting fresh, ven de leaves is bright mit de light and de wet, and de cows glitter like pees in de sun, and all nature is like a school-boy's face, it shines so. I shows you one of dem bictures, if you comes mit .me. Well, in winter I stays in de city, and baints a little, traws a little, and has a good time all de, time; and, by cosh, das ist vat I calls life." And he finished by singing them a song that brought old Schnapps himself out, and which fairly echoed among the hills upon the river-bank. "But how do you get money to pay rent, and buy all the things you want?" said his listeners. "Oh, I shust sells von of dem bictures. I makes no trouble mit dat. No, sir!" Renata had watched the glowing sun slowly and grandly sink behind the hills, leaving the horizon throbbing with his glory, and the birds, in circles, winging their way to the black line of the distant forest. They bid Gottheb good-by, and, hand in hand, the couple descended the hill, and striking the white road moved towards home. "What was it that Mrs. Ferris was teasing you about, and which you promised to tell me?" said Parthee, looking down upon the smiling face that leaned against his shoulder. 21* page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 THE LOST MODEL. "Why, she says if I am engaged I ought to have a ring." And she turned aside her blushing face. "A ring!" echoed her companion. "Yes, you stupid boy; all young ladies who are en- gaged wear rings. Didn't you see that beautiful diamond one on Miss Dillon's forefinger,-on this one?"And she held up the finger in question. "No. And so all young ladies who are engaged wear rings. Well, Renata, you had better wear one." "Yes; but, you dear old thing, you must give it me as a pledge that you will always be true to me." "Is my stone Indian worth much, Renata? What will Bowman, the jeweler, give me for him? "Mr. Ferris said it was worth several hundred dollars; I asked him the other day." "Then Renata shall have a ring like Miss Dillon," was the laconic reply. "And I have so much to tell you. Mrs. Ferris says that you must leave old Leslie, and come to them; you have talent, and if you only work you can be rich. Be- sides, dear Parthee, you must be-civilized, you know. That wicked old chief of police told papa, the other day, dreadful stories about you. He says you go out of a night on the prairie, and meet the Indians there,-and all sorts of things; now promise me- ' She paused, and clung to his arm in terror, for right in the middle of the road, closely veiled, stood the figure of a woman, with the face looking towards what was known as The Grove. She was a slim figure, dressed in black; her hands were clasped together, and through her dark veil could be seen the gleam of her eyes. "It is Annette Leonard! My God!" said the terri- fied girl, and, as though fascinated by the silent figure, she walked up and spoke to it. A AnEW WORK OF ART. 243 "Go away!" was the answer, in a querulous voice. "Is not the road as free to me as to you? What do you stare at me for? I am not mad, I am waiting for some one. Is that strange? I live in the house yonder, and I am waiting for him. It is rude in you to trouble me. Go away, go away!" "Oh, Parthee!" said the sobbing girl, " how can you look so indifferently and so coolly upon that poor woman, ^ and it almost breaks my heart to see her!" "See, there is her attendant;" and he pointed to the figure of a negro woman seated beneath a tree, and who was watching them with her big black eyes. "She is happier than you are, after all, this poor, crazy woman; for no one can steal her lover, or change him; and yet Renata is afraid of the day that comes without him." He coaxed her away, and tried to make her forget the painful vision. But he only partly succeeded, for that evening it took the doctor and Kettle until eleven o'clock to pacify the excited girl, and she was only quieted at last when the doctor vowed that she should not go outside of the door for a year at least. And all through her dreams the girl saw the woman standing at the cross-roads, pale, tired, and ghostly, waiting with heart-killing patience for the lover that never would come. page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 ETHE LOST MODEL. CHAPTER V. HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. "WHAT a dreadful commotion there has been in the city all this blessed night!" said the doctor, getting up at daybreak one morning; " the rumbling of wagons, tramp and laughter of men, trumpets blowing, and drums beat- ing." And suddenly, hearing the clatter of horses upon the hard roadway, he went again to the window, in time to see a regiment of cavalry go by at a very good pace. "It must be true, then, what the papers said yesterday, that at last the enemy is within a few miles of the city, and a part of this fearful war may really take place right in these very streets. And if they capture the city, what willbecome of my few pictures?" He paused in making his toilet, alarmed at the coming danger, and, with his hand to his head, tried to think of some plan by which his few engravings and paintings could escape the hands of a victorious enemy. While he was still exploring his imagination, the door-bell rang violently, and, looking out, he saw at the door a woman closely veiled, who beckoned to him to open the door immediately. Down he went, cravat in hand, and let in the voluble Mrs. Denham, who, shutting the door hur- riedly behind her, opened at once her batteries of elo- quznce upon tie doctor. "There, don't apologize for your appearance, doctor; more important things than cravats are at stake. In a HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 245 word, my old friend, they are here! You have no time to lose; this is the last day for Boshville. You and your daughter had better come to my house; I know them all, and I will hoist a flag that will certainly protect us." "Flag? Why, who is coming? What in the name of God is the matter?" "Matter, Dr. Knappe! Why, there are fifty thousand men within ten miles of the city, marching at double- quick upon us, under the command of General Bill Allen; and before noon to-day this pretty town will be gobbled up and lost likea-afeather in a snow-storm. General Bill Allen, one of the greatest soldiers on this earth, will swallow up Boshville like a tiger would a turkey. And I am glad of it. There are too many Yankees in this town. My son George, educated, as you are aware, at East Bluff, the finest military academy in the world, is in the Southern army,-an army, let me tell you, of gentlemen, of patriots, of men who know what fighting is, and are not hired for the purpose. I tell you, doctor, and you mark what I say, these gallant people will die in the last ditch, before they will be ruled by a lot of contemptible dough-faces and niggers." "But, my dear Mrs. Denham, Harry, your son also, is in the Union army, and surely--" "I don't care if he is. George has more sense and honor in his little finger than Harry has in his whole body. It was the fault of my husband. He must send Harry to one of those Eastern colleges, and then, to finish him, send him to a German University, where he imbibed every principle except those which made his country the refuge for all the slaves of the world. Equality, forsooth! why, it don't exist among dogs, much less men. Besides, what right had Harry to join the Union army in oppo- sition to my wishes? God forbid they should ever meet page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 -THE LOST MODEL. in the same battle! but if they do, my son George will do his duty." "But, Mrs. Denham, this is dreadful! brother against brother, and mother against son; why, what will be the end of all this?" As he finished speaking, the loud report ofk cannon shook the windows in the house, and was echoed among the hills like rolling thunder. "There! I told you so. That is Bill Allen's artillery, I know it by the sound. Now you'll get it. The North brought this trouble on themselves. One man's property is as good as-another's, and is entitled to the same pro- tection. Fifteen years ago, when I brought George here on a visit, with his old nurse, Black Mary,-a colored girl that I had raised myself,-what did the people here do? Why, they took her away from me by force, although the girl begged them to let her stay with me. Oh, no; no slave could touch this sacred soil. But is she any better off now for her freedom? She always rode at my side in the carriage, and sat in the same room with me often; while here, if she was to dare to get into an omnibus with white mechanics and other small fry, they would kick her out like a dog." The doctor was not listening very attentively to the excited woman, for outside the noise and confusion seemed to increase, and with it the doctor's perplexity. "Oh, as I told you, it is all over with Boshville. Bill Allen has beaten General Bumlar,-the spoon-stealing beast,-and he will be here before long and sack this town like a fox with a hen-roost. Now, my house will be sacred,-they know me. I am one of them; you and your daughter can come there and be perfectly safe. They have been annoying me for the last two weeks,- these dough-faces have,-by secretly posting men to find HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 247 out who came in and who went out of my house. Now, it will be my turn, and the idiots will find out the dif- ference. At this moment a file of soldiers halted in front of the doctor's house, and, grounding their muskets on the pave- ment, made a clatter that rang through the streets, and startled the voluble lady. A loud knocking took place at the door, and some one commanded the door to be opened. "Not yet, doctor," screamed Mrs. Denham; "the devils are after me again! Here, open your back door, and help me over the fence; if they catch me, they will kill me." She darted through the passage to the kitchen, and through the kitchen to the yard, the doctor at her heels; and before he could reach her she had scrambled over the wooden fence, with more celerity than grace, and went ducking away in the distance. When the doctor hurried to the door, he found a lieutenant with a com- pany of soldiers, and in the middle, fifteen or twenty civilians who were laughing and chaffing each other. "Here is another forced volunteer," one said, as the doctor made his appearance, trying to put on his cravat at the same time. "What is your name?" said the officer. "Dr. Conrad Knappe." "Don't you know that all the home-guards were called 3ut last night at twelve o'clock? In what ward company is your name enrolled?" "In none that I know of." "Then you will step into the ranks here with the rest." "But I have not had my breakfast," stammered the loctor. There was a loud laugh at this, and one of the captured page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 THES: LOST MODEL. 248 civilians suggested that they should stop at the drug store and get a few pills for him, and he might then regale himself as he went along. ' Besides, Mr. Officer, my patients must be visited this morning," and he pulled out his visiting-book to show the names of the suffering persons under his charge. I cannot help that, sir," was the reply. "The city is under martial law, and the order -is that every grown male person, of whatever profession, shall turn out and defend the city. Unless you have a pass from the com- manding general, you must join the rest." "Why, papa," said Renata, hurrying to the rescue, having overheard the dialogue, " why don't you show the gentleman Mr. Leslie's letter, in which he says you are to carry a staff? That is the pass the officer is asking you for." - Is it?" said the bewildered doctor. The officer politely hinted his desire to see that paper; and the three went into the doctor's office for that pur- pose. The desk was searched, the drawers in the table, the mantelpiece, and finally it was found in the coat- pocket of the doctor. The latter not having his spectacles handy, asked the lieutenant to read it; the document read as follows: DEAR KNAPPE,-The general commanding this dis- - trict has made me commander of this post, so far as the home-guards are concerned. I have reserved you a place on my staff, where you will be of more service than in the ward organization. Report at once for duty. "Yours, LESLIE, "Lt. Col. in command." "And you have not yet reported yourself," said the HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 249 officer, laughing; "when you do report yourself, the colonel may place you under arrest." "You don't tell me! but is there, then, so much danger?" "A large force of the enemy is within twenty miles of the city. We are digging trenches five miles out of Bosh- ville, and fortifying the surrounding hills. All, of course, depends upon the result of the meeting between Ulman and the enemy. How is it you are in such ignorance of the things passing under your nose? Don't you never read the newspapers?" "Newspapers " said the doctor, indignantly. "I don't get time to read my medical books, much less the newspapers. For ten years, yes, for fifteen years, I have been promising myself to read Plato, and to this day I have never had the time." The officer tried hard to conceal the sneer oil his face at this confession that Plato was of more importance than the daily newspaper, and, touching his cap to Renata, withdrew. There was some disappointment among the crowd when "Bolus," as he was called, was not carried off; but they were compensated at the next house, for there two men were found concealed under the bed, and they were dragged out and marched off, to the delight of the volunteers. When the men and soldiers had marcled away, the doctor, his daughter, and the housekeeper, Kettle, held a solemn council of war. Renata, having been admonished to be sensible for once in her life, and not let off so much nonsense as she usually did, was quiet and reticent, and the doctor had the field pretty much to himself. "You see," he said, solemnly, first cautiously looking round, to be sure that no one was listening at the window 22 page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 25 THE LOST MODEL. 250 or door, "this country is gathering the first crop of nettles which has silently shot up; the selfishness and onesidedness of the family has reached the State, and a million of men, who a year ago called each other brothers, are grappling one another by the throat over the questiln whether liberty does not mean unrestrained license. In the South, they insist upon the right to make a horse out of a man, and they propose to kill anybody who says a man with a black skin is as good as one born white. I have paid so little attention to politics that, whenever a political question is discussed, I keep my mouth shut,' for fear of offending somebody or another. What was I going to say?" After a pause: "Oh, after breakfast I shall go and see Leslie, and it is possible I may be detained, or be sent out to the trenches, or wherever they expect to fight; for, although I am not much of a surgeon, yet I can give some help. And now, you heard what the officer said, that martial law is proclaimed, consequently you will keep the house closed, and stay in it yourselves, and let no one in,-unless it is Mrs. Denham, perhaps, whose foolishness has got her into a good deal of trouble." "But suppose the enemy takes the city, and all the soldiers come, and there is no man in the house, what shall we do, papa?" said Renata. "My God!" said the doctor, "I wonder where I could hide them! They would be stolen, sure!" "I was not speaking of your foolish pictures," said the girl, indignantly; "I was speaking of Kettle and me. What are we to do? As for your daubs, they may take care of themselves." Kettle saved a very bitter discussion at this point by insisting that breakfast should be eaten first, and then afterwards could be decided what was to be done. After breakfast the doctor left them, promising Renata HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 251 to send word by Parthee when he (the doctor) would return, as well as the result of the battle. When he left the house, he closed the front shutters of his office, and stood at the door while the bolts were drawn and the house locked up. He hesitated, with the pencil in his hand, looking upon the slate fastened upon his door, whether he should write, "Gone to the war"i or "Gone to the front," but finally concluded to write, "Gone out!" The streets were almost deserted by foot-passengers or vehicles, except that every two or three squares he would come across bodies of men, on the sidewalk and in the middle of the street, dressed in citizens' clothes, and being drilled, in marching or the manual of arms. Sentinels in citizens' clothes, at the corners of the streets, stopped him, and only let him pass upon learning that he was a doctor and was going to headquarters. News- paper boys were shouting through the streets the third edition of the "Truthteller," with the latest news of General Bill Allen, and the Federal commanders, Uhlman and Bumlar. The shops were closed, and here and there in the road would lie a dray, cart, wagon, or omnibus, the horses of which had been impressed for military service. In one of the avenues a regiment of soldiers were bivouacking, some, curled up in their blankets, asleep upon the side- walk, others, seated upon the steps of the doorways, were eating, or writing a letter in 'pencil, or reading a news- paper; all of them jaded, dirty, and covered with mud. The banks and banking-houses were protected by a com- pany of artillery, who had drawn up their pieces so as to be able to sweep the streets in front of them. Everywhere the confusion of what is called military order. At the Salmagundi House, now the headquarters I page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 THE LOST MODEL. of the commandant of the post, were drawn up in line hundreds of men, mostly farmers and countrymen, each one armed with a long, slender rifle; and these formed the famous Crockett Brigade; for it was said there was not a man in the regiment but could put a shot through the eye of either hawk or squirrel at any distance within range of his rifle. The Crockett Brigade had suddenly mustered for the protection of Boshville, and were at this moment being inspected by Leslie, or rather Colo- nel Leslie, as he was called, previous to taking the field. As Colonel Leshe was walking back to his office in the front room of the hotel, he caught sight of Dr. Knappe, who had been watching with open mouth and rolling eyes the military movements in front of the Salmagundi House, and, beckoning to him, took him by the arm and introduced him to some of the military men present. Everything was a novelty for the doctor, and he could not speak much for astonishment. The aid-de-camps, who, mounted upon horses covered with mud, rode like lightning through the streets; the regiments of men that continually marched by; the clattering of the artillery as it jolted along over the ill-paved and uneven streets, and the long line of ambulances and wagons, leaving and coming from the front. Many of his German friends he found strutting about in their military costumes, ordering and arranging, in very bad English, companies of their fellow-citizens. In the hotel, everything was in a bustle and noisy movement. Four or five officers, with big swords, were standing around a table, and discussing a plan of the city and surrounding hills which lay before them. Soldiers were seated at desks writing assiduously, and a sentinel stood at the door, to prevent idlers froin entering it. Leslie took the doctor into a corner of the room. HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 253 "There's the devil to pay here, and you as well as the rest must make yourself useful. Throw aside that plug hat, and I'll give you an order on the quartermaster for a cak and overcoat; that is as much of the military dress as yo' need wear until you get yourself a suit. Now don't talk, but listen. Uhlman has made me commander here, and I want to get everybody worth a pin into the public service. The news is bad. We lost a good many men in yesterday's skirmish; and, by the by, Harry Den- ham is badly wounded in the shoulder, and is lying here at the landing, and as his old cat of a mother has cleared out, you had better take him to your house; however, of that some other time. Did you hear that noise?"The doctor listened, and a heavy rolling sound was heard like distant thunder. "They have been at it since daybreak. Uhlman with sixty thousandsmen is there, and they say Allen has over two hundred thousand. Our city depends upon the success of the fight. I have put you on my staff as sur- geon, and you can go immediately out with the ambu- lances and help the wounded." The perspiration broke out upon the doctor's face. "I give you my word, Leslie, that I never performed an operation, and do not honestly believe that I could cut off a man's little toe without killing him." "Oh, of course it would not be modest if you did not make yourself out the biggest ass in the State. However, if you can'tcut, you can bind up the wounded, and help those who can. Now, do as I tell you, and stop fighting shadows. By the by, you can wear one of the soldier's overcoats and a fatigue cap, and that will give you a military look. Here, I will give you an order for them upon the quartermaster. You will find him in the lower story." 22* page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 THE LOST iMODEL. By the time the doctor had got himself into the blue overcoat of a soldier's outfit he had come across two or three other doctor friends, who, like himself, were sud- denly called upon to go out and tend the wounded; and the doctor's courage and confidence arose as he found that he was not the only lame duck (as he expressed it) of the party. "' You need not be uneasy about your house," said Leslie to the doctor, as the latter got into the ambulance with the others. "In the first place, I pretty much cleared the city of vagabonds and loafers: you will pass them on your way out, digging trenches; and when Parthee comes back, I will send him around to see that all is straight. Where is he now? I sent him yesterday out beyond the plains; as I heard that a large body of Callipohas had come in, and I thought likely my son George was among 'em. Well, get in, old fellow. Good-by." And as he waved his hand the ambulances, accompanied with a large body of tavalry and several regiments of foot-soldiers, started in the direction of the southern horizon, where heavy clouds of smoke hung in the sky, and out- of which came the roar of incessant artillery. For many years afterwards, the doctor's experience of those two or three days formed the subject of conversa- tion. There was nothing escaped his eyes. He told how, as he neared the field of action, the news came that the formidable Southern general, Bill Allen, had been killed, and that his army was in full retreat. He would describe how the roads were knee-deep in mud, and en- cumbered with miles of baggage-wagons, artillery caissons, and ambulances; how he crossed fields, where thousands of men were lying down in the mud and water to avoid the terrible iron missiles that went hissing through the air and shivering the trees to pieces, and dashing up the i HONOR AND EMPTY POCKETS. 255 earth into the air as though it was only water; and he told of the dreadful stench in the air, which he found to come from the dead horses and from the groups of dead men, whose faces, although they had been killed only a few hours, were as black as cinders. And there, was one other thing which haunted his imagination and memory through the balance of his life, and which he always told in a subdued voice: "I saw numbers of dead men lying under hedges and at the foot of trees, where the poor fellows had crawled for shelter; others were lying thickly together where they had fallen, when struck by some shell or cannon-ball, as many as twenty in a group. But there was one thing about them all,--every one had his pockets turned inside out. In some instances the coat buttons were torn off in the haste to get at the pocket; and as true as there is a God above us, there was not a dead man upon the field, be he friend or foe, private or officer, but had been robbed in the very pangs of death, and his pockets inside out attested the horrible fact. Now, I presume wolves eat dead wolves who fall in the chase, and rats, for all I know, may eat each other when other food is wanting. But that in this civilization, after the boasted nineteen centuries of Christianity, of progress, and refinement, there are men and women who follow our armies and rob our dead warriors upon the battle-field, fills me with despair. Redwood's favorite philosopher was right after all. Der Mrensch ist in Grutnde ein wildes, enrsetzliches Thier; there is many a brute beast on the earth that is far superior to him. No, no, God forgive our impudence and arrogance, we are not made in His image!" page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256 TlHE LOST MODEL. CHAPTER VI. THE DAY OF EQUALITY IN BOSHVILLE. BOSHVILLE was in a dreadful turmoil at this time. The battle which had been fought in the neighborhood had been quite a severe one, to judge from the number of woundedl which came streaming into the city night and day. Almbulances, wagons, express-carts, and farmers' hay vehicles slowly and constantly rumbled through the city, bearing heaps of men, wrapped in their blue over- coats, hastily bandaged, and more hastily operated upon by the overworked surgeons upon the field, and many of whom were now slowly bleeding to death. The railroads at each end of the city were pouting in lines of men and ammunitions of war; and side by side with the stream of woundedwhich incessantly poured into the city marched the long regiments of blue-coated men, who were more rapidly flowing out of the city to other and farther battle-fields so that a cloud of dust arose night and day from the road of the leading avenue of Boshville. Business, that breath of modern civilization, was sus- pended, and, instead of an active mart of trade, the city became a military camp and hospital. The desire for news, however, had increased with the Boshvilleans, and every hour a new edition of the "Truthteller" and the "Spread-Eagle" issued, and was bawled through the streets by the newsboys. The churches opened THE DAY OF EQUALITY IN BOSHVILLE. 257 regularly every morning at eight o'clock, and there were prayer-meetings three and four times a day; and the 'oldest inhabitant had never seen such an outhreak of piety as took place this week, when the news and fears of an invading army were in everybody's mind. When trade was good, profits fair, and the general health of the community good, why, church once a week was a sufficient exhibition of faith in things divine and super- natural; but when war came, bringing with it dull times, bankruptcy, and sudden death, the hearts of men were shaken, and the neglected devotions of years were paid off in a day; and, in fact, people that never prayed before were praying now. But it also becomes our duty to record that they not only prayed, but that they manfully put their shoulders to the wheels of war and puslhd like athletes; and what is said of the men may be repeated of the women. Boshville in times of peace had a pet company of soldiers, who belonged in greater part to the. aristocratic circles, and who wore very handsome uniforms, and who at least -four times a year delighted their fellow-citizens by marching up and down the beautiful avenues of the city, headed by a band, which, when it played, made the city tremble; and on these occasions the people turned out as upon a public holiday, and watched their brothers and sons enjoying all the glories of war without its dangers and dirt. This pet company had volunteered when the war broke out, and formed in fact the nucleus of the regiment of which our friend Harry Denham was the colonel; and it was a proud sight to see with what spirit the young men left their studies and gentle homes for the flinty couch of war. In the late battle this regi- ment had been cut up in a dreadful manner, and scarcely a house in the city but had a friend or relative hurt or page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 ' THE LOST MODEL. 258 killed in the fight. Before the pressure of such a general misfortune the barriers of class between rich and poor fell down, and for once the equality which is found in our Declaration of Independence was made manifest in Bosh- ville. The lady of the stone-front house and the tenant of the frame barrack building met in the hospitals, and worked side by side in helping the wounded. They went further, and organized their forces, made a central depot for the reception of certain articles,-such as jellies, pre- serves, pickles, lint, and linen bandages,-and acted in corps and at regulated times in the various and, unfortu- nately, the numerous hospitals of the city. And any hour of the day or night you might see these ladies, in calico dresses and clean white aprons, handing soups and adjusting the pillows of men whom a year ago they would' not have allowed to enter their kitchens. A general of the regular army had taken charge of the city, and after a certain hour in the evening none but soldiers were allowed in the streets, and a couple of strolling vagabonds had been shot, as Voltaire says, "pour encourager les autres." Several families in the city were known notoriously to favor the Southern side of the war question, and they were suspected of furnishing news and aid to the enemy; consequently, sentinels were placed at their doors, several were arrested, and all were watched very closely by spies. The most troublesome of these was Mrs. Denham, who, in consequence of being a woman of wealth and intelli- gence and having a son in the Northern army, even if her favorite boy was in the Southern, was a person of too much importance to be hastily treated; consequently, spies were placed around her house to report and observe this energetic dame. She gave Renata a great deal of anxiety,-for she spent most of her time there, as she was TIlE DAY OF EQUALITY IN BOSHVILLE. 