Reality, or, The millionaire's daughter
page: 0 (Cover) [View Page 0 (Cover) ] REALITY. page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] REALITY; OR, THE MLLIONAIRE'S DAUGHTER. A BOOK FOR YOUNG MEN AND YOUNG WOMEN. BY MRS. L.--C. TUTHI,L. AUTHOR OF aQ1iER BONNETS," "TIP TOP," "BEAUTIFUL BERTHA," ETC., rTa. "Life is a problem which every man must work out for himself." NEW YORK: C. SCRIBNER, 377 & 379 BROADWAY. 1856 page: 0 (Table of Contents) [View Page 0 (Table of Contents) ] ENTERED according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by CHARLES SCRIBNER, In the Clerk's Offiloe of the DiBtrict Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. W. H. TIN'GON, STEREOT PEK. GBO. USSELL a CO., PRNTBR CONTEN T S. C-APTSB L PAg I. ecoven, . . . . . . 7 II. Hazlehill, . . . . . . . .12? II. The Millionaire's Daughter, . . . . 16 IV. City Life, . . . . . . .27 V Brookside, . . . .. * * . . 81 VI. Minnie Dell, . . ' . . . 88 VII. Mrs. and Mr. Burkitt, . . . . . . 5 . 0 VIII. The Procrustean,Bed, .. o . . 55 IX. The Independent Tutor, . . . . 59 X. Miss Hazlehill's Ball, . - . . . . . .69 - XI. The Poor Bailor, r * * * 82 XII. Not a Gentleman I . . . 87 XIII. The Architect and his Patrons, .. . .92 XIV. Desperation, . . . 104 XV. Brackets and Verandahs, . . 109 XVI A Li/e :Hero, . . .. . * . . 117 XVII. The Academy of Fine Arts, . 126 XVIII. Captain Driggs . . . . 186 XIX. Fran]f Confessions, . . . 149 XX. Reminiscences,. . .. .. 152 J XXI. Mr. Dinsmore's Story, . . .159 XXII. Mammon, . . 168 XXIII. The old Hair Trunks, . . . 166 XXIV. Generosity, . . o . . .175 XXV. Condolence, . . . . 1i1i XXVI A New Phase of Life, . . . . .188 XXVII. Locust-Cottage, . * * 195 T- page: vi (Table of Contents) -7[View Page vi (Table of Contents) -7] yi CONTE NTS. PAGS CHAPTER XXVIII. Good Taste, . * 202 XXIX. Love--not Mercenary,. , . . 218 * XXX. Unexpected Guests, . . . . 222 XXXI. A Party Quarrel, . . 227 XXXII. Smiles and Tears, . . 280 XXXIII. The Ingle Side, . 236 XXXIV. The Club, .250 XXXV. The Ruby Bracelet, * XXXVI. Poor Neighbors, . - . 270 XXXVII. The Beautiful Wife, 286 XXXVIII. Doing Good, 295 XXXIX. An Able Assistant, 802 XL. Shadows Vanish, 806 REALITY. CHAPTER I. DECOVEN. " MANY years ago, on a dark, rainy night, a West India schooner dropped anchor in the harbor of Decoven. Decoven! The name is not to be found on the map of New England, yet the seaport where the Eliza Jane anchored, on that memorable night, lies somewhere between Bangor and Bridgeport. The Decoven wharf stretched itself out, long and narrow, like a school of sea-serpents floating Indian file; but the captain of the Eliza Jane, instead of coming alongside the wharf, anchored just within a sandy beach, a mile off. In the pitchy darkness, no object was visible in one direction, excepting the light-house lantern, which glared out like the eye of a Cyclops on the brow of night. At the head of the .harbor lay the wide, sheltered' plain, over which :Decoven spreads itself. A few swatttied lights page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 "R E A LI T Y. formed a constellation there, from which every now and then a star vanished. On board the little schooner was darkness, silence, and gloom. The sailors had thrown themselves here and there on the lower deck, while the portly captain, like a tiger in his cage, walked to and fro on the small quarter-deck, watching the disappearing lights of the city. At length he called up four sailors, and, in a low, mysterious tone, ordered a boat to be manned. Then he whispered in the- ear of one whom he named "' Tom Nicklin," some private directions, and gadded, aloud: "Make no noise in the streets, boys; drink no grog; go and come as quickly as p6ssible; attend to the business on hand with few words, and answer no questions." The boat was quietly dropped from the stern, and soon the sturdy strokes of the sailors brought it-to the pier at the end of the wharf. They sprang on shore, and made their stumbling way over the dark, long wharf, which now, as the clock struck twelve, was as silent as the city of the dead. The little schooner floated like a sleeping sea-gull' on the smooth water, whose gentle rippling on the hard beach was the only sound which disturbed the captain's sombre meditations, as he paced the quarter-deck. Protected from the drizzling rain by a shaggy overcoat and a tarpaulin hat, he thus continued his musings for two mortal hours. It was strange that the' courageous sailor, should shudder and shrink before tLe Cyclops' eye which glared upon him from the light-house. Did it remind him of an All-seeing eye which piercethithrough the thickest cover- ing of deceit and guile in which man wraps his sinning heart . Listening intently, his practised ear at length detected the D E C aV E NW. 9 sound of approaching oars, and then he placed a light in the stern of the vessel to guide the returning sailors. Then he called up two of the sleeping ones and gave orders: "Bring the body on deck." A slender figure, wrap- ped in a white sheet, was brought from below and laid on; deck. The boat came alongside and a black coffin was lifted from it. The lantern was brought, and, by its dim light, the body was placed in this, its last receptacle. Just as one of the sailors was about to screw on the lid, a piercing shriek was heard-"My mother! My mother!" and a young boy rushed from the cabin and knelt beside the coffin. "Torm Nicklin, take the child away," said the captain, sternly. "Oh let me see my mother once more-just once more!" exclaimed the boy. "You have seen her for the last time," replied the captain, in a more gentle voice. "f She is wrapped in a tarred sheet. It was as much as my life was worth to bring her hereto be buried. But I promised her Christian burial, and it shall be done." "Then let me go to the grave!" cried the child, in that tone which takes no denial. "I will have a care of the boy," said Tom Nicklin. "See that he makes no noise, then," muttered the captain. The coffin was lowered into the boat, and then the captain, the child, and the, four sailors seated themselves around it. Until they reached the landing-place not a word was spoken, not a sound heard, save the dashing of the oars and the low, mournful wail of the boy for his dead mother. 1* page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 , : REALITY They reached the wharf, where it joins a street of the city, and there a hearse awaited their arrival. "The boy can ride with you," said the captain to the sexton, as they placed the coffin in the hearse. "No, no;" answered the sexton, gruffly. "I won't have him so near me. Let- him sit on the coffin. I am running quite risk enough of yellow' fever to take the body to the buWrying-ground. I wonder what our mayor would say to such doings!" ("Who spoke to you of yellow fever 8" fiercely demanded the captain. d"Not I "-"Nor I "--"Nor!" said the sailors. "I know a thing or two; folks don't offer big gold pieces, just for burying a body: without some smart reason," whis- pered the sexton. : -"(Drive on and be silent," commanded the captain, in a voice which was seldom disobeyed. Without uttering a word of remonstrance the poor boy sat on the coffin of his mother, and the sexton drove rapidly to, the beautiful cemetery where it was to be interred. Just as they entered the massive gateway the moon broke from among drifting, struggling clouds, and shed her pale beams on the spectre-like monuments. A dim light marked the distant- spot where two grave-diggers were throwing up the fresh earth. The coffin was lowered in silence ; the moaning wind alone seemed to echo the convulsive sobs of the motherless boy. The sailors drew their rough sleeves across their moistened eyes, and Tom Nicklin, as the earth-clods fell on the coffin, DECOVEN. l hoarsely whispered: ( Couldn't you say some words from the prayer-book, captain, just to make the burying more Christ- ian-like?" "Dust to dust, ashes to ashes; the Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away, amen ;" said the captain, in a hollow, choking voice. And the solemn, deep voices of the sailors lresponded, "Amen." A few hours after, as the day was dawning, the schooner Eliza Jane was spreading all her white canvas to the wind, and gliding around the light-house point, was soon out of sight of Decoven. But the motherless boy was not on board. - page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 . R REALITY. CHAPTER II,. TAZTI , HTT,. AMONG the many beautiful country-seats which ornament the banks of the noble river Hudson, Hazlehill is preeminent for its natural and artistic beauty. Country-seat, it was term- ed, yet the present owner, Mr. Hazlehill, with his family, resided there during the whole year. Mr. Hazlehill was a banker, and as his business was in the city, his time was divided between * * * street and Hazlehill, the former enjoying the larger share of his portly presence. And who was gladdened by the fresh, green lawn, which so gracefully sloped to the water's edge? Who exulted in the glorious sweep of the sparkling river, which renders Hazlehill almost an island? Who musingly gazed on the distant mountains as dark shadows, like' threatening spirits, swept over them, or silvery clouds rested on them like guar- dian angels? Note Mr. Hazlehill. Before one idol, alone, he bows with supreme adoration :- "Mammon, the least-erected spirit that fell From Heaven; for e'en in Heaven his looks and thoughts Were always downward bent, admiring more The riches of Heaven's pavement, trodden gold, Than aught divine or holy." t AZ L E H I LL. 13 Those majestic oaks, graceful elms, and symmetrical maples, interspersed with dark evergreens, were not planted by his money-griping hand. That magnificent mansion was not planned by his mercenary mind. Eyes which once lovingly lingered over that beautiful land- scape are now closed for ever in death: Hearts that oncet beat warmly and cheerily by the hearthstone, now throb with mournful memories of Hazlehill, in a distant land. But Mrs. Hazlehill, she might enjoy this paridisiacal home. Not she; Mrs. Hazlehill neither could, would, nor should enjoy any- thing, save grumbling. She was an invalid; whether she' became such by grumbling, or grumbled because she was suoh, is a moot question. Whichever was cause and which effect, would have puzzled Philadelphia physician, or Phila- delphia lawyer; the fact was indisputable-she had been a grumbler and an invalid for fifteen years. Irene, the only child of the Hazlehills, had just been emancipated from a fashionable boarding-school, in many respects a mere school-girlyet, an incipient, accomplished young lady. Mr. Hazlehill, of Hazlehill, was the living impersonation of Pretext. Of course, he had motives which governed his actions, but they were as hidden as a primary cause. Like certain would-be atheists, who dwell on secondary causes till they persuade themselves there is no ultimate cause, Mr. Hazlehill had so long given subordinate reasons for his con- duct, and so habitually fixed his attention on them, that he now never penetrated to the depths of his own dark mind, to know what was lying beneath his apparent -and given motives., page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " REALITY, He was more false in action than in word; for he said lit- tle, and did much. Mr. Hazlehill was extensively known as a philanthropist; for whenever a public subscription-paper was circulated for sufferers by flood, fire, or famine, he wrote his name in a large, flourishing hand, Morris Hazlehill, $500, or, Morris Hazlehill, $100, and thought himself exceedingly benevolent. Few persons of the community in which he lived knew Mr. Hazlehill personally, or rather, socially. To business-men, he was an accommodating banker--when they gave ample security--in short, with them, he was a good man, worth at least a million. The millionaire, in appearance, was an anti-miser-at heart, he loved money as well as did old Elwes himself. His portly person was arrayed in fine broadcloth, fine linen, and rich satin. In fashion, or out of fashion, a wide frill displayed itself on his ample chest, ornamented with a diamond of the first water. To his heavy gold watch-chain (which hung out like tackle and pulley from a warehouse window), were appended a pon- derous cornelian key, and a seal on which was engraved the crest of the Hazlehills. His gold-headed cane was seldom pout of his hand, his gold-rimmed spectacles never off his nose. The very atmosphere about him was burdened with the blended odor of wine and cigars. Mr. Hazlehill had but one claim to distinction and position in the world-one which no more increases personal merit, than the silver collar increases the sagacity of the dog who wears it. But this important adjunct to his unworthy self, gave him the imposing character of a millionaire. Charac- ter, forsooth! Character is a central attribute; it develops HAZLEHLL. 15 from within, like a palm-tree: the mere man of wealth grows from without, like a rock, by accretion, or accumulation. Shake off the gold-dust, and what is he . At Hazlehill, his library, as it was called--though no books were there, save ledgers, day-books, almanacs, and- news- papers-his library was his sanctum sanctorum; over its threshold no profane foot ventured-not even the housemaid was allowed to disturb the venerable dust of that apartment. When he retired to this cell (consecrated to Mammon), he locked it within; when he left it, he locked it without, and- put the key in his pocket. The highest distinction to which Mr. Hazlehill's ambition aspired, after being called a millionaire, was to astonish the fashionable world by the beauty, manners, and accomplish- ments of his heiress. A constant source of vexation to him was his unfortunate wife: being once asked what kind of a woman she was, in his usual-brief style he replied, "Plain and pious; sick and sombre." page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 PREALITY. CHAPTER III. THE MLLIONAIRE'S DAUGHTER. "I-RENE, HRENE!'"The petulant and nasal tone with which the voice rested on the second syllable of the romantic name, was less agreeable than a gong, to the person thus sum- moned; "I-rene, Hrene! Why don't you make haste ." The daughter walked slowly from the parlor, where she had been practising on the piano, to her mother's room--the adjoining apartment. ' Irene, I've called and called till I'm out of breath. I wish my poor nerves could be spared the fretting sound of that abominable piano. Besides, it's a sinful waste of time for you to be thrumming at it four or five hours a day." "I must practise, mother, or I shall never become even a moderately good performer." "I don't want you to be a performer--I despise performers," said Mrs Hazlehill, drawing her face into as many puckers and - wrinkles as there are in a cabbage-head. "What can I do for amusement? If I stroll about these delightful grounds you call me an idler; If I get ensconced in the cornmer of a sofa, with an interesting book, you scare me up with the exclamation, ' Unprofitable reading!' When I THE MLLIONA IRE'S DAUGHTER. 17 write letters, you accuse me of ' scribbling nonsense.' What would you have me do, the live-long day, in this solitary place " "I would have you read religious books. Here are volumes of sermons, Scott's Bible, and all Baxter's works." "Have you read them yourself, mamma?" "To be sure I have; over and over again; I never read anything else." There, indeed, were the ponderous tomes, on a rosewood table, standing near- the cushioned arm-chair of Mrs. Hazlehill. "You can read aloud to me, two or three hours every day, in1 these profitable books." Irene inwardly rebelled, and outwardly too. "But mam- ma, so long as I have a music-master I must practise. Papa says he pays a monstrous price to him, and to my German master too, and I must, as he expresses it,' get the money's worth." "Your father, I am grieved to say, is a man of the world, and a worldly man. I have prayed, and prayed, and worn out my very life in praying for his conversion, and after all," she continued, with a deep groan, "I must give him up as a lost sinner." Irene was inexpressibly shocked. She looked at the sallow, shrivelled face of her mother with the pale-blue eyes thrown upward, and shuddered. It was a fearful face. Excepting during vacations, Irene had been absent from home for six years, and 6f course knew very little of the interior life of Hazlehill. Her father was a man of few page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 REAL IT Y. words-the only solemn injunction he ever uttered to his daughter was, "Remember, Irene, you are the heiress of a millionaire." o IRENE HAZT,HTTT TO REBECCA DALTON. "Bare-pated Time has dragged me on for, two mortal weeks and brought no tidings from my absent Reba. Bare- pated-I call him, for I cannot find a single hair of his apocryphal forelock, by which I can seize him, and hold a parley about my silent friend. Two-tedious weeks since we parted! How shall I sustain the cumbrous load of life with- out your sweet sympathy?-Echo answers how! And, indeed, there is nothing here to answer but Echo. Hazlehill is beautiful; but would that I had here some congenial spirit, to whom I could exclaim with rapture,' Glorious!' 'Magnifi- cent!' 'Beautiful!' "The grounds are laid out with exquisite taste, and rich and rare flowers mosaic the lawn, near the imposing mansion. I steal away to inhale their felicitous fragrance, for I am for- bidden to gather them, even for a bouquet, by my invalid mother, who cannot bear the perfume of flowers., Would you believe it! I, had stealthily placed a bit of mignonette in my bosom one day, and went to dinner with it there; with a frightful groan she .held her handkerchief to her nose, rose from the table and bounded out of the room! Oh, this nerv- ousness is horrible! "Hazlehill was built by an English gentleman, who brought his taste from his own country, for the style of the house is decidedly English. THE MLLIONAIRE S DAUGHTER. 19 "You would almost believe yourself in front of an old baro- nial castle, when standing before this stately, stone edifice. You would particularly admire the massive porte cochere, and the middle tower.. I have tried my skill in drawing, and send - you a perspective view of the house, and the plan of the rooms. You will see it is immense for so small a family as ours. The names of the large household who formerly occupied it are written with a diamond on a pane of glass in my own room. They needed this spacious house for their own use. I feel here like a musquito in a discarded lobster- shell. They-used and enjoyed it; we are mere appendages to it. . "'The richly furnished apartments' (papa had the lower rooms newly-furnished) are ' grand, gloomy, and'-no, not 'peculiars' for the upholsterers have, doubtless, exhibited the same taste in hundreds of other drawing-rooms. Curtains, mirrors, rosewood tables, chairs, sofas; gilding, varnishing, carving; but not a single vase of flowers, not a book, not a picture, not even an engraving, to vary the dull monotony of these mechanic's show-rooms. "I have, however, found a secluded room for myself in the middle tower, from which there is a glorious prospect--the most magnificent my eyes ever beheld. It is the upper room; old, broken furniture has been consigned to it, and I have propped up a table on two chairs, and here I sit and read, and write, and ruminate. There is a circulating library in the neighboring village, and from it I bring to my retreat delicious novels, and still more delicious poetry. You may imagineme in this lantern in the sky, luxuriating over your page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 R I E A LITY. -letters, Reba, for nothing gives me greater pleasure. In your last, you more than surmise that I am 'very fond of dress.' "My love of dress, dearest Reba, springs from my keen sense of the beautiful. Ill-assorted colors pain my eye, just as discords in music pain your delicate ear. Reptile) colors, for instance-certain combinations of blue, green, yellow, and brown, make me shudder as though a snake were writhing before my eyes. "My papa likes to see me splendidly attired, and gives me carte blanche with mantua-maker and milliner. "Poor papa! He is so odd. He has advertised for a French maid, to perfect me in pronunciation-airs and graces. He wishes me to be a perfect lady, but, entre nous, his notions of that rara avis are as vague as mine are of an archangel., Pity your poor, rich friend! I declare I almost envy a beau- tiful girl who lives in a small cottage at the end of the avenue leading to Hazlehill. This cottage was intended for a porter's lodge, but is not used for the purpose at present. I send you a sketch of it; don't you think I am improving in drawing 8 There sits Susan White in the small bay-window, day after day, singing at her work, which seems to be from anillimi- table piece of cotton cloth, judging by the number of garients -she has made. Had I the pen of Miss Austin, I would describe Susan White, with her serene blue eyes and peach-like com- 'plexion; her rosy mouth, made only for smiles; hoer dimples, pearly teeth, and rich hair! I am sure it must be the veri- table auburn, for it is the precise shade of reddish brown the old painters gave their beauties, just not red. Really, Susan White is the only romantic (I mean interesting) person I have THE MLLIONAIRE'S D A t G H TE Ri 21 seen at Hazlehill. She is beautiful, and apparently 'has not the gift to know it.' I have half a mind to send her my cheval-glass, that she may admire herself from glorious 'top? to tiny ' toe.' "I doubt, however, whether she has real esthetic perception enough to render her capable of admiring herself as I admire her. The thorough course of esthetics, through which our reverend teacher so charmingly led us, has not evaporated from my mind like dew from a rose-bud. His teaching the dew, and Hpshaw! Did you ever, in your fondest hour of friendly partiality-did you ever, dear Reba, fancy that Irene Hazlehill was well-looking? Hask for a candid answer, and make it the test of your friendship. The exact truth, what- ever it may be, will only clasp more firmly the golden chain of love which binds you to your devoted IRENE." REBECCA DALTON IN REPLY. "'Well-looking.' What right have you to 'swallow all the glory up F' With riches, talents, and the je ne sais quoi, which we call attractiveness, be contented. You are not beautiful, not even handsome; that unclassical nose with the nob, or nub, at the tip, or where the tip should be, forbids it. The Venus de Medici would be essentially damaged by such an appendage. There is an element of the ludicrous in noses, especially such as have a decidedly 'celestial tendency.' "Now Irene, don't give that same nasal organ five degrees more of elevation; you told me to be candid, and so I will page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 REALITY. be. Your mouth is passably good, excepting when it follows your nose, as it does now.' I think I see the contemptuous curve. It is not the bow of Cupid; no, no. 