259 afraid of being arrested if she stayed at her own mansion. She always brought terrible tales of millions of men who were marching towards Boshville and the North generally; and the destruction of the Jews in Jerusalem by Titus was child's-play beside the fearful slaughter which the sons of chivalry would inflict when they got here; and according *to the excited dame's account they were getting nearer every day. At last an incident occurred oh the third day of the military occupation of the city which sent Mrs. Denham in a different direction, and relieved Renata of the present care of her. Renata's sleeping-room had an uninterrupted view of the prairie which skirted the north of the city, and from her veranda she could see the various military camps which occupied the plains, and watch the incoming and outgoing of the seas of men. As, early one morning, Mrs. Denham and Renata were watching the striking of tents, and listening to the echoes of drum and trumpet, a company of soldiers accompany- ing a carriage emerged from a side street, and stopped right in front of the Indian mound which overlooked that part of the city. The soldiers formed two sides of a square, and out of the carriage a man descended fully a head above the soldiers who surrounded him; his hands were bound, and, they led him aside and seated him upon a long coffin-like box, while two men dug a hole on the other side of the box. Renata, with the instinct of danger, ran away and hid her face in the bed; but Mrs. Denham, with quivering lips and eager eyes, silently watched them. The carriage drove away. The men who dug the hole shouldered their tools and stood back to the rear of the soldiers. She saw a soldier hand his gun to a comrade, advance to the bound man, take off his hand- cuffs, and with a handkerchief tie his arms behind him. The man stood up, and she could see the clustering hair page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 THE LOST MODEL. upon his forehead rise and fall as the morning breeze played with it. She saw the officer advance toward him and'read a letter, at which the bound man nodded and turned his head in the direction of the camp, where the bugles were still playing the reveille. He was broad- chested, tall, and with a hawk-nose and deeply-tanned face. He spoke, and that instant a white cloud of smoke arose in two lines from the soldiers on each side of him, the hills echoed with the rattling roll of musketry, and when the smoke cleared away she saw a figure dressed in gray lying motionless upon the earth. Mrs. Denham knew full well what it all meant,-it was the execution of a spy,-and what was more painful to her feelings she recognized him as one she had intimately known from her youth. She sank back upon a chair, impotent from anger and fear. That whole day she neither spoke nor ate, and at night when Renata was asleep she slunk from the house and crept away. An hour-afterwards Re- nata was awaked by hearing the bells ring the fire-alarm, and rushing to the window, she saw the flames leaping up above the houses, in the direction of Mrs. Denham's house; and while she watched it a passer-by told her it was the Deham mansion on fire. "My God, What lis- fortune!" said Renata. And she ran up-stairs to the little garret, where Mrs. Denham had lain the entire day, and for the first time discovered that lady's suddenflight. Where she went no one knows, for after that day she was never seen in Boshville. "Just think of it, my dear Renata," said Mrs. Bovine, "this very night the Denham mansion is burnt, and this morning I go with Quincy to the Central Hospital, and who shall I see there but Harry Denham, lying fearfully wounded, with a great hole through his shoulder. Just think of it!" THE DAY OF EQUALITY IN BOSHVILLE. 26i It was a proof of the light material with which this woman was made, that she never carried malice; and you might quarrel with her overnight, and she would greet you smilingly in the morning; and the several little "spats," as she called them, which she had had previ- ously with Miss Knappe, were all forgotten in her desire to communicate a little disagreeable news. Harry Den- ham was one of the rising and promninent young men of Boshville, and his admiration for Miss Knappe had often been a subject of intense wonderment on the part of Mrs. Bovine; especially, as she used to add to herself, when therewere so many elegant young ladies at his disposal. And her green eyes glittered again at the sudden pallor of Renata. "Ach Gott! And my brother Caspar?" was the sud- den exclamation. "He is all right. Colonel Dugan told me that he had been taken on the staff of General Bumlar, and was not in the fight at all; so you need not worry yourself on that account. But poor Denham, he is horribly wounded, and can't live, you know. He did not know me last night, and he may die any minute." "That is dreadful, and father away I Can we be of any use to him, Mrs. Bovine? Kettle and I will go im- mediately." "Kettle had better stay and take care of the house, and you and I will go right away. But, my dear Renata, if the sight will shock you, don't go along by any means; you are very sensitive, you know, and so dear a friend- " "What all are doing I certainly can do; and the dearer the friend, the greater my desire to assist him," was the answer. While Renata put on her bonnet and shawl, Mrs. Bo- vine gave loose to her thoughts. 23 page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 THE LOST MODEL. "He is such a handsome young fellow, I shall dearly love, if he is well enough, to take him to my house and tend to him properly. I spoke to Quincy about it last night, and he is perfectly willing, but says it will be a long time before we are able to move him. I wish it had been his old cat of a mother that had been shot, don't you? I would wager anything she set fire to her own house; but she won't make anything by that, for Quincy says that all the insurance companies are dead broke. And what do you think? Maple, that sleek preacher that hangs around Miss Leslie, is nothing better than a spy, besides being a regular Don Juan, with a wife in every State in the Union! Quincy told me so last week. I am glad that you and I had nothing to do with him. That is a pretty little hat you wear. Did you make it your- self? I like it very much, it is so becoming! There goes Captain Clatter; what a fine rider he is.! He is engaged to Miss Hardy. But he is a dreadful flirt; you ought to see the notes he writes to me. That is right, lock your door carefully, for I don't more than half believe in these sentinels that parade the streets; the other day I noticed two of them watching me at my window dressing. Al- though, for the matter of that, the men are all alike,-so at least Quincy says." And here she hurried away with her companion. As Renata walked by her side and listened to her vol- uble tittle-tattle, she wondered in her mind how so grave and learned a man as Dr. Quincy A. Bovine could select a woman like Portia for his wife. And she thought of an old saying of Redwood's, that you never find a man or woman really out until you see what kind of a companion they select for a wife or husband. He once said to her, "I am a little anxious to see the man you will fall in love with, so that I may know what your weakness is like. 7HE DA Y OF EQUALITY IN BOSHVILLE. 263 There was the aristocratic Olivia Topnot, who, by repu- tation, was too delicate, too refined and cultured, for any common flesh and blood grown in Boshville. She looked as though she walked upon lilies and fed upon rose-leaves. She had refused every fellow who had the impudence to propose. -Presently there came along our General Dol- liwog, six feet high, a foot like a leg of mutton, and a face as red as the evening suih, which a thousand bottles had painted. His breath was like the fumes of a whisky barrel. I had occasion to talk to him once for five min- utes, and the odor of strong drink around him made my head swim. Well, sir, the delicate Olivia married him at sight,-and she got fat on it. She was secretly an admirer of muscular Christianity!" And Renata, remembering it, never met Dr. Bovine but what she wondered what the weakness was which made him select Portia in order to gratify it. For although he was very kind to Renata, and never came across a strange- looking weed or plant but what he would bring it to her, and explain it, still, she knew he looked upon women in general as only so many convalescent patients, who had to be watched to prevent them from making themselves sick or disagreeable. At sight of the long rows of beds, each with its swarthy and haggard-faced occupant, suffering from camp fevers, wounds, and amputations, the close, nauseating atmos- phere, the curtains hastily improvised around some of the beds to shut out the dying face from the gaze of the rest, and the occasional groans which at intervals swept through the rooms, the heart of Renata sank within her; but when she saw the little band of women in their white aprons passing softly from bed to bed, handing medicines and food, she felt ashamed 9f her idleness, and, taking off her bonnet, she walked directly to one of the ladies who was page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 THE LOST MODEL. talking to the doctor at one end of the room, and asked to have some employment designated her. "The doctor was the husband of Portia. "I was just saying to Mrs. Berry that we had more nurses than patients in this building, Miss-Knappe, and I am afraid that we cannot employ you." "And this is Miss Knappe," said the lady, holding out her hands, and pressing kindly the chubby fingers of Renata; "your father and I are old cronies. We never meet but what we quarrel about pictures; he insists that whenever any good etchings come to Boshville, that I immediately make my husband go and grab them up, before the poor ddetor has a chance to bid for them." "I have heard papa speak of you often," said Renata, "but he praises you very much." And she looked eagerly at the tall, handsome lady. "Now I can give Miss Knappe something to do, doctor, if she will come with me, for there are some Germans in the other room, and as yet we have no attendant who speaks German, and it will cheer up the poor fellows if they hear their own language spoken to them." The voice of Renata trembled very much, and it was quite faint, as she stood beside the beds and spoke to the big-bearded, swarthy heads, that rolled restlessly from side to side; but when she saw the tears rise in those fierce-looking eyes she forgot her fears, and she spoke and moved as though she had known them from child- hood. She read a letter for one, and wrote in pencil one for another, and to a third, whose eyes seemed almost to eat her up, she told her name, and from what part of Germany her father came, and how long he had lived in the West. When the doctor came for her, she saw with unfeigned delight how one struggled to move his wounded hand towards her, how the farthest lifted up his head to THE DAY OF EQUALITY IN BOSH VILLE. 265 get another-look at her, and she blushed to the tips of her ears at the chorus she overheard, "Wi[e WYVnder schoen!" (How beautiful she is!) "He seems very much better this morning," said Dr. Bovine, who always commenced his conversations in the middle; "but I doubt if he is well enough to move." "You are speaking of Colonel Denham?" "Yes; you must come and see him, and let us know what-you think of it." , "Tell me, doctor, how is it that the atmosphere is so bad here?" "Oh, this is, the usual hospital air,-it cannot be helped. A tent on a hill-top is the best hospital. These immense buildings are detrimental. Here; this is Denham!" She could scarcely believe her eyes, so altered was the face from the one she had parted with. At her approach, the tanned and sunburnt face glowed with excitement; the eyes brightened, the lips moved convulsively, and the head turned upon the pillow with emotion. "He is very weak at present," said the doctor. "Yes- terday we took out some pieces of bone from beneath his shoulder. The operation was a painful one; but he has a good constitution, and will no doubt recover, if I can get him away from here. Sit down and speak[to him. He hears you perfectly well. The wound pains you very much this morning, eh, Denham? The nurse tells me you haven't slept much, so I've brought you a new one. You needn't try to talk at present; she will be here often enough to see you." A few feet off was another bed, upon each side of which sat an old, ugly woman, while the occupant of the bed, with a ghastly face and glaring eyes, was in a delirium, 23* page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 THE LOST MODEL. trying to ward off with his arm some imaginary deadly missile. In answer to her look the doctor answered,- '- He was struck with a shell, which nearly tore him to pieces. He has not recovered from the shock. He hears it roaring and hissing now. He won'tfast long." As she sat there, and smoothed the hand of Denham, she repeated to herself a phrase which she had. often heard Redwood quote, ." Das Schicksal ist grausam und Die Menschen sinderbaermlich." When Renata returned home that noon, she learned, to her dismay, from Kettle that Parthee had been twice to the house to see her; that he wore the suit of an Indian hunter; and she showed Renata, from her window, the group of dirty tents and black forms of Indians, which had taken the place of the regular troops upon the plain, and among which Renata fancied she saw the figure of her lover. "Great God! if he goes, what is left to me?" was the thought which oppressed her. CHAPTER VII. RENATA PAYS HER TRIBUTE. "WHEN are you going?" said Mr. Leslie to his pro- tege, Parthee, who was carefully adjusting the strap of a rifle, and rubbing the. dust off the long steel barrel. "Bear Cloud is-here; he comes from Washington. He says the Lippewahs have left their reservation, and are fighting beyond the Red River. He says he will help the White Father now." "That is where George is, eh?" RENATA PAYS HER TRIBUTE. 267 Parthee nodded assent. The features of old Leslie grew red with anger, and then as suddenly paled with emotion, and his voice trem- bled as he gave vent to the principal grief of his life. "He cares no more for me than he does for a Sioux; and yet I spent thousands on him. I educated him for a gentleman; sent him to one of the best colleges in the country, and worked more for him, by Jove! than I ever did for myself. From the hour of, his birth he has cost me money and trouble. When I was at Fort Adams, he l suddenly left me, and for four years I never set eye upon him, until one day, here in this very town, he came into my room, and stood where you are standing now. He asked where his mother was; and when I told him that she was lying in the churchyard, where his d-d conduct had sent her, he went away, and from that moment to this I have never seen him." ' He paused a moment, and, starting to his feet, paced the room hurriedly. "But what shall he do here, Mr. Leslie? Go in the grocery business?" "See here; don't cpme your romantic nonsense over me! I have spent thirty years among Indians. I know 'em as a hunter knows his hounds. I have starved with them in winter, and gorged like a snake in the sum- mer. I have seen 'em mowed down with smallpox and putrid fevers, and hunted from reservation to reservation like a lot of wolves. What is their life? When they are not fighting for food they are fighting for their lives, and they never sleep a night but what hunger or the fear of the enemy awakes them. If you are made as the tiger and the bear are made, why, Indian life will suit you. I have seen the best men among the tribes, and, beyond the ability to fight and hunt, there is not one that is A page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 THE LOST MODEL. worth a peanut. They- have no more soul than a shark; and As for intellect, they ain't got no more than a prairie- dog. Injuns; don't talk to me about Injuns! What I don't know ain't worth knowing, so far as they are concerned." "It isn't that, Mr. Leslie; but a prairie-dog is best on the prairie, and a buffalo on the plains; for you could never work him in the plow. George was born out there. I know George. Inside he is like Bear Cloud; only the clothes are different." "Well, I don't want to hear any more of it. You've had the run of my table, and house as long as it pleased you, now speak well of the bridge that carried you over. 'Now hold on, and hear me out. You did me a good turn once, and I've tried as well as I know how to return it. If you have not had enough to eat, or haven't done as it pleased you,jt is your fault, not mine. I never hampered you. The people gossiped over you, from the chief of police to- the idiot who runs the orthodox church at the corner; but I held my peace; it was my business, not theirs. I'm not finding fault, I am simply telling things as they are. When I was your age, I could walk and ride the best of 'em down; and I've hunted a whole day for my dinner and then didn't get it. I was not a good boy. There was no devilment done within ten miles but what I had a hand in it. There were no police in those days, and I've done things that to-day I shudder over. But I'm getting old; those who would remember my pranks as a young man have passed away. Besides, for nearly twenty years I did my duty like a man to the government in the Indian affairs; and there is not a reservation north of the Telekee River, nor a tribe of red-skinsjunder treaty, -and if there is one there are twenty of 'em,-but what I planned and carried out.- I never broke my word with RENATA PAYS HER TRIBUTE. TR I ITR the red-skins, nor allowed others to do it. Nor did I cheat 'em out of a cent or a blanket. My named is well known among 'em, from the Telekee to the Black Hills, and that you know as well as I do. But the end and the commencement of a life are generally alike. The leaf of the highest branch falls finally to the root. That is so with me. Here I shall die. I want my son here. This girl will marry some big fool, whom I must feed and clothe, and watch, that he don't rob me; she has no sense but her appetite and her desire for her dress. She'll pick a man like herself, except that he will play the knave to her folly. I know that, and can't help it. George must come back (beseechingly); I've enough for him to live on like a gentleman. He can go every year, if he wants to, , and hunt the legs off his hounds. But he must conme here and take charge of the household. He must marry. My name is an honorable one, by Jove! and it sha'n't go out like a torch in a pool!" ' The pair, as they stood in front of each other, were not unlike a boy watching the movements of a caged tiger. Circumstances hedged and bound old Leslie n, as com- pletely and thoroughly as the iron bars and wooden box did the royal Bengal tiger of the menagerie. The habits of their prey, its whereabouts, and the fatal certainty of finding it, with the equally unerring power of crushing it when caught, both man and beast possessed.; but the world closed where the passiohs elided. As it was im- possible for the tiger to understand or care for the song of the bird singing the progress of the moon, so with Les- lie: there was, the meal of food and the riot of passion, and all the rest was like the other side of the moon, beyond the horizon of either vision or imagination. Age was gradually dulling and silencing the interior excitement and desire, and the poverty of such a life was laid barer page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 THE LOST MODEL. every day. The desire for posterity was intensified by the fear of dying alone; and to this last hope and aim he in- cessantly reverted with renewed energy and despair. And the heart of the young man softened with pity as he listened to the vehement cries for this, the vainest shadow of them all. Renata, too, at this moment, was feeling the impotence of her heart and head against the great current which was bearing away from her all that made life precious. The words of the old house'keeper had filled her with con- sternation. The often-hinted separation was to come at last; and, as she sat at her window, she noticed that the Indian tents were gone, and she caught sight of the squaws wading off with the camp equipage upon their backs, and ahead of them was a troop of braves mounted upon ponies, and trotting away towards the woods and forests, that stretched far below the long purple line of the horizon. Like the moment which, it is said, some poor drowning mortal feels when death is upon him, and the previous years of misery and happiness pass before his troubled vision like the fall of a star, so through the remorseless memory of Renata pressed the scenes in which Parthee was the crowning figure of all. She saw him seated before the portfolios containing her father's engravings, listening and watching with the in- tensity of a curious child; she saw him moving among the plants and flowers of Mr. Leslie's conservatory, with the caressing movement of a mother among her children; and she saw him modeling at Ferris's, and how, as if by magic, human faces and figures arose through the wet and shape- less clay from beneath the touch of his fingers. The old indefinable fear which she at first felt at his approach came over her again, and then the moment when she first encountered and had courage to look at the dark-blue RENA TA PAYS HER TRIBUTE. 27I eyes that broughthears into her own; how often she had longed *for his approach, and when he came, how she would run and hide herself with shame; and, at last, how the storm in her head and heart was stilled, and a sfrange, unknown joy made her at peace with the world.' How everything had changed beneath this feeling! how the trivial and the commonplace were banished, and a mantle of radiance covered yesterday's ugly world, and even blind, busy, stupid Boshville was steeped in glory, as a cloud which overlooks the sunset! It is true, there were chasms and abysses even in this beautiful land. One was remembered with painful dis- tinctness. Old Kreuzer, the pastor, had watched, with some alarm, the affection of his favorite jpil grow like a vine around this stranger from a distant and almost unknown land; and in his warning to Renata had ob- jected, among other things, that Parthee was some Spanish or Indian foundling, that he had no education, nor certain livelihood or home, except what was furnished by the caprice of Mr. Leslie. "True," Renata had answered, "I do not know who was his father or mother, nor whether he came from this or the other side of the Rocky Mountains; and as for education, he has not, I think, fooled away four years at either Yale or Cambridge. As Redwood says, there are caterpillars who eat mulberry- leaves; and yet produce no silk! No education! He speaks the truth, does no one hurt or harm, and when you are with him your thoughts are noble; can education do more? Besides, Ferris says he has genius; and if money is the test of worth, he can when he likes earn plenty of it." To one question only she could not give a satisfactory answer even to herself, and that was the degree of his love for her. In her soul he was the first and the last; the intense longing for him, which increased page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 THE LOST MODEL. with his absence, was never sat iated with his presence, and life itself had no value except as associated with him. But she had noticed, with the keen and unerring glance of love, that the things immediately around him engrossed him as utterly as a procession does the eyes of a boy; and although the reproach was forgotten in the pleasure of his presence, it always, returned with greater force at every renewed absence. When she looked at him earnestly and drank in the repose of his thoughtful face, the grace of his movements, the kind yet comprehensive glance of his eyes, and heard the musical intonation of his voice, the whirl in her senses made her heart ache with joy. And yet behind this flower of pleasure came the pain too intense to be borne,-the absence for years, who knows? perhaps forever. It was a relief to the girl when the door-bell rang, and she descended to meet her fate. She hurried towards him with extended- hand and averted face, for the sight of the hated hunter's dress which he wore drew tears from her eyes, and as she leaned her head against his breast, she tried to hide the sobs that arose in her throat. "Why, everybody goes to thewar, Renata," he said, playfully; "old Fink, the grocer; went yesterday, and he has got a pair of spurs on that will certainly kill his horse if he uses them. Isn't Caspar away in the swamps, and papa cutting aqd bandaging in the daytime, and sleeping at night between the mud-sills of the cornfields? And doesn't old Leslie ride around the city on a pony, with a military cap on his head and a revolver in his pocket, and must I stay behind with the girls'and the women?" She pulled his head down towards her and kissed it, and as she seated herself beside him, she said, earnestly, "It isn't that! it isn't that! Listen: I have thought it all over. That you love me I know and feel; that no RE NA TA PAYS HER TRIBUTE. 273 other woman or girl will take you from me I am equally certain; I am not jealous of you,-these vain women will never even like you; oh, no, my fears are not in that direction. But you are going where you have spent many years of your youth, and what I fear is, that this residence of a few months will soon be forgotten in the x delight of recovering your old life, whatever it may have been. I have not even a fear that the enemy will take your life; I have settled even that danger in my prayers. But it is on you, on you, my chief dread lies. Your hopes are not my hopes, nor your desires my desires. There is something hidden between us which even your smile cannot make me forget. And when I am no longer near you, when neither my hand, voice, or sight can reach you, God! how shall I call you back?" and she clung to him as if in despair at the thought. "What a world of fighting this is!" he answered, as he looked down soothingly on her face. "Caspar fighting the enemy abroad, and Renata fighting shadows at home. " "Prove to me that they are shadows, tell me, make me feel' that you will come back, and I will not murmur; take away this terrible pain, and I will wait in patience and hope." "How many times must I say that I will come back, Renata? If you do not believe it when I say it once, it is useless to repeat it a thousand times. When the soldiers left not long ago, you gave them flowers, and yet they took your brother and your friends with them; poor Bear Cloud goes away, and because he takes me you hate him,-and yet he goes to fight the enemy. Kiss me before another shadow comes, Renata. And here comes Kettle. This girl has no faith, Kettle; what shall I say to her?" 24 page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] *% 274 THE LOST MODEL. "The doctor is coming, child; young Lee brought a message from him, and he says your papa will be here before evening. Wlat ails thee, child?", "My heart' hurts me, Kettle." "Pfui,my child, you want a Schatz that is afraid to go to war, when the papa and brother are gore!" "Oh, if my heart was as wise and prudent as my head, dear Kettle, I should be delighted in this very moment. But it ain't. Never mind. Let us give this warrior the parting cup; and bring us some of papa's best." "The coffee is all ready," said the qld housekeeper, softly, to the girl. "Coffee is for peace, you dear old goose, and wine for war; I could drink Lachrini Christi now." While the housekeeper went for the wine, the girl pulled some leaves of a vine that grew up the wall and under the window-sill, and plaited them in the band of his beaver cap. "And you don't remember how long you have been in this stupid place?" said Renata, repeating a questions she had often asked him. "I'do to an hour." And after a pause, she added, "And your absence will be told by moments; so remember, and do not throw away a minute, as it is mine." "Old Ferris will not have cut his new group before I shall be here again; when the birds come back) and the summer heat and the flowers, Renata, look beyond the hill, and you will see a band of beggars, dusty and weary, and you will find me among the last of them. I will come back; but George Leslie never. They learnt him to eat the cacao bean far away in the South, and his life is lost. He sits beneath the trees, drunk with his thoughts, and cares for nothing but the glorious vision RENA TA PAYS HER TRIBUTE. 275 that glows in his heart and brain like a sunset. No, no, he never will come back." "You did not tell his father so, I hope?" "No, no; the care of his absence is much lighter than the trouble of his presence would be, for when together they quarreled bitterly. And in one respect he is like my pretty Renata,-he fights a shadow with great earnest- ness. " When the old housekeeper brought in the wine and crackers, they sat down to it like children; Renata fill- ing his glass and, listening to his commentary upon men and things in Boshville with an admiration veined with wonder, while the old housekeeper murmured a sotto-voce accompaniment upon the sacredness of a verlobung (en- gagement), and how the doctor must be informed of it upon his return,-which was Heard, but not heeded, by the pair. ' "Ach, Gott! Renata," said the old housekeeper, as the girl raised up the glass and let the wine touch her crimson lip, "enough is enough. Do not drink. What will the father say when he comes back this evening?" "But, dear Kettle, I do not drink at all. I am simply wishing." , As Renata watched the careless and untrammeled man- ner in which he moved and talked, and noticed with the absorbing glance of love the open smile and his free, earnest look7 a feeling of awe crept into her heart for the man beside her. It had often been her earnest prayer, of late, that the blind, selfish, gnawing pain in her heart might give way to the bright, kind feeling she had once felt when she used to look upon him and listen to him. She had once heard Redwood say that of all the sloughs of despair and labyrinths of darkness which the human heart was liable to fall into, the sensual weakness called , t page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] love presented the worst; and the grief was sharpened by the thought that she unconsciously had fallen into this snare, and was being overwhelmed in the struggle. "What is this petty place and its brawls," she thought, "to him? what even am I? Briers and rushes that cling to his feet as he passes on his way. Who knows? per- haps the strongest feeling we can awaken in his heart is curiosity." "And if you would only stay until to-morrow," said Kettle, as she watched him getting ready to start; "the doctor will be back this evening, and he will be very much disappointed when he finds you are gone and he has not seen you. Renata, child, you must not go out; the streets are dangerous. It is true, nearly all the men are gone; but the worst of them, the loafers, always remain behind for mischief.' I cannot go with you, because I must be here when the father comes, and you cannot, my child, return alone." "Ach, dear Kettle, I will only go to the hill, and you can see me from the window; and if anybody comes to- wards me just scream at them, Kettle, and they will run fast enough." The quiet air and manner with whi/ this was said dis- armed, apparently, the fears of the qld housekeeper; and she contented herself with insisting that Renata should go to the hill, but no farther, and she would watch at the door for her return. But no sooner had they left than, catching up hastily her bonnet and shawl, and carefully locking the front door, she hurried after them, keeping them constantly in sight. She hid herself behind an elm- tree as the pair ascended the hill. She' saw him point to the plain and the forest, and stooping down, as if reason- ing with his companion, who clung to his arm. He bent his head over her for a moment, and then he hastily de- MR. MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFU. 2" scended the other side, leaving the girl standing- with clasped hands and bent head. When the outline of his figure had vanished, ahd the girl still stood there and gazed in the distance, the old housekeeper hurried to- wards her; but, when she reached the spot, the girl was lying senseless upon the grass. CHAPTER VIII. MR. MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFUL IN PEACE THAN IN WAR. A FEW months afterwards, when Boshville had once more recovered its busy, commercial aspect, and trade went on as though the interim had been an ordinary holi- day, the doctor sat in the parlor of Mr. Leslie, and dis- cussed over a bottle of wine the wonderful events. "What is the matter with her?" inquired Leslie, look- ing very earnestly at the doctor. "Oh," said the doctor, "she is worn out with excite- ment; nothing of a dangerous character. My absence and visiting the hospital, Denham's condition, all put together brokedown her nervous system; but she will be well in a short time." "Do you know what I think?" said Leslie, with a knowing look. ' "No. " "Well, sir, she is in love with that fellow Parthee; I would bet a horse on it." "Pshaw!" said the doctor, laughing. "Renata has not g a bit of sentiment or romance in her nature. In the rst place, she is too matter-of-fact to fall in love 24* 2 1 page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] at all, and, in the next place, he is not the kind of man to excite any such feeling in her heart. No, no, you are greatly mistaken, colonel." "Oh, of course you know it all. It is very pleasant now and then to meet a man wl6 not only has his own share of knowledge but everybody else's; and I see that you are one of those fellows." "The very night we came back from the trenclhes I found her completely prostrated from the dreadful excite- ment. I had been away, as you know, for several days; the rumor came that Caspar was wounded, and every day there, was the constant fear of the town being sacked; besides, young Denham-and that, I suspect, was the real cause-was brought here in a fearful condition, not ex- pected to live: all these things put together, and the poor girl's health fairly gave way. That is what it was, Leslie. " "How is Harry Denham?" "Getting along famous, thanks to good nursing. If the war don't close soon, he will join his regiment." "They won't need him any more now; the bottom is out of the whole thing. I wonder that Mrs. Bovine let you take him into your house; she always had aweakness for him. What a .fly-up-the-creek that fogl of a woman is, eh?" "You really do not tell me, Leslie, that the war will soon be over? Now, how can you know that?" eYes, I do say it will soon be over. As to how I know it, why, I read the newspapers. The Southern States are occupied entirely, and there is but one where they have got anything large enough to be called an army, and we are closing that up every hour; so I say again that the bottom is out, my dear fellow." "Thank God for it!" said the doctor, fervently, "for it MK. MiAPLE IS AMORE SUCCESSFUL. 