'Your eyes are eyes; teeth, indubitably ivory; ears, small, delicate, and well set. "As for your person, you have admired it a thousand times, with reason too. When one looks in a mirror the countenance becomes stolid and unnatural; it would seem as though the tenant within, the soul, would hide herself from observation, but the figure, or person, remains unchanged' ' Your Psyche reveals to you falling shoulders, and a head gracefully placed on a stately neck; you have, doubtless, noted other good points, so that I need not complete the inventory-excepting that the person measures five feet five inches, which the French call la taille riche. "Do you think, Irene, that you have not as much vanity as the rest of Eve's daughters? N onsense. Proud you are, and you consider pride a noble quality (sad mistake!),but your organs of approbativeness were not bandaged in when you were an infant; they are well developed. There, now! Have' I unlinked the golden cLain: of friendship? This is not an amiable letter; yet I have told you plain truth. I admire you in spite of your teeth (nose, I mean), and really love you, sincerely, in spite of your faults. Three or four years more of life's experience gives me an advantage over you which I shall endeavor to use for your good, and yet I will not assume the task of a mentor. Henceforth, my deal Irene, demand no such ' tests of friendship.' Let our correspondence be full, free, frank, frequent; but neither captious nor criti- THE MLLIONAIRE S DAUGHTER. 23 cal. You need sympathy, and shall have it from me, warm and spontaneous. I am no flatterer; by being faithful to your highest interests, I intend to deserve the place you have hitherto given me in your generous heart, and will ever remain Your true and loyal friend, "REBECOA DALTON." "' Loyal!--Candid!" exclaimed Irene, passionately throwing the letter on the floor and placing her small foot upon it. At that moment she caught sight of herself in the cheval glass she had proposed sending to Susan White; there were the contemptuous nose and mouth, and the throwing back of the haughty head; she acknowledged the justice and dis- crimination of her loyal friend, and, quick in all her feelings, generosity and affection -supplanted anger, and Rebecca Dal- ton was entirely forgiven. The next morning, Irene was startled from her musings in her beloved boudoir, in the tower, by the sound of heavy feet, and loud voices in the vestibule below. She hastened down the winding staircase and found her father, with two men, unpacking a large box, which had just arrived. "What may that be 8" asked Irene. o "A harp," replied Mr. Hazlehill. "A harp! Not for me, I hope. Indeed, papa, I have no taste for music. I play the piano so mechanically as to give pleasure to no human being." "You must learn to play on the harp; your master comes to-morrow," was the stern reply. The splendid harp was unpacked and placed in the draw- ing-room. page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 REALITY. "Go, dress yourself superbly, and then let me see how you look at the harp." "Oh papa!" began Irene, in a deprecating tone. One flash of her -father's grey eyes through the gold spectacles silenced her. She flew to her own room, and sulkily arrayed herself in a pure white silk, trimmed with point lace, one of Madame Lemoine's most artistic efforts, " in her line," and very becoming to the fine person of Irene Hazlehill; but two ugly little imps, Anger and Contempt, had taken entire pos- session of her countenance. "Place yourself at the harp," commanded Mr. Hazlehill. Stark upright stood Irene behind the harp. "Throw your arms around it, and gracefully stoop over it," said Mr. Hazlehill, endeavoring to " suit the action to the word," and bending like a bag of meal. Again the mirror proved a friendly coadjutor to Rebecca Dalton. It presented to Irene a faithful representation of a proud, disagreeable girl-"Diabolically ugly!" she mentally exclaimed; tears started to her eyes, and she said, in an humbler tone: "Indeed, papa, I do not know how to place myself at the harp/' J "Fine arms," muttered Mr. Hazlehill; " you may go." "Twelve hundred dollars for a harp!" exclaimed Mrs. Hazlehill. They looked towards the door; there, a tall, gaunt figure startled them like an apparition. Hearing an unusual stir in the house, Mrs. Hazlehill had made an unwonted effort; and coming through the hall had picked up the bill for the harp, which had been sent in the box. "Twelve hundred dollars for a harp! And I can't give a dollar to the African missionaries. Sinful extravagance!" THE MLLIONAIR E'S DAUGHTER. 25' "Give me that bill," exclaimed Mr. Hazlehill, at the same time approaching and snatching it from her hand. "Shame! shame, Irene! What a silly puppet you are. Sinful man! you are taking your child by the hand and hur- rying her forward on the broad road which leadeth to destruc- tion." "Hurry yourself to your own -room, madam." Irene glided out of the door and hastened away; Mrs. Hazlehill lingered, groaning aloud-"Like father, like child, both given over to Satan." He took her by the shoulder, and, with no very gentle hand, placed her outside the door, and closed it with a bang which echoed through the stately mansion. Poor Mrs. Hazlehill considered herself a very religious person; it was her intention so to be; her religion, however, was not, in spirit, the religion of Jesus Christ, as revealed in his blessed Gospel. 'The being she "ignorantly worshipped" more resembled Juggernaut, than the Divine Being, whose highest attribute is love. From the good books on her table, in which honey abounded, she extracted poison' only; indeed the honey itself, by her moral alchemy, was changed to gall. Judgment, condemnation, punishment, sin, suffering, everlasting misery, were perpetually in her mind and mouth,' while mercy, forgiveness, redemption, holiness, happiness, seldom uttered their soothing voice to her troubled soul. To her, the whole universe was canopied with a funereal pall, through which. no ray from the Sun of Righteousness ever penetrated. Yet, the world which she altogether relin- quished was the world for which Christ died. The world of! 2 ! page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 REALITY. Nature, which she thought it heathenish to admire, was the same world which the Creator pronounced "very good." She boasted, with Pharisaic pretension, that she led a life of fasting and prayer. As to the former, she"' made a virtue of necessity," for her weak stomach demanded total abstinence from all but the simplest food. Her importunate prayers were fog the conversion of her husband and 'daughter-the only efforts, excepting continual vituperation against their sins, which she ever made to lead them to a better life. The holy text, "Let your light so shine before men, that they, see- ing your good works, may glorify your Father which is in Heaven," with other kindred texts, might, for any influence exerted on herself, as well have been blotted from the sacred volume. She was, habitually, supremely selfish, gloomy, unloving and unkind, and yet she considered herself a devoted Chris- tian-and it was no pretext with her; she really meant to be a Christian; but, unfortunately, in acting ouit the character, it lacked every gentle, lovely, Christ-like attribute. The influence of this exhibition of religion was such -as might have been- expected, on Irene; her very soul abhorred what her mother called piety. Her father's unmitigated worldliness was equally abhorrent to her romantic and generous character. Whenever she had a glimpse of the. vile mass of corruption beneath " the whited sepulchre," she closed her eyes firmly-for was he not her father? With Irene, the " vision splendid " of youth had not faded C4 Into ,the light of common day." - , ' C TY LIFE. 27 CHAPTER IV. CITY LIFE. IRENE HAZLEHLL TO REBECCA DALTON. "NEws, Reba dearest, glorious news! We are going to the city, to reside there for the winter. Papa has taken a furnished house, lately occupied by the Henringtons, who have gone to Europe, for two or three years. As usual, I shall be haunted by the ghosts of the departed. I send you a fine drawing of this beautiful house. Papa br ought it home last evening. Is-it not magnificent? It stands on the cor- ner of one of the most fashionable streets, and the most fashionable avenue, in town. And I am to make a brilliant debut. "C Mamma, you know, is a confirmed invalid; of course, she will not chaperone me. Papa, I think, intends his only fashionable acquaintance, Mrs. Burkitt, shall bring me out. Ah! Reba, perhaps I can see the world more delectably, here in my high tower, through the rosy-hued telescopes of Miss Burney, Miss Edgeworth, and Sir Walter Scott, than I can face to face. I cannot bear the thought of being criticised as a novice, sneered at as country-bred, or gazed at as a fine page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 -REALITY. specimen of Madame Lemoine's skill in making up a would- be lady. "Down, down in the depths of my fluttering heart, I know there is soinething better than I have yet revealed; and I intend keeping it there for the present. Reba, I am an *-unmitigated egotist; you help to keep me so, for you tell me - to write freely and confidentially. What other body's affairs can I confide to you, but those of your own "RENE., "p. S.-I read lately the following extract,' If we look at social life, dullness, ostentation, and imitativeness, reign triumphant there.' I do not believe it. Furthermore, the same author says,' Fear of the social circle, fear of -the news- paper, fear of being odd, fear of what may be thought by people who never did think, still greater fear of what somebody may say-are not these a stinging dress of torture .' "Dear Reba, I will not wear this 'dress of tortuie.' NTo, indeed. I was always independent at school, as you very well know, and I will not give up my boasted independence, in that dreaded 'social circle.' A few weeks subsequent to the date of the foregoing epistle, Mr. Hazlehill took up his abode in the beautiful house, the drawing of which Irene had enclosed to her friend, Rebecca Dalton. REBECCA DALTON IN REPLY TO IRENE HAZLEHLt. "Independent! my dear Irene-so yo'u really think you can be independent in the great world of fashion! As well might our little Earth be independent of the Sun. CITY LIFE,. 29 "There are a great many reasons why you cannot be inde- pendent in the ' social circle. The very expression forbids it -a circle! How can you bolt out of it?-make a salient point and you destroy the figure. No No, Irene, you become a, partner in this great Joint Stock Company, and of course, by so doing, relinquish, in a degree, your independence. You are too young and too unsophisticated to go into society as a reformer. Fashionable society is ' a perfect entanglement of gun-cotton, and explodes into vacuity, wherever one holds a light to it.' Should you attenmpt to hold up the light of a perfectly pure and holy example in the very midst of it, you would inevitably be blown up sky-high. "It is easy in the world to live after the workl's opinion, it is easy in solitude to live after our own; he only is, truly great, who in the midst of the world preserves the influence of solitude. "I cannot believe, my dear friend, that this is possible for you, but I do believe that you may escape the dangerous fas- cination of society, by going into it prepared to meet the danger. The best preparation I can recommend is, an enlightened conscience. Not a sickly, morbid one, but a quick, healthy, true one,'bearing the same relation to God, as an accurate time-piece bears to the sun.' "It is a fearful responsibility to be the steward of great wealth-especially in a large city. The three who passed through the furnace ' seven times heated,' came out without so much as the smell of fire upon their garments; may you, my dear Irene, pass through the fiery trial, to which you are about to be subjected, and come forth equally unscathed. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 80 REALITY. Remember, there was One like the Son of man who was with them in the furnace. May His loving presence be with you now, and for ever. "Truly and cordially yours, "REBECCA DALTON.' MN I E DE L L. 31 CHAPTER V. MNNIE DELL. BROOKSIDE, charming Brookside was the residence of Cap- tain Dell of the United States Navy. It was early in June--the height of the rose-season in New Jersey. Thousands of roses mingled their perfume with lilies of the valley, violets, and pansies, in the large garden which surrounded the cottage-like home of the Dells. Humming- birds, honey-laden bees, and flitting butterflies rejoiced in the fresh morning air. Not more gay and- happy were they than a little girl who sat on a rustic seat beneath a wide-spreading catalpa tree, arranging a bouquet. Mary Dell, or Minnie as she was usually called, had gathered flowers, still moist with morning dew, and from them was selecting the choicest for a bouquet. At her feet lay a large Newfoundland dog, with a shaggy coat of black and white. Now and then, he turned his great, serious eyes towards her as she chattered to him:- "Now, Hero, do you know, after all, there is no flower so beautiful as a rose? Just look at that damask rose-bud! The damask rose is mamma's favorite. You need not look so wondrous wise, Hero, for in fact, you don't know ha rose from a turnip."' ' page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 REALIT-T. Hero, thus addressed, slowly arose, shook his shaggy coat, and then placed his huge paw on the lap of his little mistress. he ; Good fellow! perhaps you know: more than I think you do. There now, won't that bouquet be a beauty? lero,.do you believe that fairies live in these flowers? I don't quite believe it, but poets say so: "From the flower-cups forth there steals Many a sprite so gay and airy; Dressed in gauzy mist,'with shields Spears and crowns, come elf and fairy. "From the rose's crimson bosom, Steps a slender dame to view, Loosely float her waving tresses, Pearls are glistening there like dew. , - "From the lily glides a maiden, With a veil of cobweb lightness-- "Look sharp, Hero, though I can't spy the fairy, perhaps you can see her peeping among the great green leaves of this lily of the valley." Hero gave a quick, low bark. "Oh, you pretend you do; I don't half believe you. See, I've brought a piece of blue ribbon to tie up this sweet bou- quet. Geranium, heliotrope, roses, pure lilies, pansies, all fragrant flowers, except this dear candy tuft; how came you to have no perfume, you modest little flower? Now, I am sure dear mamma will like this bouquet." So saying, Minnie jumped from the garden-seat and ran towards the house, followed by Hero. *, ' , ., MNNIE DELL. 33 - Mrs. Dell had been for several years an invalid, Of late, her fatal disease, consumption, had imperceptibly been mak- ing rapid strides. While Minnie was arranging the bouquet, Mrs. Dell was supported by pillows in a half-reclining posture. The lace curtains, with their outer drapery of blue damask, were drawn aside from the double window opposite her bed, giving her a view of the gardeni and her little Minnie on the rustic seat beneath the tree. It was a charming picture; yet, as she gazed at it, her eyes were blinded by tears. She closed them, and large -drops from time to time rolled over her pale, hollow cheeks--her lips moved in prayer. 'Minnie came gently in, and stepping softly to the bedside, heard, the close of that whispered prayer-"Oh, Heavenly Father, bless my beloved child; teach her to know Thy holy will, and enable her to follow it with a true and loving heart." As Minnie stood with her eyes fixed on the moving lips of her mother, a breathless awe stole over her, and involuntarily she responded a solemn "Amen." The perfume of the flowers she held in her hand, gave the first intimation to her mother that Minnie was beside the bed. Mrs. Dell opened her tearful eyes, and extending a pale, thin hand for the bouquet, said-' What a sweet nosegay! Thank you, darling; my favorite rose-buds! and so tastefully arranged! I am glad you like flowers. I want you to love God, and to study and admire His works, and His blessed Word, too,. my dear child. I am going home." / "Home? This is your home, dear mamma." "No, my darling; it has been-a sweet home to me, but I am not to remain with you much longer. I humbly trust 2* page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 R E'A L I T Y. there is a mansion prepared for me in another and a brighter world." "Oh, mamma! dear mamma, don't talk so! I can't bear it!" exclaimed Minnie, bursting into tears, and dropping her head on the pillow beside her mother. "Calm yourself, my child, for I have much to say to you. Until your father's return---" here Mrs. Dell's voice fal- tered, and for a moment she was unable to proceed; but, with an effort, she recovered self-command, and continued-"I trust God, in His good providence, will bring your dear father to the haven where he would be; pray for him daily ; yet two or three years must pass before his return. Mean- time, you will go to live with yourSAunt Burkitt." Tile sobs of the poor child became so violent that Mrs. Dell was obliged to cease for awhile; at length, sh'e said- "My own darling, try to calm yourself, for I may tot have another opportunity to talk with you. I sent nurse out of the room, that I might see you once more alone." Minnie became more quiet;. a ".4 "Now, darling, I am sure you will remember all I have tried to teach you out of the Holy Bible. Read that good book every day, and learn there your duty to God and to man, and pray to Him to forgive all your sins for Jesus Christ's sake. What should I do on my death-bed without the hope of forgiveness through that merciful Saviour? My dear Minnie, be firm when you know you are right, but very gentle andforbearing when there is merely a difference of opi- nion, or ofform. Do you understand me, Minnie ." "Not quite, mamma; but, don't take the trouble to explain + , NMNNIE DELL. 85 it to me, now; your dear hand trembles, and your voice is very weak. I will write down in my little note-book what you just said, and then, you know, I can think it over till the meaning comes to me." "I will repeat it, dear. Be firm and decided when you know, certainly, that you are right, but very gentle and for- bearing where there is merely a difference of opinion, or of outward form. Ah! many, many things which seemed very important to me once, -now look like the merest trifles. We waste time, and strength, and alienate good people from us, by trying to make them think and believe just as we do. At the best, here, we see through a glass, darkly; there, in that heavenly world, we shall see our Saviour face to face, and know and do His holy will, without a single doubt or fear." Mrs. Dell, much exhausted, remained silent for a brief space, and then said-- "Give me one kiss, darling, and then call nurse.' Minnie- raised herself to her utmost height, and bending over, kissed again and again the pallid lips of her mother. The nurse had taken the opportunity for a walk on the high-road, and Minnie -could not find her. After searching all over the house and garden,she returned to her mother's room. She entered very softly. Mrs. Dell did not move; her right hand lay on the white bedspread, clasping the fresh, beautiful flowers, the other hand was laid calmly across her breast. , "Poor mamma sleeps quietly now; I am so glad," thought Minnie, as she seated herself on a low ottoman, and waited for the return of the nurse. SIe then took a small note- page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 - REALITY. book from her pocket, and with a pencil wrote down, as nearly as she couldjremember, all that her mother had said to her. The nurse came in. The moment her eyes rested on Mrs. Dell she stepped quickly to the bedside, and laid her hand on that white forehead; it was damp and chilling cold. "She is dead! she is dead!" exclaimed the affrighted nurse. "Oh no! nurse, no, no!" whispered Minnie. "She is in a sweet sleep. See how calm she looks V' She then gently placed her hand on the pale, cold cheek of her dead mother, and drew back, with a shudder and a shriek of anguish--"Mamma! mamma! come back! come- back to your own darling." Friends and neighbors were summoned to Brookside to perform the last sad offices for Mrs. Dell. The sacred remains were placed in the beautiful parlor. The good clergyman, Mr. Fearon, led Minnie to the coffin, and lifted her up to take the last look. How calm, how sweet was that pdre face! The shadow of a smile lay on the marble lips, as though the parting words had been, "Peace, rest." The hands were crossed over the untroubled bosom ; the right hand still grasping the flowers Minnie had gathered two days before. "She has gone home to her Heavenly Father," whispered the good man to the bewildered child. Minnie was calm and cold-she shivered and sighed deeply, but could not weep. Sorrowing friends gathered around the grave of the , , ' . ' r MN NIE DELL. 37 respected lady-Minnie was the only relative. The earth sounded on the coffin, "Dust to dust, ashes to rashes." Every eye thatyrested on the little motherless girl moistened; but that dreadful, that rigid apathy would notyield-Minnie's heart seemed turned to stone. The clergyman led her away from the grave to that deso- late home. The silent rooms seemed to echo to her light footfall, " alone! alone!"F