279 , it is a terrible thing to think of, even, that in this age millions of people should be flying at each other's throats, -brother against brother and father against son! It is pretty much as I told your friend Mr. Maple, the clergy- man, not long ago---" "You needn't speak of that fellow as my friend,' in- '. terrupted Leslie, with some warmth. ;J vWhy, he certainly was your friend; and, as I heard, -4fs ehgaged to your daughter Sallie." And the doctor opped his blue eyes to their utmost. 'Didn't I tell you how we bowled that fellow out, eh? VTWell, it is not a long story. One day Captain ; Besy and I were riding along the outposts, when we were t out in the trenches yonder, expecting every hour to be attack ed by Allen, who was not more than ten miles, at c fartT from the city, when we suddenly came across a caftagej dashing furiously towards our camp, and in it sat iMple and that old cat, Mrs. Denham. They stated they W-ere out riding, on a visit to some friends in a little village, and that on their return they were captured by somel of Allen's outposts, who finally released them upon some, excuse or another. Now, she was a notorious sym- pathizer with the South, and, if we had caught her alone there would have been no doubt about the errand upon which she had gone; for she certainly supplied the rebels with information. However, Maple was along, and as he, at least since the war, claimed to be on our side, in spite of the suspicious circumstances we let it pass. But you remember some of the prisoners of war kept at the Leedon camp were paroled, and among them was an old friend of mine, a Major Snelling, who caine to see me, and stayed a few days at my house. Outside of war mat- ters One of the most dignified, sensible fellows in the worldi but, of course, as crazy as a June-bug on the I page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 THE LOST MODEL. troubles and rights of the South. Well, he came down to dinner with me one day, and, as we crossed the hall together, we came across my daughter Sallie and this fel- low Maple, to whom she had been fool enough to engage herself. I never interfered in the matter, for, as she was going to marry him, and not I, why, it was her lookout that she married a fellow of sense. Well, as I say, as we passed them the major stopped to speak to Sallie, when his eye caught Maple, hat in hand, ready to leave; when, to our utter astonishment, the major, leaning forward to get a better look at him, said,' Hallo, Frank Dubois, what are you doing here?' I laughed at this, and said (not suspecting anything), 'Major, this gentleman is Theophilus Maple, of what I call the Oriental Orthodoxical Church.' "'That must be his nom de guerre, then,' said the ma- jor, still looking fixedly at him, ' for certainly, for the last seven years in New Orleans, he is known by the name, of Dubois. What do you say, Frank?' "Maple was white around the mouth, and his black eyes quivered with suppressed excitement. "' My name is Maple, sir, and not Dubois, nor any other kind of boy, sir.' "'Your name is Frank Dubois, and you married Miss Steele .--' "' That's a lie ' was the rejoinder. "Whew! the major gave him a terrific blow upon the mouth and knocked him through my new glass hall door before I could interfere. He bled very badly at the mouth, but he made no attempt to retaliate, although he was bigger than his antagonist. I thought, perhaps, as he was a clergyman, he didn't fight on account of his profession; and, to tell the truth, I felt a little sorry for the poor devil, getting a crack like that, and either out :. fMR. MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFUL. 281 of cowardice, or on account of his calling, not being able to jtake it up. Of course Sallie llowled, and wanted to figlht the major herself. I pacified them, however, took the major in to dinner; Maple, or Dubois, slunk out, and Sal ie went to bed with the hysterics. The major apolo- gized, but he stuck to his story, and, what is more, cor- roborated it by saying that when Allen made his attempt to capture this city, he did it from information given by thi fellow Maple, who, in reality, was a spy. Since then I forbade the fellow the house." "is it possible?" said the doctor. "And such a plau- sible, good-looking man! Well, I never heard of anything like it!" "Dangle tells me that his mode of operation was usually something like this. He would get a call to a new church, and would preach very good sermons, with prac- tical good sense in them. But, in the mean time, he would go for the women. The young ones he would Be very affectionate with,-patting their hands, pulling their ears, smoothing their hair, and, if the mother was present, kiss them in a fatherly manner. With the old ones he was always consulting. He never bought a shirt or a stocking without their advice, and they felt as proud of him as they did of a new clock of which they only kept the key. When the opportunity came, he would take one of the lambs and run, besides spoiling a few before he left. Yes, a thoroughbred rascal! No doubt about it." Mr. Leshe had lit another cigar, and was quietly listening to the doctor's plans for building a new house, when an old darkey, who had been with him a number of years, came tumbling into the room with the exclama- tion,- "Do you know whar Miss Sallie is? Oh, golly! Oh, my! Do you know whar she is?" ( page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 28i THE LOST MODEL. "What do you mean, you idiot, you ?" thundered Leslie. "Why, she went out at fo' o'clock this mo', and she never kim back; and Lize says she gone after that white parson Maple, bekase he war here last night when all folks were abed,-and she says-- " Leslie got up quietly, pushed the servant aside, and went up-stairs to her room, the latter following his steps like a poodle-dog, saying nothing, but lookingi heaps of things. He came down, ordered out his horse, took a rifle out from behind the door, examined the cap on it, then slung it over his shoulder, and, when the horse was brought, he merely muttered, quietly, "You must excuse me, Doc, I mean business just now I" then mounted his horse and galloped away. The doctor followed him to the gate, and gazed in astonishment after the clattering hoofs and clouds of dust that followed and enveloped the impetuous rider. "Ten minutes ago I was envying that man," solilo- quized the doctor; as he turned and meandered in the direction of his own house. "I said to myself, Now, here is a man who can take the world easy,-rich, past the age of passion and frivolity, and one of the foremost citizens in the place; and, all at once, he is struck with trouble as with a thunderbolt! The weeds grow with such fearful rapidity that they drive us from the field. The very luxuriance of nature is our ruin." And he put his hand in his bosom and walked slowly towards home, meditating a tremendous letter to Burgmiller, in which all these events should be told with the simplicity and stateliness of Tacitus. When the dbctor reached home, he found Colonel Den-. ham stretched out upon the sofa in his parlor with a couple of pillows to support his shoulders and head, MR. MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSf UL. 283 while Renata was close at hand ready to act as nurse or doctor. Denham was recovering rapidly from his wound. He looked much older than he really was, as though cares had come upon him faster than even time. His skin was bronzed with the sun, and the long marches and sick- ness had carried away all superfluous flesh, and given his features a gaunt, resolute look. Renata was fairer than ever, and the transparent white of her neck and forehead was slowly stealing away the rosy tint of her cheeks; the light shadow or ring which surrounded her eyes and heightened their brightness was growing darker, and even in the tone of hNer voice there was a querulous plaint, as of one.who was secretly ill at ease. The doctor had noticed the absence of her usual vivacity and good humor, and the grave air which had replaced it; and he seemed to be thoroughly clear in his own mind as to the cause, and also as to the coming cure. " I was away, Caspar was gone, and the devil was loose in a general way, and she who loves quiet, order, calm- ness, and affection, was entirely prostrated with the dreadful whirlwind of confusion." At this point he re- nmembered that he had received a letter from the surgeon of the--th infantry, informing him that Caspar had been wounded in the hand, but that the wound was neither serious nor dangerous, and that he had been left at Win- chester, where he was being properly attended to. Not wishing to aggravate Renata's trouble, he quietly slipped the letter in his desk and covered it over with some old papers and books. The doctor described what had just taken place at Les- lie's, and how the old gentleman was hot in pursuit. page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 THE LOS' MODEL. "Now I can understand the hints which Mrs. Portia Bovine gave me about a certain couple which were to run off and get married, and that she was going to be dry-nurse to the affair." Thank God that she is along!" said the doctor; "she may prevent that hot-headed man from doing somebody a mischief." "Why, yes," said Denham, softly, to the doctor, "if she was to put her foot out at him. You know it is whis- pered that no man can withstand the beauty of what the young ladies call her ' limb.' "Sallie Leslie," said Renata, "is a very pretty girl, but she is stupid enough to make you commit suicide. It is true, she is very good-hearted; but, do you know, papa, I am losing my faith in good-hearted people. They get you into so much trouble. At first they like you, because you say white is white and black is black; then some foxy person comes along and tells them that black is white, and then they hate you for the same reason." "Now, Denham," said the doctor, "we must not tire you, and if this little girl talks too much, why, we must either send her away or take you up to your room. ' "Thank you; conversation does not tire me; Miss Renata-is here talking at my special request. I told her how a battle is fought, and now," and he cast a shy look at the girl, "we have got as usual upon that favorite topic, the Indian." "Renata takes after her father: she feels a sympathy with the oppressed; and certainly there is no people so interesting as these Indians, in spite of what the frontier- men say of their treachery, dirt, and cruelty. I should not be surprised if we really commit more murders than they do." And the doctor drew Renata's head towards him and patted it affectionately. MR. MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFUL. 285 It was one of the traits in the doctor's character, that when other people came to him and praised something he possessed, and to which hitherto he had paid but little attention, his vanity was so flattered that he endeavored to make up for his past indifference by extra zeal and at- tention. He had suddenly discovered that his neighbors considered his daughter handsome, and even hard-headed old Leslie took great interest in her; and, as to admire her was to reflect credit upon him, he took a renewed interest in that from which familiarity had previously worn away nearly all the attraction. "Who knows? by this time our quondam sculptor, floriculturist, and friend has returned to his buffalo and prairie-dog," said Denham, ironically. "You are certainly mistaken in that,". answered Re- nata, quickly. "H saw it in the paper, only a day ago, that Bear Cloud and his party were to operate with General Indigo in Kansas. Now, surely an Indian soldier is as good as a white one." ".Bear Cloud is on his rservation, Renata. That fellow has got his ammunition, and his flour, and stores for winter; and when you hear from him again, it will not be fighting the rebs, but waylaying and stripping some im- migrant train." "But Parthee was not an Indian, was he, papa?" "Yes, Miss Renata; a' kind of half-breed,-Spanish blood probably on one side, red on the other, and which, by the by, my dear doctor, makes a very dangerous mix- ture,-idle, selfish, cruel, worthless as a civilization." The girl's face flushed with indignation. "No one on this earth was gentler or kinder than Parthee, Colonel Denham. There was not a cruel fibre in his body. Why, he was talented,-Mr. Ferris says a real unedu- cated genius,-and you know yourself he sympathized 25 page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 THE LOST MODEL. with everything around him. He is a thousand times better than though he had sprang from the mongrel civil- "ation." She paused in her vehemence, as she saw that the men exchanged looks, and added, with a smile, I know you only say this to tease me, but the truth is the truth, after all, isn't it, pa?" Old Leslie is right, after all, thought the doctor, and he insisted that they should leave the invalid to his repose, and he and Renata went into the doctor's art-studio, which bore a somewhat deserted appearance. The pic- tures had been taken off the walls, and were now huddled in a corner, and the portfolios were lying about the room, wrapped up in brown muslin, and ready to be car- ried off at a moment's notice. Every morning the doctor threatened to have that room put to rights, and every evening he regretted the non-fulfillment of the promise. And, as no one dared to touch it except in his presence, it was likely to remain for some time yet in its dusty con- dition. The doctor was sitting pondering over his dis- covery, when Mrs. Bovine burst in upon him in one of her confidential moods. "What a time I've had!" she cried, as she threw her- self down upon the sofa, and, taking off her jaunty hat, she swung it back and forwards, keeping time with her voluble speech. "Ever since five o'clock this morning have I been upon my feet, and Quincy knows no more about it than the dead. If I don't go home soon he will send the bell-man after me." "Well," said the doctor, "they say you were with the runaway couple; I hope Leslie did not overtake them." "Yes he did; and he would have killed the whole party if it had not been for me. Oh, what a time we've had i" "But they say," interrupted the doctor, " that he is a AIR. MAPLE IS MORE SUCCESSFUL. 287 spy for the rebels, and that he has a wife in New Orleans, and that he is a rogue upon general principles; and if that is the case, Mrs. Bovine, you did a great wrong to Miss Leslie in assisting her into so much trouble." "He is as much a spy as you are, doctor. And suppose he did have a wife in New Orleans, and she is dead, where is the wrong in him taking another?-a magnificent- looking fellow like him; and as for his being a rogue, well, I presume that he is no worse than the rest of you men. "Then they are really married?" "Of course they are. We made the clerk of the county court get out of his bed and make out a license, then we hunted up a Methodist preacher, smuggled him into the hotel, the pair stood up, and the thing was all over. We had an elegant breakfast at the Tiptop House, -melons, peaches, oysters, beefsteak, and ice-cream, besides sparkling champagne and all kinds of fancy things. Then we rode to see the Insane Asylum and the City Infirmary, and had just a lovely time; when who should come down upon us like a thunderbolt from - the blue but old Leslie, with his pantaloons stuffed in his boots, and a rifle in his hand. Whew! he looked like old scratch! Poor Maple, he trembled all over like a leaf; he is such a dreadfully nervous nature. But Sallie and I stood our ground. I told him they were married; I showed him the license, and told him that Maple had received a 'call' from a ne'w church in that very town at a large salary. He was so mad he could not hear straight, but replied he had no doubt received a 'call' from the lower regions, and unless he explained certain things he would send him there. Then Theophilus took him up- stairs into a room and explained everything to him. This satisfied the old bear, and he came down an hour page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 THE LOST MODEL. . afterwards, and ordered out his horse, looking daggers at me all the time. I said to him, says I,' Mr. Leslie, I presume you found that Mr. Maple is a gentleman, and in every respect worthy of your daughter.' He came towards me, and said, in his mean, brow-beating manner, ' I wish to God he had run away with you!' What do you think of that, doctor, for a piece of impudence? Run away with me, indeed! The man isn't made that can I run away with me.'"And she put out her little foot and examined it with pleasure and pride. The doctor made no answer, for he was secretly afraid of the enterprising Portia, and he sighed with relief as she, a few minutes later, hurried out to see if her Quincy had returned from the hospital. "If there was another woman like that in this town, I should emigrate to some Indian reservation!" muttered the doctor. CHAPTER IX. THE SCALES OF JUSTICE HELD BY THE BEAM. "I HAVE never in my life witnessed a trial in a court of justice," said the doctor, apologetically, to his daughter, who was opposing very vehemently his attendance in court during the trial of Leonard, which was announced to commence that very morning. "Besides, I have been summoned as a witness, and although it may be painful to my feelings, it is still a matter of necessity." "And if twelve loafers are to be the judges, papa, you can tell what the judgment will be. We have lost Red- wood; there is no power can give him back to us. That THE SCALES OF yUSTICE. 289 even his murderer should be punished is, after all, a poor satisfaction." The doctor having already made up his mind to be there, did not care to continue the discussion, but con- tented himself with remarking, "If the scale of justice is held by the ring, and not by the tongue or beam, there can be no doulit about the result, my daughter." The announcement that the trial of Leonard for the murder of Redwood was about to take place had created a great deal of excitement among the citizens of Bosh- ville; first, on account of the prominent positions held by the parties; secondly, on account of the eminent counsel engaged to defend the prisoner; and thirdly, the public interest which always centres in a cause cdebre. Only a few years bhck, it was the custom, whenever a legal dis- pute was being submitted to a court and jury, and counsel distinguished for their oratorical powers were engaged either to prosecute or defend, for the mayor to have the town-bell rung, and call the citizens out, as though for a fire or the celebration of the Fourth of July, so that all could enjoy what was esteemed as the highest intellectual treat. The papers published the following list of eminent legal minds who were engaged as counsel for the prisoner: Ex-Judges Wabash and Jerkem, Colonel Snag, Major Prodd, and Ex-Secretary Diddlem, while justice and the Commonwealth were to be vindicated by the County Prosecutor, Sam Bullet, and Ex-Senator Washington Jones, a spread-eagle politician of the old school. Rather an unequal match, as the "Sporting News" observed; and it recommended its subscribers to bet on the defense. There certainly had been great skill manifested in the selection of counsel to defend the prisoner, for, like the various members of an army, each one had especial de- fensive and destructive, powers. Wabash was known for 25* page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 THE LOST MODEL. his technical casuistry, and it was boasted that not an axiom of Euclid but what the analytical judge could prove to be an absurdity, if his legal mind once ran foul of it; Major Prodd, or the gallant Prodd, as he was known at the bar, was famous for smuggling into cases improper testimony, and doing it with the corrugated brow of defiance; while Jerkem, with his bloodless face and glaring eyes, was the terror of witnesses. No man,, woman, or child could withstand the, cross-examination of Jerkem; he could cross-examine a mathematician on the proposition that two and two make four, until the latter would admit there was neither truth nor sense in it. Snag and Diddlem were powerful men before a jury; they told funny anecdotes, they bawled, declaimed, and went through a pantomime performance which would have done honor to the clown of a circus. To quote once more from the "Sporting News," the arrangements for the coming battle had been made with consummate tact and skill on the part of the defendant, and it really looked as though they were likely to win "the inning." For, however honest and capable. the gentlemen were who represented the State on this 6cca- sion, they were certainly outnumbered by their oppo- nents. On the day of the trial, and in fact until its close, the court-room, corridors, and hall were crowded with people, who had assembled to hear the lewd things which it was expected the witnesses would tell, the funny things which Snag-Georgey Snag-would say to the jury, the impu- dent remarks which Wabash or Prodd would say to the court, and the grandiloquent orations which Bullet and Diddlem would deliver at the end of the trial. Our friend the doctor, for really the first time in his life, had galloped around and visited all his patients in a THE SCALES OF .USTICE. hurry that morning, and when he stopped in front of the court-house, Phil was in a lather from the speed. "You see," said the doctor, apologetically, to himself, "there can be no doubt that it was one of the foulest murders ever committed, and the fellow ought to be pun- ished; and I should neglect my duty as a citizen, much less as a friend, if I did not see that poor Redwood was vindicated. Not for vengeance' sake, God forgive me. I bear no man malice; but right is right, and must prevail against wrong and injustice." He paused. "What an important and responsible thing it must be to sit in judg- ment on a man's life, to pass upon a fellow-being's deeds like the Almighty will do some day,-it fills me with awe to think of it !" Here the press of people swarming up the steps and through the passages as they streamed into the central rotunda, or criminal court, put a stop to the doctor's meditations, and he followed on in silence. And as it is fit that the reader should know how a trial for murder takes place in Boshville, how great lawyers speak of it and defend it, how that divine dozen called a jury pass upon it, and how the court looks down and regulates it, we will follow the doctor; for, who knows? should this frail record remain, it may interest a future antiquary to know how justice was administered in an age of general enlightenment, culture, and freedom. The doctor found the rotunda packed with people out- side of the iron railing which separated the laity from the legal brethren; and inside the bar was as fully crowded with lawyers, witnesses, and privileged lookers-on as the outside space was with loungers, He walked several times around the wall of backs which shut bar and bench effectually from his sight, except when he stood on tip- toe; he could see the newspaper which was held by some page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 THE LOST MODEL. person on the bench where the legal majesty of justice sat, and which turned out to be his honor the judge. He had made the round of the room once or twice, and was thinking of going away in despair, when the sheriff espied him, beckoned to him, pushed him through the crowd, and gave him a seat at the table where counsel for the prosecution were seated. Dr. Knappe found a good many acquaintances inside the bar, and his appearance caused quite a buzz among the bystanders; the noise attracted the attention of the judge, who put down the newspaper, and said, sharply, "Now, then I make a little more noise, and I'll turn you all out into the street." He was a very young man,-he looked about nineteen years old,-with a bald head, a hook-nose, and a pair of large black eyes. He then rapped upon the bench, told the sheriff to call the jury, and told the bystanders to be careful. At this the counsel for the defense all leaped to their feet, and after running around the table, whisper- ing to each other, and shaking their heads at the deputy sheriff, who was calling out the list of names, they finally opened the campaign. Wabash stopped the calling of the jury, and insisted the court should decide the motion to quash the indictment. When told by the court to go on and "say his say," he gave twenty-five reasons, or grounds, why this legal document called an indictment, and which purported to set forth in legal terms the offense which Leonard had committed, was unfit to live, and ought to be broken into pieces. One objection was, that one of the grand-jurors who found the bill was summoned by the name of John Henry; whereas, the juror who at- tended and signed thpeecord spelled his name Henerey, -two e's more than the law allowed. Then again, the foreman who signed the bill wrote his name as John Cicero Brown, whereas, upon the venire, his'name was I. CALES OF yUSTICE. 293 John C. Brown. The learned Wabash said that this was monstrous, and he quoted fifty cases to prove that middle names were unknown to the law, and if unknown to the law they were illegal; and the presence of such a glaring, protuberating illegality destroyed the instrument upon which it was written. But the piece de resistance, and over which counsel made a determined fight for the balance of that day, was the clause of the indictment which set forth that the defend- ant "unlawfully and feloniously shot the deceased with a pistol." Over this unfortunate sentence the counsel on both sides wrangled and fought for hours. "Why," said Wabash, with thunder in his voice and lightning in his eyes, "such a foolish sentence as that would vitiate an indictment, and always has vitiated it, from the time of Richard the First of England, down to-down to- well, to Judge Lynch. You can't shoot a man with a pistol. The man don't live that can shoot another with a pistol. You can only do it with gunpowder, ball, a percussion-cap, and a pistol. My. client is entitled to know beforehand what charge he is to meet. He came here on this solemn occasion to defend himself from a charge-of what?, Why, sir, he came, they came, we came, here to defend ourselves from the charge of killing a man, by means of a' pistol loaded with gunpowder and ball, ande ploded by a percussion-cap, struck by a trig- ger, pulled by the index-finger of the right hand, while pointed in the direction of the body of the deceased, which stopped the flying ball as aforesaid. That is what we came to defend, and that is what the indictment ought to have set forth,-yes, and that is what it shall set forth before my client can be put upon trial for his life. Shoot a man with a pistol Why, the thing was not within the reach of probable possibilities! It could not be done. page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 THE ZOSTo MODEL. It was absurd, ridiculous! The constitution forbade it! The people forbade it. (sotto-voce.) The laws of God and man forbade it!" And as he roared and shook his hair, he demanded that the court should crush the monstrous proposition, and with a terrific blow upon the table with his fist, and a glare of defiance, he sat down. Here Washington Jones slowly rose to his feet, and opened his mouth (one of the largest in the State), pre- paratory to giving a terrific counter-roar, when the judge interrupted the further discussion: "I don't want to hear any more about it. We must have some sense about these things. Old indictments used to charge a man with killing another by beating him with a brick,-to wit, with an iron poker,-and killing him with a gunshot wound from a pistol, and all that sort of thing. Utter nonsense, you know; but in those days, and among those big-wigged fellows, it was considered law. All that is passed away. -I think the indictment is good, and if you have no more objections to it, why, Mr. Sheriff, you will call the jury." This called forth a bitter discussion all around; and for an hour at least four lawyers were speak- ing at oine time, and the court to end the hubbub adjourned the court until the following day at ten o'clock. "Renata," said the doctor that evening, as he sat and cogitated over the incidents of the trial, "if I say John I shot and killed a man with a pistol, what do I mean?" ] "Oh, papa, what a question! It means that John is a bad man, and he has committed murder." "Yes, daughter, that is true. But how? The modus u operandi, my child?" "How? Why, he shot him dead with a pistol!" "Well, Renata, the most learned lawyer in the State, h and the profoundest thinker at the Boshville bar, says that THE SCALES OF 7USTICE. 