Mr. Fearon sat beside the child in that same parlor, where she had taken the last look; but he could find no words of consolation. Hero, who had long been Minnie's only playmate, had been shut up for the last two days. He was now unchained, and came bounding into the parlor. Putting his forepaws on Minnie's lap, he gazed in her face with a solemn, mute sym- pathy, which reached the fountain of tears. She threw her arms around the neck of her shaggy favorite, and sobbed aloud. "I will come and see you again very soon, my dear child," said the kind clergyman, in a voice tremulous with emotion. "Good-bye; God bless you. " page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 88 RE A LITY. CHAPT ER VI. MNNIE DELL, MlNNIE DELL was twelve years old, mature in mind, but small and delicate in person. She alone had survived, while three other children had been laid in their little graves. She had been carefully educated by her excellent mother, from whom she inherited the sweetness of disposition which gave softness to her manners, and refinement and delicacy to the strong mind, which was attributed, with or without reason, to the other side of the house. The soul which dwelt within that small tenement looked out lovingly on the world through a pair of dark grey eyes shaded by black lashes, and the small mouth which seemed made only for smiles, could express firm- ness and decision. - Minnie was now, according to her mother's directions, going to live with her Aunt Burkitt, till her father's return from his long cruise. With a sad, sad heart, Minnie took her last walk around the beautiful garden at Brookside. What a delight had that garden been to her! How dearly had she culled and cher- ished those flowers; yet,.they were blooming just as gaily now as they did when her own heart was merry. She turned from them to Hero, who followed her, not with his usual gambols, but looking on the ground, and walking as I a M INNIE DELL. 39 solemnly as his little mistress-his sympathy could not be doubted. He knew Minnie was sorrowful. "Poor Hero!" said she, patting him gently. "Poor fel- low! you will be left all alone." Hero fixed his great, serious eyes on his little mistress, and licked her small hand. "I do believe you love me now better than anybody in the wide world but dear papa," continued she, as she seated herself on the rustic bench where she had arranged the bouquet for her dying mother. She sat down, covered her face, and wept vehemently, while Hero stood looking wist- fully at her, and now and then uttering a low whine. A carriage was driven rapidly up to the house. Mr. Fearon had come to take Minnie to the station-house, where she was to meet the cars. Bridget, the Irish servant-girl, who was to accompany her, now came with her bonnet and shawl, saying: "Make haste, Miss Minnie, darlint, or we'll be too late for the cars." Minnie threw on her ,bonnet and shawl, and, without going in the house again, said "Good-bye" to the nurse and ser- vants, who were assembled in the piazza. Mr. Fearon handed her into the carriage, and before he could prevent it, Hero jumped in after her. '"Good, faithful fellow! you shall see your mistress to the station, and then go home with me, and:I will take care of you for her sake." Minnie was sobbing violently, but this simple act of kind- page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 R E A L I'T Y. ness was soothing to the sorrowing child, and she made out to articulate, "Thank you, a thousand times." Not a word was spoken again till they reached the station; then Minnie. said, "Be a good dog, Hero; you must not get out of the carriage." t Mr. Fearon placed Minnie and her maid in the cars, under the charge of the conductor, and bade her an affectionate fare"well. The deep mourning of the young stranger was an appeal to the sympathy of the people in the car. An elderly gentle- man gave her a place by him, and pointed to a seat near them for Bridget. Minnie kept her handkerchief to her eyes, and sobbed as though her heart were breaking. The gentle- man by her side now and then dashed a tear from his mild, dark eyes, half indignantly, as if to say, "Shame on the intruder! Manly eyes are not for tears!" After a while' Bridget stepped beside the weeping child, and vyhispered: "Please, miss, don't cry so; you know we are going to the big, beautiful city, where your nice, kind aunt lives." "Thank you, Bridget! ,Go take your seat again," "Perhaps you prefer to have your maid sit by you," said the gentleman, in a gentle, sympathizing voice, which was the exponent of a kind heart. "No, sir, I am obliged to you; I pieafer to have her where she is," replied Minnie, ,who dreaded Bridget's rude, but well-, meant, attempts at consolation. The effort to speak had checked her violent weeping. There was mildness, yet calm -[ M N N IE DELL. 41 decision, in the reply; and the gentleman, who had supposed the child to be about eight years old, was surprised and quite interested. He gladly availed himself of the opportunity, for which he had been quietly waiting, to address her: "I see yonder a pretty bridge with three arches, through which a lively little river is'rushing. Do you see it, my dear? There is the mill, on the other side, I have copied landscapes in my drawing-book, when I was a boy, so much like this, I can believe they were taken on this very spot. The trees are prettily grouped, too, and there are some boys fish- ing. Is it not as pretty a view as a young- painter could desire .". Minnie, who was keenly alive to all natural beauty, answered, "It is very pretty, indeed, sir." "Take my seat by the window, I can see over your head," said he, changing places with Minnie. "Now, we can both see." "Thank you,sir.; you are very kind;"Minnie's voice trem- bled, and tears were ready to start again. There was a ten- derness in .the manly voice which went to her heart. Kind words cost nothing; yet how invaluable they are to the sad and suffering. "See! There are some white cranes standing in the shal- low water. One can scarcely believe that such pure-looking birds gobble down live fish. Yet, that is their food. 'He giveth them their mneat in due season.' There! Two -of them have taken flight. How they -stretch out their long legs behind them, Really, they are not ungraceful on the' wing!" page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 K REALITY. Thus did the kind gentleman endeavor to divert the atten- tion of the youthful mourner. He asked no questions about herself, but gently led away her thoughts from the cause of that sorrow, which he knew had settled down deep in. her young heart. After an hour or two had passed, Bridget came to Minnie , and offered her a smallbasket of sandwiches and cake, which had been put up at Brookside for the journey. "No, Bridget, I cannot eat." "But, Miss Minnie, darlint, you ate no breakfast at all; you'll be sick, indade you will." "Pardon me, Miss Minnie, I should like a sandwich, if you will do me the favor to take one with me." So saying, the gentleman pladed the basket on Minnie's lap. "Please help yourself, sir." "After you, my dear; I am not yet so old or so ungallant as to help myself before a lady is helped." Thus urged, Minnie's instinctive politeness would not allow her to refuse, and she tookl a sandwich. It seemed as though every morsel would choke her, and yet she succeeded in eating it. "Shall I hand some to Bridget?" asked her companion, as he helped himself to a second. "Certainly, sir, if you will be so kind." Sympathy was completely established between the stranger and his young fellow-traveller. The keen appetite with which he ate one sandwich after another, induced her to take ano- ther; and, when he said, "The sandwiches were excellent, but the cakes are still better; try one," she did not refuse. MNNIE DELL. 43 "What would I not have given for such a lunch as this when on the Alps in a terrific snow-storm? We had to remain a whole day in the Diligence, without a morsel to eat." "The Alps? Then you have been in Switzerland; it is nmy favorite country." "So it is mine-after my own. I will tell you about that crossing the Alps. It was not quite equal to Napoleon's, but it may interest you." - The narrative was exceedingly interesting, and was conti- nued, with only occasional interruptions, till the train stopped at the place where the passengers were to take a hasty dinner. "I have lunched with you, Miss Minnie; now, you must dine with me," said the stranger, taking her by the hand to lead her out. "No, I thank you; indeed, I do not wish for dinner." "What! Not after I have eaten all your sandwiches and cake? I should be exceedingly mortified if you were to refuse. Come, do oblige me." Thus urged, Minnie yielded. "Bridget, I will send you some dinner," said he, as they left the car. "Now, Miss Minnie, sit here," said he; and? placing him- self beside her at table, continued, "I shall put a bit of this chicken on your plate, without even asking you to choose what you will have. These railroad dinners give us, Ameri- cans, bad habits. In- Europe, they allow time for a comfort- . able meal. Now for Bridget," and a plentiful supply was heaped on a plate,. and sent to her. page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " RE A L I T Y. When dinner was over, Minnie's hand stole stealthily into her pocket, and drew out a small silver porte-monnaie. Coloring deeply, she offered it to the ,gentleman, saying, "Please, sir, pay for my dinner and Bridget's." ' And what, then, am I to pay for my lunch " said he, smiling. ' ' Minnie quickly slid the porte-monnaie back into her pocket.. "You are a true lady, dear," said he, as he led her away from the table. It was evening when they reached the city. Minnie, who had always lived in the country, gazed with mingled surprise, pleasure, and fear, at the long lines of gaslights, and the dark, tall houses. ! I suppose you expect friends to meet you at the d6p6t?' said the gentleman., "I hope my uncle will be there," replied Minnie, with a tremulous voice. "Pardon me for asking your uncle's name. My name is Dinsmore." ' Mr. Burkitt is my uncle's name." ' "Mr. Burkitt lives near me, in the same street. If he should not be there, I will set you and your maid down at his door. Stay;,*till I see if my carriage is waiting." The conductor seemed to have forgotten that Minnie was placed under his charge. No one appeared to claim the young stranger. Mr. Dinsmore returned. "My carriage is here. Your checks, Bridget." "These brassy things I have carried all' day in my hand 8 MNNIE DELL. 45 Why! how will they know who we be without these, when we get there?" said Bridget, clasping the " brassy things" more tightly. "Give the gentleman the checks, Bridget," said Minnie. "I'm not so green as that, Miss Minnie; and shure, who is to know us, at all at all, in all this mess, without our marks?" ' The checks are for the trunks, my good girl; I will give them to my coachman, who will take care of them," said the gentleman, with a good-natured smile. "The trunks shure, and me own chist, that I brought .all the way from Ireland. Oh! if I should lose it. 'Twas my father's afore me!" x : "Give up the checks, Bridget; this kind gentleman will see that our luggage is safe." Bridget reluctantly gave up the checks, muttering, "It's an awful thing to comlie to this big city." Mr. Dinsmore handed Minnie to his carriage. Bridget fol- lowed, muttering something about her-" big chist, which had in it all she -was worth in the whole world." The carriage, after passing through several long streets, at last stopped at the -Burkitts. As Mi'nnie was about to take leave of her kind protector, it occurred to her that she ought to tell him her name. So, she said: ",It is Mary Dell, sir, to whom you have been so kind. My father is Captain Dell, of the Navy ;and, I am sure he would thank you a thousand times for your politeness to me." ' Indeed! I am well acquainted with Captain Dell. No thanks are needed, my dear child. You have relieved me page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " REALITY. from the tediousness of a lonely journey. I hope, Minnie, we shall meet again." "Indeed, I hope so!" exclaimed she, as he lifted her from the carriage. He led her up the high, white marble steps, and rang the bell; then handed her his card, saying,: "You must not forget the first friend you have made in the city. I know you will make many-more. Good-bye." The door was opened by a waiter, who made a greater dis- play of white gloves and white waistcoat, than of civility. "What do you want here?" inquired he, roughly. "The masther and the misthress, to be sure." "The masther and the misthress are hengaged," replied he, exaggerating Bridget's brogue, and proclaiming his own cockneyism. "It is my Aunt and Uncle Burkitt whom I wish to see. Say to them Mary Dell, from Brookside, has arrived." "Beg pardon, miss, I didn't see you. Your haunt and huncle is expecting you." Stay 'ere, Paddy Ann, and 'tend - to them trunks, as you see the porter just tumbling up." "My chist! my chist! shure as stars!" exclaimed the delighted Bridget. The waiter threw open the door of a brilliantly-lighted drawing-room, and, with an extraordinary bow and flourish, announced, "Miss Mary Dell, from Brookside." The dazzling light, and the hum of many voices, blinded and stunned little Minnie. She stood, timid and embarrassed, at the threshold. She soon felt herself in the embrace of a large lady, who exclaimed, in a loud, affected voice: A "Ah! this is poor, dear little Minnie Dell! We should MNNIE DELL. 47 have come to the station for you, but I had invited a clerical party to meet the Rev. Mr. Schouter this evening." Releasing the child from her embrace, she continued: "Mr. Schouter, this is my latelyrbereaved niece, the daughter of my brother, Captain Dell, of the Navy." By this time, Minnie was weeping violently. Mr. Burkitt came forward, and whispered to his wife, "Please send the poor child to her room." The Rev. Mr. Schouter, meanwhile, laid his fat, white hand on Minnie's head, saying, in a deep, sonorous voice, "Daugh- ter, receive my blessing." "I did not know you were expected to-night," said Mr. Burkitt, kindly, taking Minnie by the hand; then, leading her out of the room, he told the chambermaid to see that Miss Dell and her maid had a comfortable supper, and after- wards to show them to their bed-rooms. As soon as they left the drawing-room, Mrs. Burkitt, hold- ing her richly-embroidered handkerchief to her tearless eyes, said, "Excuse me, dear Mr. Schouter, for bringing my private sorrows before- you. My brother did not marry to the satis- faction of his family; we have never known his wife; she was a sectarian. That accounts for my not having put on mourning." Then, turning to another clergyman, she said, "' Ah my good Mr. Florian, I shall bring a dear lamb to your fold." The entrance of Mr. Burkitt gave a new turn to the con- versation. "Mighty little comfort in this big house," said Bridget, as she brought Minnie a cup of tea and a biscuit or two, for page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 e L EALIT Y . which she had almost fought with the servants in the kitchen. # "All outside show, like a pithy radish. No convaniences-- hurry skurry, and botheration." "They have company to-night, Bridget; that may be the reason," said Minnie. "No, no, darlint. It don't take Biddy's blue eyes but one flash round a kitchen and pantry, to know what the mis- thress is." "You mean the servants, Bridget." "But, did you' niver hear that, 'bare walls makes giddy hussies ' which manes, if the misthress spends all the money for parlor-finery, the sarvants is put to warisome straits in the kitchen. Look now! What kind of a room is this for my young lady! Niver a bit of a curtain-niver a bit of a closet -or wardrobe-an ould patch-work quilt, made out of all the odds and eends found in her granny's rag-bags. Ah! Miss Minnie, this doesn't look like our nate home." The poor child found that she must try to comfort her maid, instead of receiving comfort from her; and, after saying many soothing and kind things, she told Bridget to go to her room. "I don't mind me own corner in the garret-where I've got my darlint chist as safe as a pocket--it's good enough for the likes of me; but, my darlint has niver put her pretty head on such pillows as them before. Why, they are jist like rat-tails." . "They will do very wellfor me, Bridget. Good-night." And there was Minnie, in her small room in the fourth . story, alone-alone. MNNJR DEELL. L 49 No--not alone. - She knelt by the bedside, and from the depths of her sorrowing heart arose, at first, a voiceless prayer-a groan of agony; at length -she could articulate, "Our Father'"-and then the soothing consciousness of His presence was realized. She poured out her grief in His pity- ing ear, and then slept calmly, under the shadow of- His wings. page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] r0 R:A L IT . CHAPTER VII. MRS. AND MR. BURKITT. MR. AND MRS. BURKITT-or rather-Mrs, and Mr. Burkitt, for in this partnership he was the silent partner, who only furnished the pecuniary capital. Mrs. Burkitt's character was as fully set before marriage as the pumpkin is, while the flaunting yellow flower still holds its position, and partially hides the fruit. At forty, Hen- rietta Dell still considered herself in flower, and so well-pre- served and so well-dressed was she, that Mr. Burkitt married her, when he was thirty-five, in the full belief that she was younger than himself, and that he had drawn a grand prize in the lottery matrimonial. She thought herself superior to him in every respect, and he, quiet, honest man, was willing she should think so, as long as it did not interfere with his comfort. ? X Though proud of his stylish wife, he stood in awe of her; the very rustle of her rich silks was grand and imposing- the sound of her voice was always alarming, especially when she differed from him in opinion; yet, Mrs. Burkitt could be, when occasion required, as golden-mouthed and honey- tongued as St. Chrysostom himself. Mr. Burkitt knew there MR. AND MRS. BURKITT. 1 must be a head to every house, and as his wife literally carried her head higher than himself, he quietly submitted to the same, "in a figure." They had been married for three years, and having no children of their own, had readily acquiesced in Mrs. Dell's proposal to send Minnie to them, till the return of her father. Mrs. Burkitt was desirous to put in practice splendid theories of education, with which she had for years tormented her practical married friends. Ah! those fine theories, spun by maiden ladies, how beautiful they seem to the damsels! "Dew-webs spread by fairies on the morning grass," to be dispelled by the sunlight of every-day-life. Mrs. Burkitt had now the opportunity to test her theories by experiments. Unfortunate Minnie Dell,. to be the sole subject for these experiments! "Pauvre petite, la morale has been cultivated at the expense of la physique," said Mrs. Burkitt, as she sat at the breakfast-table the next morning, regarding Minnie with an odd mixture of curiosity, disapproval, and interest. "I understand a little French," said Minnie, with modest simplicity. "And I don't understand a word of the language;" added Mr. Burkitt. "Well; I do not know why Miss Minnie should boast of her knowledge, or Mr. Burkitt of his ignorance," remarked Mrs. Burkitt with: a perilous frown. It was the usual custom of Mr. Burkitt, on similar occa- sions, to fill his mouth with coffee and toast, and gulp down page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 REALITY. his indignation with them, but now, with more spirit than he had ever before shown to his better half, he replied: "There was no boasting in the case; the child's natural politeness led to her remark, and mine was merely an honest confession that I did not understand you, madamn." "Sir; Minnie Dell is entrusted to my especial charge, any interference from you will be particularly officious and dis- agreeable." Mr. Burkitt, this time, filled his mouth with hot coffee. The tears would fall from Minnie's eyes-she could not swallow the bit of toast in her mouth, it threatened to choke her-her hand trembled so violently that she was forced to put down the cup she was raising to her lips. "One of the first lessons you will have to learn here, Miss Minnie, will be self-control," said Mrs. Burkitt, sternly. The tears chased each other rapidly over the child's cheeks -the suppressed sobs were ready to burst forth. Mr. Burkitt's face was crimson with anger and hot coffee; he shoved back his chair with an impatient "pshaw!" and hastily left the room. "My remark with regard to, the morale and the physique was not designed to be an aside, Miss Minnie--I saw, with infinite surprise, your exceedingly small person, in contrast with your old, I might say, venerable countenance, and thought, that in conducting your education, I must pay much attention to your physical development. I shall immediately consult a physician with regard to your size. I have already advertised for a tutor to take charge of your intellectual culture. Your moral and religious training will come more MR. AND MRS. BURK ITT. 53 particularly under my own control." Here the sobs of the heart-broken Minnie could no longer be suppressed. Her throbbing throat and rapid breathing told of the agony she was suffering. . Mrs. Burkitt's stern visage slightly relaxed. "You may go to your own room, child. I beg you to believe that it is my intention to educate you in the best possible manner." Minnie gladly availed herself of the permission-flew to her room-threw herself on the bed, and gave vent to the violent emotion she had been endeavoring to-suppress. "My dear, swate little mistress!" exclaimed honest Bridget, who was unpacking Minnie's trunks and arranging her ward- robe in a small bureau, " now, don't go for to grieve in this awful way. See how nate I am putting away your things. It's a grand, beautiful house, and the master and mistress, having no children of their own, will be afther rejoicing to have such a- strake of sunshine come into their big, lonesome house." Minnie continued to sob violently. "Oh, come: here, darlint; there goes the nice gintleman that eat up our lunch