295 it is impossible. He also says. that if Smith throws Rob- inson out of window,-out of a third- or fourth-story window,-and I, in thie second story, lean out to catch him, and if in doing so my pistol falls out of my pocket and hits the falling Robinson on the head before the afore- said reaches the ground, and if--" "Ach, Gott! papa, don't tell me that dummes zeug (stupid nonsense), and I feel already so sick at my stomach! - "I wonder if Colonel Denham is still up," said the doctor; and a moment after, Renata heard the two men discussing the matter quite loudly. The next morning, when the doctor reached the court, the judge was giving a very lengthy opinion about some matter or another, to which the doctor listened with breathless atention; but he afterwards stated that it was like listening for burglars at night. You heard the " vil- lainous centre-bit" bore a hole in your door; you heard the burglars crawl through and walk into your room, go to your bureau and grab your watch; and when you leaped out of bed and lit the gas, the only thing you found was the cat looking for a soft place on the sofa,-there was so little relation between the understanding and sound sometimes. The doctor had not left home more that an hour this norning, when, as Renata was sweeping the hall, Mr. Leslie on horseback stopped at the door, and, touching "s hat, beckoned her towards him. "Good-morning, Miss Renata; busy with the broom as isual?" "Everything is so dreadful dirty in the city, Mr. Les- ie, one has to have a broom or a dusting-brush in one's land all day. Did you want to see papa?" "Where is he?" , , ' . -*,:i' page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 THE LOST MODEL. "I am afraid he is up at the court-house; he says he is , to be a witness." "He knows nothing but what he has been told. You tell him what I say. That is no place for him. If he has got any time to spare, let him make out his bills, for to my certain knowledge he has not made one out for ten years. What the devil is he wasting his time there for, instead of t minding his own business!"And the old man rode off, and made the horse leap beneath him in his anger. Renata was ready that afternoon, when the doctor was sitting at the table, to give him a lecture about spending E his time at the court-house, where all the loafers of the g city usually congregated, but the doctor wore such a sad and perplexed look that she could not find it in her heart to reproach him, and she saved it for a more propitious moment. - The cause of the doctor's perplexity arose from what the newspapers termed a very exciting phase in the trial,- the empanneling of the jury. This occupied about a week; , and before a fit dozen could be selected a hundred and b fifty were summoned, examined, and worried, either by b( the counsel for the defense or the prosecution. The "Sporting News" described Wabash and Prodd as roar- ing and curveting all over the court-room, like stallions ha at a horse-fair. They challenged every juror; and they insisted that if any person had read an account of the tie homicide, or had been told it by a neighbor, or had even joi been present when a newspaper statement of the affair had the been discussed; that person was unfit to sit in the place of de judgment allotted to jurors. "The jury," said Snagg, "is our precious palladium of liberty. We forced it at pu the sword's point from King John; and it is the only an bulwark which shuts in our glorious freedom from, the pre effete despotisms of Europe." And he declared, and the the THE SCALES OIF .USTICE. 29 297 called God to witness, that he was ready that moment to die for the right of trial by jury. Finally, twelve men were found who were willing to be considered sufficiently stupid mnd ignorant and qualified to sit on a jury, when a man ,vas being tried for his life. "Renata," said the doctor, finally, after he had turned the matter over in his mind for several days, "what is ustice?" "Well, papa, Mr. Leslie says that there would be more ustice in your staying away from that dreadful court- louse, and attending to your books and patients, than in oing there day after day, making yourself unhappy, and hen, in the evening, worrying my life out about it." The doctor looked over his spectacles at the pale, arnest face, and said, slowly,- . "But, my dear child, it is my duty to see that justice done our poor murdered friend." "If they intended to do justice," persisted the girl, they would not call in twelve loafers to say what shall done. Never mind, papa, let them alone. God will judge some day, and then the big mouths will be lent." The doctor agreed with his daughter that, after all, he d better stay away from the court; and yet, the very xt day after taking the usual round of his patients, he d up his horse in front of the county buildiiTg,and ned the crowd that filled the court-room, and watched interesting events which always take place in a mur- r'trial. As the plan of the defensive campaign opened, the blic interest increased. The stage effects, half-lights, I positions had evidently been as much studied and arranged as a new piece at the theatre; and many of scenes might have been photographed, so picturesque 26 page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] xkJo and dramatic were the tableaux. The defendant, Leonard, in an elegant suit of black, sat by his counsel, with two sisters, fashionably attired, and looking quite pretty from beneath their veils, seated just behind him; and, when- ever allusions were made to the prisoner's "boyhood," or "former happy home," they sobbed quite audibly in lace-trimmed handkerchiefs. The loud Wabash kept up a running tilt of insults and comments upon the counsel and the witnesses for the prosecution. He insisted that both had received " blood- money," and were earning their pay. He had repeated this loudly once or twice, when Bullet, the prosecutor, went over to him, and said, sotto-voce,- "Judge, if you repeat that sentence again in my hear- ing, I will ask the court to adjourn while I thrash the life out of you. Now, do it, if you dare!" The judge snorted and glared, but he took care not to repeat the offensive phrase. Jerkem cross-examined the witnesses, and a terrible ordeal it was. He did it with a fierceness and venom that filled the spectators with admiration and the doctor with sorrow. What the "Sporting News" characterized as the " first hit or knock-down for the defense" was per- formed by Jerkem. It fell out in this way. A boy had testified that he had found, or had seen, the body of the murdered man, and identified it as Red- wood's; that he went for the doctor, and stayed so late there that night fell, and that he went home by moonlight. Jerkem cross-examined him very severely as to the moonlight,-if he saw the rfoon, and where he saw it. He got out the calendar, and asked the boy, in a voice of thunder, if the moon was in the full, or half, or quarter, or how,-if there were clouds that night in the sky. The boy, who had been getting more and more confused, stam- Il-C JACALLS OF 7USTICE. 2 299 mered out that there were lots of clouds that night in the sky,-he was sure of it,-he was ready to swear it; he did swear it. "Well, sir," said Jerkem, and he fixed his right eye with a deadly glare upon the scared witness, *' will you swear on your oath whether the clouds were above or be- low the moon,--whether the moon was on tfis side or on the other side of the clouds. Now, take care, sir!" "I will," said the boy. And he burst into tears. "I will; and the moon was on this side of the clouds; for I seed it; yes, sir, it was -it was - below the clouds, -it was!" At this statement all the counsel leaped to their feet, and complimented Jerkem upon the hit he had made. Prodd arranged his lock of hair over his forehead, and, with his eyebrows drawn up like the iron ridge on the back of an alligator, leaned over, whispered, and shook hands with the prisoner. The lawyers smiled and nodded over it; the people outside the bar repeated and explained it to each other; the reporters wrote it down hot; the judge shook his head at it; and the only persons in the room who did not seem to understand it were the wit- ness, who was drying his eyes on his coat-sleeves, and the doctotr, whose heart ached to go to the boy and console him. "I thought," said the doctor to his neighbor,-a young lawyer, who was taking the case in by absorption, and who seemed to enjoy it very much,-"I thought the special aim and object of a cross-examination was to test the truth of the witnesses' statements. In other words, that it is a legal way or method of finding out the truth." His neighbor smiled at the doctor's innocence. "Lord bless you, no, sir; it is to break a fellow down,-confuse the witness, muddle him, addle his brains; make him say page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] o00 Ji. ^VO3 lI IUC L. two and two are five, and swear it; that's a cross-exam- ination." The next great hit in this legal drama was the cross- examination of Doctor Wooley by the remorseless Jerkem. The little doctor had told, on his leading examination, how, one evening, he was sitting enjoying the otium cum dignizate in his garden, when a messenger came and took him to the grove, where he found Redwood, mortally ' wounded. He told how he cut open the coat, vest, and shirt of the wounded man, and saw a hole beneath the shoulder-blade. Not having'his instruments with him, he probed the wound with his finger, and felt the orifice made by the ball in the man's liver. He also described the wound in the head, and how the man died,-speech- less and insensible. The story was very affecting, es- pecially when he described the veiled woman that knelt, holding the dead man's hand, tearless and voiceless,-the dread picture of despair. One heard the hard breathing of the people outside of the bar, and the prisoner and his party all held their heads down. But now comes the cross-examination for the defense, and Jerkem's bloodless face is turned toward the witness. Slowly and impressively he led the little doctor over the course he had just passed, up to the point where he examined the wound of the dying man, when the following "hit" was made: "You then put your finger, doctor-- " "As I stated, into the wound. I used my finger as a probe." "Exactly; and then you felt a hole in what ?" "I discovered that the ball had passed through the man's liver." "Which finger did you use, doctor?" "This one." Holding up the index-finger of the right hand. THE SCALES OF YUSTICE. Jerkem rose up, and made a critical examination of the finger. The digit was tolerable thick, somewhat dirty, and had rather a long nail, with a black border; all of which Jerkem saw with delight, and the little doctor dis- covered with fear and trembling. "You jammed, then, this dirty-looking lance through the wounded man's liver and lungs, ell ?" "No, sir; I say, that, not having my instruments with "No equivocation, sir! Remember, you are under oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, as you shall answer to God ! Now, sir, you said you poked, jerked, and pushed fhis club of yours, which you call a finger, through the prostrate man's liver. Do you dare to deny it, sir?" "I-I---don't deny anything. If the Court please, I want to tell the truth. All I said was, and I appeal to your Honor's notes, that I felt the orifice in the man's liver with the point of ny finger. " Here Jerkem leaped to his feet. "Was that immense cheese-knife and that mountain of dirt on your finger when you thrust it through the man's liver? But stopl the jtry must see for themselves the dreadful instrument of torture." And he unceremoniously pulled the little doctor off the witness-stand towards the jury. The counsel for the State here rushed to the rescue. A very pretty scene followed: Jerkem pulling like a mule at the arm of the witness, the prosecutor holding the witness back, while the Court roared and struck on the bench for silence, order, and "stand down." The combatants stopped scuffling and commenced argtung the point. Wabash shook his mane like a lion, and defied the Court to forbid the jury from examining the instrument which caused the death of Redwood. The 26* page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 THE LOST MODEL. Court, after much deliberation and consultation of authori- ties, decided that the sheriff should take the witness by the arm and exhibit the finger in question to the jury, but that counsel should make no comment while he did so; and accordingly the little doctor was led, pale and trembling, up and down before the jury, with his forefinger held out, amid the sneers of the counsel for the defense, the smiles of the spectators, and the pity of the prisoner and his party. This was felt to be the second great hit for the defense, or, as the newspapers expressed it, the defense had won the second inning. There was an in- termission of five minutes, during which the prisoner again complimented his counsel, the Court took a drink of ice-water, and stretched its short legs in the corridor, and many of the bystanders rushed to the neighboring veranda and refreshed themselves with lager beer and sandwiches; while the doctor, the unfortunate witness, walked out of the court-room feeling like an outcast of the human race. The apex of legal ingenuity and juridical invention was reached on the part of the defense when they called witnesses to prove the insanity of Leonard. Insanity has long been a favorite card with the legal profession; and certainly, to judge from its success, it deserves the high trust which great criminal lawyers repose upon it. When breaking down the character of the witnesses for the prose- cution, or when even an alibi fails to save the client from a verdict of guilty, the plea of insanity has been known to save him harmless, although the proof of the crime was as palpable as the pyramids of Egypt. Insanity was the trump card of the wary Wabash and the "irresistible" t Georgey," and very skillfully it was played. The father and mother testified that from childhood he had been sub- jecttofits-of insanity; and that his uncle by the mother's I THE SCLES OF yUSTICE. side had lately died of delirium tremens. When a baby of six months he had refused his mother's milk. At ten years he threw a spade at his father, and came near killing him. When only fifteen he stole his sister's purse and ran away with a traveling circus. At eighteen he ran off with his mother's cook, and what has become of her is a secret to this day. He was offered the position of city treasurer once and refused it. (When this fact came out, the people gaped at the prisoner in incredulous astonishment.) "Not since the republic was founded was there a man;" cried the eloquent Prodd, "so fundamentally and con- stitutionally mad as to refuse the office of treasurer; it made one's blood run cold to think of it." The Court inquired the date of that transactiQn, and carefully wrote it down. Witnesses were also called to prove the love and devotion of the defendant to his wife; his care, tenderness, and solicitude for her, and, whenever and wherever she was concerned, his utter abnegation of himself. The same witnesses told hov, the night before the homicide, he had cried, raved, and sobbed over the dis- covery of his wife's falseness to her marriage vows, and that he was so convulsed in agony that it took four men to hold him still; in short, that he was for a long time a howling, kicking, raving maniac. But it was also brought out upon cross-examination that the sobbing and con- vulsions of Leonard took place more than a week before the homicide, and that it was connected with a gambling debt. They also unwillingly admitted that, for several days immediately preceding the homicide, he was taciturn and moody; that he had practiced pistol-shooting in his own garden; that he had watched his wife, and paid de- tectives to track her whenever she went out; and that on the day of the killing he had announced his departure for Lexington, and had exhibited great cheerfulness and page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 104 JIit LCoo IVJUJL. affection to his wife when leaving. The prosecution also proved in rebuttal that, several years before this event, Leonard had known of his wife's love for Redwood, and had willingly and purposely winked at it; saying once in his cups, that what his eyes did not see his heart would not grieve over; and that if money could not bribe Red- wood to be in his service, he knew of something that would do it at less cost. At last it was announced that the case would be argued to the jury; and to please the public, and in compliance with the repeated demands of the newspapers, justice carried its stool and scales over to the large rotunda used for political meetings, and where at least five thousand persons could listen and appreciate the eloquence of the Boshville bar. The arguments and orations of the counsel in this cause ceHbre were long remembered in Boshville, and the book which contained and published the forensic eloquence delivered on that occasion was considered to contain speeches which outrivaled in solidity and value the orations of Pericles and Cicero. And yet the gentle reader will not be astonished if I tell him that as I glanced over the well-thumbed book containing these glittering jewels, I found them as tedious as a newspaper a month old. No doubt when these words fell living from the lips and hot breath of Wabash, Prodd, and the smiling, cunning "Georgey," they were potent, interesting, and sensa- tional; but to-day, they are like the rags and tarnished tinsel of a masquerade dress, rotten in web, unmeaning in shape, and filthy from the dirt of time; for what can be more repulsive to one's imagination than even a legal trick, when withered from age? There were three orations delivered for the defense, and two for the prosecution; the latter were forcible, clear, and plain; but the very cer- tainty and consistency of the proof injured the speakers. I TIIE SCALES OF JUSTICE. Truth is not mighty and does not prevail, written au- thority to the contrary notwithstanding. The liars die out sometimes, and the fraud is forgotten, but experience teaches that a lie is the most powerful invention of the human mind. There are lies eighteen hundred years old, and still in vigor; yes, there are lies six thousand years old, and yet in their infancy; and what is worse, they will live and only go out with the last human brain; they came in with the human race, and they will stay as long as it stays. When the prosecutor told the story of the murder, the spectators were cold and the jury weary of what they had heard a thousand times; but when the counsel for the defense let off their fireworks, a very different effect fol- lowed. And here came into play the third great hit of the defensive campaign. Prodd took a very bold stand; he denied that Redwoodwas dead; he insisted that the corpus delicti had not been proved. The doctor did not know the name of the man whom he found dying in the grove; the coroner did not know him; and the learned doctor who had identified his friend was a notorious wool- gatherer, a man who always mistook fancy for fact. Where was Redwood? he might be in the court-room, listening to the trial of a man for his murder; and here the blatant counsel turned round, and in his loud, brassy voice, called three times the murdered man by his name, and bade him appear. The good doctor's blood ran cold at this part of the farce, and he held down his head to hide his tears. Then came the irresistible " Georgey," who told them anecdotes and jokes, which very much relieved the tedium of listening hour after hour to all kinds of arguments; he even interspersed his oration with a little ventriloquism and pantomime, which put everybody in a good humor. Then he became suddenly serious, and told them, with a page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 TIlE LOST MODEL. long face and in a very confidential manner, that the man who killed Redwood was the doctor who probed the wound with his forefinger. He spoke of a man's liver as being the fly-wheel of his system, and that in this case an ignorant quack had thrust a huge forefinger, armed with a fearful nail, which, after tearing and jagging its way through the man's system, arrested the movement of the "fly-wheel," and the man died. He felt sorry for the quack's family and for his feelings, but truth was too sacred to be sacrificed even in a trial for murder. And he closed by pointing out the man who had really killed Redwood. But the grand show-piece was let off by Waash. He commenced in a whisper, leaning, as he spoke, against the table for support. He was sick; his nerves were pros- trated; he had not slept since the trial began; he begged them to have patience with him, and to give him their earnest attention. All this-was said in a faint, trembling voice, so that the jury had tq stretch out their necks to hear it; and yet before he had spoken an hour he roared so loud and struck the table with his fist so violently that deed was justifiableand that Leonard was neither respon- sible to God or man for what he had done. He gave the jury a biography of Leonard.- mother fell out ofwindow in an epileptic fit and was killed. This was the key-note of Leonard's life. Insanity ran through it like a river through a plain. Hereditary in- sanity was a demon that crouched in Leonard's heart, which every excitement threw to the surface, and then poor Leonard did fearful things. Under the influence of river hroug a plin. Hreditry in througl i like a edin Leonard) s heart T77E SCALES OF JUSTICE. Jo7 this demon, when a boy, he had put a dead cat in the schoolmaster's well; he had stolen his father's watch; and when a man, it had him made refuse an honorable and lucrative office and run off with his father's cook. Ordi- nary excitements threw him off his centre, and extraordi- nary ones turned him inside out. He described, in tender and pathetic terms, Leonard's courtship, the beauty of his wife, her frailty, and her loving husband's devotion. As many of the jurors had never seen the fair Mrs. Leonard, he described her for their benefit. He dwelt unctuously upon her small feet, her delicate, expressive features, her transparent complexion, the luxuriance of her hair, her slender waist, and the ravishing grace of her walk. Her voice was like the soul of music, and the gleam of her eyes a glance into heaven. Then he asked each juror to fancy himself the lawful possessor-the hus- band-of such a beauty, and that then an interloper, a fellow whom they had saved from starvation, should come along and carry off such a prize, what would they do as men? The jurors did not answer, but the way twelve mouths suddenly were closed and set, gave the counsel a very encouraging sign. Then he described the discovery of Leonard, of the terrible loss, his despair, his insanity and raving exaltation, which ended in the tragedy of the grove. He read the following letter, which Leonard had found or taken from his wife a day or two before the homicide; the paper was crumpled, stained with tears, and almost in pieces from use. It read as follows: "ANNETTE,-Your last note pained me very much, and I scarcely know how to answer it. How much longer will you and I fight these shadows of misplaced suspicion? Why reproach me with this girl, and that woman, when you of all persons in the world should know that I love page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 THE LOST MODEL. , you and you only. You are my wife in the sight of God, if not of man" (Counsel read that with four different emphases). "I have purchased you with a slavery beside which Jacob's was mere play. You are my Waterloo; after you there is nothing left for me. Dear Annette, is it impossible that you and I should ever reach the moral altitude of a pure and calm confidence in each other, or is it the deadly penalty of our mutual crime, that turns the flowers to ashes even when we touch them? You tell me you have sacrified your reputation for me, and that you rise and lie down in the very shadow of sudden death. It is true! and yet without egotism I can say that I, too, have sacrificed the dreams of youth, the aspirations of an earn- est ambition, my place among my fellows, for the fever- ish breath of a passion which kills the soul in its dreadful pulses, and yet with which I can no more do without than I can live without air. No, no; life is too short to spend it in a quarrel. Believe me, Annette, you are my Alpha and Omega, and Hades itself can be a paradise for me when I am possessed of you and your love." "There!" shrieked the counsel. "There's libidinous, licentious, infamous stuff for an unmarried man towrite to a married woman! He gloats over the wrong; he boasts of it, and proclaims it as a merit. I'll read no more of the scoundrel's licentiousness,-it makes a mar- ried man's blood boil like water!" Here Wabash's sickness came back upon him; his strength suddenly departed, and he closed his harangue in a hoarse whisper, commending every one of the persons present, especially the jurors,- and he looked at those in the front row,-to the care of that God which--" Here he sobbed, sighed, and sat down. The doctor was the only person present who did not THE SCALES OF 7USTICE. 309 cry over the oration of Wabash; in fact, he did not hear the last part of it,-he was thinking earnestly of the letter which had been read, every word of which sank deep in his heart, and his eyes filled with tears at the remembrance it awoke. The prosecutor closed in a very energetic and logical answer, which, however, did not seem to interest any- body, not even the prisoner, who was busy consulting with his counsel as to the forthcoming charge of the judge. When all the arguments were over, the court took a recess of five minutes, preparatory to taking the decisive step in the trial, viz., that of charging the jury. The room was crowded and warm, and the doctor, after the judge left the bench and went into a private room, pushed his way outside of the bar to the window, which overlooked a green sward, a fountain, and several beautiful maple-trees, upon the branches of which the birds were singing in the sunlight. "What a difference," soliloquized the doctor, "be- tween man and nature! Here is peace, calmness, and content; while in this crowded room of men passions are displayed which belong to carnivorous animals, and not to that being which is supposed to represent the image of God." The loud talking in the room ceased, the sheriff rapped on the table and called silence, and ordered the bystanders to take off their hats, and the huge crowd became as fixed and still as so many tables and chairs. The doctor was shut out from the bar, but, from his seat in the window, he had a tolerably good view of the prisoner and the bench. He was anxious to hear what the Court would say to the defense of lunacy, and the doctor congratulated himself that, at least, he would hear a definition of insanity which might be valuable to him, even as a physician; and 27 page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] he pulled out his pocket-book and pencil, and prepared to make a note or two of the charge when it came to that question. Unfortunately, the judge spoke very low, and it was only occasionally that a complete sentence reached the doctor, although he stretched his neck forward and lis, tened attentively. I give the only notes the doctor made of the charge: "There had been a good many murders that year. 'New York had furnished two hundred and eighteen assas- sinations. It was not for want of churches-crimes were on the increase-must be stopped somehow or another. . . To take life was forbidden by the Mosaic law, but more particularly by our own statutes-violations of this law were, in most Christian countries, punished with death-the Court, in vol. xlv. page 222, had decided that this was a Christian country, and people were sometimes hanged for murder- . . . What is murder-- - (Here the doctor's attention must have been drawn away, for nothing followed but a series of circles and pot-hooks.) "But now-came the gist of the defense: was the de- fendant mad or insane when the homicide was committed? -What was insanity?" The doctor afterwards stated that at this point the heat and stillness of the place, as well as the monotonous voice of the judge and the regular splash of the fountain out- side, overcame him, and, every-exertion he made to the contrary notwithstanding, he fell asleep, and thus lost the cream of judicial wisdom. How long he slept he knew not, but he was awakened by a great noise, rapping at doors, and shuffling of feet. It appeared that the jury had been charged, had retired, had agreed upon their verdict, and were now pounding at the court-room door and calling for the sheriff. Then followed the last tableau vivant in 7 HE SCALES OF yUSTICE. 3 I this important trial. The jurors took their places solemnly and noiselessly; the people pressed breathlessly to the bar; the Court took down its feet from the bench; and the clerk read, in a deep bass voice, the names of the jury. While this was being done, an important arrange- ment was being made over in the prisoner's corner. Wa- bash and Prodd held up the prisoner Leonard, who, with drooping head and crossed hands, looked a picture of utter despair. Snagg supported with one arm the pretty sister of Leonard, whose long, auburn hair hung gracefully upon the shoulder of the eloquent advocate, while, with his right arm poised upon the back of a chair, he awaited the momentous decision. "Gentlemen' of the jury, have you agreed upon a verdict?" "We haye, sir." "What say you, then?" "We find the defendant notguilty " A loud burst of applause ran through the court-room; the prisoner sank upon a chair, and covered his face for a moment,'then rose and fervently ejaculated, "God bless you, gentlemen of the jury!" "It is a just and noble verdict!" said Wabash, de- fiantly. And he scowled at the attorney for the prose- cution. l "That's enough for the present," said the Court, who did not seem to think that the jury'had performed any very extraordinary good to the Commonwealth; "the prisoner is discharged. Mr. Clerk, call the next case,- The State vs. Swindlekopf." Doctor Knappe was grieved to the heart. He hurried out of the building, as though he was afraid the dome would tumble over and crush him, and never paused until he reached his house. page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 THE LOST MODEL. "Don't talk to me," he said to Renata, as he went in; "and if anybody calls, tell them I am out." And he went into his studio, and locked the door, and sat upon the sofa, a picture of despair. CHAPTER X. THE DOCTOR SELECT SON-IN-LAW. THE doctor, by an arrangement with Kettle, the house- keeper, and Colonel Denham, kept the news of the ver- dict in the Leonard trial from Renata, as he thought it would only pain her to know that such a dreadful crime was, by the deliberate judgment of twelve disinterested men, allowed to pass unpunished. "I can understand how such a thing comes to pass here, doctor," said Denham. "A criminal trial to-day is, and has been for a number of years, a contest between certain lawyers, composing the prosecution on one side, and the defense on the other. The personal merit of the lawyer who prosecutes or defends decides, virtually, the case, and both the grade of the crime and the strength of the proof are all outshadowedby the eloquence, the fire, the tricks, and to urs'deforce of the advocate." "But how does that come about, Denham?" said the doctor, pushing his spectacles up among his hair, and preparing himself to' fathom the reason of it. 'That is out of ihy reach, as the French say." And he led, the doctor off in a different direction. But one evening as Renata, accompanied by Kettle, returned from her usual visit to the mound that over- THE DOCTOR SELECTS A SON-IN-LAW. 313 looked the forest and the road that led to the prairie, where she had last seen Parthee, and where she expected to see, some day, the well-known figure return, she looked for the veiled form that stood night after night by the cross-road, for the lover that never came. Lately this woman's story and fate had been very much on the mind of Renata, and she often thought that of the two,-herself and Mrs. Leonard, perhaps the latter was the happiest; for there was a light burning on the altar that no doubt could extinguish, and that the lover would come, and was coming, was firmer than-the sense of life itself. The memory had emptied all its ills upon the sand,- sanity was gone, but hope remained; it took the place of them all. Renata noticed that the woman was not at the ac- customed meeting-place, and turning to Kettle, said, "S She was not there last night,-no, nor the night before, Kettle. Is she sick, or dead?" "Ach, since old Leonard was acquitted of the murder, he sold out his paper and went East, and before he went they took this poor creature and put hei in the Lunatic Asylum. And they say the change is killing her,-she is unalle to walk now. It will be a mercy for her to die." The last part of this speech was lost upon Renata; the first words had so filled her with indignation that she was silent, and only showed her agitation by the rapid steps she took. No sooner at home than she burst in upon the doctor, as he afterwards described it, like a cannon-ball. "Papa, what does the word 'acquitted' mean?" "Why, my child?" , "Because Kettle says that Leonard was acquitted of the murder; does it mean that he had a right to kill Redwood?", 27* page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 34 TTHE LOST MODEL. 314 "No, not exactly. The jury said he was not guilty of the murder." "Then who killed Redwood-if Leonard did not?" "Well, twelve men, on their oaths, say that Leonard was not guilty of it, Renata; I heard them say so myself. The judge asked each one, and they all said he was not guilty. I didn't tell you, because I knew it would only trouble you, and somehow lately I have been nearly crazy myself with the trouble. First the war, then Redwood's fate, Caspar gone, wounded perhaps by this time, and not a letter for nine months to Burgmiller! Everything in the world topsy-turvy, or trying to be so." "Were there no witnesses there? Why, you were there, papa, you saw him. You know he is dead. Did- Leonard deny it? If Leonard did not kill him, then who did?" "Not so fast, my child. There were witnesses there who told the truth; and the jury knew-that Redwood was dead, and that Leonard killed him. But you see, one of his lawyers said he was insane, and consequently not responsible for what he did, and then another told them that he was justified in doing it, that Redwood had wronged Leonard,-and-all that kind of thing." "But what did the judge say, papa? He certainly knew better. Did he tell them that the lawyers were paid to tell lies, and that they must not be believed?" "Well, not exctlythat, my child; but he told them what was right; the only difficulty, however, being, that the jury did not mind what he said. And then, somehow, the judge does not talk half so well as the advocates, and the jury consequently don't pay him tnich attention." "The jury!" echoed Renata, with scorn. "Had I been judge," continued the doctor, "I would have sent them to jail for calling such a judgment a b.\ THE DOCTOR SELECTS A SON-N-LAW'. 315 verdict,-which means a truthful saying, or correct judg- ment. But come, sit down, and let us be sensible over it. What is it,fter all, to any reflective person, that a mur- derer is pronounced innocent, and a consummate rogue carries the staff of office? Right is -right, although wrong became the law of the land, and was written by the fools upon tablets of brass. You and I must do our duty for the love of it, even if they crown us with thorns instead of roses. No matter what the wiseacres say, God rules the destinies of men. Because Leonard is free by the decision of law, he is not released by God from the consequences of his guilt; the moment the crime was' committed the punishment commenced, and it will last forever. Out of that circle no human power can draw him; as Redwood himself often said." "Shall there be no difference, then, between the treat- ment of a rogue and an honest man?" asked Renata, who was considerably puzzled by this kind of retribution. "Certainly not, Renata. But I am speaking of pun- ishment. You require that when the thief steals or the murderer kills, that a sudden flash of lightning should strike them on the spot; or that some great corporeal pain should be instantly inflicted. Now, I say that a punishment falls invisibly but certain, which is even more painful than hanging. But you are like all the rest of the women," said the doctor, as he noticed the incredu- lous look in the girl's face: " nothing Aists but what they can see, or smell, or feel. Every time any mortal violates the law, you would have God Almighty put his arm down and take the fellow by the hair of the head, like you would a dog, or otherwise there is no such thing as Providence. However, we won't quarrel over it. Here is Denham, who is later from his books than I am; he can explain it to you." page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 3I6 THE LOST MODEL. And as though it was preconcerted between them, as the doctor went out Colonel Denham came slowly in. Lately the tete-a-tetes with Denham became painful to Renata, without exactly knowing why; some of his words -especially about Parthee-seemed intended to hurt her; and there was in his voice and look something which warned her to avoid him. The air of embarrassment upon his face at this moment did not reassure her; but she mustered her courage, and welcomed him with the old smile of good-fellowship. "Der armer Ker," she thought, "has lost his home, his mother, perhaps the brother also. With courage anti unselfishness he goes to war for his country, and when he is wounded, the poor fellow almost perishes with neglect in a hospital." And Denham noticed the bright glances she showered over him, and the old playfellow confidence with which she treated him. "Your father and I are poor hands at keeping a secret, eh, Renata?" "I found it out myself, Mr. Denham." "Mr. Denham?" he repeated. "Well, Harry Denham, then," she added, laughingly. Papa should have told it me at first, and then it would not have come so suddenly. But he is-what do you call t?-very peculiar. He loves to tell things. The ninety- nine things in this life which papa ought to keep to him- self, he shouts out from the roof of his house, and he will tell and tell them, until every man, woman, and child in the neighborhood knows them as well as he does; and the one thing he ought to tell he keeps secret." "How old were you when you first rememnber Red- wood, Renata?" "Oh, I was ever so little. Why, I have sat on his lap THE DOCTOR SELECTS A SON-IN-LA W. 317 a thousand times. But I liked him from the first, and for precisely those things which other people did not like him for. His old-fashioned dress, his grim, earnest manner, his silent scorn in the presence of those he did not like, his innocent smile, and that beautiful voice. Why, when I was perplexed over anything, I would go to him, and he would in a few words throw such a light over it that I knew it at once. He was really handsome, and never knew it. That this woman loved him," she added, fol- lowing her own thoughts, "I do not wonder; but that this love should kill him, and put her in a mad-house, is something the good God may explain, but I shall never understand it I am afraid." "It is real pleasure, Renata, to hear you speak of those you love. Is Parthee remembered with as much enthu- siasm?" The question came so suddenly, and was accompanied with so earnest a look, that it raised a storm in her heart so strong that for a moment or two she was speechless, and she could only look at him in amazement, while her face, neck, and ears tingled with the warm blood which suffused them. Something whispered to her that now was the time to speak, in order to save one whom she so highly esteemed and admired from being pained and humiliated. "The feeling is quite different, Harry Denham ; one is admiration, esteem, liking of the head; the other is of the heart- " "Love!" said Denham, ironically. "True, it is love. One moment, Denham, if you please," as she saw he was about to interrupt her. "Do not make a mistake. The word love with me means all. I was never jealous of Redwood, but I was once of Parthee, and my heart became as hard as a stone. page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 3i8 THE LOST MODEL. I could have killed the woman who caused it, even though she did it unintentionally. I do not know myself when this feeling comes over me. To-day the commonest place in the city is beautiful because Parthee is there; to- morrow the city itself is loathsome because he is absent. We are engaged," she cried, triumphantly, " and he will come back and marry me, I know he will." "Does your father know of this?" "No; papa has his head full of pictures, letters, and Burgmiller; how can I speak to him? He thinks me still the child of yesterday. Pardon me, Harry Denham, if I pain or shock you, but the truth is the truth. You and I are almost school-playfellows, let us be friends still. When the war closes, you must come here to live and be as one of us. And for that very reason, Harry Denham, you must help me, and not be against me. I cannot help it, but this half-breed as you call him is all I have left. He is so dear to me, that when you tell me he never will come back you are killing the hope even of life within me." Denham was walking slowly up and down during this last speech, and when the girl stopped, he took her hand, and said, gently,- "Well, time, Renata, may clear away even this coil. Let us not anticipate trouble. If my friendship is all you desire, I must learn to be contented with that." And he slowly withdrew. A week or so later, when Denham left to join his regi- ment, being sufficiently recovered from his wound, and being also more anxious to be in the field when it was ap- parent that the Southern resistance was crumbling away from sheer want of material and from exhaustion, he im- parted to the doctor his poor success, and astounded the latter by the revelation of Renata's liking for Parthee. He also, however, strictly enjoined secresy upon the doctor, THE DOCTOR SELECTS A SON-IN-LAW 319 who tried to limit his impatience to the words repeated, sotto-voce, "Du bist ein Schafskopf, mein Kind." But just before Denham and he parted at the depot, the doctor told him with great confidence: "Now, my dear boy, I have thought the matter all out, and your wishes shall be fulfilled in regard to that silly girl of mine. In the first place, Colonel Denham, I shall-of course in a plain but fatherly manner-tell her what marriage is, what life is, and what are the duties en- joined upon us." And then the doctor unfolded his scheme of argument. There were pathological and moral reasons why ,his daughter should not marry Parthee, but should marry the man her father selected. As the doctor talked over it, the theme grew in size, and he was astonished at his own fertility of imagination. He followed Denham into the cars, and came near being taken along with him, so ab- sorbed was he in unfolding it. Denham could not repress a smile, as he caught a glimpse of the doctor walking away out of the railroad depot, his head down, his hand in his bosom, and his whole nature wrapped in inner con- templation. That very night, when the doctor and Renata were seated in the parlor, speaking about the probable arrival home of Caspar, and of affairs in general, the doctor thought it was an admirable opportunity to give the lesson to Renata which he had already prepared for her benefit; so, pushing his spectacles up in his hair, he commenced his disquisition by a kind of outline of the history of the human race. He had got as far as his own marriage, in Gottingen, and his subsequent emigration from that abode of learning, when Renata suddenly interrupted him: "Papa, tell me, did mother like anybody besides you? page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 320 320 THE LOST MODEL. I mean did she ever see any one she liked as well as you?" The doctor, when discussiing ordinary matters, was always put out if interrupted; it disturbed the tenor of his thoughts, broke up the natural flow, and put him at the mercy of the vagrant ideas which are always floating in a man's skull. But this question fairly capsized him. The idea that his wife-that second subordinate self, according to the healthy German conception of the correlation of marital parties-should ever have any thought outside of him; the bare possibility that the conjugal planet should be attracted to any other sun, overwhelmed him with aston- ishment, and he could only repeat, half in anger and half in amazement,- c You beat the devil, you do! I never open my mouth to say a word but you fling a piece of nonsense at me that utterly upsets me,-yes, that utterly upsets me." It was in vain that Renata laughingly explained that she did not mean anything; he could go no further that night. And long after Renata had retired, he sat and thought over the past; and, while repeating to himself the utter absurdity of the question, he nevertheless conjured up in his memory the pretty little woman who, for many years, had been his silent, obedient, uncomplaining com- panion, and put to this pale shadow the same interroga- tion, and fell asleep while seeking the answer. A MODERN IEMNON. 321 CHAPTER XI. A MODERN MEMNON4 EARLY one morning Renata joined the stream of people who were flocking up the steps of the Cathedral of Bosh- ville, to hear the early mass,-the Catholic portion of the community at B-- being more attentive to the forms of religion than their more matter-of-fact brethren, the Protestants. Whether the latter knew more or cared less for the " trappings" and ceremonies of religious worship, and thus were satisfied with one day in the week being devoted to that special occupation, would be hard to de- cide. Knowledge is popularly supposed to diminish one's faith in the supernatural, and the priests have sanctioned the opinion by their strenuous efforts to regulate the in- tellectual light which shall stream into the human brain; and, if not able to check the quantity, they at least manage to moderate the quality, by straining it through certain colored glasses, until it is eliminated to the "dim religious light" so favorable to credulity. And yet it may be doubted if knowledge has anything to do with the increase or decrease of faith. If, like love, it is an "I afaire du cwur," it is strengthened, rather than diminished, by the union, as the former will lend it wings and weapons of defense. The heart uses the head as in the Eastern story the lover the genii, to gain the object of its passion; and it makes no difference whether the passion is love, am- bition, or faith, self lies at the root of all. It was not, however, to hear the mass, or partake of the 28 page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 322 THE LOST MODEL. communion, which brought Renata so early into the hand- some edifice, but simply to see the statues inside of the altar-railing; and for that purpose she walked slowly but firmly up to the front, and then slid noiselessly into a seat. Inside the brass railing which separated the priests from the laity was a large marble altar-piece, with a small silver door in the centre, with numerous golden candle- sticks and circles, and with a number of simulated can- dles, which burned perpetually, and yet never decreased in size; and, before all the ornament and glitter, an old man, dressed in white and gold, walked clumsily up and down, with his back to the people, and muttered, now and then, words which were incoherent, but yet quivering with emotion, and which were echoed back by the crowds, who knelt and muttered as incoherently as did the old priest. All this the blue eyes of the girl took in at a glance, and without awe or emotion; but when the sun's rays burst through the side window, and, piercing the smoke of incense which rose up on either'side of the altar, lighted up the marble figure of the angel, whose face was the face of Parthee, her figure trembled with the shock of recognition, and her eyes filled with tears. tIt was so like him that she saw the hair move, the lips smile, and the orbless sockets of the eyes beamed as of old upon her with their affectionate radiance. The pose of the hand was admonitory, and the expression of the face recalled the time when, in playful earnestness, he offered to change her into stone. "And it is true at last!" she thought. "We are both turned into statues! God, how beautiful he looks! In olden times the gods came down to earth and married pretty girls. Is the time gone by forever? Is this, per- haps, a God-forsaken land, given up to trade, machinery, and shops? In the far East, how different! There the A MODERN MEMNON. 323 $23 genius came down and bore the prince through the air to the lady who was pining away for him. Are all the genii dead, or is liberty, as papa says, fatal to men and gods? There was Lohengrin, who fought for Eva, and married her; and, when the trumpet sounded, came out of the clouds to the lake, drawn by swans, and came right to the side of Eva. Who will sound the trumpet for me? If I was longed for like Parthee is, I would come back, if only for pure pity's sake. God hears all the prayers here; but how many are granted? Day after day, and hour after hour, the people come here and pray to him; and no matter what they say, the sick are still sick and the poor are still poor. Perhaps it is true that God does not desire our happiness, and that he made us to be miserable, and that it is his wish that the heart should be broken over its own idol. How horrible is the thought!" She rose from her seat, and, a moment afterwards, sank back upon the bench, and listened, with clasped hands and bent head, to the muttering chorus which rose and fell in the church, while her imagination fled across track- less prairies, and sought, in forest and dale, an image which ceaselessly moved away from her. The people had left the church, and hurried to their daily avocations, and the priest was taking off his vest- ments at the side of the altar, and handing them to one of the attending acolyths, who received them with rev- erence and folded them with care; and Renata, taking a last look, was about to leave, when she heard two voices whispering, and there passed up the aisle to the altar her father, the doctor, and old Ferris, the sculptor. They paused near where she was seated,-and commenced discussing, in a subdued voice, the position of the marble group inside of the altar. "The bishop," said Ferris, "wants this window altered at the side. You see, the page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 oTHE LOST MODEL. rays of the morning sun fall directly on the shoulders of the angel. Now, he thinks of having the window height- ened, and putting in yellow glass, so that a stream of golden light can fall directly upon the head of the prin- cipal figure. There, like the ray of light from the breast of the dove in the picture yonder. Not that one, but the top picture of all, where the dove is descending upon Christ in the water." The doctor shook his head at this. "No, that strikes me as a little theatrical; besides, the color will destroy the simplicity and purity of the idea. It is said the Greeks colored their statues; but that was from other motives than the desire to excite a sensational eftect upon the beholder." "Well," said Ferris, shaking his head, "the Greek, like the rest of us, spoke strongly to the senses; but he did not do it for merely sensual purposes." The doctor, to get a better view of the group, and not wishing to be seen standing in the aisle criticising what was there considered as a sacred object, slid into the pew where Renata was sitting, and when he caught her eye and saw who it was, it seemed to strike him like a thunder- clap. "Why, what in the name of goodness brings you here, Renata, eh? Why, I thought you were writing a letter to Caspar." "I presume Miss Renata comes on the same errand that you and I did," said the good-natured sculptor, coming to the rescue of the blushing girl. "I do not see why you should be so astonished at find- ing me here, papa; every day since the work was placed here, you asked me if I had been to see it." "That's true, my child; but this morning you did not say a word about coming here." I A MODERN MEMNON. 325 "It is nevertheless a pleasure, because it was not antici- 'pated," said Ferris, who was determined to defend the girl. Renata laughed. "You see, Mr. Ferris, papa has been so many years prescribing for sick people, telling them what they shall eat and when they may go out, that he does the same at home, and he is astonished whenever old Kettle or myself deviates from the daily prescription." There certainly would have been a discussion in the church as to who was right, for the doctor had put up his spectacles in his hair and had raised his hand, preparatory to a proper division of his argument, when the young priest or neophyte approached, and speaking to Ferris in Italian, told him the bishop wished to see him, and thus interrupted a very interesting lecture. The doctor, however, remembered it as well as his last discomfiture, and he told his daughter that he had some- thing very important to say to her; and when they left and arrived at the house, he called old Kettle into the parlor, and entered upon a campaign which he had been planning for several days as well as nights. He prefaced it by saying,- "I saw Leslie, and had a long talk with him; among other things, about Parthee. George is back; came in one morning, and has hung up his rifle and has said good- by to his wandering life forever. Of course there is a time in everybody's life when the passions drive them out of the beaten path into all sorts of excesses; and happy for them if they do it early in life, so that the middle and end of it may be better than the beginning. As a young man, I do not remember whether I had many' vices, but this thing is certain- " "But what about Parthee?" said Renata, impatiently. "Well, I asked George all about him. In the first place, to my astonishment, George did not seem to know 28* page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 - . dTHE LOST MODEL . I much, or what he did know he refused to tell. Besides, you know George Leslie has the worst kind of an impedi- ment in his speech; that is to say, he can talk, but he won't. However, he said he first saw him among the Blackfeet, and afterwards with Bear Cloud; that he spoke Spanish, was a good shot, and was a favorite with the tribe. And that is about all he tells. He laughs at his father's story, and he told me privately that he believed the old gentleman and Cross were too much under the influence-of old whisky that morning to know really what did take place. One thing I feel sorry for, and that is, the condition this young man has returned in; why, he is a mere skeleton, and is suffering from a disease of the chest which will carry him off in a few months. What his life has been the Lord only knows; but his haggard face and long, gaunt figure is painful to look at-" "But, Parthee," interrupted Kettle, who was also sharing the girl's anxiety. "Well, so far as he is concerned," and he spoke the words deliberately, "George says he never will come back. Bear Cloud and his braves have. got what- they wanted,-arms and gunpowder. Instead of joining the expedition sent out by the government, they have started across the plains; they are calling the Indians from their reservations, and thinking that while the war between the South and North lasts it is an excellent opportunity to get rid of the neighboring whites, they are killing all they meet with. The border-men, with a couple of regi- ments of cavalry, no longer needed in the war, have gone West, and he says the fight now will be one of extermination. He'says not one of Bear Cloud's men will live to tell what is going on there; and he speaks, my child, like one who tells what has taken place, rather than what will come to pass." A JMODERN MEMNON. 327 The doctor's heart smote him when he saw the intense look of despair which settled upon the pale face of Renata, and how the girl, with her head leaning on old Kettle's shoulder, still gazed in silence upon him. "I must strike, however, while the iron is hot," he thought, and he continued the attack. "This question of love and marriage, my child, I have thought about a good deal. So far as love is concerned, it is oftener more fatal than hate. See what a terrible thing took place right in our midst, caused by that unruly and selfish passion. A noble-hearted and gifted man murdered, a woman of great personal beauty and grace dying in a mad-house, and an unprincipled ruffian doing wrong with impunity, which is possibly the worst picture of them all. Besides, I cannot for the life of me tell where you get many of your bizarre tastes: an admiration for certain extremes. Your mother was quite the opposite. Why, when I courted her she was receiving the attentions and visits of one of the handsomest young men at the Gottingen University, a nobleman, and a man of great taste, and dress, and display; and I, you know, never made any pretensions in that direction, and yet she pre- ferred me with my poverty to that splendid fellow with his wealth." "Oh, Alvensleben," said Kettle, "was an idle, dis- sipated fellow; besides, he had no sense. Who could fall in love with him?" "Well, Kettle, he was a count, and when we criticise and condemn his vices, we must take- into consideration the opportunities and temptations in such a life as his. However, that has nothing to do with what I am speaking about now. What I meant to say is this: there are some natures that are constantly attracted by this pretty face and that fine figure, and the life is lost in a schwaermnerei page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 328 THE LOST MODE L. over trifles and degrading sentiments; but of that your mother had not a spark. Quiet, grave, and clear-headed, the will-o'-wisps of life had no attraction for her." "But," interposed Kettle, as she smoothed the cheek of Renata, "the 'selige mutter' was not so stupid as not to admire beauty; and she always looked willingly upon a handsome man." "My God, you are mistaken, Kettle! She cared no more for a handsome man than I do for a pair of dancing- slippers." "Ach, be reasonable! There was Hanska, the Hun- garian Rittmeister, whom she loved to see on horseback, he was so graceful and fine to see." "Hanska, the riding-master!" reiterated the worthy doctor, considerably puzzled; and in trying to recall up the memory of that worthy individual, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth with the intensity of his abstraction. "He used to live right opposite us, and although he never spoke one word to her, he always took off his hat when she sat at the window and he rode by on his beau- tiful horse. And don't you remember the day you left he sent her a beautiful bouquet? and the dead flowers are still in the book where she pressed and preserved them." The revelation of this trifle in his past life amazed the doctor, and he sat overwhelmed with confusion as the old housekeeper blundered along on her story. "No, no, my child shall never marry a doctor. The poor mother had many a sad hour. You were gone nearly all day, and then in the evening you had your pictures, your music, and your fine American company. You scarcely ever took her out, and it was only when everybody told you how handsome your wife was that A MODERN MEMNON. 329 you ever seemed to notice her pretty face; and then you went to the other extreme, and every man who called at your house, you trotted her out like you did your pictures. But it was no pleasure to her; the poor woman!" "Kettle, did I ever refuse her anything?" said the doctor, desperately. "Ach, a woman wants to be loved, to be petted, to be " "That is all nonsense! and I don't want to hear any more about it; you have outlived your sense as well as the others," said the doctor. "Besides, the Americans make much better husbands than the Germans do; everybody knows that," said the old housekeeper, throwing the last shot. "You know better, Kettle, you know better." Renata went to the doctor, and pushing back his hair off his hot forehead and kissing him, she said, quietly, "Don't let us talk any more about it at present, papa; in a short time Caspar will be here, and we must prepare the house for our brave soldier, and be merry, and thank God he is restored to us. An: some time, when I have thought it out,--not yet, however,-I will tell you all I feel about Parthee, and you shall advise me, and what you say I will do." "That is right, my child; and whatever is best shall be done. Now go about your work, both of you; for you've managed as usual to turn me topsy-turvy." Caspar's name had set the doctor thinking very seri- ously, for he had never told either Renata or Kettle that the poor boy had lost his left hand,-the wound had been so severe that the surgeon had found it necessary to ampu- tate it, just above the wrist. "I will tell them to-morrow, certainly," said the doctor; and, for fear that it would escape his memory, he wrote it down in his diary. "I page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 330 TIFE LOST AMODEL. have had trouble enough for one day; another scene in this twenty-four hours would send me crazy." As he did so, he became aware of a shadow which fell across his book, and looking up, he- saw in the doorway of his office a man standing, hat in hand, waiting to catch his attention. He was a huge, overgrown fellow, fat, dirty-faced, with shabby clothes, and vapors of to- bacco constantly emanated from his clothes and matted hair. He addressed the doctor in German, and first asked for food and then for work. The doctor took him into the kitchen, and the old housekeeper and Renata placed before him bread, butter, meat, and coffee, which he devoured with rapidity, and with an appetite which seemed difficult to appease. While the women-folks, supplied the victuals, the doctor cross-examined the fellow as to his mental condition. Between his mouthfuls he grunted out, in a rasping voice, but High German,- - "I am a poor, learned man-was educated for a Cath- olic priest at Rome, in tlW Propaganda-knew too much -came to Bonn-studied philosophy-wrote a book on the freedom of the people, and its connection with phi- losophy-government drove me out-came here, and was sozffleur in a theatre-war broke out-too big, too learned, for a soldier-and have ever since been a poor beggar- know six languages." And he declaimed a few lines in Greek, which the doctor nodded and smiled at, although he did not understand a word. The doctor thought of his Burgmiller correspondence, and of the many painters and engraving-collectors in Europe with whom he had corresponded, and to whom he owed long and elaborate answers. Then there was a catalogue, which had been floating for years in his mind, but which he had never yet found an opportunity AE7TER VICTORY- COAME TILE LAURELS. 33I of commencing. He waited until the learned beggar, who had a stomach like an elephant, had cleared the dishes; and, then he took him into his studio, and un- folded his plans, and tried the fellow, who answered to the name of Gadung, at a letter. When the epistle was finished, the doctor read it critically, and it delighted him. It was in the highlflown language and rhetorical politeness which the doctor considered wis the highest strata of human thought. And he, there and then, as Renata told Kettle with delight, engaged him as a sec- retary, to write every evening, until further notice. CHAPTER XII. AFTER VICTORY COME THE LAURELS. "WHERE are you going inuch a hurry?" asked the doctor, one morning, of his o'1 housekeeper, as he met her in the doorway. "The bells have been ringing and the cannon firing for the last half-hour, and I can't imagine what it can be; and I was going to ask Mrs. Bovine's girl, as her mistress knows everything." "So they are," said the doctor, as he paused and lis- tened to the clanging of the fire-bells and the occasional loud reverberations among the hills on the opposite side of the river. She soon came running back. "My God, it is the arrival of the 'Sam Coon,' with the -th Regiment on board! and that is our beloved Caspar's regiment!"And she ran up-stairs, to carry the news to Renata. page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 33 7iE LOST MODEL. In a short time they both returned, with bonnets and shawls, crying and laughing, alternately, with delight. "Renata, my child, lock my parlor-door, and bring me the key," said the doctor; and, when she had started on her errand, he added, sotto-voce, to the old house- keeper,- "Kettle, give her a hint, on the way, about Caspar losing his hand,-the sight may shock her, and then there will be a devil of a scene on that boat when she finds it out." "That's the result of your managing tricks," said the old housekeeper, reproachfully; "the truth is the truth, and should be told." The doctor had no time to answer, for the girl came running joyfully towards them; and when he saw her bright eyes and radiant face his conscience smote him, and he unconsciously dropped a little behind them, as they followed the crowd, that pushed and hurried to the river, where the boat lay. Every man, woman, and child in Boshville was joining4e throng that crowded to the river; and the noise of tramping feet and excited voices almost drowned the bells and the guns. Flags were sud- denly suspended across the principal streets, and the stars and stripes appeared at every window. Large bodies of policemen were marched to the levee, to keep the people back, and to preserve some kind of order while the men formed and marched. Little newsboys dived into the crowds, shouting the last edition, with the account of the line of march, etc., and Boshville was in a ferment from top to. bottom. The shops, stores, and warehouses were deserted, and the barkeepers of the saloons, in their shirt- sleeves, ran shouting with the rest. Drays, wagons, and vehicles were forced into the side-streets, as the people had taken full possession, not only of the sidewalks, but AFTER VICTORY COME THE LAURELS. 