and paid us off with a nice dinner- bless his black eyes-a rael gintleman, jist sich as I have seen in the ould counthry." The remembrance of Mr. Dinsmore's kindness was sweet to Minnie; she started up, and looking out the window, said: "I wonder which house he lives in." "Jist three doors below, on the other side-I saw him tripping down' the steps there, where the hbuse-maid is sous- ing the water." page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 R E A L I T T. The child watched Mr. Dinsmore till he was out of sight; then the bell rang for the servants' breakfast, and Bridget went down stairs. Minnie took up the small Bible which Bridget had, placed on the bureau, and read the 23d psalm. It was her sainted mother's favorite psalm. Tears still fell from her eyes, but they were not the scalding drops which agony had forced from them; she was softened and calmed by the precious song of David, and when she had read it, -dropped on her knees, and held that communion with her Heavenly Father which is the best balm for a wounded spirit. THE PROCRUSTEAN BED. 55 CHAPTER VIII. THE PROC RUSTEAN BED.' WrH EN Bridget returned, Mrs. Burkitt sent a message by her, bidding Minnie to come to her dressing-room, for morn- ing-prayers. Mrs. Burkitt sat up stiff and stately in a richly- carved arm-chair; before her was a prie-dieu, on which lay an open, golden-clasped prayer-book. "(I am going to read prayers, child; you must come here for the purpose every morning," said Mrs. Burkitt, with assumed solernity; " there is your cushion." L Thank you," said Minnie, in a sweet, gentle voice. The prayers were read in a dull, monotonous manner-the same prayers which she had so often heard from the lips of her mother-and so fixed was the habit of devotion in the .! mind and heart of Minnie Dell, that the solemn words found there a ready response. When the ceremony was over, Mrs. Burkitt rose from her knees, resumed her stateliness and her arm-chair, and calling Minnie to her, said : ' The first moral lesson you will have to learn, child, is unquestioning obedience to my commands'" The poor child had early learned and practised that lesson ; with a tender, loving mother. page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 REALITY. "The next is, self-control-do you understand what I mean by that?" "Not exactly; will you be so kind as to explain V" faltered out Minnie, in a voice that might have softened any one, but a theoretical educationist, making an experiment. "The tears are too frequently in your eyes; you have met with a loss, but it was God's will, and you must submit cheer- fully to it. You must control your feelings." ' I will try," said Minnie, while the big tears would roll down and sparkle on her black dress. "No doubt it is a physical weakness, in consequence of your diminutive size. Dr. Batterman will soon be here and you must answer his questions as clearly as you can. The door-bell rings, I think he has arrived; we will descend to the parlor." Minnie followed Mrs. Burkitt, her heart throbbing, her face flushed, and her eyes full of tears. "Here is your patient, doctor," said Mrs. Burkitt, assuming her blandest manner-" my brother, Captain Dell's, only daughter, she is entrusted to my especial care." "What is the mlatter with the child?" "Just look at her! She is twelve years old-one would not believe her to be more than seven-the physique has 'been entirely neglected hitherto, as you perceive." During this speech the doctor had rapidly taken, off his gloves, and laid aside his gold-headed cane. "But what ails her, madam?" he demanded. 4' That is for you to say. I sent for you, sir, to consult you about her physical education." THE PROCRUSTEAN BED. S? "Come here, my child-are you out of health ." Minnie timidly approached. "Tell me, my dear, what is the matter with you?" "I am too small of my age," said Minnie, in a choking voice. "Is that all? I have no Procrustean bed for children of twelve years of age, or I would use it for keeping a tall daughter of my own from growing too fast." Mrs. Burkitt was nettled by this cavalier way of treating the matter, and said, in a very dignified manner: "It cer- tainly must come within the range of medical science to discover some regimen to promote growth of body." "A higher power than that of science decides the stature, as the good book tells us; the child has time enoughbefore her to grow-and suppose she should not be tall--many men like small women-myself among the number." Mrs. Burkitt reddened angrily; she was proud of measur- ing five feet ten inches. "My dear," continued the doctor, observing Minnie's mourning-dress, "I have a troop of little folks at-home, and a nice large yard for them to play in-you must come and romp with them. After living in the country, you will need a deal of exercise in the city. I am glad Mrs. Burkitt has placed you under my care." Mrs. Burkitt did not appear as well pleased as the physi- cian; a dark cloud lowered upon her brow. Doctor Batter- man, without seeming to notice it, continued: "We will see, madam, what we can do to promote the growth of your 4* page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 . REALrTY. exotic. -Early rising, a long walk after breakfast, and lessons at the riding-school, are indispensable." t Mrs. Burlkitt brightened-"That, then, is your prescription, Doctor-it shall be followed. Having provided for the child's physical culture, I must now attend to the intellectual. I want a tutor for her, in English and Latin." "Just so, exactly--I have it i" replied the doctor, rubbing together his plump hands. "Capital!" "Then you know of some suitable person, perhaps ." "Just so; exactly, Mrs. Burkitt. A highly-educated young gentleman brought me a letter of introduction a month ago, and I should like to do him a good turn. Just the person- I will send him to you to-day. Lessons, one hour every day, at nine o'clock precisely; terms, sixty dollars per quarter." "Doctor, you are " extortionate, Mrs. Burkitt was about to say, but the doctor interrupted-- - "No more-no less; you may think yourself fortunate, madam. Good morning; bye-bye, my little friend," grasping Minnie's small hand, till it seemed lost in the depths of his own-"I shall send some of my chicks to see you." . THE INDEPENDENT TUTOR. 59 CHAPTER IX. THE INDEPENDENT TUTOR. MRS. BURKITT was a/ superior woman; everybody said she was a superior woman, and she herself considered it a fixed fact. She was going to make Minnie Dell a superior woman. She would now have an opportunity to show to the world her wonderful superiority to women in general-poor, silly mothers, who spoiled their children by indulgence. Thus thought Mrs. Burkitt, as she paraded to and fro in her spacious drawing-room, with an air of ineffable com- placency, waiting for the arrival of the tutor. Now, this tutor--to-be--was a philosopher; not an infidel philosopher; no, not he. He recognized this world as God's world, redeemed from sin and death by the blessed Saviour; and, because it is God's world, he knew that he had a right to live in it, and enjoy it, without as much as saying "By your leave," to his fellow-men. Following the apostolic injunction, "owe no man anything, but to love one another," he was independent without being rich; by being " true to himself," and, therefore, "false to no man," he had laid the foundation for that self-respect which was his distinguishing characteristic. i page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] O REA LITY. He held his tall person very erect, and with his large, mild, hazel eyes, looked directly into the eves of the person whom he addressed. Many a skulking rascal had quailed before that steady, earnest look; and yet there was no seve- rity in it-no fierceness-it was as calm as Lake George on a bright summer day, and as transparent, to the gifted few who can read the soul in the eyes. In him, humor and pathos were so curiously blended, that he could not have been proud, even though he had not culti- vated humility as a Christian grace. His keen sense of the ludicrous would have rendered his own pride ridiculous. Of course, pride in others seemed superlatively so. Perhaps, after all, he was proud of one thing; namely, that he was not proud. With the easy, independent air of a prince, the expected tutor entered the drawing-room of the stately Mrs. Burkitt. She was in full dress; gloves, fan, and everything but bon- net and veil, which lay on a table beside her. As he entered, the superior woman partly rose from -her damask-covered fauteuil; slightly nodding 'her haughty head, she settled herself again, and spread out the rich folds of her ample gown of, purple silk. The young man bowed, and drew up his tall figure to its full height. "The young man whom Dr. Batterman recommends for a tutor in Latin and English to my niece 2?' Another bow. "Your name, sir, if you please." "George Raymond." c THE INDEPENDENT TUTOR. 61 "Take a seat." Raymond hesitated. Should he obey, or make a hasty retreat? He cast a furtive glance towards the door, and then suddenly seated himself. on an ottoman, covered with embroi- dered white satin. "Not there! not there!-your black coat will soil that fine white satin!" exclaimed Mrs. Burkitt, with most unlady- like perturbation. "Excuse me; it is a peculiar ornament; I mistook it for a seat!" said Raymond, rising, and retreating towards the door. , Please take this chair, sir, near me," she said, in a con- ciliatory tone. He accepted the offered chair. Mrs. Burkitt placed the forefinger of her right hand in the palm of her left, and said, with solemn emphasis- "Now, sir, let us begin this momentous business at, the beginning. Your credentials, sir." Raymond drew from his pocket a scroll of parchment, with a broad, blue ribbon attached, and a red seal nearly the size of a saucer, and handed it to Mrs. Burkitt. She passed her eye over the high-sounding Latin words of the college degree, and returned it, saying, with a patronizing nod, "That is suf- ficient." Again,' the finger was placed on -the palm of the hand, and she continued- "Now, sir, Dr. Batterman has charge of the pAysique, I, of the morale, and, if your views correspond with mine, you are to be entrusted with the intellectual! My theory is, that page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] W A. X I T Y. education makes he man. The infant mind is a slab of pure white marble-a complete tabula razor (the good lady's Latinity was about as correct as her Theology): a tabula' razor, sir, on which no mark has yet been made." The superior woman paused for approbation. Raymond, supposing she waited for his opinion, replied: "(I differ from you, madam; I think the peculiarities of each individual are inherent; to follow your figure, they are i engraven on each mind by the finger of God, and will be as t enduring as the moral law itself. Yes, madam, in spite of human teaching, and the modification of circumstances, I human character remains ever the same. We can instill principles, and, to use the trite metaphor, bend .the twig to suit our own fancy, but the nature-of the twig remains the same." - "Then your theory is diametrically opposed to mine!" exclaimed the astonished woman, with uplifted hands and eyes. "I assure you, madam, I could only give the best possible bent to the mind I should attempt to educate. I possess no necromancy, by which I could change the willow to the oak." "Perhlaps, though we differ as to theory, we may not as to the modus operandi, continued the lady. "I will give you m an outline, or schedule, of my own mode: l "In the first place, it is better to err on the side of severity i than of indulgence. :L "In the second place, lessons must be learnt word for word. I abhor the modern notion of allowing children to ,give the idea of the author, in their own miserable language:. X ei THE INDEPENDEN TrUTOR. 63 i'In the third place, severe punishment must be inflicted for disobedience. I will make a. frightful fool's-cap, and hand you a ferule of the suitable size. "In the fourth place, you must never talk to my niece about anything but her lessons, "In the fifth, and last, place, you must take no notice of her tears; her sensibility is morbid; it would be well to punish her for weeping." "That belongs to the department morale, madam," said Raymond, while a slight smile played about his handsome mouth. "Not when she cries over her lessons. Never send her to me to be punished for any misdemeanors she may commit while under your eye. She has been much indulged by a doating mother, and needs stern discipline." "I should not be able to carry out your theory, madam, to your satisfaction," said Raymond, in a decided tone, 'and i rising to take leave; as he did so, Mrs. Burkitt beckoned to some one in a distant corner, and the small subject of this mighty discussion slid down from a sofa, where she had ensconced herself, and came forward slowly and timidly, with her modest eyes fixed upon the carpet. "Miss Mary Dell--Mr. Raymond; where is your courtesy, child?." Minnie dropped a slight courtesy, without raising her eyes. "I must send you to dancing-school. You are awkward. You should, look at persons when you address them. Raise your eyes; this young man is, perhaps, to be your tutor." Minnie lifted the long lashes, with' an attempt to look at page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] the awesome personage, but the, attempt failed; the lids drooped again over them, and tears rolled from- beneath. Mr. Raymond's decision was revoked: ' Will you come I and speak to me, Miss Mary?"I The kind, gentle tone of that manly voice fell like precious balm on the wounded heart of Minnie Dell. She moved more quickly to him, and lifting her sweet eyes, looked plead- ingly in his honest face, and then put -her little hand into his broad palm.: He gave it a cordial shake, and then offered her a chair. His resolve was fixed. "I will' endeavor, :I madam, to carry out your theory, as far as my knowledge and conscience allow-with one exception, the fool's-cap and ferule." X "I insist on having them in the school-room (aside-to be held over her in terrorem). I suppose you are not very far X advanced in your studies, Minnie; Mr. Raymond will exa- a mine you to-morrow, and find out what little you have learned." - - X Ah, those naughty tears! They would come to the poor child's eyes at this imputation on the teaching of her beloved mother. , X George Raymond's sensibility may have been as morbid as Minnie Dell's, for his large, hazel eyes grew moist, and to avoid the result-tears-tears on a manly cheek! What would the superior woman have thought of that?-he arose, saying, "I believe Dr. Batterman settled everything else ' about this matter, and, if you. please, I will commence to-morrow morning, at nine o'clock." "Very well. I will expect you." X Ok, X ?.i THE INDEPENDENT TUTOR. 05 s And George Raymond gave one kind glance at Minnie, and made a hasty exit. As soon as he had cleared the door, Mrs. Burkitt said: " You are to be very formal and distant with your tutor, Miss Minnie-never have a word of conversation with him about anything but your lessons~ Go to your room, and try to summon up what you have learned, for to-morrow. It is a pity you were never sent to school." Minnie gladly withdrew., Mrs. Burkitt had a head, but had she a heart ? -She was not a mother; perhaps if she bad been, the heart would have developed. Again she, commenced her stately promenade thllrough the drawing-room, with an expression of counten- ance which said, (" Mrs. Burkitt, you are' a smart woman- you managed the tutor remarkably well." She, was inter- rupted in these self-complacent cogitations, by the entrance of Irene Hazlehill, who had come to return Mrs. Burkitt's visit of ceremony. From a dashing yellow carriage with servants in yellow and blue livery, Irene had alighted at the door just as Mr. George Raymond was leaving the house. Mrs. Burkitt advanced towards the young lady and held out two fingers, with the tips of which she daintily touched the visitor's hand, and then bowed ifi a provokingly condes- cending, patronizing manner. Condescension is exceedingly wounding to self-love. Irene felt the blood mount to her forehead, but she made a sweep- ing flourish for a salutation, and settled herself on a sofa, determined not to be cowed down by the stately personage. Mrs. Burkitt's look of astonishment would have destroyed page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " REALITY. the self-possession of most young ladies, but Irene went on very glibly to say: "You must excuse my mother from paying, visits, she never goes out, excepting occasionally to church." "I know she is an invalid. Your father has requested -me to, bring you out. From your assured manner, I should suppose you had been out several seasons,. It is no easy matter to place a young girl 'on the pinnacle of fashionable society, but I can do it if any one can. Who makes your dresses?' "Madam Lemoine.' "Very well, and who is your milliner?" "Miss Feuchtenhauyen." "I thought so! . Absurd! don't patronize her, she makes frights-of-bonnets; I know them at a glance, all the way across the church. I will go with you to my own milliner immediately. It will bea nice opportunity for me to com- mence my arduous task of chaperone." Irene smiled-a smile that was first-cousin to a sneer. Mrs. Burkitt threw on her bonnet and veil, and when she stepped into the millionaire's carriage, bestowed upon it the same patronizing look she had given to the millionaire's daughter. Her imnprimatur must stamp the new equipage, comme il faut. - When they .had driven a short distance, Irene abruptly asked who the gentleman was, who left Miss Burkitt's door as she entered it. v "We have had no gentleman-visitor this morning," was the reply. THE INDEPENDENT TUTOR. 67 "I saw a gentleman come out of your house." "Oh, that was only a young man who is to be tutor to my niece. Do not be looking after beaux, they will soon be around you as thick as bees about a honeysuckle. The import- ance of your position, introduced by me into society, and your immense fortune, will attract a host of fortune-hunters. Keep yourself in reserve for an unexceptionable parti." Again the contemptuous smile played about the face of Irene Hazlehill, and it did not quite leave it, as she tried on bonnet after bonnet at the fashionable establishment of Mrs. Burkitt's milliner.. Two of the most expensive bonnets were selected, and ordered to be sent to the corner of No. 14 Street & - Avenue. Instead of exhibiting the mauvaise honte of a country-girl and a debutante, Irene gave her opinions with the utmost freedom, totally indifferent whether they coincided with Mrs. Burkitt's or not. Yet from that time, she frequently consulted her, and relied on her know- ledge, for guidance amid the bewildering maze of city life. The chaperone would have accused Irene of country - awkwardness, -had she seen her alight from her carriage one day, about anveek after the visit to the milliner's. The liveried footman held the carriage-door open, but so intently were the lady's eyes fixed on a gentleman who had just come down the marble steps at Mrs. Burkitt's, that she stumbled, and would have fallen oi the pavement had he not caught her in his arms. "Are you hurt?" said a manly, yet gentle voice. What mysterious power there is in the human voice! , , .#. t page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 REALITY. The tone of that voice thrilled through every nerve of the trembling Irene. "Are you hurt?" Those three words were a whole book; . the exponent of a character, to which her vivid imagination furnished a history. "Thank you, sir; not at all," she replied, extricating her- self and flying up the steps in a fearful flutter. In the hall she met little Minnie. "What gentleman left this house,?' she asked, in a whisper. "Mr. George Raymond." "Is he your friend i" "Yes, indeed--the best friend I have here." "Do you know his place of residence?" ' Yes; here is his address in my writing-book. He gave it to, me, thinking I might sometime need to send a message to him, because' you know he is my tutor." Irene scribbled the address on the back of one of her own cards, and stooping to kiss Minnie, whispered softly in her ear, "Don't mention that I asked you these questions-- that's a nice darling. You and I will be good friends; I am sure I shall love you dearly." This assurance was most cordially welcomed by desolate A little Minnie. MS6 HRAZELHLL S BALL. 69 CHAPTER X. M ISS HAZLEH LL S BALoL. WHAT a commotion in Hautondom! What consultations with milliners and dressmakers! What sighs over empty 1 purses! What outpouring from full ones! What manceu- vres for a little bit of pasteboard, engraved with the magical words, "Mr. & Mrs. Hazlehill request the pleasure of Miss So-and-so's company!" &c. &c. Miss Hazlehill's ball! The most splendid affair of the season. If all the surprise of the expectants of invitations, who received none, had been concentrated into one grand surprise, it would not have equalled that of George Raymond, who did receive an invitation. He pondered long over the large, brightly-polished card. He examined the envelope. No mistake. Inside and outside was the name, Mr. George Raymond, written in fair, lady-like chirography. After' pondering over it for some minutes, he very sagely con- eluded that Mrs. Hazlehill was the lady who stumbled out of her carriage, and would have fallen but for his assistance, and that Mrs. Hazlehill must be- remarkable for politeness and gratitude for the smallest favors. How had she learned his name? That was easy enough; at Mrs. Burkitt's. Should he accept the invitation? He examined the elbows page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] X 70 R EALITY. of his well-brushed coat. They were not quite out--very nearly. He drew his finger tenderly over them-a single wrench would be fatal. The faithful garment had been worn ever since his junior exhibition in college. A little ink must be passed over the whitey seams. 