333 the roads through which the troops were to pass; and the drivers tied up their horses, and increased the grand pro- cession. As they neared the levee, the large space was covered with a dense mass of human beings, who shouted, hallooed, threw up their caps, and yelled with delight. The doctor gave a hopeless look at the surging masses which stood between them and the black smoke-stack of the steamboat, from which the regiment was descending, and said to his two companions,- "We never can get there,-we will be trampled to death; besides," he added, standing on tip-toe, "the men are coming off the boat. I can see their bayonets and the regimental colors. Here is a good place; let us stop here and see them pass." But he spoke in vain, for Renata had got hold of Ket- tle's arm, and the two were resolutely pushing their way tothke .boat. "When the brother returns from the war," said Renata, indignantly, "shall there be no one to kiss him and wel- come him back? The crowd'#*e like us,-they have got brothers and husbands among them, and they go; and so will we." It is doubtful, however, if even so good a resolution would have been carried out, for the nearer they got to the boat the denser and more impassable became the crowd. Fortunately, Colonel Denham, who was standing upon the hurricane-deck and looking anxiously down into the crowd, caught sight of the doctor, surging back- wards and forwards with the sea of hats and faces, and catching, at the same time, a glimpse of a bonnet in the doctor's neighborhood, he dispatched a couple of men to their rescue; and, a few moments afterwards, the men returned and passed along the gangway to the steamboat Renata, Kettle, and the doctor. Renata was carrying 29 page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] 334 THE LOST MODEL. her hat in her hand and her shawl on her arm, for the press of people had not only knocked them off, but they bore marks of having been trampled upon; but the blush- ing girl only hurried forward, looking eagerly for Caspar. "It is young Knappe's sister! He is in the ladies' cabin, with the other officers. Stand aside, boys, and let her pass! What a beautiful face she has! See here, boys!"' was the cry as she passed; and they pointed out where a group of officers were standing conversing with some ladies and gentlemen, at the end of the long cabin. As they passed along, they met Colonel Denham, with a young man at his side, at sight of whom Re- nata dropped her hat, and, throwing her arms around his neck, kissed and cried but, "Ach, Caspar! Caspar!" Both the women pushed him into the corner, and em- braced and wept over him alternately. Renata, with a woman's quickness of perception, had detected the muf- fled sleeve, with its ominous empty cuff, and she kissed, with a feeling of reverence and love, the poor, mutilated arm, which, as he saw, lade the doctor's eyes fill with tears. "You see," said the doctor, apologetically, to the colonel, as they stood a little in the rear, "I ought to have told her beforehand about it, but I declare to heaven I never had the time. I don't know how it is, but I never get time to do anything." "That .makes one feel at home, now, to hear our old friend, Dr. Knappe, cursing the want of time," said a rough voice, and the surgeon of the regiment slapped Dr. Knappe on the back, and laughed heartily at him. "Why, Wilson, I am right glad to see you back; and a thousand thanks, old fellow, for your kindness to my son Caspar. Tell me,-I notice you had to amputate,-how much of the forearm has he lost?" AFTER VICTORY COME THE LA4URELS. 335 "None; only to the wrist. Yes, the ball went right through the centre of his hand, shattering the bones. Gangrene set in, and we had to take it off. So you are still without any time, eh? We must give you a day that, like the Italian clocks, shall run twenty-four hours instead of twelve. How will that suit you?" "Well, how did he behave, doctor?" "Caspar? Oh, brave enough. He came to me in the afternoon, some two or three hours after the fight, and showed it to me. It appears that Captain Benson had tied it up hastily, and took him over the field to where Dr. Berry was dressing and tending those unable to be carried from the field, and he stayed there waiting his turn until he fainted from loss of blood; finally they brought him to me, and Berry and I concluded, after taking out some of the pieces of bone, that we would wait' and see how it went. But his system was down; he had been suffering from camp fever, and nature did not help us. He held up like a man; and, in fact, ithas been a matter of frequent observation that there is a good deal of tough material in the so-called household pets, and some of them can rough it with any of the farmer boys from the West." As the speaker finished, Caspar emerged from the cor- ner and warmly embraced his father, who kissed him in silence. The last two or three years had made a great change in Caspar; he was thin from the fatigues of the cam- paign, slightly taller, and his face was bronzed by the sun. But there-was a quiet, determined look in the face, a per- emptory tone in his voice, and a care-worn look about the eyes, which trouble and war had imprinted on the youthful, eager countenance, which touched and affected Renata and the old housekeeper almost as keenly as did the empty cuff. page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 336 THE LOST MODEL. "Ach, der armefunge /" said the old housekeeper, sor- rowfully. "Why did we let him go and be mutilated in that manner? They have not only taken my poor boy's arm away, but all his youth, freshness, and innocence." And she and Renata commenced to plan how they would feed and pet him so soon as they could get him home, and that no government in the world should ever get hold of him again. If Renata was pained at the change time had wrought in her twin brother, Caspar was no less astonished at the beauty of his sister, which, until that moment, had been as it were hidden from him. He had often heard his companions speak of his pretty sister, but familiarity had dulled his appreciation; but to-day, the bright beaming blue eyes, the high forehead, the red, pouting lips, and the complexion, with the whiteness of a summer cloud through which the sunlight is faintly permeating, made her a picture that he looked at with unfeigned admira- tion. "Father," said Caspar, "you and Kettle wait here while I show Renata the ten from the hurricane-deck. Come on, Schwesterchen." And he fairly blushed with pleasure as the girl hung upon his arm, and his brother officers looked after him enviously. "See, that is Adju- tant Dupont, who is forming the men in line; Company K, to which I was attached at first, is now leaving the boat. The police ought to keep those women back, else the men can never form in line." Renata laughed. "Let the women alone, good brother; don't you think that if you was there I should rush in and pull you out? of course I would. Oh, Caspar, and I have so much to tell you! What do you think? papa has got a secretary to write his letters, a great beer-drinking fellow, who can fill five pages with one sentence, and poor papa AFTER VICTORY COME THlE LAURELS. 337 is delighted with him. He says he is the only man in America who can write a good style." And the pair laughed heartily at the doctor's hobby. "That tall fellow in the shako is the drum-major; we picked him up in Virginia; he was the biggest fellow in the regiment, and a regular spoon. That little fellow on horseback is the major; I promised him I would introduce you; he is very vain, but perfectly harmless. And what has become of all our friends?" "Oh, they are all here as usual. Sallie Leslie ran away with a bad preacher; Mrs. Bovine is still chhsing man at large; poor Mrs. Denham never came back after her house was burned down, and " "Come, come, you young folks," interrupted the doctor, " there is Colonel Denham looking for his aid, and, besides, I prefer the news should be told en famille. Let Caspar go with his regiment to their headquarters, and in the evening the budgets shall be opened." "Colonel Denham," said Renata, "won't you please let Caspar go home with us now?" "Oh,. certainly, if he desires it. But the citizens have invited us to the Town Hall to hear a speech, and this evening to a banquet, and I would suggest that you and your papa should be present." "Don't talk nonsense, Renata," said the doctor; " the regiment is going to march through the city to the Town Hall, where the mayor will receive them, and of course Caspar must be with the rest." "Father is right," said Caspar; "now come along both of you to the bow of the 'boat, where you can sit and see us march off, and then, when the crowd is gone, you can hurry home, and the colonel and I will be there' almost as soon as you are." "Has Miss Linwood called at our house lately, Re- 29* page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] 338 THE LOST MODEL. nata " asked Caspar, as he helped her through the crowd. "The rich Miss Linwood? Yes, she often comes there; and do you know I have often wondered what she has to say to papa or to Kettle when she meets them." Caspar rubbed his nose, and said, laughingly, "I think likely she is fond- of pictures, and possibly talks about art matters when she comes." After a pause: "She never asked after me, did she?" Once she did. But as I thought she only asked out of idle curiosity, and that hateful Mrs. Bovine was with her, I did not give them any satisfaction." "I tell you what we will do, Kettle," said Renata; "when the regiment has left the landing we will hurry up the avenue, take one of the short streets, and go to the Town Hall; we can get there long before they do, and we will see them come in, for I love to see soldiers march. Let us tell papa to go with them, and that we will find our way home when the crowd is gone." The plan, as conceived, was carried out. The doctor very readily followed the regiment as it marched off, colors flying, band playing, and his son Caspar, mounted on a handsome horse, riding at the head, a little in the rear of the colonel. And the doctor plodded along with the crowd, excited with the music and cheering of the people, and occasionally gratifying his sight with a glance at the young officer who rode so gracefully in front, and which he could scarcely believe was his careless boy, Caspar. The coast was no sooner clear than Renata and her companion started for the Town Hall; they reached it without any difficulty, but the press of people was so great that they looked in vain for an opportunity to get through the crowd which lined the pavement and the AFTER VICTORY COME THE 'LAURELS. 339 great arched doorway, over which was a balcony reserved for invited guests. But Renata had a great amount of patience and perseverance, and it was finally rewarded by meeting old Mr. Leslie, mounted and dressed as one of the grand marshals of the procession, and he, in his old peremptory manner, soon had them seated in the balcony, where they laughed at the trouble they had had, and looked down with pleasure at the crowded street. "It is beautiful, after all, to be a man," said Renata; "it is so fine to have courage and go to war, and risk your life for others. Now see how much nobler Caspar and Colonel Denham are than you or I, Kettle. They have both been severely wounded, and have suffered pain, fatigue, hunger, and the risk of a sudden and horrible death, all for the country; and yet, I think so little about 'the country and all that sort of thing, that I should feel bad if I went without my breakfast for it. What do you say?" There was no hearing the response, for the head of the procession had just come in sight, and the shouts of the people, the noise of the bands of music, and the occa- sional thunder of the cannon, which was paying a military salute, created such an uproar that nothing else could be heard. First came the Boshville police clearing the road, then a band of music, with leading citizens forming the reception committee, then came the gallant regiment itself, followed and surrounded by thousands of people, who hung garlands on the officers, and danced and shouted with delight. There was a pause in the storm as the men halted, faced about in front of the building, and pre- sented arms and waved their colors at the mayor upon the balcony. Then the men ground their arms, the officers advanced a little in front to receive the address, and there were loud cries of Silence! silence! so that the page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] 340 THE LOST MODEL. men might hear the welcome. Every now and then some soldier would be pushed out of the ranks by the crowd behind him, a woman or man would embrace him and thrust a bunch of flowers at him, and he would struggle back to his position, laughing and blushing like a girl. This went on so frequently that the crowd, every time it was done, sent up a cheer which cut the mayor's speech into nonsense; and the officers resolutely shut their eyes to the breaches of discipline. The mayor, nothing daunted by the noise, shouted away. He was a common, uneducated fellow, and made his money in the shoe business, and people said generally that he was a much better judge of hides and leather than he was of soldiers or speeches. He had, however, taken off his hat, and shaken the hand of every male adult citizen in the town-for at least five years, and con- sequently was considered a fit man to intrust with the charge of the city. When a man is to be elected to an office by the votes of a hundred thousand men, that man will get the honor of the choice who is known by the majority of the hundred thousand, and whether he is a fool or a rogue is a matter of only secondary consider- ation. Renata, as she listened, heard the words, "fellow- citizens," "boys," "you give it to 'em, you did," "glad to see you back," "covered with glory," "home, war-blood-wounded-dead -hurrah!" Then the colonel made a response, which awoke such enthusiasm among the men that they put their caps on their guns, waved them in the air, and gave yell after yell. As he backed his horse,-bowing gracefully to the crowd, and blushing even at the ladies, who waved their handker- chiefs and threw flowers at him, Renata confessed to AFTER VICTORY COME THE LAURELS. 34 herself that he was the handsomest man on the ground, and she waved her handkerchief with the rest. "Who is that in the carriage thatt'aspar is talking to?" asked Renata, as she discovered that young man dismounted, and talking very earnestly with a young lady in a blue silk bonnet. "Oh, that is Miss Linwood," said Kettle, laughing, "and she is a charming lady." "I don't like her a bit," said Renata, and she frowned at the forward blue silk bonnet which pushed itself so close to Caspar. When the young man pointed out his sister upon the balcony, and the blue silk bonnet bowed repeatedly at her, Renata nodded back; but the pretty wrinkles upon her forehead did not relax, nor did the sorrowful glance leave her eyes. She had been planning so many nice things which this girl suddenly seemed, to spoil. Caspar having only one hand he would want somebody to wait upon him all the time, to cut his meat at the table, to cut the leaves of the book when he read, and, in fact, Renata was not sure that she ought ever to let him go out alone, and that she cer- tainly should now attend to him like a baby. Her heart had yearned so long for some one to pet, and here comes back the one that shared her cradle with her, and comes back with the child's affection which she so well remem- bered. And now, the vision of this intrusive Miss Lin- wood threatens to rob her of another of her heart's aspirations. And with a great feeling of relief she saw the men once more form in line and march away, still surrounded and followed by the thousands of ex- cited people, who threatened every moment to break into their ranks and carry away in joy every man of the regiment. As the pair walked slowly home, the old housekeeper page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] 342 THE LOST MODEL. wondered at the silence of the girl, until Renata said, with a very decided emphasis,- "She need not think because she is rich she can just make everything dance at the'chink of her money; there are a good many things in this world that gold cannot buy!" The old housekeeper laughed, and wanted to-know what there was in this world that had not its price. But Renata was too busy fighting the shadow in her own mind to pay attention to anything outside of her; and for the first time in her life she felt a spirit of rivalry and jealousy enter her heart. CHAPTER XIII. THE PRICE OF AN INDIAN. IT was on one of those beautiful days in the autumn or "fall" when, after the short grief of the "squaw'swinter," nature tried to delude herself and everybody else that it was summer after all, and that the frost, which in a night had strewed the ground with tender shoots, blos- soms, and twigs, and had painted the forest brown and red, was only a stray arrow of a lost arctic wind, and not the presage of a coming winter. It is true the birds had taken their flight in a southern line, the locust was silent in the increasing night, the grasshopper and caterpillar were not found on the sidewalk, and passengers no longer ran against the " tobacco worm," lowering himself in his web and cocoon from the trees which skirted the road. But the sun was nevertheless warm, the sky clear, the THE PRICE OF AN INDIAN. 343 wind still, and the night was as light as day with the big, burning moon. Caspar and Renata were seated upon the mound, watch- ing from its summit the silver line of the river on one side, and on the other the broad, pathless entrance to forest and prairie. They had been visiting some neigh- bors, and now paused on their return at their well-known play-ground as upon an unchanged and unchanging friend. Caspar's return had been a new joy, and the ad- vent of his manhood a new revelation to Renata,-she was in a state of constant wonderment at the bold, self- reliant character, which had taken the place of the way- ward, flickering impulsiveness with which she was familiar from her childhood. The little traits of selfishness had disappeared with the girlish voice, the fair, delicate skin, and the round, chubby face of a boy. "How changed he is!" people said to her, sympa- thizingly; "how ugly the hard camp-life has made him, and he used to be such a pretty boy! What a pity!" "You Philistines!"Renata thought to herself; "his bronzed skin, high cheek-bones, and metallic voice are a thousand times handsomer than the old baby face." And the moustache which the young man was always pulling and coaxing out, and yet came so slowly, and which, whenever it came in contact with Renata's nose, had a different perfume upon it, came in also for a share of the girl's admiration. The climax of her wonder was reached when, one evening, Caspar asserted his claim to the new estate in the presence of the doctor himself. It fell out in this wise. He had been describing the battle at which he received his wound. He told how at daybreak the fire of musketry awoke them, how they were hastily gathered together and marched to where a long line of white smoke page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] 344 THE LOST MODEL. hung over the ground, cut asunder every second by the flash of musket and rifle; how hour after hour they were marched, now upon a hillside, then through a valley, where they would pause, and lie upon the ground to avoid the huge iron shells which constantly rent the air, and then through morasses, and always within sight of that terrible line of smoke, from which came the yells of angry men and the never-ending ping! ping! of the bullets. How-intense was the excitement of the men, as they saw men fall from the ranks and crawl on their hands and knees to the shelter of a tree, and men would tumble from their saddles and lie as they fell upon the ground, while the riderless horse would tear across the field until the heavy thud of a cannon-ball would crush him also to the ground; how at last the dreadful suspense was relieved by an order to charge! With a cheer, they rushed for- ward, and in a twinkling they had reached the enemy, for, as the smoke was lifted, he saw a line of men in groups, with slouched hats and gray clothes; they were so near he saw their haggard; swarthy faces, and the long, black barrels of their guns, when he felt a blow upon his hand and sword-belt that stopped his horse and made him scramble down from the saddle. "I must confess," he added, "that when I saw the blood streaming down my fingers, and felt the pain creep- ing up my arm, and they led me back to where men were seated or lying upon the ground, groaning and sighing with pain, while the surgeons silently examined, cut, and dressed them, I felt all my courage gone, and I sat upon the ground and cried like a child. I couldn't see the doctor when he passed for the tears that constantly filled my eyes. It was so dreadful to be in a moment taken from the ranks of the careless, brave living, and thrown remorselessly among the mutilated and writhing, wounded and dying." THE PRICE OF AN INDIAN. 345 And, as he finished his story, he pulled from his side- pocket a cigar-case, and offering it to Renata to hold while he took out a cigar, he coolly tore a piece of paper and lit and puffed the cigar right in the presence of the doctor himself. Whether the doctor was so ab- sorbed- in his sympathy for the misfortune of his boy as not to notice the rings of tobacco-smoke which con- stantly rose from the young man's lips, or whether the good doctor thought that so much trouble and pain deserved some indulgence, Renata could not tell; at all events, the doctor said nothing, and Caspar's claim to manhood was thoroughly and firmly established. And as the girl's fears vanished, her admiration arose at the achievement. For it is one of the charming traits of the German female character,-one that is peculiar to them alone,-that they are born with a certain feeling of reverence in their hearts for the men as men, inde- pendent of any special claims they may make upon their admiration or'love. But the principal joy Renata felt at Caspar's return was in the sense of his companionship, and the feeling that he was her consolator. Her fingers were needed to tie the cravat and button the coat, to fold the letters which were constantly being written to a young lady whom Renata persistently avoided mention- ing, and to fulfill the thousand little offices which one hand could not successfully do alone.' There were old friends to visit, and so many events and things to tell, that even the blind aching feeling at her heart was softened, and there was real relief in telling the grief that troubled her. As they sat together this bright autumn day upon the hill, he learned from her lips the story of her love for Parthee. It did not differ much from what Kettle, and even the doctor, had told him, except in the invincible 30 page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 346 TlE LOST MODEL. faith that he would return, and that no other man on the earth was like him. '. Now come, Renata, so far as beauty is concerned, you must confess that Colonel Denham is a much hand- somer man than Parthee, or whatever his right name might be." "Well, it may be with man as with books," said the girl, imitating the old gentleman's habit of explaining everything by a simile: " the novel that I cry over only makes you laugh. No one knows what beauty really is; but each one feels what it is to him or her. Now, you think Miss Linwood pretty; I don't." "That, Schwesferchen, is what at school they used to call the argumenturn ad hominem. But now, suppose he comes back. What then? He cannot marry you. Neither of you could live upon a supernatural story or an impossible Indian yarn." "Caspar, do you know what Ferris says? That Parthee is a genius, and could make a great reputation as a sculp- tor 1" "Sculptor! There are no sculptors to-day, and the only possible use they can be here is to carve grave-stones and an occasional figure for a fire-engine, or something of that character. But now see, Renata. Denham is a man high in the community, a fine, brave, handsome fellow. He already has a fine income, and he has commenced the practice of the law, and, on account of his services in the field, there is no political office but what he can get for the asking -- " "And I am as'heartily glad of that, dear Caspar, as you are; I see him just as clearly as you do, and recognize his fine face and good heart. But my feeling for Parthee is another thing; it is here, here, not in my head." And she placed her hand earnestly upon her heart. "No, no, THE PRICE OF AN INDIAN. 347 Caspar, all those things you speak of are shadows, vain idle forms, that have no meaning for me. You see the hill beyond the river, with the slanting sunlight cutting a road through the deep shadows of the pines and cedars on its side, with the long red cloud lazily passing over it; there, where that large bird is wheeling round and round. You and I have been there a hundred times, hunting arrow-heads which the Indians lost, and in summer gathering the pawpaws. To-day, Caspar, I cannot go there; it aches me when I look at it. Parthee and I wan- dered once along the side, and while I plucked the wild flowers he told me the stories of his youth. To go there now without him would kill me." She stopped in the vain endeavor to portray in words the feeling of sacredness which surrounded everything associated in her memory with him. "I am sorry to hear you speak in such a determined manner, Renata, especially as you are virtually deciding against Colonel Denham before you really know him. However, I don't wish to pain you. I tell you what we will do. We will make a call upon Mr. Leslie, and see George, who papa says has returned, and we will find out about our lost model and sculptor. Besides, I would like to see the haughty, full-blooded Sallie since she has mar- ried that Tartuffe Maple. If ever there was a 'dead beat' in this world, that fellow Maple is one. Do you remember the time when he feigned sickness in our house?" "Don't speak of the knave," said Renata. And she hurried him down the hill to the city. When they reached Leslie's house, that old gentleman was in his garden picking the dead leaves off the beds, and cursing the gardener for not keeping the place in better order. The greetings over, he invited them into the house, and page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 348 THE LOST MODEL. as dinner was announced just at that moment, he insisted they should take part in the meal. As they both well knew Mr. Leslie to be well stocked with that democratic virtue which consists in domineering over everybody else, -they yielded with the best grace possible. In passing through the sitting-room, they came upon a young man, smoking a cigar, and seated in front of a table over which were strewed the hooks, lines, and other necessary imple- ments in a fishing excursion. "Are you acquainted with George, Captain Knappe? George, this is our friend, Dr. Knappe's, daughter Renata, -you must remember her,-and Captain Knappe, her brother. Do you notice the strong resemblance they bear to the old doctor?" A tall, gaunt youth, with deep-set eyes, a long, straight nose, and a mouth square and firmly set, arose and shook hands with them in silence. Renata's heart beat so loudly at hearing the name, that she scarcely dared to look in the face of this young man, whose words on this occasion would perhaps decide her life. He had been the companion of Parthee, and the one who had found him, and sent him here, and some of the radiance of her lover fell over him. He gave her a long, eager stare, and then, turning to Caspar, above whom he rose a head and shoulders, he inquired his regiment, and whether he was in the volunteers or the regulars. -"Come on," said Leslie, "I want my dinner; and what you have to say to each other, you can say it just as well at the table as here!" At the dining-room door they were met by Sallie, who looked fat, and somewhat flushed with her household duties. She kissed Renata quite cordially, and made a dozen rapid inquiries about her and her father; and then, without waiting for an answer, did the same to Caspar, tHE PRICE OF AN INDIA. 349 349 whom she installed at her right hand at the table. As this was the seat usually occupied by her husband, Leslie asked where he was. "Business, I presume," she answered, curtly. "It is the first time that I ever knew his prayers inter- fere with his meals," said her father, with a laugh. "Oh, well, father, try and be satisfied some time or another. When he is here, his solemn looks spoil your appetite, and when he is away, you are sarcastic about his profession." "Yes, and I don't want any clerks. I'll say what I please, and if it hurts your sensibilities, use cotton, and don't hear it!" thundered the old man. Then turning- to Renata: "Sit down by George,-his conversation won't spoil your dinner; will it, George?" The young man laughed, and said, "Never you mind. Miss Knappe and I are a little afraid of each other at present, but when we know one another better -" "I'll guarantee you won't talk at all. See what is in that side-dish. No pork in this succotash. Of course, when I praise a dish, that is its epitaph; you never see it on the table again. Give me some tomatoes. Why didn't you bring the colonel with you, Captain Knappe? I've known him from a child, and there is not a better man in Boshville. There, don't pile everything on my plate! I've got the power of speech, and I am not afraid to ask twice. Why don't you help Miss Renata, George? If you cannot entertain with wit, my boy, give her some- thing to eat." Renata thought that dinner would never end. The old man, not content with being helped to the best, and being helped first, and having three times as much as anybody else, monopolized the talk, and domineered as fast as he stuffed. Once or twice the son and father came 30* page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] 350 7THE LOST MODEL. near having a violent dispute, but the young man's indif- ference to the themne finally prevailed, and he gave in first. And it was with a feeling of the keenest relief that they saw Leslie rise up; and, as he stood by the door, picking his teeth, he said, in the usual imperative manner,- "I'm not going out this evening; so you can come up-stairs and entertain me; do you hear?"And he banged the door behind him. "No wonder," thought Renata to herself, "this young man prefers the woods and prairie, and the bears and buf- falo, to that selfish old man!" Caspar had turned the conversation of his hostess to the absent Maple; and, little by little, the bones of the skeleton which haunted her domestic circle were being displayed. It appeared that the elegant Maple was very much adored by the younger, and especially the female, portion of his flock. There was always some cross old deacon who was interfering with and troubling him. Some- times these old deacons would object that he was paying too much attention to the young married women of the congregation, and too little attention to the bills of the tradesmen; and sometimes they would find fault with him because he drank beer, and smoked, and went to the opera and to all the concerts; in short, these terrible deacons were just now troubling the life out of Maple. There was an occasional vein of reproach, and a series of sighs, which ran through the young woman's stoiy, which told Caspar pretty plainly that the deacons' side of the complaint was not entirely disbelieved by the young wife, and that the roving Maple might, some day, find in his thoughtless, easy wife the most terrible deacon of them all. Renata, with real tact, had turned the conversation of ! TIE PRICE OF AN, INDIAN. 