'I must know something of the world-I will go." Mrs. Hazlehill had remonstrated, and preached, and prayed, not to have a ball in the house. "Sinful fiddling and dancing--Satan's inventions." In vain did she thus protest. Mr. Hazlehill's will was law. Medes and Persians could not "hold a candle" to him, when his decision was once fixed. So, the preparations for the ball went on, day after day, the whole mansion undergoing a complete bouleversement,; from which the disgusted Mrs. Hazlehill retreated to a small room in the attic. There, her meals were regularly sent to her, and nothing mbre was heard from her, excepting an occa- sional complaint about the terrific noises which frequently reached her elevated station. Mr. Hazlehill had given Mrs. Burkitt carte blanche as to expense. As he strutted alone through the decorated apartments, on the eve of the ball, he surveyed them with proud satisfaction. He had discovered the "open sesame" to Potosi and Golconda; he had evoked the genius of California. Mirrors, which might have reflected the full length of a megalosaurus; hangings, which would have graced the palace of Shushan; vases, gleaming among flowers fresh as May; pictures, which had been treasured up for ages, as too costly for all but princes; statues, veiled from profane eyes, by their own &It. MSS HAZLEHLL' S BALL. 71 exquisite purity and loveliness; "all, all these, mine own hands have gotten me!"Hark! What is it that startles the purse-proud citizen! Why does he pause in his perambu- lation . Memory, stern, unrelenting memory, whispers to his slumbering conscience--' Thou fool, thy soul shall be required of thee." The splendor and glare of those brilliant apartments has penetrated, like a vivid flash of lightning, to the hidden depths of that dark soul, and it quails at the sight of itself. As Irene glided into the drawing-room, her father was standing beneath the central chandelier, with his hands tightly folded over his breast-his head, usually held. so proudly erect, bent forward, and his eyes firmly closed; he seemed cowering before some supernatural presence. With noiseless footfall Irene stepped to his side, and, placing her hand on his shoulder, exclaimed-'"Father!- Father!" He started and quivered, as though he had been summoned to the final judgment, but instantly recovering himself, said: "'Irene, is it you 2 The queen of the revels! You are so splendid I hardly knew you." "Are you ill, father? You look ghastly pale." "No, no; I am perfectly well. You burst like a meteor upon me." And, indeed, there was something meteor-like in her appearance. A silver gauze floated over the richest of white satins; diamonds twinkled amid her dark hair, and encircled her graceful neck and beautiful arms. The flush of youth was on her cheek; joyous anticipation \ page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 2 RE A LRIT Y. gave lightness and grace to every movement. Her partial father was not the only one that night who thought Irene Hazlehill perfectly beautiful. Standing by his side, 'she received the guests with the easy complaisance of one sure of pleasing, and therefore unconscious of self; while he, all the arrogance of the banker gone, bowed in a half-cringing, wholly anxious manner, fidgeting with his ponderous watch- chain and seal, or smoothing down the coat-sleeves; of the finest of broadcloths. The banker was certainly out of his element., Many of the gentlemen who bowed to the host and hostess, were strangers, escorting invited lady-guests. , Mrs. Burkitt had given this permission to allher friends. George Raymond wandered about for some time among the crowd, in search of the lady of the house; at length, he inquired for Mrs. Hazlehill. "Indeed, sir, I don't know what they have done with the old woman, to-night; put her away in some odd corner, out of sight of the company, of course," replied the gentleman addressed. "With other useless bed-room furniture," added another guest. . The "old woman!" Raymond was sorely puzzled. The tide of guests was still flowing in, and he drifted along with the current, till he came into the royal presence-for such it seemed to0 his be-dazzled eyes, as he bowed to Irene, whom he recognized at a glance. "Good evening, Mrs. Hazlehill." Irene, for a moment, lost self-possession; she bowed, and a bright color spread over her face. . Mr. Hazlehill nodded, consequentially, for his quick eye Of Y t MSS HAZLEHLL S BALL. 73 had detected the shabby coat. "That must be a literary man," thought he, "-thy make lions of such; it's a foolish fashion." Other guests immediately claimed attention. Raymond stepped aside, and stood near "Irene, much wondering who the "old woman" was, who had been so cavalierly thrust for the nonce into an odd corner of the garret. "How I dislike that man!" thought he, as he studied the countenance and air of Mr. Hazlehill.- :How could that beautiful woman marry that vulgar lump of pomposity and meanness? Money, money, I suppose; remorseless idol!' He withdrew from the immediate circle about Irene, and took his station where he could "look out from the loopholes of retreat, on the small Babel." Irene, who had hitherto kept her reception-position, at length moved towards the place where Raymond was leaning against a column, in a thoughtful but not ungraceful attitude. Half-a-dozen elbows were simultaneously pointed towards her: "Thank you, thank you," she said, nodding to the white-gloved beaux, without accepting their offered civility. "There is a stranger to whom I must speak." Twelve envious eyes. were instantly fixed on the highly- favored stranger, as Irene advanced towards him, with her most gracious air. "I think you addressed me as Mrs. Hazlehill," said she, in a gentle voice; " it was a very natural mistake. Mamma is an invalid, and could not receive our guests to-night." Raymond was suddenly relieved from the mountain of ,4 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 REALITY. indignation, which the belief in her wife-hood had pressed upon him. "Pardon my strange mistake," he replied, with startling emphasis, "it was most unnatural." Just -at this moment a full band in the conservatory struck up the enlivening music of a quadrille. "Allow me to introduce you ,to some young lady, if you dance, Mr. Raymond." Thus challenged, what could common civility dictate, but "Shall I have the pleasure of dancing with you?" which was followed, however, by an apologetic addenda, "If you will aid an awkward partner." The next moment Raymond was leading Irene to the ball- room, followed by the astonishment and, chagrin of those white-gloved dandies, with rings outside their gloves! Ame- rican citizens-democrats, every one of them. "Who is that seedy individual?" exclaimed one. "Some odd biped out of Noah's Ark," replied young Scapwit. "A poet; I'll bet you a dozen of champagne," said another; "a poor poet who has written a sonnet to the eyebrow of the millionaire's daughter." "She might better have paid him off in solid coin, than with a ball-room invitation," added a third. "Yes, indeed, to buy him a new casing; he is about as fit for a ball-room as an alligator," said Scapwit. By this time Raymond and Irene had led the way to the dancing-room. Garlands of evergreens and fresh flowers * 1" MSS HAZLEHLL'SL BALL. 75 decorated the apartment. Splendid vases filled with exotics stood on bronze brackets between each graceful festoon, while a delicious perfume filled the air, and a flood of light was reflected from the pure white floor and ceiling. For one brief moment Raymond and Irene were alone, seeming to float onward, in"that scene of enchantment, like spirits of the upper air; in another moment the dancers flocked in, the quadrilles were formed, and " the light fantas- tic toe" was in requisition. Alas! the truth must be told; the light fantastic toe of the hero of the evening, was accoutred in thick, country-made, leather boots-pegged- boots! Silly girls turned away their faces and giggled; silly boys turned up their noses and sneered; and Scapwit gave the " seedy individual" the sobriquet of '"Puss in Boots." The figures were not familiar to Raymond, but Irene gracefully guided him through their intricate mazes, and so well pleased was she that an invitation for the next set but one, was most graciously accepted., As Ra-ymond was leading his brilliant partner from the dance, they were met by Mrs. Burkitt, who cast towards him an annihilating glance, and beckoned Irene aside. "Gracious goodness How camle Minnie's tutor here?" she exclaimed, almostSfoaming with anger. "By invitation," calmy replied the undaunted Irene. "By invitation! Whose, I wonderS?-his name was not on my list, and I am sure none of mv acquaintances would have- brought such a nobody. I think I had better summon a police officer to take the impudent intruder out of the house.' page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] &REALITY. "Mrs. Burkitt! You astonish me! I claimed the privi- lege of inviting at least one person to my own ball, and I sent . ticket to Mr. Raymond." "Abold manceuvre A clandestine one! A high-handed one, for a young lady just coming out. You invited the fellow to open the ball with you too, I :suppose! I promised that favor to Mr. Tippy Scapwit, a particular favorite of mine, who has just returned from Europe; Tippyt has avenged himself for his disappoinment, by nicknaming the unknown,.' Puss in Boots,' and it has taken mightily all over the ball-room. But here comes Mr. Scapwit to speak for himself." Tippy had passed three whole months in Paris, and now lisped in a foreign accent, though it must be confessed, from infancy to manhood, he had cruelly murdered his mother- tongue. , Bowing as stiffly as a closing penknife, which by the way, in thinness he much resembled;'he said: "I've come to claim your hand, Mees AzleiH, for this valse." "Thank you, 1I never waltz." "Never valse! Then, you'll be wetoed by our whole set. You must valse," said the creature, bending his arm to encircle her waist, and seizing her hand. Irene drew away her hand, and said haughtily,-i' Sir, I will not, I cannot waltz." "Your guests will take it for a reproof to them for waltz- ing, if you do not waltz yourself," coolly remarked Mrs. Burkitt, who had been a"listener to this conversation. ".Very well; if they choose so to take it they can. I wish * MSS HAZLEHLL'SB BALL, 7 my example might have more influence than it probably will," was the-unexpected reply. Mrs. Burkitt stalked away in high displeasure. "You are a very thingular young lady, Mees Azleill. But you have a right to be thingular; perhaps, 'twill take -in our set. May I have the exquisite pleasure of dancing the next ,quadrilles with you?" '"Thank you; I am engaged for the next set to Mr. Ray- mond." "Mr. Raymond! Ah! Indeed!- Is that the name of the seedy individual we call Puss in Boots?" "Take care! he may snap up half a dozen of you mice at one pounce." . "Ah! Mees Azleill! Y6ol are too lard on me. You are a whole load of brick." By this time a crowd had gathered round Irene, and engagements for all the dancing through the rest of the evening had been made, when Raymond came again to lead her out. Oh! The sneer might almost have been heard above the music of the full band, as- Raymond and Irene walked away from Mr. Tippy Scapwit and his "set" "Was there ever such a person seen in genteel company!" exclaimed Miss Adelaide Millstone, tossing a head which was freighted more heavily on the outside with flowers, feathers, and tinsel, than inside with brains. "Who can it be?" "Pth in Boots!" repeated Mr. Scapwit, charmed with his own attempt at cleverness. page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 REAL ITY. "No; but his real name," suggested Miss Mariana Moth, with a contemptuous smile; "John Smith, Tom Jones, or some other distinguished alias? I think I have seen him heaving coal into our area. Don't. you think he looks very like a coal-heaver 2" "Yes, indeed," replied Miss Millstone, with a second toss of the head, which endangered her long, slender neck, and shook the "' fuss and feathers 1' on her brainless skull. "Yes, indeed, and Miss Hazlehill will lose caste by patronizing such a nobody." "She hasn't a bit of a air," said Miss Moth, spitefully. "I should know her for a country-bred damsel, in spite of her lace and diamonds. How strange it is, that low-breeding, like murder, will out! Mamma says, I might put on a checked apron, over a linsey-woolsey dress, and wear a hideous straw bonnet, without disguising my carriage and breeding, so that I could not be known for a tip-top lady," "I wonder why ,iss Hazlehill neither polkas, nor waltzes?" said Miss Millstone. ' Because she don't know how, probably," replied the lady- like Miss Moth. "I could not venture a waltz, or a polka, or a mazourka, myself, unless I had taken lessons in Paris. Oh, la belle France is the only spot .on earth where one can acquire a knowledge of the graces! I do not think there can be such a thing as an American lady, unless she takes a trip across the ocean, to get rid of her Yankee awkwardness. 'What's the matter, Mr. Scapwit, you seem lost in thought?" "Excuse me, my thoughts were revelling in the fair land, ! MSS HAZLEHLL S BALL. 79 you named; charmant pays! J'aime tres beaucoup la belle France." "And are you not fond of the valse " asked Miss Moth, in her most insinuating manner, and beating time with her fan, to the tune. "Yeth, indeed-did you thay you would like to waltz ," "With the greatest pleasure!" "Then I thuppose I must be on duty," replied Mr. Soapwit, throwing his arm around the waist of the unresisting and irresistible Miss Moth. Mr. Raymond had said he did not approve of waltzing; he asked Irene if she remembered the lines quoted in Miss Edgeworth's "Patronage ;" "From the grape you have brushed its soft blue; From the rose-bud you've shaken its tremulous dew; What you've touched, you may take, pretty waltzer adieu!" This had decided Irene not to waltz. a During the quadrilles, Raymond and Irene found opportu- nity -for conversation, that was quite interesting. Knowing nothing of each other's antecedents, or present relations to society, the topics were not personal, but such as to call forth the latent power of Irene's mind, and to elicit her -noblest sentiments. After this, the -flippant talk of her other partners was like Gratiano's, "an infinite deal of nothing," from which she could not sift, even the " two grains of wheat.'- Whatever talent or intelligence they may have possessed, was studiously kept in abeyance in the ball-room. Yet there was a certain charm in being admired and flattered, although, page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 - REALITY. at the bottom of her heart she despised the admirers and flatterers; for Irene was but eighteen, and a romantic novice. The incense offered 'to her vanity, was not altogether offen- sive; it was overpowering, like musIk, and yet had a smack of deliciousness. A couplet from good Hannah More's "Search after Happiness," however, which she had learned at school, continually obtruded itself, and again and again she was just on the point of repeating aloud :-- "Is this the world of which I want a sight? Are these the beings who are called polite P;' When supper was announced, Raymond happened to be near Irene, and offered his arm.' Again to be so distin- guished! Who could it be? Mrs. Burkitt, excepting Irene, the only person in the crowd who knew, vouchsafed no reply to the many questions with which she 'was assailed. The superior woman left the house in anger. After the infinite pains she had taken to make this ball the most splendid affair of the season, she pronounced it, in consequence of Miss Hazlehill's vulgar taste, a "decided failure." Mr. Hazlehill had seen Raymond lead Irene out to supper, and much wondered who the "lion" was. As soon as the guests had all departed, he said, with an ominous scowl, "There was one suspicious-looking individual here to-night, whom I could not make out; tell me who and what he is, and what right he had to be here." "Oh, papa! I am so weary; please let me go to my room, instantly; to-morrow morning we will talk over the ball," MSS HAZLJ:EHLL'S BALL. 81 said Irenrie, while a deep color spread over her face and neck, and tingled to her fingers' ends. "You do look flushed and feverish. It was an exciting evening, and a grand affair. One thing was omitted; you did not perform-on the harp." "Good night! good night, papa ;" and Irene disappeared. 4* page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 REALITY, CHAPTER XI, THE POOR SAILOR. Mss HAZ LETTTTS ball was pronounced the most splendid affair of the season, un grand succes ; in spite of the Moths and Millstones. Perhaps no person was less satisfied with its result, than George Raymond. He had heard himself called Puss in Boots--he had felt the contemptuous smiles and half- diabolical sneers-and proud as he was, could not shake them off, "like dew-drops from the lion's mane." He had been highly distinguished by the 'dazzling hostess, whose smiles were coveted by the whole " set." But why? Was it to make him ridiculous? He restlessly rolled 'and tossed to and fro, till a bright beam of sunshine poured through the single window of his lofty apartment. He observed the rusty coat, still redolent of the mingled perfumes of those decorated apartments, and then the strong pegged boots. He despised himself for despising them; they were good, serviceable boots, but he could not help despising them. He sat meditating by that small window until the events of the evening were dispersed, and memories, puzzling memories thronged his overtaxed brain, till it throbbed under the excitement. He would walk off the. feverishness. He seized his hat and hurried down stairs. THeE "POOR SAILOR. 83 As he opened the outer door of the building, a sailor who had been seated on the steps, stood up, turned round, and holding out his rough hand, accosted him. "Shipmate! for the first time in my life I ask for money." "Money!" exclaimed Raymond. "Sunbeams from cucum- bers." "Young man, I am hungry; I couldn't eat cucumbers if I had them. I was wrecked on Long Island shore-almost pounded to jelly--and I've crawled to the city, to get into some hospital. I must lie by for a while, for I am a poor battered hulk." The sailor's countenance was an honest one, and as he took off his tarpaulin, and wiped his face with a bit of a bandana, Raymond noticed his thin, grey hair. A grey sailor, old and poor, hungry, cold, and ragged! "I wish your first application for money had been made to some one better able to assist you than I am," said Raymond, putting a stnall coin in the rough hand. "Thank you! God bless you!" said the poor sailor, drawing his old coat-sleeve across his tearful eyes. "You have very little to thank me for," replied Raymond, hastening down the steps. ". Kind, pleasant words are worth a great deal: to a lonely old fellow like me. Could you show me the way to an hospital a? Raymond was touched by the sailor's manner. "I don't know how to direct you, but if you will come up to my room and wait awhile, I will go to a gentleman and inquire." page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 R EALI TY. "H ow wonderful kind! I will, right gladly." The sailor limped, and with difficulty mounted the stairs; but Raymond assisted him, and when he reached his room, finding that the effort had fatigued the poor sailor exceed- ingly, he said: "Lie down on the rug before the fire, ,nd rest yourself while I go and get you some breakfast, and after that I will inquire of Dr. Batterman about the hospital." Again the rough sleeve was passed over the sailor's eyes; he could not speak. Raymond went to a restaurant near by, bought a sub- stantial breakfast, and carried it himself to the sailor. Never was a breakfast eaten with a keener relish. While the poor fellow was thus enjoying the bountiful meal of hot coffee and beefsteak, Raymond-was brushing the coat on which the dust of the ball-room had been plentifully sprinkled. He yawned and brushed, and brushedl and yawned; the coat also yawned, at the elbow. His black coat-his only coat! "It does not signify; I must have a new coat; this old thing I will give to that ragged beggar. It is no more than polite that I should call after'the party. When I am about it, I will have a full suit." Ah! George Raymond, you who have thus far made your own way in the world, are you now to be indebted, in more senses than one,-to your tailor, and "the leather and prunella" of your bootmaker for creating you a gentleman! "Stay here, my good fellow, till I return," said -he to the sailor, who by this time had finished his comforting meal. !, THE POOR SAILOR. 