35 her companion to the far West and its inhabitants. Be- neath the influence of the Catawha wine and the pretty face of his neighbor, the barrier of silence and mask of indifference which this young man constantly turned to- ward the good citizens of Boshville was slowly melting away; and, to the astonishment of his sister Sallie, she heard him open his budget of the past, and speak of border-men and border-life for the first time since his return. It was a hyena's life, told by a hyena. Forest, prairie, gulch, cation, valley, and mountain-peak were simply places where men looked for gold, played cards, fought with knives, and killed buffaloes for their food, and killed Indians for hatred. No wonder, thought Renata to herself, that furrows were on his forehead, and there were pleats on the side of his mouth and nostrils. The sun never rose or set for border-men; there were no constel- lations for them; the seasons never changed, .the flowers never bloomed, and the clouds never massed, flitted, or gathered like giant armies upon fields of blood for them. They knew less about these things than the mountain- wolf, and they cared. less for them than the prairie-dog. Adventure followed adventure from the young man's lips, and the kernel of it was always a meal or a murder. Of Parthee he told little or nothing, except the regret that he had not seen him before he left. Bear Cloud and his followers he indignantly denounced, and the ominous words which he closed with were never forgotten,: "I'll tell ye what. Bear Cloud and the Pawpaws are off their reservations. They've got plenty of ammunition, and they will make a raid upon every white settlement west of the Black Hills. There are Southern men among 'em, and they think that now, while we are fighting among ourselves, they can wipe us out. Bear Cloud will, perhaps, have from one to two thousand braves, and they'll make page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] 352 THE LOST MODEL. it lively at the opening of the ball. But we will dance the last set. They are raising a regiment of bushwhackers and border-fellows; and these, with a squadron of regular cavalry, will run 'ern, until not a hide or a hair will be left. We know what we are about in this matter. We are going to put a stop to this thing right here, and we will take the top off old Bear Cloud's head, and plant his fighting youngsters in a row like corn. You bet!" When Renata timnidly inquired if any definite news had been heard lately of the rebellious Bear Cloud,- "Oh, yes, father told me this morning there was a dispatch from Colonel Snow,-that he had tracked and shut up Bear Cloud and a big party in a blind cation, and that he would bag or kill every one of 'em. Oh, no, there is no chance for those fellows! When you offer ten dollars for the scalp of an Indian, fate itself could not save his hair. Parthee has a,knack of getting out of such scrapes, but he is as well known among the white settlers as Bear Cloud himself; he never dare show himself this side of the Rocky Mountains." He told a good many other things to Caspar and Re- nata, after they had left the table, about his old life; but the girl's interest had vanished; and that night, as they walked home together, Caspar had not courage to ap- proach the theme again, and he let her walk by his side in silence, lost in a painful reverie. THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 353 CHAPTER XIV. THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE AND A MARRIAGE IS LAID. "AND this is your new law-office, colonel?" said Cas- par, one morning, to Colonel Denham, as he surveyed a room in the Law Building, which had been newly car- peted, papered, and upon the glass door of which was painted the name of the occupant, with the addition of "Attorney-at-Law." "Yes, Caspar; the sword has been hung up over the fire-place, and the banner is folded away in the armory; and, instead of killing the human race, I intend to help them wrangle, or litigate, as we call it. I expect that some of my old comrades will be my clients, for, unless the war has changed your countrymen very much, a Ger- man does not turn around more than twice without con- sulting his lawyer." Caspar glanced at three large book-cases, which reached from the floor to the ceiling, and filled up two sides of the room, and which were laden and filled with sheepskin- bound books, with red and black labels; some were black from time and usage, and others were clean and white from the press. After reading a few of their titles, he said,- "Whew! colonel, the law must be more complicated and diffuse than medicine. I notice father has a volume upon every disease, but here seems to be dozens upon the same topic." "We are a good deal more numerous than the Jews page: 354-355[View Page 354-355] 354, THE LOST MODEL. were when Moses gave them their laws upon two ordi- nary-sized grave-stones, according to the pictorial repre- sentations of that event; and yet, Caspar, I am inclined to think that the principles of our laws could be written on the same surface, although the decisions of our judges and assemblies would cover the Alps. In any civilized country in the world an educated lawyer will be able to tell you the laws governing the conveyance of chattels, real and personal, no matter whether you ask one on the coast of the country or in the capital.. Here, such a thing is almost impossible. Each State has its own laws, its own. legislature, its own supreme court and inferior tribunals, where it enunciates decrees in utter disregard of the de- crees and judgments pronounced by the remaining three dozen sovereignties; and it is as much as an ordinary man can do to make himself familiar with the laws and decisions of his own State, and let the rest take care of themselves. To come down to the facts, I can draw you up a deed for the conveyance of land here,-and instruct you how it ought to be acknowledged; but if your land lies one mile away, that is to say, in another State, I am helpless in the matter. You must go to the spot and inquire of the family lawyer. Then, again, there is a dreadful conflict between the forty supreme courts upon the same point or question of controversy; the very propositions which one gives as the sufficient reason of its judgment is the cause of a con- tradictory result by another. And you literally consult your ease and take your choice. There is more homoge- neity in the federal judicial law; because the bench is more prudently selected and better organized. And there is another of the anomalies of our civilization. The judges in the federal courts are appointed by the President for life, or at least during good behavior; and they pass upon commercial, international, legal, and political ques- THE FOUNDA TION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 355 tions, and very rarely upon the lives and liberties of the citizens. On the contrary, the State judges, upon whose shoulders rest nine-tenths of the judicial business of the land,-and where the lives and liberties of the citizens are daily involved,-are elected for a few years by the people. The people, my dear Caspar, are neither wise nor learned, and their sole guidance in these matters is good old mother rumor; and that is the reason why in the mayor's court you will find old Jesse Blade, the coal-dealer, dis- pensing justice with a shovel, and in the common pleas old necessity sits, the man who knows no law, as the bar humorously insist." "Well, colonel, there ain't much bashfulness on the part of the politician to make rumor tolerably well ac- quainted with his virtues, is there?" "Oh, no; and- I am inclined to think- that when the time comes I shall be no Coriolanus. So that the bash- fulness of the lover will be compensated by the forwardness of the maiden." "Well, colonel, no more nights in the corn-field, under a drizzling rain, with a wet blanket for a comfort; no more days in rifle-pits, and creeping in trenches with the mud a foot deep; no more foraging expedi- tions, in which twenty mounted men bring back to camp one small chicken; no more night alarms, and hopeless wandering through marsh and wood and river;, and last but not least, no more 'fronts,' in which the deadly ping! ping! pierces even the cruel yells of victory."* The colonel made no answer, for his thoughts were busy upon the changes wrought in his own circumstances. The family mansion gone, a mother lost, and a brother out- lawed,-it was hard to tell who was the victor. "Yes," he added, after a few moments, "all that is page: 356-357[View Page 356-357] 356 THE LOST MODEL. over, my boy; and another kind of fight commences. What have you been doing these last few days?" "' Helping the doctor to make out some bills, and trying to understand the plans of his new house. He promises himself a great deal of assistance from you in this latter matter, as he says you have ideas; whereas Renata and I only quarrel with his plans, without suggesting anything better." After a few moments' silence, Caspar added, "And, colonel, father wants to see you; he and Renata had a long conversation about you, and-it is all right." "I hope, Caspar, that your father did not use his authority over her mind; for, with all my selfishness in the matter, her choice only is what I desire." "Oh, no, no! Nothing of that, colonel. It is what I always told you. She really likes you; but, then, she is so confounded obstinate that she won't give in. Why, look at it. There was nothing in that fellow Parthee for any girl with sense to admire. You know that. No, it is just obstinacy, and nothing else. Why, the little puss would not kiss my girl when I brought her down the other day, but sat bolt upright in a chair, with her hands folded in her lap like a school-mistress." "Your girl?" echoed the'colonel. "Why, yes; the pretty Miss Linwood!" (Twirling the end of his moustache.) "A mighty nice girl, too, I tell you. Oh, I have known her from childhood. She writes beautiful letters; I will show you some of them one of these days." "Why doesn't Renata like her?" Simply because she is rich. Father likes her very much. The more he praises her the more Schwesterchen runs her down. Obstinacy, and nothing else. You ought to have heard the lecture I got because I kissed her in the hall; she insisted I ought to wait until I was married. TIE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 357 Oh, she is a funny puss!"And the young man laughed heartily at the remembrance. "But come, colonel, let us go down, as I promised to bring you for dinner, and they will wait for us." At the house, the colonel was cordially welcomed by Renata, who, in her large housekeeper's apron and with glowing cheeks, looked prettier than ever. She was busy making paper lanterns after the Chinese fashion, and working, arranging, and combining long strips, of red, blue, and white paper into all kinds of wreaths, rosettes, and garlands, for the coming celebration of the great peace festival. The doctor's office was literally covered with flags, and various colored papers and linens in a state of transition; and in one corner sat the doctor, edged off from the rest of the confusion by a large table covered with drawings and writing-materials. The doctor was also glad to see them, for it appeared that he was busy studying his plans and plats for a new house; and, as usual with him, he never could come to any conclusion in the matter unless he had thoroughly discussed it with somebody else. Not that he wanted to follow their advice in the matter, but to gain confidence and to be hardened in his own opinion. And on this occasion he no sooner unfolded his wishes and intention to Renata than, as usual, a dispute had occurred, in which the doctor had been worsted, and he had retreated to the corner, and taken up the specifica- tions furnished him by the builder's lawyer, and had been reading them but loud so as to understand them better. "Now, papa," said Renata, cheerfully, "here is the colonel, who has houses of his own, and, of course, knows how they ought to be built and which are the best; now please tell him about the bids, and see if he won't say that I have right in the,matter." 3t page: 358-359[View Page 358-359] 358 THE LOST MODEL. "I am quite willing to act as arbitrator, but my knowl- edge of house-building is so limited, that my opinion in the affair will not amount to much," "Well, colonel, come round to this side of the table and I'll explain it to you, and you will then see what that girl calls a big piece of nonsense. Now, here are the plans and specifications." "Yes," interrupted Renata, "this is the way the house will look outside, and this the inside, provided you look down from the ceiling." "The house," continued the doctor, "will stand on the corner of three streets. Here runs Moral Street, here Patriot Avenue, and on this side the great Astronomical Road is being cut." "Which I tell papa is not an advantage. For in the morning the sun blazes on this side, in the afternoon on this one, and then the sunset is right on our back porch," said Renata, pointing with her scissors to the various points on the plans. "' Oh, Schz6esterchen, the sun will do us no harm; our house will always be dry and well aired,'-eh, papa?" The doctor nodded. "I bought this lot of old John Smith, and I will tell you how I came to buy it. You must remember when I first came to this town all this part of the city was woods and meadows; there was a creek on this side of the hill that I have often seen the boys fishing in. Well, that is at least twenty-five years ago. Now, at that time I noticed, and you must have heard of it--" "Oh, papa, don't give a history- of the city; because, by that time, we will all forget what we were talking about; besides, Colonel Denham certainly knows as much about it as we do." "There it is! You see one cannot speak calmly and THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 359 lucidly over anything. The time has absolutely gone by when you can tell the simplest thing in a plain and thorough manner." And he looked hopelessly at the colonel. "Well, now let me tell it, and if I make a mistake, you correct it. Here are the plans for the new house,- the specifics I don't understand. Papa asked two of the principal builders in Boshville what they would do the brick-work for in this new house, and he gave them the drawings of the architect. Papa receives two letters, which he calls the 'bids.' One says, Doctor Knappe, I will do the brick-work for fifteen hundred dollars; the other says, I will do it for two thousand dollars. Now comes the question. I says to papa, give the work to the lowest bidder; he says no, he will either lose money by it or he will do bad work. Then I say, dear papa, rather than worry about it, give it to the highest bidder. Then he says the other man will find it out, and he will get angry, and papa will gain his ill-will. Now, he pro- poses to go to the lowest bidder, show him the letter from the other one, and ask him to explain why he put it down so low, and that is what I call a piece of non- sense." And she went back to her work upon the Chinese lanterns. "I will explain, I will give you my reasons for it," said the doctor, now thoroughly warmed with his theme. "The highest bidder. is Jones, one of the wealthiest men in Boshville, and, as you know, one who has built more houses than any other man in the city. The lowest bid is from a German, named Hoffmeister, a poor but a good mechanic. Now, Hoffmeister not having had the actual experience of Jones, may have made a miscalculation, and if I should hold him to his contract, who knows but rather than lose money by it he might put in bad brick page: 360-361[View Page 360-361] 360 TIE LOST MODEL. or do the work poorly? Because Jones, being wealthy, can certainly afford to do it as cheap as anybody else; and-if he cannot do it for less than two thousand dollars, -and he tells me he cannot,-why, then nobody else can. Isn't that a plain and reasonable proposition?" "I don't see it so plain, papa," muttered Renata, from the other side of the room. "Sei still Lasz mich strechen, willst du?" thundered the doctor, his large blue eyes fairly rolling with the excitement. The colonel, when the opportunity came, proposed a compromise, and that was, that he should get from a third builder another proposition, and that would no doubt throw some light on the other two. This the doctor readily accepted, and Kettle soon after calling them to dinner, the little discussion was as utterly forgotten as though it had never occurred. Very much to Denham's delight, and which augured well for the result of the doctor's conversation with Re- nata, the latter was quite cordial with the young man. She sat beside him at table, and in her naive and earnest manner showed an interest and attention that he had never received before. It is true, when the conversation turned upon the war, and each in turn narrated some ad- venture which befell him, she was silent and distant, and the lightest of sighs would arise at intervals and protest against the themes; but these were but passing clouds, which only made the sunshine more precious. Knowing the doctor's impulsive and ingenuous nature, Denham was afraid that every moment, and without the slightest warn- ing, the doctor would announce the result of his inter- view with Renata, and Denham's fate, with the same frankness that he told everything which concerned him- self. And although his anxiety was so intense to know THE FOUrNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 361 the result that it took away his appetite, and prevented him from following with much attention the various dis- quisitions into which the doctor broke, he was decidedly averse to being either publicly executed or rewarded. Fortunately for Denham, the doctor's attention was not drawn in that direction; and, as he was in the habit of analyzing, discussing, weighing, and contemplating each subject so long as there was a thread in it to hold it by, there was not much fear of his stumbling across it in search for new subjects to talk about. Once he overheard Renata-it was just after Caspar had described Denham's new law-office-repeating to herself the well-known for- mula by which young girls find out the occupations of their future husbands, viz., doctor, lawyer, tailor, rich man, etc.; but as the others did not hear it, it es- caped public discussion. After dinner the doctor invited Denham to ride with him, to which the latter very readily assented, as he supposed it was simply for an opportunity to convey the desired information. The doctor, however, was a victim to the association of ideas, and was emphatically a man of one idea. And while the present theme occupied the memory and con- templation of the good man, nothing else could get beneath the focus of his attention. For years he had cherished the desire of having a large, handsome room in which to exhibit his engravings and to entertain an occa- sional quartette; and, as he could find no room which satisfied his demands of light and arrangement for sound, he had determined to build one, and thus the plan for a new house arose. The next beloved object of his life was to make a great catalogue, one that should be more com- prehensive than Nagler, and more accurate and exhaustive than Bartch; and how could -he achieve this great task unless he had some place where, with pictures and books 31* page: 362-363[View Page 362-363] 362 THE LOST MODEL. within reach, he could think quietly and undisturbed over his subject and mode of treatment? Hence a new house was indispensable, and in this new house should be one room without its equal, so far as comfort, light, and acoustics were concerned. Consequently Denham, on the tiptoe of expectation, was dreadfully disappointed that afternoon, for the good man never came within sailing distance of his love-affair, and motives of delicacy kept Denham silent. The first place the doctor drove to was the lot where the new house was to be built; and there, with the plan opened in his hand, he strode around and around it, explaining and soliloquizing over it. The doctor was very well known in that part of the city, and as he was delighted to talk to anybody and everybody, always provided they discussed his theme, he soon had a crowd around him. The tailor, who had a shop near the doctor's lot, came out in his shirt-sleeves and critically examined the doctor's plan, and urged the doctor to have a stone front in preference to a brick; the saloon-keeper on the opposite corner sug- gested that he should build a hall in the third story, and rent it out to balls and public meetings. One or two doctors driving by, stopped, and good-naturedly entered into a discussion as to whether sewers were better than cesspools, and the various merits of frame and brick houses. To every new-comer the doctor told his story, and asked for his opinion, and, as the bystanders had less patience than the doctor, if the opinion differed very much from those already delivered it met with a very lively reception. In spite of Denham's chagrin, he was still very much amused at the proceedings, as he saw the doctor and the crowd swaying backwards and 'forwards over the lot of ground, gesticulatihg and debating as though it were a matter of life and death. Denham THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 63 was wondering how on earth he could either get away himself or bring the doctor off, when, fortunately, the approaching noise of a brass-band of music not only called off the attention of the crowd, but made the horse so restive that Denham managed to hustle the doctor into the buggy and drive away from the attractive spot. The doctor was tolerably silent for the rest of the drive, either from exhaustion, or because he was busy contem- plating the information which he had just received, and which he claimed was-really very valuable; so that they came back as they went, so far as the question of Renata was concerned. And it was only by an accident that the doctor remembered it; which, by the by, was the usual way in which everything happened in his life. Critically examined, there never was any trace of design in anything he ever said or did; it always fell out, as it were, by acci- dent. On this occasion, he had asked the housekeeper, Kettle, where Caspar had gone, and was informed that he was with his fiancee Miss Linwood. "That reminds me," said-the doctor, blushing, "'that I have good news to tell you, Colonel Denham; it escaped my attention, or I would have told it to you before. Come in my room and sit down, and I'll explain it all." The result of this explanation, without following the doctor into the elaborate details of the narrative, was that Renata, upon the condition that he waited a year, and that Parthee did not return in that time, would be his bride. The doctor insisted that it was more her feeling of conscientiousness for her promise to Parthee than her love for him which caused the delay; although he was forced to admit that when she spoke of Parthee, there was a light in her eyes and an earnestness in her manner which astounded him. page: 364-365[View Page 364-365] 364 THE LOST MODEL. As Denham remained silent and embarrassed when the desired explanation was given, and the doctor not exactly comprehending how far he was authorized to speak of Renata's feeling for him, he concluded to tell her, and in her presence repeated the subject of the communication to Denham.' She stood by the side of Denham with folded hands, and listened with downcast eyes to her father as he slowly and deliberately unfolded his own wishes and her promise in the matter; once or twice, when Parthee's name was mentioned, her lips trembled with suppressed emotion and when her father took her hand and placed it in Denham's hand, she smiled, although the tears chased each other down her still glowing cheeks. Yes," she said, slowly, "Harry Denham, if you will wait a year I will be your wife." "But, dear Renata," interrupted the young man, kindly, "don't speak it with that desperate air. I not only want you, but your whole heart. If you still feel that this Parthee, whom I confess I cannot associate, even in my imagination, as a person fit to be your hus- band,--still, if you feel in your heart that he and he only is the one you love, why, then, my dear child, you must not engage yourself to me. Speak frankly; you and I are old friends,--almost boy and girl in. our long associa- tion,-what you say I will respect, and a mistake can be corrected better now than a year hence. Speak freely, shall we be lovers or only friends? Do you wish further time to think over it? You shall have ten years instead of one, if you desire it." "Of all the men I have ever seen, with the one excep- tion, you are the dearest; and I know you so well and esteem you so highly, that your offer flatters me more than I know how to express. But the truth is, I am in- THE FOUNDATION FOR A NEW HOUSE. 365 nocent in these matters. Parthee may be, as father says, only an adventurer; he may not love me,-perhaps I misunderstand him,-and when I try to think definitely of what he did say, I confess it arises in my memory like a dream, and the more I think the more it eludes me. But you will have patience with me,-I have much to learn,-and in one year-if I hear nothing more of him -I, too, will treat it as a dream only; and, who knows? perhaps I may, as Caspar says, laugh at it as at a shadow." And she wiped away the tears that still blinded her. "Shadows, indeed!" said the doctor, indignantly; "she twitted me the other day about fighting shadows; when, as poor Redwood used to say, they are the only real things in this world. According to Plato, at you know very well, Colonel Denham, ideas are the real things; it is only the outside accidents which are the veritable shadows." That evening the doctor had a quartette, and Renata sat by the side of Denham and listened to his plans for the future; and when the wine was brought and the doctor came over to them and whispered a toast to the "Verloburg," Renata drank a little, and smiled with the old innocent grace and beauty. page: 366-367[View Page 366-367] 366 THE LOST MODEL. CHAPTER XV. THE PROMSE KEPT AND BROKEN. A LONG, sultry summer had just passed over Boshville and its indefatigable inhabitants, and the city looked as dry and as crisp as the autumn leaves which fluttered and fell upon the sidewalks. The sun had been very busy the last four months, and had succeeded in scorching the tops of the shade-trees which lined the avenues of the city, and in parching the macadamized roads, so that a fly, when it alighted, almost raised a cloud of dust; and in browning the grass in the little gardens, and what was worse, so far as the business of the city was concerned, in almost drying up the mighty river, until it looked like an insolvent creek. This river was always a mauvais sujet in the minds of a great many citizens of Boshville. "In the spring and commencement of winter," they would complain, querulously, "the confounded river is a mile wide; she covers the levee, rushes into our cellars, and sometimes floods the streets in the lower part of the city, so that we are occupied in removing our goods out of her reach; and then; in the summer and fall, she falls so low that, if you had a good-sized sponge, you could sop her up until she was as dry as the inside of your hat, and no boat that requires water to float is shallow enough to move an inch upon her." We once overheard an old white-headed merchant make the following reply to a stranger, who stood upon the levee, admiring the curve and flow of the great river: THE PROMSE KEkPT AND BROKEN. 367 "Oh, yes, she is pretty to look at just now; but, con- found her! I have lost a heap of money by her, just a heap! * Why, sir, last spring, when trade was picking up a little, I had a cargo of salt come here; the river having a very good stage of water. I hired a gang of men to unload the boat, and they laid the sacks of salt over two hundred feet from the edge of the water. They had just got them all ashore, piled up about twenty feet high, when I found the river rising so rapidly that it was within a few feet of the pile. I went to work, hired another gang of men, and had them placed high and dry upon the top of the 'levee, and they hadn't been there more than an hour when up she comes, and before I could get another gang of men to remove them the- water had reached the lower tier. Well, as it was getting late that night, I packed them in yonder warehouse, on a lot of bar'ls, way up, you see, in the city, and in the morning, sir, when I came down-town, you couldn't see nary sack for water. All gone, sir." And he shook his head at the river in a threatening manner. And it was the pre- vailing belief in Boshville that the river was made by God to be a highway for commerce and a conduit to the reservoir, and any variation from these duties on the part of the river was treated as a sin and a disgrace. The effect of the 'long summer was pretty plain upon the houses and people of Boshville; the former were as dry and close as ovens, and the latter moved lan- guidly about, and hadn't so much energy as the black roaches, which, at nightfall, formed in lines and marched from house to house. The torrid, sultry summer seems to be a special favor to the insect world. After a very hot day, the locust will screech and spin in the tree-top, until it sounds like a knife-grinder reducing a pair of shears to scissors; and the grasshopper will tilt against page: 368-369[View Page 368-369] 368 THE LOST MODEL. your hat so violently that the fur flies. We really believe that if the sun had a fair chance at it, the sharded beetle could be turned into a buffalo in a season or two; such an awful power of life-development lies in that lumin- ary as respects the lower forms of organic life. But an atmospheric change was coming, for that evening the sun went down behind a solid hill of clouds, slowly rising from the west; upon the edge and through the sides of which lightning played and pierced, and nearer crept the rumbling thunder. Our friend, Doctor Knappe, stood upon his balcony, and noticed, with a discontented look, the signs of the ap- proaching storm, for there we re few things nowadays but what came malapropos to the worthy doctor. He was entitled, however, to some excuse for grumbling on this occasion, as it was the evening upon which his daughter Renata was to be married to Harry Denham. The year had passed, and from Parthee no tidings had come; nothing but the rumors of the annihilation of the tribe of Indians which it was known he had followed. And, with the exception of Renata, the traces of Parthee's visit to Boshville were daily becoming fainter in the memories of his friends, and their accounts of,him became more and more fantastic. When Ferris was asked what had become of his lost model, the old sculptor would say, dubiously, "Gone to his nest. Some young sprig of Spanish nobility, I take it, -here incog. until his creditors were satisfied, and the avaricious father or uncle dead, and the rich inheritance arrived." And he told how he once found a German count as a bar-tender in a coffee-house in San Francisco. Mrs. Bovine declared he was an adventurer; and hinted that there were several high families in Boshville who had suffered by his presence and gallantry. For it was THE PROMSE KEPT AND BROKEN. 369 one of the idiosyncrasies of this' virtuous lady, that she doubted the purity of every other man and woman in Boshville. Old Leslie still believed in him, and he would tell over and over again Parthee's miraculous appearance upon. the plains; and once, when the young Leslie burst out in a loud guffaw at the story, the old man threw a decanter at him, to teach him better manners. What young Leslie thought (if the vague procession of ideas through the young man's head was entitled to that term) of Par- thee he never told. When invited to the wedding, he excused himself upon the ground that he was getting ready for a big fall hunt, and his party would leave St. Louis shortly for that purpose, and he was very anxious to be there. The old doctor agreed with Ferris, that the young man was of a noble family, and was here to escape the con- sequences of some youthful escapade; and that he would ever return he had not the slightest idea. He had recog- nized, however, the terrible hold Parthee had upon his daughter's mind and heart; and for one year he had worked energetically and incessantly to rescue her from what he termed the slough of an unrequited passion. He held a council of deliberation the day after her engage- ment with Denham; the council consisted of the old housekeeper, Caspar, and himself. He explained that it was simply a question of mental and moral hygiene, and that the remedy was simple and only required unremitting attention. "The other night," said the doctor, describing his diagnosis and the intended treatment,-" the other night at the theatre, when that silly piece of declamation the "ady of Lyons' was being performed, why, she sobbed so loud that I had to take her out of the place; and even 32 page: 370-371[View Page 370-371] 370 THE' LOST MODEL. an organ under her window grinding out 'Where are now the hopes I cherished?' will make her dash up-stairs to her room, where she cries like a child with the ear-ache. Now, this must be broken up, and you must all assist. This kind of feeling is a disease of the mind, and we must drive it out by force of counter-irritants. There must be no more mopings alone in her room, no wander- ings on that hill yonder, and no more sentimental poetry, no, not even if Tennyson wrote it. I have invited Miss Linwood to come and spend a month or so, and she will share with Renata her room, and as she is a young lady of a good deal of plain practical sense, she will be a great help to us. Then again, she must go out oftener, and I intend to take her to see the 'Lady of Lyons' until she laughs at the famous description of Lake Como, and the prince with the paper collar and painted lips and eyebrows!" There is no necessity of repeating here all the doctor's plans in regard to Renata; it will suffice to say that they were the result of much thought and earnest discussion with a few enlightened friends, and -that they were entered upon with enthusiasm, and, so far as an outsider could judge from Renata's appearance, they met with entire success. This very morning, when she returned from a visit to good old Pastor Kreuzer, who had been preparing her for the duties of her new position, the old stnile of radiance had returned to her face, and there was the same innocent glance of interest in everything human which belonged to her blue eyes by nature. Of course all the credit of the change must not be given to the doctor, when the lover was fairly entitled to the largest share. There was a wonderful charm in Denham's quiet, earnest manner, and it was as impossible to come in daily contact with his kind and genial nature, and his THE PROMSE KEPT AND BROKEN. 371 original and intelligent thoughts, without loving him, as it would be to see great beauty and not admire and long for it. It was something new and absorbing to Renata to assist and take part in that constant daily culture which it is the peculiar privilege of a few to desire and enjoy, and to find herself every day crowded toward a horizon which widened with new and irresistible objects of interest, until yesterday's narrow delight was like Boshville beside the Athens of the days of Pericles. But we must return to our friend the doctor, whom we introduced at the commencement of this chapter as sur- veying with dissatisfied looks the lowering clouds and presages of a coming thunder-storm. As he passed into his studio, he was joined by Mrs. Bovine, Caspar, and a young lady. "Well, doctor," said the former, "your daughter is fixed up, and is prettier now than she ever was in her life before, or ever will be again. We had quite a time with her, to make her wear a bit of colored ribbon; we finally compromised on a flower. She is all in white, except her cheeks, which are all aglow,-with the fever, I presume, peculiar to young ladies when they get married. She begged us to leave her now, as she has something to say to the ' Libe Gott,' and so we left her." "Poor child!" said the young lady, " she has worried herself so much the whole day, about leaving you and Caspar; and then when she returns you will be in your new house, and she feels as bad at leaving the house as her friends, so we left her to herself for an hour." "Thank you, Miss Linwood. You have been of great assistance to us; and without you and Mrs. Bovine I don't know that we could have got through this day." page: 372-373[View Page 372-373] 372 THE LOST MODEL. "For my part, I must confess the day of marriage had no terrors for me," said Mrs. Bovine, with a scornful shake of the head. "Whatever it had for the doctor," said Caspar, laugh- ingly. "I don't see why," said Mrs. Bovine, eyeing with a critical look Miss Linwood as she pinned a rose upon the lapel of Caspar's coat, "another young couple don't get married at the same time, and thus get all the fuss over at once. While the young couple laughed and whispered together, the doctor gave the answer. "Now that is precisely what troubles the people of this age. They want everything at once. They want the school-days over; then they want the courtship cut short, and the marriage hurried on; then the mother's duties must be left out, and life turned into a ball-room galop, in which-- " "If the man is handsome, doctor, and the music good, one can dance like fury all night and be willing to die in the morning," interrupted the loquacious lady. "But it makes no difference, doctor, about your grumbling; this age is better than the one you admire. It is the custom there-in Germany, I mean-for a woman to be courted ten years, and to have volumes of sentiment written to her by her spoon of a lover, who com- mences in January by kissing her finger-tips, her hair, and her toes, and before July beats her with a broom- stick. Here comes old Kettle, who will tell you that is the time-honored custom to this day in the beloved fatherland." The old housekeeper, who wore her best black silk dress, with a red' bow, and her hair plaited smooth and shiny as a mirror, announced that a number of guests THE PROMSE KEPT AND BROKEN. 373 had assembled in the parlor, and that there was no one to receive them. * "Well, Caspar, you and Miss Linwood go in, and after I have seen that everything is arranged I will come, too," said the doctor. "My memory fails me so much now, that I have to make a memorandum of everything. Let me see," reading from a slip of paper, "musicians, pickles, ice-cream, carriages, and wine." "Speaking of carriages, doctor, don't forget the order now in which you go to the church. In the first one, you,.Renata, Caspar, and Linwood. The next will con- tain, of course, the bridegroom, his friend, General Battledore, Quincy, and myself. As for the balance, first come, first served. Now I must go and see if Quincy is ready, and if he is, bring him over. Don't com- mence to read Burgmiller when I am gone, but go into the parlor and entertain the guests. I hear old Leslie swearing at something." And she pushed him through one door and disappeared herself through another. The parlor was ornamented with branches of ever- greens and garlands of flowers;, while old-fashioned candlesticks and candelabras were filled with candles and lighted; and some of the doctor's best pictures were hung up especially for this occasion. "It would not be you if you didn't select a night for your daughter's wedding in which the chances are that we will all, before reaching the church, have to swim for our lives!" said Leslie to the doctor as he entered. "Oh, don't be afraid," said Ferris, the sculptor, as he pulled on a tight-fitting glove; "these summer and, fall storms are violent, but they never last. We have three-quarters of an hour yet, and the chances are that it will all be over before that. Do you hear it howling, and knocking the signs and trees down?" 32* page: 374-375[View Page 374-375] 374 THE LOST MODEL. The continued arrival of the guests prevented the doctor from doing much more than bow and give the ordinary salutations. Many of the ladies were anxious to see Renata,'and he had excused her on account of her fatigue; and it was only when the bridegroom came that he hurried into the hall and called her name up the stairs. "Did she answer you?" asked Caspar. "Yes, of course she did; down directly, or something of that sort. The wind is making such a fearful noise outside, and what with the pattering of the rain on the tin roof, you can scarcely hear anything else." In the room, with its balcony facing the west, sat the bride, robed in white, her auburn hair clustering upon a forehead as white and firm as marble; with her deep- tinted, transparent complexion, the small, pouting upper lip, and the dark-blue eyes, she presented a picture which Raphael might have equaled but not surpassed. She sat in front of a little desk, given to her when quite a child by Redwood, and in which she kept her little trinkets and remembrances. On this occasion she seemed to be searching for something; for she passed over the pictures, jewelry, leaves, and other knickknacks with indifference, still looking for some relic of the past. At last she found it. It was only a pressed flower, which crumbled between her fingers as she touched it. And yet in this dry skeleton were hid a thousand suggestions. She saw a hill on a bright day in June, where she wan- dered like a child plucking flowers, and binding them into wreaths; and beside her stood one watching, with that eager, upturned face, the swooping lines of an eagle, as it slowly fell upon the distant forest. As she turned the flattened, frail stem beneath her fingers and gazed vacantly upon the veins and faded colors of the leaves, a THE PROMSE KEPT AND BROKEN. 375 crowd of images passed through her mind which seemed to wring her very soul in anguish. She lived again the happy moments with Parthee: they roamed, played, laughed, and read together; she saw him as model, as sculptor, and as hunter; she heard over again his stories of other races and other times; she saw the bright, intel- ligent eyes, and felt the warm breath of his caresses yet upon her cheek, when, as if unable to stand the dreadful returning tide of memory, she buried her face upon the bed and prayed for help, for strength, for the power to forget. There was no respite from the torture of her blind, passionate heart even in prayer, and like a wrestler who gathers up his strength for the last desperate throw, she arose hurriedly, caught up in her hand the brittle rem- nants of yesterday's flowers, and, stepping to the window, prepared to cast them to the wind, when the balcony creaked as though beneath the tread of a man, and the window was thrown violently open, and from out the darkness and the lurid lightning she saw Parthee step. *- He wore the same dress that he did when he left her upon the mound, he carried his rifle slung in the same way, and through the natural repose of his face struggled the well-known smile of other days. She did not cry or scream, but, throwing her arms around his neck and hiding her face upon his shoulder, she said, below her breath, "* Lieber Gott, thou wast right, after all!" After a few moments, she continued: "Parthee, at last you have come back!' Oh, if you knew what this poor girl has suffered for you! How she has yearned and prayed for you! Had you known it, and had you been what you once said you were, you would have-come to me like night comes. I saw the days pass, and to each one I said, When the morrow comes my lover will come, too; and I have lived weeks, months, years, without you. I page: 376-377[View Page 376-377] v-376 THE LOST MODEL. W so glad, and my eyes are so full, that I cannot see Tor face; and my heart heats so strong that I am giddy. Db ot speak to me yet, I have so much to tell you; and the dreadful thunder roars so loud. And you are wet, too. Why did you come upon the balcony? How strange that you should come that way! Sit down, I have so much to tell you. Do not look at me yet, until I tell you all. Come nearer, and listen. They told me that you were dead, lost; worse yet, that you cared nothing for me; they told me I must forget you; they told it to me in the morning; at noon, and at night. They said you were an adventurer; and they spoke of you with scorn. There was not one voice for you: father, Caspar, and even old Kettle was against you; only this blind, skeptical heart said constantly, He will come, he must come, he shall come back to thee! Lean down your head, Parthee, I have a dreadful secret to tell'you. Listen; nearer, nearer, you cold boy you! To-night I was to be married! Hush! father calls me. Oh, God! We must not stay up here. You must have courage this time, Par- thee. Poor Denham! The dreadful thunder roars so loud I cannot hear what you say. Let me think a moment. Truth is truth, after all. Put your arm around me, and we will go down together, where the guests are waiting, where the bridegroom stands, and poor Caspar is ,smiling upon his friend, and I will repeat the words of the Bible, and say, ' He that was lost is found!' It is a dreadful night, and yet better this than a hateful life. It is strange how hot my head seems. Come, Parthee, dear Parthee; no more doubt, no more aching hearts, and nights without sleep; you are here, and here you shall remain. You will be astonished at my courage. Father is calling again. Now bend your head towards me, one kiss, and then-" TIlE PROMSE KEPT AND BROKEN. 3" That instant the little chamber was filled with a blinding and dazzling light, as though a bombshell had burst upon the floor; and the wind and rain, rushing through the balcony-window, blew down the pictures and shook the room until it seemed to rock. In the parlor, among the assembled guests, the bricks and plaster fell upon the floor as successive flashes of lightning passed from the roof to the cellar; and between the leaping claps of thun- der the terrified visitors heard the loud, ringing shriek of a woman. While the women hurried together in one corner of the parlor, the men, headed by Caspar, Denham, and the doctor, groped their way up the stairs, the former crying, "Renata! Renata! are you hurt?"No answer came from within, and after vainly trying to open the door, they burst it open with a great crash and went in. Denham and Caspar stooped to lift something from the floor; but the doctor, gazing angrily at the open balcony- window, cried, "Why, Renata, my child, come in this minute! Come in! And, Parthee- " "Oh, father, father, look here!" cried Caspar. And he pulled the doctor from the window to the bed, where they had laid Renata. She wore her white bridal dress, and her hair still bore the flowers in its plaited folds; her eyes were closed, and on her temple was a red and black stain like a burn, and the edge of her laced veil was smouldering with fire. They extinguished the fire, they chafed her hands and forehead, but the lingering warmth fled beneath their fingers; and they looked on in wordless horror upon the beautiful face which still bore a rippling smile upon the lips, that death had surprised and frozen there forever. The guests were excluded from the room, and the physicians gathered around the bed, watched and worked to lure back the life. to the beautiful temple, and one by page: 378-379[View Page 378-379] 378 THE LOST MODEL. Ane left it in silence, and with the sense of the hopeless- ness of the task told in shrugs and sighs! With pale faces and noiseless steps the friends of the family moved around, in the vain endeavor to find an elixir that could bring back the healthful glow to cheeks which had sud- denly become rigid marble masks. The doctor still sat in the centre of the room, gazing in a vacant manner from the bed, with its pale burden, to the balcony-window; and once he got up and stepped out upon the veranda. The storm had ceased, and the noise of the rushing waters was the only sound upon the streets. From the denser masses of clouds in the east came the faint rumble of the flying thunder, and at intervals stray arrows of lightning descended upon the neighboring hills. The doctor looked all around, searching for some corroborative traces of the vision that still perplexed his mind; but he saw nothing but the glittering rain-drops, and here and there pieces of discolored leaves and rem- nants of what was once a flower. And he stepped back with a sigh to the group, who sobbed, cried, prayed, and struggled with the dreadful calknity which had made a victim of the beautiful bride. Outside, a crowd had gathered upon the sidewalk in front of the house, and they told in whispers what was published in the newspapers the next morning: how in the midst of a ravaging storm a flash of lightning had struck the house of Doctor Conrad Knappe, and had instantly killed his only daughter, who at that very moment stood arrayed in her bridal dress ready for the marriage altar. * * *- * * * * * * Three days later, as the doctor was explaining to Leslie, -who was on a visit of condolence,-for the twentieth time, the various incidents of the fatal night, he added, rotto-voce,-- FIVE YEARS AFTER. 379 "And do you know, Leslie, what I saw when I went into the room? Now, I am not a believer in anything supernatural, nor in spirits, or anything of that kind. And yet, Leslie, as sure as you are standing there with your hat in your hand, I saw, right in the doorway of the open balcony, my poor girl side by side with Parthee! Don't shake your head and look at me in that incredulous man- ner, for I am telling you the plain, simple truth. Mind you, I don't say he was there. I only say that I saw him, and-yes, and as proof of it, Caspar says I called him three times! You are sa man of practical sense: how do you- explain it?" "Me! If I knew I would give a pretty penny myself, doctor, to have some things explained to me I No, no, I am a good deal more in the dark than you are," And he went away shaking his head angrily at the enigma. CHAPTER XVI. FIVE YEARS AFTER. DEAR HARRY,-I came near, the other day, giving friendship a dreadful shock, that of forgetting one of your commissions! After all the pains you had taken to instill and distill into 'this shallow pate of mine that a work of art is the only immortality worth living for, and that a collector with a rare and beautiful engraving is a greater personage than either of those fencing-masters, the Pope or Bismarck, I came withih five minutes of passing Bosh- ville without stopping there to carry out those elaborate directions which covered four pages of a letter then in page: 380-381[View Page 380-381] my pocket. Fortunately for both of us, the trains don't run through the city, and while inquiring of a hackman how many hundred dollars he would exact for taking me from one depot to the other, my conscience-smote me, and I compromised by paying him five dollars to take me to the nearest hotel. And I determined that your instruc- tions and written requests should be as faithfully carried out as though they had been copied from the Federal Con- stitution. And that this is no small thing I have under- 'taken, you, who know my aversion to collectors in general, will surely appreciate. You see, my dear fellow, I don't deny the general utility of these natural treasurers, but they are a dreadful race to come in contact with society. They always pull or allure you into talking about their specialty, and then they maltreat you for your ignorance of it. There was old Loghead, who for forty years had been making a catalogue of beetles, and when I, in a rash, unguarded moment, said a cricket was a beetle, he treated me with contempt forever after, and forbade his pretty daughter from talking to such a fool as he insisted I was. There is your botanical and genealogical collector, who goes through life with a hammer and a tin box, and who with a placid, wandering gait traverses the earth tapping and plucking specimens; your postal-stamp imbecility, who tears one corner of the envelope and pastes it in a book, while the letter lies unread upon the floor; your coin- collector, who holds beneath your nose a polished metal tribute to Caesar or Napoleon, and, when you reach forth your hand to touch, he calls your attention to a large placard with the words, "Eyes on and hands off,' and he tauntingly inquires if you read; your autograph- collector, who knows the human race only as writers of letters, and who is indignant that great men did not all FIVE YEARS AFTER. 38x write upon quarto paper and sign their names in full; and lastly comes your engraving-collector, but of this favorite weakness of yours I will say nothing malicious. And now, as the lawyer says, for the facts. I asked the supercilious embodiment of Philistinism, the hotel clerk (can you tell me why all hotel clerks are Philistines of the deepest dye?), if he could give me the address of Dr. Conrad Knappe, the famous art-collector in the city. He repeated the name twice in a depreciating tone, and said he should think the name was Dutch, shook his head, then ran.to the window to look at a lady stepping out of a carriage. You see the bronze wall of this Philistine was impervious to art. I looked at the directory, copied down the street and number, and, with my letter in ,my hand, started to find your friend. A very pretty little woman with dark eyes opened the door of the house to me, upon which I had discovered the doctor's sign. "Yes, the doctor was in, but was, unfortu- nately, that moment engaged in a consultation in his office; but if I would walk into the parlor, he would be disengaged in a short time, and then he would be glad to see me." I was told this after I had announced that I was pro- vided with a letter from you, and that my visit was artistic. If I remember correctly, you once told me that he had no idea of time; and I am at the present moment willing to believe that the doctor was made without that "sub- jective condition of the mind, that inner window," which Kant defines time to be. For I critically inspected every painting on the walls,-and there were certainly over fifty of them, little and large,-and had read half a volume of Kugler, before the door opened and the doctor entered. That he remembered you and was pleased with me- or rather that we were pleased with each other-you can deduce from one single fact, that it was eleven o'clock in 33 page: 382-383[View Page 382-383] 382 THE LOST MODEL. the morning when I passed over his threshold, and it was nearly twelve at night when I left it; and then only upon a promise that I was to return the next morning at nine. His society is delightful, but, ye gods! what a victim he is to the association of ideas! He started at five o'clock in the evening to read me a letter from a brother col- lector living in Berlin,-it was not more than four pages quarto,-and yet when I left it was only half read. A word on the first page alluded to an old friend of his; he stopped until he found this friend's likeness, and told how long he knew him; this suggested an episode irt his daughter's life,-he told that accurately and deliberately; this brought out the building of his new house, and he got out the plans and the bills; the latter made him re- member certain overcharges, and he gave a history and an explanation of each one, until my head fairly swims now with the wonderful concatenation of events which hung in his memory upon one word. Once only did he falter in his charming but discon- nected narrative, and that was when his eyes rested for a moment upon the portrait of his daughter, which hung opposite to him, and then he made a long pause. The picture had so taken my fancy, that I had been staring at it in admiration the whole evening. It was a counterpart of that fair, pouting, full-faced beauty which is known as Rubens's daughter, and which is a solid and simple, but nevertheless exquisite, bud of female loveliness. This was the only hitch in the doctor's volubility, and then a sigh got him over the difficulty, whatever it was. But enough for once, I am tired; to-morrow we have laid out the day together, in which his collection and all the other lions of-Boshville are to be inspected; and then, old fellow, I will satisfy your curiosity much better than I can at present. FIVE YEARS AFTER. 383 Saturday. Well, I have seen them all: Denham, Caspar, Leslie, Ferris, the archbishop, the hill with the pines, the statue, and the hundred "Guilder" sheet. Where shall I commence? Shall I imitate, our mutual friend, and put the whole of them in one sentence, and let you unravel it for yourself? I think I stated in my former letter that our friend had no sense of time; I am ready to prove that he is equally deficient in the idea of space. But that is a matter for future discussion; at present I will simply give in silhouettes what I saw and heard. And if I should chance to be either prolix or inconsequential, you can fancy it is the doctor himself who speaks and writes. Our first visit was to the cathedral, to see the group by Ferris, which occupies a portion of the communion-space. The details, that is to say, the heads of both figures, are very beautiful, and of a decidedly noble type; I recog- nized the face of the girl as that of the portrait in the old doctor's studio. The head of the angel is also remarkable in its originality, and there was an expression upon the face which puzzles me now as I think of it; as regards the effect of the whole, it struck me as being weak. Do you know I am not an admirer of what is called Christian art?-that is to say, a statue, picture, poem, or play which is made to point a moral or to inculcate a lesson. Ethics is one thing, beauty is another. When Mrs. Stowe undertook to stop the circulation of Byron's poems because the latter was not a celibate, she was unwittingly imitating the farmer in Schiller's poem, who, when Pegasus scorned to draw the plow, treated it as a sin to be punished by starvation and the whip. If Dame Nature had a Jesuit or a Blue-light Presbyterian for a tutor and guide, what a race of turnips we would be! page: 384-385[View Page 384-385] So that, in a word, while I admired the individual figures, the grouping was not appreciated. In regard to its owner, the venerable ecclesiastic, what an instance he is of the number of years a man may journey through life who practices abstinence, continence, temperance, and the other negations! He told me he was eighty, and he looks good for another eighty years. Denham is a judge of the Common Pleas. The people remembered his services in the war, and had. just elected him to that office, although he- was almost the youngest lawyer at the bar. They have an idea here, however, that the best place for a young man to learn the law is onthe bench. I had a momentary glimpse of him. He is the oldest-looking young man I ever saw. His hair is already turning gray; and upon his composed features there was a constant ex- pression of pain. I saw him turn his head wearily away as the witness, edged on by the attorney, told the rough- and-tumble sort of life led by the applicant for a divorce; and his eyes lingered gratefully upon the scraps of green and rays of sunlight outside the court-house windows. "Poor Denham!" muttered the doctor, as we left the court-room, and another painful hitch occurred in the good doctor's conversation. Leslie, who, by the by,' is a very good specimen of the Western man, we found taking his ease with a cigar. He said little except when I told him I was from Boston, and then he said he hated Boston, the people there always put on so many airs. I am inclined to think that cold lobster-salad was just then troubling the old gentleman's digestive powers, and was using up his amiability. Maple, Theophilus Maple, the black-eyed preacher, was being tried by a council of church dignitaries for some violation of discipline and good behavior. What the FIVE YEARS AFTER. 385 charge was I did not learn. There was a woman in the case. What his judges will say I can't tell; but the women of his congregation were gathered about him in great force, and have already made up their minds to his innocence. Dear creatures! the stronger the evidence against him, the closer they shut their pretty eyes and mouths; and I tln inclined to think they are indignant at being supposed capable of preferring the testimony of witnesses to their own solemn and earnest feelings. That thing does not exist in the female character. So that whatever the verdict may be, Maple is safe, so far as the majority of his congregation is concerned. The last evening I spent with the doctor, his son Cas- par, and his pretty wife, who was formerly a Miss Lin- wood. And what a charming evening it was! Seated at his table with a large portfolio before him, he would take out a mutilated remnant of Mantegna, or an etching of Rembrandt, and, handling them with the greatest tenderness and care, he would look at them with the ad- miring fondness of an old miser contemplating a thousand- dollar bond or a bank-note. Now and then a fly would swoop over the precious sheet, and attempt to butt his head through it, or crawl over it, and the doctor would wave his handkerchief at it, zealous, and yet at the same time very careful not to injure the fly or the etching. Near him sat the pretty daughter-in-law, and read the in- scription upon the bottom, the references to Bartch, which some previous collector had written in pencil on the back, and also help the doctor in explaining the meaning of the subject. Caspar was writing and copying some sheets for the doctor's new catalogue, which was shortly to appear, and occasionally giving the pedigree of the work under ex- amination. 34 page: 386-387[View Page 386-387] 386 THE LOST MODEL. I found your friend very communicative about every event in his life except one, and that was the sudden death of his beautiful and only daughter. And whenever a cir- cumstance drew him in the neighborhood of that painfuil catastrophe, he became silent, and stared with clouded features upon the vacant air. I see him with the shades of night falling around him, knowing nothing and caring less for the currency question; ignorant of the difference between the Democratic and the Republican party; having a very confused notion of what passes upon 'change or in the stock-market; never reading the newspapers, because he has no time; incapable of telling you how many States'there are in the Union, and yet as ready and accurate as an encyclopaedia upon the works of Raphael and Michael Angelo; with a contempt for fashion, and a disdain for money, and yet as ubiquitous as a politician, and as obsequious as an office-hunter, to everything pertaining to art. And I am inclined to think that he will find heaven a dull place, unless it contains a picture-gallery, or at least a Dresden collection of prints. For the rest, your Boshvillians share the common lot: they eat, drink, make money, marry, and die. Yours as ever, THE END.