85 "Oh, shipmate! There never was such a breakfast as that before, never; it has made a new man of me. If it wasn't for this broken timber (pointing to his leg), I shouldn't have to lay by." "It is better for you to go to the hospital, and be taken care of, till you are quite well," said Raymond, as he left the room. "Nlow, I call that a good Samaritan; his words are 'oil and wine,' and his deeds match them exactly," thought the sailor, as he threw himself again on the rug before the fire. About two hours after, Raymond returned, and aroused him from a refreshing sleep to go to the hospital, for which he had gotten a permit from Dr. Batterman; That morning there was no regular family-breakfast at the Hazlehills'-the whole house was topsy-turvy. The servants, having kept up a carousal, after the ball, till broad daylight, were sleeping it off. Mr. Hazlehill went away, fasting, to his banking-office. About ten o'clock, Mrs. Hazlehill descended ifrom the attic, and going to Irene's room, aroused her from dream-land. "Irene-Irene, do you know what horrible confusion the house is in? Not a servant has yet been near me to give me my breakfast. A ball is worse than a fire, a burglary, or a hurricane. There isn't a comfortable spot in the whole house. Wicked, wicked doings!" "I wish you would leave me alone; I am very sleepy," said Irene, impatiently. "' Sleep on now, and take your rest, but remember the page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 REALITY. hour is coming '"-Mrs. Hazlehill irreverently used the sacred words, with- a menacing finger pointing upward, and-her scowling visage pale with anger-" ' when the wicked shall be cast into hell-fire, there to burn for ever and ever."' She then violently closed the door. Irene, after retiring to her room, had not been able for hours to sleep. Over and over she revolved in her mind all that had passed, and conscientious scruples haunted her. Was this the way in which she was to pass night after night? Excepting the conversation she had had with Raymond, she could not remember a rational, or even a bright thing that had been said to her during the evening. Had her mother but known how to probe with a delicate touch that conscience, now thrilling with doubt and regret! Alas! her probing was ferocious; as well might an oculist use a poker to, take a mote out of an eye. NOT A GENTLEMAA N 87 CHAPTER XII. NOT A GENTLEMAN! MNNIE DELL sat in the small study appropriated to her morning recitations. The hours passed in those recitations were the only flowery spots in the child's dreary pathway. Mr. Raymond was so kind and gentle, and yet so respectful in his manner towards her, that she would have learned her lessons well, had she no inducement to study but his approv- ing smile. When wounded by the severity, or chilled by the- cold civility of Mrs. Burkitt, she found a sweet relief in the genial presence of her beloved tutor. The hour passed, and he -did not arrive. She folded her hands on her book, rested her head upon them, and cried herself to sleep. Mrs. Burkitt came in, found her thus fast asleep, and rousing her with no gentle shake, exclaimed: ( Is this the way you study your lessons?" The timid little creature started up, sorely affrighted at the grim countenance beside her. "Where is your tutor? I have not ,heard him come in this morning.' ' "I don't know, indeed, ma'am." "Most probably his head is completely-turned. page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 REALI'TY. "Oh, what has happened to him! Have the cars run over him ." "No, you silly child; I mean he was out of his element last night, at Miss Hazlehill's ball-a very unsuitable place for him. I shall have to dismiss him." "But, you and Mr. Burkitt were there; didn't Mr. Ray- mond know how to behave himself, ma'am?" "He was out of his sphere, decidedly; it was a place for gentlemen." "What is a gentlempa, ma'am?" Mrs. Burkitt was sorely puzzled; she hesitated a moment, and then, throwing back her head in the most imperious style, answered: "A gentleman is one who is perfectly au fait to society; perfectly comme ilfaut, wherever he may be.' "Will you please tell me in plain English, for I do not understand this definition." '"You are very stupid; you ought to have seen gentlemen enough, to understand that Mr. Raymond, though very well in his place, is not a gentleman. He wears an old- fashioned, shabby coat, and horrid boots; he, probably, has always associated with vulgar people. A gentleman must have seen a great deal of the world, and have been born and bred in the best society: he must be polite and chivalrous- above everything low and mean. Do you understand now, child?. "I -think L do. Mr. Raymond must have been born and bred just in that society which makes a man truly polite. You told me Mr. Dinsmore was a gentleman, and my tutor is as polite and refined as that dear, old gentleman himself. NOT A GENTLEMAN. 89 Besides, he has seen a great deal of the world, and knows a huge deal about it. I cannot find there is anything ungentle- manly about' Mr. Raymond, excepting his coat and' boots. I am sure you would be a lady, Mrs. Burkitt, with Bridget's bonnet on." Mrs. Burkitt was surprised and provoked at the child's reasoning. She smiled, however, at the odd compliment, and replied, "But it would not be my bonnet, you know. I might put it on for sport, and, however vulgar and shabby the bonnet might be, it would not make me a vulgar woman." "Then, I suppose, Mr. Raymond without his coat is not a vulgar man?" "Nonsense; you pretend you don't understand me; you know very -well what a gentleman is. You may go and take a walk." Minnie gladly availed herself of the permission, and was soon in the street with her constant attendant, Bridget. "Oh, there is our gentleman!" exclaimed Bridget, pointing across the street. "We haven't seen him before for twenty ages ;' its joy- to my heart, and light to my eyes." Mr. Dixnsmore beckoned for them to come across. He was stepping feebly along with the aid of a stout walking-stick. Bridget picked up Minnie as she would an infant, and ran across the street with her, and the party went slowly along together. : "Ah, my little lady, how are you 8 It is a long time since I have seen you." "I am quite well, thank you; but you are not Well, I am sure." !a page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 REALITY. "I have teen quite ill. This is the first time I have been out since my convalescence." "Oh, I am so sorry to hear it. Who took care of you, sir, when you were so very ill?" "My good physician and my servants. Would you have come to me, Minnie, if you had known it?" ' Yes, indeed, I would, if my aunt would allow me." "Since I have been well enough to be down stairs, I have thought of you frequently, and have sadly needed such a ministering angel. My days have been tedious, because the weakness of my eyes has deprived me of my usual resources." "May I come and read to you, sir?" ' Thank you, if your aunt will allow you to come." "Oh, she will-she must. I will come this very afternoon. We don't dine till five o'clock. When would you like to have me read to you?" "I dine at two-a very unfashionable hour. Come at three." They were now met by Raymond, who stopped Minnie, saying, "I must apologize to you for not coming to hear your recitation this morning. I had other engagements which pre- vented, and shall not be able to come for two or three days. Please, Miss Minnie, say so to your aunt." "And who was that gentleman, Minnie!" . "That gentleman"Adaying great stress on the word), "is my tutor, Mr. Raymond." "Raymond?" ' u Yes, Mr. George Raymond; and such a nice person he is. Don't you think he is very handsome ."l NOT A G/ENTLEMAN. 91- Mr. Dinsmore smiled, and shook his head half playfully, half reprovingly. ' "Oh, sir, if you only knew how good and kind he is, and how verydlearned and intelligent, you would admire Mr. Raymond; I am sure you would. He seems to me like one of the knights of the days of chivalry I am reading about in history." "Don Quixotte, perhaps. I think he does resemble that redoubtable knight; tall and gaunt, with a grave and sober, if not a ' rueful ' countenance." "Now you are laughing at me, Mr. Dinsmore. Ask your good Dr. Batterman about Mr. Raymond. He recommended him to my aunt." "I will; but, Minnie, how often does the doctor put you into the stretching machine? I understand he is to make a tall lady of you." "The only stretching machine I have seen is a nice swing in his garden; but I do not use that frequently. My'aunt says that the doctor's children are too rude, and she does not allow me to play with them." "But the doctor has the charge of the physique, as I under- stand, and if he prescribes swinging in his garden, Mrs. Bur- kitt must allow it. I will give my good doctor a hint about, the matter, this very day. Here we part, now, Minnie. Good morning. I shall expect you at three o'clock." page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 RE AL IT Y. CHAPTER XIII. THE ARCHTECT AND HS PATRONS. A FEW days after the ball, George Raymond rang at the door!of Mr. Hazlehill--in full dress-a gentlemen "calling after the party." He serit up his card. As he entered the drawing-room, Mr. Hazlehill stood with the bit of pasteboard in his hand, perusing it with abewildered, troubled look. Irene moved forward quickly a few steps to meet him, and graciously accosted him-"Good morning, sir; Papa, I believe you are not acquainted with Mr. Ray- mond." "Mr. Raymond? George Raymond? Do you belong to this city, sir " demanded Mr. Hazlehill, still pondering over the card. "I reside 'here, sir." 9"What is your business or profession, sir " demanded Mr. Hazlehill, glancing at Raymond through his gold spec- tacles. "I am an Architect, sir," replied Raymond, with dignity, drawing himself up slightly, and looking down on his pomp- ous neighbor. "An Architect! A house-carpenter, I suppose. We do THE ARCHTECT AND HS PATRONS. 93 not receive mechanics as visitors. When I have occasion for you in your own employment I will call on you, sir." "Papa, you are rude to Mr. Raymond. Pray be seated, sir; papa does not understand that you accepted my own invitation." Here was a palliative, a flattering one, and Raymond, who was about to take a hasty leave, lingered. Other visitors were immediately ushered in, and Irene, who. was not entirely free from conventional prejudices, turned hastily from the "house- carpenter," and received Mr. Scapwit with great empressement. Raymond soon made' his parting bow, which was coolly returned by Irene. He had hardly turned his back, before Mr./ Sippy Scapwit exclaimed, "By Jove! That's Puss in Boots, in a bran new thuit of clothes. How grand!" The silly speech tingled in Raymond's ears; the hot blood rushed to his face as he strode down stairs: yet the fop's folly, did not wound him like Irene's sudden coolness. His pride was as much in his profession as Scapwit's was in doing nothing. He was as jealous for his chosen, his beloved Art, as for himself; an indignity offered to it was a direct insult to himself. Then Mr. Hazlehill's abominable rudeness! Our philosopher was no Stoic; he felt himself half-choking with indignation, as he hurried along through the crowded street, elbowing, with no very gentle punches, all who obstructed his progress. . , "Is there a fire?" said one bank. "What accident has happened?" asked another, who had been most unceremoniously shoved against the wall. Raymond stalked on without replying, and reached his ' page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] "' R E A LITY. studio, or bed-room, for in truth it was both in one, with his blood and his anger at fever heat. He threw off the unlucky coat, and donned his old calico dressing-gown, calling himself a fool--" twenty times a fool," for having been guilty of such useless extravagance. For a silly girl, too, who despised him! The small sign, "George Raymond, Architect," among a dozen other signs, which ornamented the door-way of the large building in which was his studio, attracted no attention. Not a single professional application had be received since he had' been in the city. As a resource, he mentioned to Dr. Batterman that he would' give private lessons in English and Latin. Minnie Dell was his only pupil. He continued, however, the study of his Art, and drew plan after plan for various edifices, with as much enthusiasm, as though these chateaux d'Espagne were immediately to be perpetuated in solid stone and monumental marble. "Hope deferred had not yet made his " heart sick," for that heart was a brave and firm one. But now, he had lost one of his most valuable possessions, namely, his self-respect. "What had you to do with the fashionable world! (he mentally vituperated himself.) Why should you ape the brainless fops whom you despise! Was not life a stern' reality. Could you afford to fritter away your time and your intellect in the vapid, inanrt amusements of the gay and the rich? Even to maintain a foothold among men, you must battle valiantly in the fierce strife. In debt, too-worse than all, in debt to gratify foolish vanity, and ward off the , , ) THE ARCHTECT AND HS PATRONS-, 95 contemptuous glances and sneers of silly girls and despicable dandies." He was aroused from this fit of passionate self-reproach by a knock at the door. A servant handed in the following note: "TO MR, RAYMOND. "Mrs. Burkitt feels compelled to relinquish the services of Mr. Raymond as tutor to Miss Mary Dell. Enclosed he will find twenty-five dollars, as a full remuneration for the lessons he has given Miss Dell." , George Raymond, the philosopher, had so long maintained control over his temper, as really to believe it completely subdued. Not so; this eventful morning had unchained the demon, and now it became rampant. Raymond tore the note to atoms, and was about to do the same with the enclosure, when the coat which he had indignantly thrown off, met his eye, and arrested his hand. He put it on with a jerk that nearly dislocated the sleeves, hurried to the tailor's, and handed out the twenty-five dollars to be credited to his account. As he hastened back, in awful procession, like Banquo's ghosts, came before his mind, bills from boot-maker, hatter, linen-draper, washerwoman, landlord, hotel-keeper, bookseller, stationer--and no bank-notes in purse, or in expectation. When he reached the building which was honored with, his studio, he saw a tall man standing on the door-step, spelling out the signs at the entrance. , - "George Raymond, Architect. That's the man." / page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 - E A L I T Y . Raymond's heart was in his throat. "A dun, of course," thought he, as he was about to hurry in. "Stop a minute, man; can you tell me where to find that Ar-chi-tect ." "I am that Architect." "Well I want to see you on business." ; "Walk up to my room." That room had never before been in such dire confusion. Order and neatness usually attached themselves to its occu- pant, and all his surroundings; but, for a few days past he had been a changed man; clothing, books, and drawings were mingled on his study-table, on the floor, bed and chairs, in a heterogeneous mass. He cleared a chair of its load, and gave the stranger a seat. "My name is Forren, sir; I want you to draw me the plan of a house." Raymond's feelings underwent a pleasing change. "Yes, sir; what kind of a house?" "A house with seven gables. I saw that name on the out- side of a book; I haven't read the book, but the name sounds respectable. and I've come to get you to draw me a house with seven gables." "That I will do withpleasure. Of what material is your house to be built?"-' O Of brick, painted brown." 4"How large a house is it to- be? Can you give met the dimensions a . "Not exactly. That, you must decide" THE ARCHTECT AND HS PATRO NS. 97 "Perhaps I could get a more. definite idea of the house you wish to build, if you could -tell me about what you expect it to cost." "That is just what you ought to know, and what I want you to tell me; how do I know how much a house with , seven gables would cost?" "That depends, of course, on the size, the materials, and the style. I have a drawing here of a house such as you describe, with a number of gables; any alterations you may suggest, I shall be ready to make." "That is a queer concern! I suppose that is only the base- ment story, and you haven't drawn the other stories, but just clapped the roof on to show what is meant by gables. I want my house three stories high!' "Indeed! it must be a very large house then." "As large as the lot will allow. The lots in street are all twenty feet front, and sixty deep. My lot is a vacant one between two other high buildings in the same block." "And you want seven gables on a house only twenty feet front, and forming one of a block! How could it be done?" , "That, again, is your concern. I thought if I employed an architect, he was the proper person to tell me how it was to be done. If I could plan my own house, I would not come to you. . I do not see, sir, how I can arrange seven gables to look well on a house between two others, and having only twenty feet front." "Couldn't you have four gables in front, and three in the * e ' ' * 5 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] '^ a- a98 R E A L I T Y. rear, man! You certainly donrt know much about youir trade, if you don't know that." "Four gables in front, each five feet wide at the base, on the top of a building three stories high!" exclaimed the astonished architect; "they would look like a row of extin- guishers!" "Man! How came you to take up the trade of a house- builder, when you don't know anything about the business? I know more about it than you do, and will plan my house with seven gables myself. Good dayj' Although disappointed at the result of this first application for his professional services, he was exceedingly amused with the man's absurdity, and a hearty laugh restored him to his usual equanimity. Before the man possessed with "seven gables" could have reached the outer door, another knock. Two well-dressed ladies entered. "Sir," said thee elder lady, "I presume you are the archi- tect'whose name is on the door? This is my daughter, Miss Millstone." A pleasant smile from both ladies replied- to his polite invitation to be seated. It was difficult, amid the confusion, to find seats for two. However, this was finally accom- plished. "Please show us some of your drawings," said the older 'lady, "I want a design for a country-house." i "In what style?" "Indeed, sir, I want it to be stylish, but I do not know one style from another in architecture." i - I THE ARCeHECT AND HS PATRONS. 99 "But I do, mother," said Miss Millstone. "I want our country villa in the Moorish style, like some of these splendid pictures of the Alhamlbra." Raymond showed the drawing of a villa in that style. "* Do you call that thing Moorish! My dear, you cannot like that twistified affair. Why, the arches are all wrong- shaped, and the pillars are like corkscrews." "Mother! I am really ashamed of you; that is the true Moorish Gothic; the arches you see are pointed, and the columns are circular-fluted." This pedantic display of architectural knowledge was a severe tax on the sobriety df Raymond. "Now, mother," continued Miss Millstone, "if you had any taste at all, you wouldn't hesitate a minute. That is the very house we want. I shall ask pa to come and make the arrangements with the architect." "We must find a Moorish name for our villa." "Pa never will live in, a house which has more ruffle than shirt, Moorish or Hottentotish. Good morning sir." And the ladies vanished. - This day, Raymond was to realize the truth of the homely old proverb, "It never rains but it pours." He had established something like order among the chaotic mnass which bad lumbered up his apartment, when a loud, imperious knock startled him, and again the fear of duns came over him. "Come in." The door was opened very slowly, about an inch or two, by a remarkably well-dressed gentleman-with the exception of his being too mulch bedizened with gold chains, brooches, studs, page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 RE A L I T Y. V rings, &c. A long Roman nose appeared through the narrow opening, and a loud, sonorous voice demanded, "Is this the altitudinous studio of the individual named on the door-way As George Raymond, architect?" "I am George Raymond, and I have the misfortune to be an architect." The door was -opened a few more inches, and the stranger fixed on Raymond a pair of pale blue eyes, las he said, "Why do you call that a misfortune which should be your glory? I have a profound veneration for the magnifi- cent art." "Please walk in, sir." The stranger entered, gave a searching glance about the small apartment, took out a fine cambric handkerchief, with which he dusted a chair, and then seated himself by the)table, where Raymond had just arranged .his books and drawings. "Inexorable Fate sometimes dooms genius to a compulsory residence in gloomy abodes; but genius has pinions and is not to be immured within walls, or kept from its lofty flight by other mundane:?obstacles." "The man must be insane," thought Raymond. "Display to me your architectural designs, Mr. Raymond. I am an amateur architect-perhaps, it would not be too flat- tering to myself to say, a connoisseur." After examining a portfolio of designs with a cognoscente air, that was truly ludicrous, the amateur shoved them aside, exclaiming, "Classic architecture for me! My whole archi- tectural creed may be enunciated in few words. I believe in the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian orders." THE ARCHTECT AND HS PATRONS. 101 "You surely do not confine your belief within such a narrow limit." "Narrow, sir? It is wide a/s the world, as lasting as time. The unparalleled Greeks created architecture, and left it per feet. Sir, I have stood on the Acropolis; I hlave bowed in humble adoration before the Parthenon. I have traced those superb Doric columns from their calm, sublime repose on the marble pavement, to the graceful ovolo of the capitol, and the' marvellous beauty of the entablature, with its mystic triglyphs and sculptured metopes. Sir, no work of mortal man ever equalled, or ever will equal, the glorious temple of Minerva %, Parthenon." "St. Peter's, at Rome," suggested Raymond. "SI. Peter's!" exclaimed the connoisseur, with ineffable disdain. "St. Peter's? a paltry combination and desecration of all orders. The Romans were barbarians in Art; they could not invent, neither could they appreciate the wondrous inventions of the Greeks; they could only change them for the worse. The thick-skulled Romans were swept away, and the barbarians .who succeeded them, now called Italians, fell .into the Romanesque by a gradual process of deterioration, which descended at last into that' lower deep,' well-named the Gothic." Y Raymond smiled, and) as his visitor stopped a moment to take breath, remarked that St. Peter's was neither Romanesque nor Gothic. "No; I suppose you consider it the most splendid example of that vile Renaissance. I abominate your Renaissance and your Cinque Cento; give me pure, unadulterated Greek. It is like the genuine Samean wine, compared with the modern page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 R E A L I T Y. gg4 nauseous combinations of vitriol, logwood, and alcohol. Sir, I am going to build a villa, and I must have an architect so intensely imbued with the Greciajn afflatus, that he lives, moves and breathes only in that classic atmosphere." "Then I shall not suit you," said Raymond, " for I have few designs copied from the three Grecian orders. It is a very easy matter to copy an Ionic or Corinthian colonnade or facade, and place it before an ordinary building; and I am sorry to say, this is the usual way, in our country, of imitating classic architecture; indeed, it is the easiest effort in our art, ,to6 copy entirely from models, and carry out the complete, original design of a Greek artist. It requires, of course, no invention." "Invention, sir! Invention! What have we to do with invention, when we have the Parthenon for our model of the Doric order?. The Temple of Erectheus, at Athens, for the Ionic? That perfect bijou, misnamed the Lantern of Demos- thenes, for the Corinthian a." "Beautiful as they are, would you have them indefinitely multiplied throughout all time? You might as well say, sir, because we have Homer's Iliad; there was no need of a Paradise Lost; or because there was once a Sappho, it is presumptous for Elizabeth Barrett Browning to write poetry." "It is, sir; it is presumptuous for any modern man or woman to attempt to write poetry; the spirit of poetry departed with the Grecian Parnassus, the Graces the Nymphs, and the Dryads. It is a common-place, every-day world, and we must go back to Greece for all that is noble and beautiful in poetry, sculpture, and architecture." THE ARCILITECT AND HS PATRONS. 103 "Yet, there are persons who find more poetic beauty, and far nobler symbolism in a Gothic cathedral, than in a Grecian temple, and more poetry in Shakspeare, than in Homer." "Admire the Gothic! Sir, there is no term in the whole range of vituperative lexicography, which can adequately express my abomination for that barbaric style, well, though falsely, named after the -iconoclastic Goths. I would not employ an architect who had desecrated the art, and per- verted his taste by designing Gothic edifices." "My drawings have already apprised you, sir, that I have been guilty of these enormous sins against classic art." "Good day, sir." -Mr. Sesquepedalia Verba bowed low, waved his hand, and departed. "Pedantic old dilettante!" thought Raymond. "Must I submit to the dictation of others, and have no range for the exercise of my own skill and taste? . Must all the glorious- visions, which have for years charmed my imagination, be based on empty air!" page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] i } CHAPTER XIV. DESPERATION. THE artist sat late at night in his cold studio, drawing by the light of a single dim lamp. Neither poverty, nor the contempt of the vulgar, nor the whims of his soi disant patrons, had diminished his enthusiasm for the art to which he had devoted himself. The annual exhibition of the Academy of the Arts of Design, was soon to open for the season, anrd Raymond was finishing some drawings through which he hoped to gain the favorable notice of the public. His fingers were stiff with cold, for his exhausted finances would not allow him the comfort of a fire. No; he would freeze and starve, rather than increase the debts which now haunted him like demons, day and night. He touched and re-touchedhis designs, and was about to add the " finishing touches," when his lamp suddenly flikered, and then left him in total darkness. George Raymond pressed his hands on his aching brow; wild, despairing thoughts were careering through his troubled mind. Such is my life's symbol! Even so shall I perish, as did one of my noble predecessors, for want of the sustain- ing aid which came too late." DESPERAT ION. 105 Then followed horrible suggestions that life was -not worth the struggle; then, agonizing wrestlings of conscience with these sinfuf suggestions. They were vanquished, and mourn- ful emotions succeeded, which at last softened into prayer- filial prayer. The next morning Raymond awoke late, and unrefreshed, for he had thrown himself on the bed without undressing. Breakfast. It is a comforting, relishing meal. Man is mightily strengthened by its kindly, genial influence, for the toil and labor of the day. ;: The "remainder biscuit,"' how- ever, is not quite as restorative to the inner and outer man, as mutton chops--nor cold water as inspiriting as cafe au lait. Raymond might have come to this conclusion, after having swallowed two dry crackers, and moistened them with a bit of ice; for water had frozen solid in that high region. The artist seated himself at the table, to finish, not his meal-but his drawing. It was the last day for the admission of pictures, and architectural designs, at the Academy. Faint and sick at heart, he now saw the designs, over which he had lovingly labored, through a sombre, distorted medium. He pronounced them utterly worthless. He attempted to remedy some slight defects in perspective. 'Every stroke of the pencil wasqinjurious, for his eyesight was dim, and his hand unsteady. At length, with passionate disgust, he shoved his papers aside, and exclaimed:- "What is the use of touching up these crude, miserable things! The critics will be unmerciful; I shall gain by them no reputation; I may as well give up all high aspirations, 5I page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 3 iREALITY. and earn my living as a wood-sawyer. I have at least the arms and sinews for that." So .'saying, he stretched his long limbs, and gave a terrific yawn, which nearly dislocated the jaws, which did, indeed, too much resemble those of the illustrious ( Knight of the rueful countenance." A rap at the door. "That must be my washerwoman," thought he. "Shp wants money, poor soul, and I haven't a dollar to give her. I'll keep dark." Another rap, with the head of a cane, loud and imperious. "Can it be a constable! Well; I can face him better than I could the poor washerwoman;" and he abruptly blurted out, "Walk in!" The door was instantly thrown wide open, and the portly person of Mr. Hazlehill filled the space. "Young'man, you might better be more civil. Couldn't you opetthe door yourself, instead of bawling "Walk in?" s I acknowledge, sir, it is not a very civil custom, although the-prevailing one in this building," said Raymond, -rising abruptly from his chair, and motioning his visitor to take it Mr. iazlehill, strode in, exhibiting, as usual, the soles of his boots in front, at- every pompous stride. "WXill you take a seat, sir?" "No, I will not. I have a few words to say to you. 'Why did you intrude yourself among your betters at my house, and pay marked attention to my daughter?" "Because I received a polite invitation from your daughter, ,to her-own ball.", )T \ DESPERATION. 107 "Fool! Didn't you know it was merely a joke, just to make you ridiculous 2? "You must allow me to doubt that." "Doubt it! Do you call ne a liar? How dare you, a low mechanic, living in this mean attic, how dare you show yourself among the big bugs of the city?' "I amn no insect to crawl among ' big bugs,' or to be stung by them. I beg to have my mean attic to myself." "I never take hints, nor give them; this building is mine; the time for which you engaged this room of my agent is; -out in one week, you must decamp at that time, and pay your rent, every cent of it, or I shall have a constable after you. And let me warn you farther; you have made bitter enemies in this city and if you value your life, you will clear out and go to parts unknown.'" For a moment-a brief moment-Raymond's impulse was to take the insolent man by the shoulder and hasten him-or in the vernacular-to kick him down stairs; but principle. and self-respect prevailed over passion; he said, with shut teeth and clenched hands, "I shall leave when the time is out, and not before; and your rent shall be paid. There is the door, sir; to-day this room is rhy own." The millionaire quailed before that burning eye and lofty presence, and shuffled out of the room, inwardly muttering, "That's a dangerous fellow; not that I fear him, although he is as strong as Ma Hercules; I must, and will, drive him out of town." Raymond gathered up the designs he had prepared, and takinlar g ]are Iportfolio under his arm, walked to the tz ,wlkdt h page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 REALITY. , Academy, with astonishing calmness-a stolid, apathetic calmness, the reaction after terrible excitement. He simply handed his card to one of the officers of the Institution, and asked'to have his drawings favorably placed at the Exhibition. Poverty, grim, gaunt Poverty now fiercely threatened him, yet he stared her full in the face undismayed, BRACKETS AN-D VERANDAS. 109 CHAPTER XV. BRACKETS AND VERANDAS. MNNIE DELL was grievously afflicted at the loss of her tutor. She told Mrs. Burkitt of her promise to read to the invalid gentleman who lived on the other side of the street, and partly to ,console the child for the deprivation she had undergone, and partly because she did not know what else to do with her, Mrs. Burkitt consented to the arrangement. Moreover, she went with her to Mr. Dinsmore's in order to judge for herself if it were a suitable place for Minnie. Mrs. Burkitt was quite surprised to find the interior of a plain, unpretending house so tastefully and elegantly furnished. A few choice pictures adorned the walls, and statues, chosen with exquisitely delicate taste, were here and there gleam- ing in front of a back ground of dark velvet. Mrs. Burkitt was politely received by the courteous old gentleman, and gave her permission to have Minnie read to him as often and as long as he pleased. He warmly thanked her, saying he was a solitary old man, and the society of the Lhild would be a sweet solace to him in his loneliness. Mrs. Burkitt pronounced Mr. Dinsmore, in her favorite lackneyed phrase, a gentleman parfaitement comme ilfaut. ^*, page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "]0 REALITY. From that time Minnie migJt have been seen from day to day, perched on a high chair in Mr. Dinsmore's library. At first she only read to him,.but gradually he became her instructor. One day Mr. Dinsmore tentured to ask her why Mrs. Burkitt had dismissed the tutor. ' I do not know," she replied, with some hesitation. "He went to Miss Hazlehill's ball; but that could not be a crime, for Mrs. Burkitt went to it herself. She said he was an architect, too, but I think that did, not preventshis being a gentleman." "An architect i But was he not an educated man, capable of teaching you, my little pupil?' ," Oh, yes, indeed. He has been beautifully educated; he is immensely learned, and has charming taste for poetry, and drawing, and everything. Then he was so kind, and almost as gentle in his manner to me as my own dear Inamma." !"You are enthusiastic, Minnie; I liked his appearance- his name, too. I am partial to the name of Raymond." "So am I, so am I," exclaimed Minnie, rapturously clapping her small hands. "It sounds like one of the real knight- errants, and he resembles the Chevalier Bayard, sans peur et sans reproche, and was a perfect gentleman, even when he wore that hateful old coat and the bung'd hat." Mr. Dinsmqre smiled at the child's climax, and inquired if she could give him Mr. Raymond's address, adding: 'Minnie, I have a taste for architecture myself." "Oh, I should be so delighted to have you know Mr. Raymond," replied she, taking a small silver card-case from BRACKETs AND VERA 'DAS. l her pocket. "Here- is his card; I keep it among my most precious things." "And I will place it among my most precious things," said Mr. Dinsmore, as he opened a huge red pocket-book. "Oh, you can't have the card; I will write the address for you." "Very well, that will answer. By the way, Minnie, I must give you some readings and lessons in my favorite art. Every young lady should know something about architecture." "Oh, how funny! You don't expect young ladies to build houses?" said Minnie, much amused. "Neither do I expect you to make almanacs, my dear, and yet I am teaching you astronomy.. Architecture is to be studied like Painting and Sculpture, as a Fine Art. I consider it the noblest of the- three. Besides, the remains of this beautiful art, scattered over the world, present to us imperish- able records of the government, religion, social condition, and civilization of nations, which, have been entirely destroyed. Ancient architecture is the standing prqofofthe truth of ancient Ihistory." "I never thought of that before. It must be a delightful study." ."* "It is so; we will enjoy it together. The cultivation of, taste is too much neglected in the education of young people in this country. Many other studies might be dispensed with, sooner than those which tend to beautify social and domestic life." The week allowed by Mr. Hazlehill, to Raymond, as his ' 4, W f- page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 REAL I T tenant, was rapidly passing away. The name on the door- post, which had so long attracted not the slightest notice, now seemed to have caught the public eye. "I'm Mr. Ballson, and this is Mrs. Ballson, my wife. I suppose you are George Raymond, architect." "Yes, sir. Please be seated." Mrs. Ballson, an over-dressed lady, who would not have owned to thirty years, stared about the room for a moment, and then, with a patronizing smile and nod, carefully spread out her gay red and yellow silk dress, and seated herself. - "Mister, I've brought my little wife to give you directions about a house I'm goin' to build for her, in the country, I'm not rich, but I want it to be a tasty house, and a-" "A wery genteel one," interrupted the lady, whose volubil- ity would have made the fortune of a newsboy; "an immensely-genteel country willa, with a beranda-all round, and a huge overhanging roof, and two or three bow-windows, and carved- prackets, showyprackets, under the overhanging roof, and Wenetian vindows and fancy chimblies." "I will show you a design for a house with a projecting' roof, supported by brackets. How large do you intend to have your house, sir P" "Eighteen feet wide, and thirty deep, with a low addi- tion behind, just fourteen feet long and twelve wide -neither more nor less,'? said the decided Mr. Ballson. "The size and form will scarcely allow a wide, projecting roof and immense brackets." *"Why not, indeed?" demanded the voluble lady. "The very reason why I want the brojectiizg roof and wide beran- BRACKETS AND VERANDAS. 113. das, is to make our house look larger; husband has set down his foot about the size, and he is obstinater than forty mules; I couldn't move him any sooner thtan I could move - Bunker Hill Monument. He will have his way about the size, and I will have mine about the big, overhanging roof, the beranda, and all the warious ornamentals." "But, madam, your house would resemble a small boy wear- ing the venerable hat of William Penn," modestly suggested Raymond. "And suppose it did! Where's the harm? I like oddity; I think it's genteel. None of your four-square, straight up and down, regular-built houses, with great staring windows, and a little mean door in front, for me. No, sir. I want as many corners, and curly-cues, and circles, as you can-put on." "How many rooms do you intend to have in your main- building, madam r? "Two, of course, with sliding-doors between, and a hall with a circular staircase. Thea, kitchen, china-closet, bathing- room, &c.,.&c., in the back building." "Your kitchen will then be very small, madam." "Never mind that, I don't want a great tavern kitchen.' "Butt wife," mildly suggested Mr. Ballson, "we want the kitchen large enough for comfort, especially, as you will not use one of your parlors to eat in." "Mr. Ballson! Mr. Ballson! Just as if we ever did eat in the kitchen!" "Just as if we didn't, and I'm not a bit ashamed of it either.. You may be as genteel as you please, my dear, but don't try to make -me so-you remember the proverb about page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 REALITY. the .silken purse, &c. Now, mister, I'm a plain up and down man. I've promised my wife a house, and she may have a roof. hang over it like a- toad-stool, and as many brackets and crackets as she pleases, and all them other things, to suit her taste, and I want you-to draw the plan; how much will you ask, mister?" Raymond was about to say that he could not draw a plan for such an ungainly, awkward building, but suddenly remem- bering the low state of his finances, he named the moderate sum of thirty' dollars. "Thirty dollars! Monstrous!" exclaimed Mr. Ballson. "Extravagant! Enormous! Willainous!" chimed in the genteel Mrs. Ballson. "Come, husband, let's find somebody else to make the drawing. I thought, the wery minute I set foot in this 'ere miserable, scandalous, nasty little room, that we shouldn't find here an arshiteck able to design our willa!" And the couple made a hasty exit. "Not a dollar to pay my rent; no chance of making Done, either;" thought Raymond. "It is useless to attempt to design houses for people who don't know themselves what they want. Ignorant and pretentious people, with vague notions of style and elegance! The rent--the rent must be paid." Raymond drew from his pocket a large silver watch and looked at it lovingly; it evidently was the gift of a friend, a sacred memento. He then unlocked a small writing-desk, and took out a string of old-fashioned gold beads. He pressed-them to his lips, and tears forced themnselves from his eyes. Inexorable poverty!-Not leave one cherished memo- rial of the loved and lost! V ERANDAS AND BRACKETS. 115 Pawnbrokers-old clo' men! Must these precious gifts be desecrated by passing into such hands, and be contaminated by lying among heaps of horrible things, the goods and chattels of the vile and the vicious? Raymond, shrinking firom the thought of such desecration, slid the large silver watch into his pocket, and again kissing the venerable gold beads, replaced them in his writing-desk. Desolate heart! To whom will you turn? Very naturally Raymond thought of one still more desolate and destitute than himself, and went to the hospital to see the. poor old sailor. His visits had been frequent, and most acceptable to the unfortunate man. In spite of his own troubles and anxieties, Raymond had found time to read to the sailor, and to soothe and cheer him, by holding up before his mind a vivid picture of that beautiful Hope, who had nearly deserted his own desolate heart. To divert his mind from gloomy thoughts, he strolled 'through several fashionable streets, and amused himself with the odd combination of styles in the various buildings. Here would be an expensive house with a Corinthian door-way, Romanesque windows, and a Doric entablature. Its next neighbor, a preposterous mingling of grotesque Gothic and Egyptian. He was exceedingly amused with the awkward attempts at' ornament on the exterior of dwelling-houses - immensely heavy cornices, apparently ready to topple down and crush the passers-by. Huge nondescript animals in stone, orna- menting the door-ways- of houses twenty feet front; a,house with one row of immense windows for the principal suite of page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 R E AL I T Y rooms-with two rows of small windows below, and two rows of mean little windows above, making, all together, a house of five stories, no higher than its next neighbor with only three stories. Then came a pretentious row of houses, elegantly Grecian, with Corinthian columns so near to each other, as to lead to the suspicion that they were intended to hide the mean front of the building, before which they paraded like a file of soldiers. What pains the architects had taken to perpetuate their own -ignorance I What immense sums the owners had expended to make themselves ridiculous! He who builds should not only " count the cost," but know enough of architecture to be sure that his house will not be a public laughing-stock. On his way to his room, Raymond met the washerwoman to whom he was indebted. She turned her eyes sadly and entreatingly on him. He could not withstand the appeal. The beloved watch and the highly-prized gold beads were taken to the pawnbrokers, and left in pledge. for twenty dollars. He hastened to pay her bill, and then, how was he to make up the remainder of the rent? "7 THE LIVE HERO. 1 CHAPTER XVI. THE LIVE HERO. "ETTER FROM IRENE HAZHTL TO REBECCA DALTON. "You say, dear Reba, I have at last found 'a live hero, and so I have. I cannot dispossess my mind of his noble presence. True, he is neither a Pelham, nor a Corsair, nor a Sir Charles Grandison, but he is infinitely superior to any of these fictitious heroes, and, so utterly unlike any of the insipid fops who swarm about me, that I continually make the con- trast in his favor. "I have seen Mr. Raymond only twice since. the, unfor- tunate visit, when my father treated him so cruelly, and I, shame, shame on me, turned the cold shoulder to him, and smiled on that jackdaw, a la mode Paris, Tippy Scapwit.- Only twice-and both times, merely passing on the other side of the street.- "Mr. Raymond is an artist, and I have been reading with -intense interest the lives of artists--noble lives they were; and Mr. Raymondis now my Michael Angelo--my Magnus Apollo-for was not, and is not, Apollo himself an artist? Vide his glorious sun-pictures! ' "There is in my hero that page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 , REA L I T Y ("Manliness, would scorn to wear The time in idle sport.' "Another couplet from an old writer, which I picked up the other day, expresses what I find in him- "Courage, force, and hardinesse, Good adventure, and famous manlinesse.' "That very hardinesse I specially admire; it would enable him to bear-the rudest buffetings of Fortune, and to come off the victor. And as for good adventure--coming to this Babylon, to make his way among rival artists, and in the very teeth of the critics of the press-does it not show as much bravery as fighting dragons, and 'chimeras dire .' "You, doubtless, believe that my imagination has endowed my ' live hero ' with these noble attributes. Not so; I never could have imagined a man like him-he is not at all like my beau ideal--he has elevated my standard of character; he has made me feel my own meanness. I detest myself for having been under the momentary influence of-those vile conventional prejudices. I loathe the flattery and adulation paid to the millionaires daughter. I cannot endure to owe the distinguished place I hold in society to a freak of Fortune -something which I possess to-day, and may lose to-morrow. I would be admired and loved for myself-who would not? "I have not told you that my father was in a furious passion after Raymond's departure. As soon as Scapwit and the party he escorted left the room, papa gave, me the most severe scolding for having invited the 'low-born fellow,' as he THE LIVE HERO. 119 called him, to his house. He was crimson .with rage-I never saw anything like it-and he threatened me with imprison- ment-bread and water, disinheritance, and I don't know how many more shocking things, if I ever should speak to that ' sneak? again. "Didn't my blood boil! "Then he launched out into vituperation against me, for making a humble apology, after he had ordered '-the crea- ture out of his house, and concluded with a threat from Mrs. Burkitt, that she must decline the honor of chaperoning Miss Hazlehill should she again depart so far from the rules of etiquette and propriety, as to send invitations of her own accord. At which said threat, Miss tHazlehill replied: "'A consummation devoutly to be wished.' And Mr. Hazlehill not exactly perceiving the bearing, seized the young lady by the shoulder and gave her a pretty severe shake, saying: 'None of your saucy muttering. I will have you know I am master in my own house.' A fixed fact, which the young lady never had doubted, but having unfortunately inherited some of her father's traits of character, she left the room in such a terrific passion, that she thought, not of 'Gouping o'er a lynn] but of jumping out a four-story window. To sober second thought,' you are indebted, dear Reba, for the present sound- ness of body and mind of your loving friend. "It is strange, that in the intoxicating whirl of society, though seemingly the gayest and most thoughtless, I have become sober and thoughtful. page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 REALITY. \ "Do you remember the passage I once quoted to you? It is a melancholy fact--' Dullness, ostentation and imitativeness reign triumphant here'--you-may remember my bright anticipations, and the indignation with which I repelled the supposed slander on the social circle. "The dullness and imitativeness are intolerable. I seem at times to be in the midst of an immense swarm of Katy-dids, 'saying undisputed -things, in such a silly way.' "Then the disgusting ostentation! It is really the only high-road to distinction for the vulgar rich-a large class, I find. What else can they do but show off their wealth in their houses and dress? Of what use would it be to them, if all the world--their world-did not'see and admire their splendor? Do you remember one of our schoolmates whose expression of face and manner continually said, ' Admirez moi! Admirez moi!' These people descend a step lower; they say -'Admire my house! Admire my carriage! Covet my beautiful dresses.' "Do not, think me bitter against the, world. There are many noble exceptions, but unfortunately few come in my way. I am yet but a novice in society-(though, to confess the truth, I am already growing pale with the dissipation of two months), and do not yet wear 'the clinging dress of torture.' I do not fear 'being odd,' and care very little what somebody may say.' I repeat, dear Reba, I will not give up my independence of soul in the 'social circle.' "Life has assumed a new phase. There are higher enjoy- ments than these -inane frivolities, and I will aspire to them -the society of the great and the good-the intellectual--the THE LIVE HERO. 121 truly refined, I most ardently desire. Who would believe it? Who that sees me gliding along with the current, and swayed by it like a floating leaf "I am with them, dear Reba, but I know, in my heart of hearts, that I am not of them; there is a deep, consoling con- sciousness that I was made for nobler purposes than any to which I have hitherto devoted my life. Cheer me on to the pursuit of them, my best friend, and believe me, ever, your grateful and loving "IRENE." Having sealed and dispatched her letter, Irene seated her- self at a front window, and in a gloomy frame of mind applied a passage she had lately read, to the crowd which thronged the street: "No longer among the individuals of the race is there equality or likeness, a distributed fairness and fixed type visible in each, but evil diversity, and terrible^stamp of various degradation; features seamed with sickness, dimmed by sensu- ality, convulsed by passion, pinched by poverty, shadowed by sorrow, branded with remorse; bodies consumed with sloth, broken down by labor, tortured by disease, dishonored in foul uses; intellects without power, hearts without hope, minds earthly and devilish." Where are the ten righteous men to save this Sodom? Where the seven thousand who have not bowed the knee to , Mammon page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 R EAILiTY. REBECCA DALTON TO IRENE. "My dear Irene: have you not boldly overleaped the bounds of that independence which nature and custom allow to woman 2 Was it perfectly delicate to send an invitation to a gentleman, to visit you, without any previous acquaintance, and without any knowledge of his character? I think not. You -were, to say the least, exceedingly inconsiderate; and have thus heaped on your own shoulders a mountain of trouble. "There must be many restrictions in society which seem to a novice irksome and useless, yet they arise from the very constitution of society, and are its safeguards. Among these,' your own good sense will approve of the rule of etiquette, which requires invitations to be given out by the master and mistress of a family. "You have taken a false step and must abide the conse- quences. Do not widen the dreadful breach between your father and yourself, by disobedience to his express commands. I admire the character of Mr. Raymond, as delineated by your partial pen. Under other' circumstances, his- acquaintance would be very desirable; but the best thing you can do for the present, is to give him an unqualified exeat. "I -knew you too well to fear you would become a devotee to that "social circle," which has no better object than to exhibit itself night after night-a moving panorama for mutual admiration. Its inanity ind frivolity have disgusted you. You will not be whirled along by it, like thistle-down. "Very well; dear Irene, then you have influence. 4P ' ' THE LIVE HERO. - 123 "Every decided character leaves a mark as permanent as those mysterious ones supposed to have been left by glacial rocks. It is of vast consequence to the well-being of the society in which she moves, that an intellectual woman, pos- sessing wealth, good looks, and attractiveness, should know how to use these advantages for the good of 'others. "You cannot control the circumstances which at present beleaguer you; and yet, you exert an imperceptible influence on all your surroundings, social and domestic. By raising to your lips a single glass of champagne, you may tempt some young man to the initiatory draught which will lead him to ruin. By making temperance a subject for ' foolish jesting' you may entirely destroy its sanctity in the mind of some one who has been imbued with high moral principles, from the lips and life of a sainted mother. By carelessness, in not noticing" how far your dressmaker transgresses the rules which modesty dictates, you may lead others to that extreme of nudity, which every man of sense and principle would con- demn, and every delicate-minded woman utterly abhor. Silly flattery, and silly nonsense you despise. You calf talk spirited sense, and spirited nonsense, without pedantry, or the airs of a pedagogue, and you will find listeners and a response. There is -more wit and wisdom hidden behind the mask of folly, than you suspect. "These simple and homely suggestions I have thrown out for, your ' boasted independence to act upon, If you think them worth following, remember, my dear Irene, the suavzter in modo, rith the fortiter in re. . "Even in society the most frivolous you have (what shall I H , +' page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 R E ALITY. call it? not a mission! that is too hackneyed) a dispensation, or if that is too high-sounding, a duty, which you are con- scientiously to fulfill. Rare and noble gifts were not'bestowed on you, that you might pass your life in self-pleasing (and you acknowledge the fact), -without any settled purpose regarding the future, Now, while you are oscillating like the coffin of Mahomet, between heaven and earth, how much you need an older, a wiser, and a better adviser than I am. Courage! mon amie. There is a Guide and a Counsellor, all-wise and all-loving. May He lead you into the paths of perfect peace. "Faithfully and devotedly yours, ^ "REBECCA DALTON." Poor Irene! The advice was good, excellent, yet the letter appeared to her cold and'unsatisfactory. She laid her arms on the marble table by which she was sitting, in the grand and gloomy drawing-room, and dropping her head on the folded arms, endeavored to stifle the rising indignation. Becoming more calm, she carefully reviewed her brief acquaintance with Raymond. Was it an unpardonable boldness for her to solicit his acquaintance? He must despise her. But there was nothing in his manner which would indicate such feeling. On the contrary, it was most gentle and respectful. As a miser gloats over his gold, she went over and over again with the "he said, and so said I," of that memorable evening. To whom could she turn for advice and consolation? Not to her stern mother! Alas, for the soi-disant pious mothers, who repel their erring children from love and confidence! THE LIVE HERO. 125 Who can wonder that the yearning hearts of daughters sometimes fix on unworthy objects, when thus cruelly repulsed! You peril your earthly happiness, you peril your own soul's salvation, and the eternal good of the beings God has entrusted to your special keeping, mistaken mother, when vou harden your maternal heart by what you irreverently call piety. Alas! you only "Grasp the bigot's poisoned bowl, And drain with joy its draughts of madness." Was Mr. Hazlehill a father on whom a child could lean when weary of the worldliness and worthlessness of her pursuits . No, indeed; he was steeped in worldliness from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot-puffed up by the "pride of life "-hollow-hearted-conscience-seared-hiding himself from himself, and forgetting that his whole life lay open, like the deepest recesses of ocean, to the eye of God. Hitherto, Irene had placed implicit confidence in the schoolmate who had won her girlish friendship. Rebecca Dalton's letter was stern and cold; it was not softened and seasoned with tenderness and sympathy; a resentful emotion was the consequence. It was a sensible letter; yet, there are times when the heart aches for something more soothing than good common sense. Sympathy is that subtle band which binds humanity into unity, so that "no man liveth to himself, or dieth to himself.-" Irene still rested her head on the tablet lost in these mournful musings, when a gentle hand was laid .on her shoulder, and a pair of soft lips touched her cheek. She started, and found Minnie Dell standing beside her. page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] ,126 REALITY. CHAPTER XVII. THE ACADEMY OF FINI: ARTS. OF late there had been a growing intirnacy between Irene and Minnie, though they seldom met. Minnie saw that- Irene had been weeping, but with the delicacy which was kindred to her refined character she made no remark about it. "O, my dear Miss Hazlehill, I am so glad! only think! I am going to the Academy this morning, with good Mr. Dinsmore-here is my ticket, and here is one for' you. He is coming for us in half an hour-please go with us." Irene-hesitated. - i"Mr. Dinsmore has such . fine taste, and will point out to us so many beauties," urged Minnie. "But then he is a stranger to me, Minnie." "Thats just what he don't wish to be. He is anxious to make your acquaintance." "Your partiality has induced the wish, of course, for he knows of me only through you.." "Come, come! where are your bonnet and cloak! Now, that's a dear lady; I knew you wouldn't refuse me this one great pleasure."' ,% THE ACADEMY OF FINE ARTS. 127 'Irene yielded to Minnie's persuasion) put on her wrappings, and was ready for the excursion, as Mr. Dinsmore's coachman rang at, the door. The gallant old gentleman handed them into his dark, brown carriage, with much more politeness than if he had been brought up in the school of "Young America." Impulsive and elastic in disposition, Irene, relieved from the pressure of sad thoughts, and soothed by the-sweet loving- kindness of Minnie, sprung back to her usual lively and talkative mood. By the time they reached the academy, the trio chatted together like familiar friends. "Since I have sought your acquaintance, Miss Hazlehill, and have the advantage of knowing much about you, I must tell you something of myself. I am a lone man, like the boy in the nursery song, living by myself; but Minnie, all the bread and cheese he got, he laid upon the shelf." "Yes," said Minnie, "the rats and the mice made .such a strife, he had to go to London to buy him a wife." "Ah, Minnie, in that I am not like the boy," said Mr. Dinsmore, repressing a smile, which was followed by a low sigh; "but to continue the comparison; the 'bread and cheese,' that is, the money, I have laid on the shelf, I would now make useful to my fellow-beings. ' I am therefore going to build a hospital for old and disabled sailors, and a free church." "Oh, that is beautiful!" exclaimed Minnie; "I know who ought to be your architect." Irene colored deeply., They were now at the academy. ; row page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 REALITY. (s Mr. Dinsmore was a man of cultivated taste, and Irene became intensely interested as he pointed out to her the distinguishing characteristics of the artists, whose paintings were on exhibition. There,were several fine copies from the old masters. As they were standing before a copy of Vandyke's cele- brated picture of the Lady of Ruthven, a gentleman joined them, and after having listened for a while to the various comments on the picture, he exclaimed: "It excites my astonishment beyond all possibility of expression, that anything so superlatively unartistic and unclassical as this picture, representing a brawny, coarse woman, can elicit admiration. Why, sir, the glorious Greeks would have discarded such an abomination in Art, from the very butcher's shops; their sign-painting was superior to anything the unsentimental Vandyke ever imagined. Shade of Apeiles! If ghosts could blush, surely you would become visible at this moment, a rosy cloud before that disgrace to the dignity of your noble Art." Mr. Dinsmore smiled, and his companions were astonished at this philippic from Mr. Sesquepedalia Verba. Mr. Dinsmore gently replied--"Sir, I was merely telling my young friends how the painter of the Lady of Ruthven differed in style from some of the old masters who preceded him, and giving them a brief history of the lady herself, the wife of the artist. Vandyke has not the truth of Titian nor the grace of Raphael, of course." "Style! There is nothing deserving the name of style in Flemish or Dutch paintings. They are as inelegant and THE ACADEMY OF FIN ARTS. 129 unclassical in painting as they are in architecture. Sir, there has been no landscape-painter since Claude Lorraine-no religious painter since the divine Raphael. They possessed heavenly inspiration. Not so with Rembrandt, Rubens, the Po'ussins, &'." "We have some fine landscape-painters in our country- Cole for instance---- '"Don't name him in' the same breath with Claude Lorraine -it is a profanation'" "Excuse me, sir; I believe the beautiful, the sublime natural scenery of our own country will inspire our artists and render them superior landscape-painters, superior to all who have preceded them. Genius is a cosmopolite, and her favors are bestowed from age to age, throughout all time." "No, sir; two of the Arts had their illustrious birth and their triumphant death in Greece; sculpture and architecture." At this moment some designs for buildings, in an obscure corner, caught the eye of Mr. Sesquepedalia Verba,'and stepping toward them, he exclaimed. "Genius of Callicrates! some discerning artist has been worshipping at thy shrine! Look now at that Corinthian Villa! See those slender, graceful columns, reminding one of perfect feminine loveli- ness, crowned with those beautiful acanthus leaves-those curling tendrils-those incomparable volutes. I must know the artist who designed that villa; it is precisely what I have been eagerly seeking, and I would give a hundred dollars this moment for that noble design." . . "Here is the artist's name, sir; 'George Raymond," said Minnie, timidly, pointing it out on one corner of the drawing. , t\ page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 REA-LITY. ' George Raymond. Humph! The other designs then are his. Vile Gothic--barbarous Romanesque-unmeaning Venetian -- contemptible- Renaissance! However, I may have stirred up the latent genius of the artist, and been in one sense, the author of this classic villa. I still hold to my offer of one hundred dollars for that drawing, and one hundred more for the working-plans." "The genius of an architect," replied Mr. Dinsmore, " must be employed, in our day and country, in adapting all styles hitherto invented, to our own wants and condition. All the arts of civilization are progressive; each nation invents only what is most needful for itself, and appropriates what has already been invented" by others. The Greeks were not entirely original; they were familiar with the architecture of Egypt and Etruria, of India and of Persia, and improved upon all.! We must do the same. The artist whose designs we are examining, has very happily seized on the capabili- ties and beauties of a variety of styles and adapted them to the town house, the villa, the cottage and the church" '"The church! that detestable Gothicl!" exclaimed Mr. Sesquepedalia Verbal, 'That Christian Gothic," calmly replied Mr. Dinsmore, but we will waive that discussion. You cannot deny the artist the merit of having, arranged" the interior of these various buildings admirably, for convenience and for elegance. What say ;you, Miss Hazlehill ." "I know very little about architecture," replied Irene, with evident embarrassment. "Very few young ladies do; and yet it concerns them THE ACADEMPY OF FINE ARTS. 131 nearly. Woman 'is the mistress of the house, and the house should be mainly built with reference to her com- fort and pleasure. The master is abroad much of the time, and the mistress is the ' keeper at home: There is much foolish talk about woman's sphere; we all know, wherever the circumference of that sphere may be, the centre is home. Of course, she ought to know what means and appliances are needed to make that inner'world comfortable and agreeable. What is your beau ideal of-a dwelling-place, Minnie?" "Oh, a sweet little cottage, almost 'covered with roses, honeysuckles, and clematis-near a dancing rivulet, with a rustic bridge over it!"' "A pretty picture, my dear; perhaps it was your last drawing-lesson," suggested Mr. Sesquepedalia Yerba. "Oh! the turpitude of modern teaching! . Instead of presenting to the uncultivated eye of the precocious pupil those fantastical abominations, denominated cottages ornees, Grecian designs should initiate him into the delightsome vestibule of Art, First the simple Doric column should task his skill, and so forth, and so on, till he could delineate a perfect Corinthian temple." Poor little Minnie looked abashed-Mr. Dinsmore, without' noticing the ill-timed interruption, turned to Irene, and said: "Now, please give us your beau ideal, Miss Hazlehill." "The style of my house must depend on its position, whether it is to be in the country or the city--on a hill or on a plain-by the sea-side, or on the bank of a river." . " A very just remark, but since it is as ideal as the house v . .y page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 R EALIT Y. s, that Jack built, you can place it where you please," replied Mr. Dinsmore. "Then it shall be in the country, by the side of a wide, deep river, with a view of the ocean in the distance." "And the house itself. You have here the same liberty of choice." "My house should be suited to my station and means; yet my romantic taste would lead me to choose almost as humble an abode as Minnie described; refined and elegant it must be, yet simple and unpretentious. Large enough, however, for hospitality without grudging, and to afford all the conveni- ences and agrdmens to my guests, which I: could desire for myself" "Then, of course, it must be spacious," said Mr. Dinsmore; "among the luxuries, for their pleasure and your own, would be a fine library and some choice pictures." '!tm saved the pain of showing my own ignorance while going into details, by that fine design No. T. The exterior and the interior arrangements suit me precisely." "Then the ingenious artist has had the felicitous fortune of suiting two somewhat fastidious individuals; a rare occur- rence. I should like to meet him now, in propria personae," responded Mr. Verba. Minnie, who had discovered Raymond in a distant part of the spacious apartment, without giving notice of her intention, ! quietly glided away, leaving the philo-Grecian to descant on the merits of the Corinthian Villa. Raymond entered the Academy in a state of mind border- i / THE ACADEMY OF FINE ARTS. 133 ing on desperation. For a while he sauntered listlessly about, repeating to himself the words of the poet and pastor, George Herbert:-- AU1 may have, If they dare choose, a glorious life or grave." "There is nothing left for me but the' grave,' " was Raymond's mournful thought. "I chose a glorious life, and since that is denied me, why -not seek the grave? Would that this weary, aching head, were laid on its last cold pillow." As these despairing thoughts filled his mind, he threw himself on a long bench-rested that weary head on his hand, with his face turned towards the wall. What was it that compelled his earnest gaze? A picture of Christ bearing the Cross. ' The divine coun- tenance was fixed on him. Holy meekness, calm resigna- tion, and more than human dignity were blended in that countenance, with something reproachful. It might have been the look which our Lord gave to hidisciples, when he said, "Could ye not watch with me one hour ." That look penetrated to the inmost soul of the despairing Raymond-penitence, deep and mournful, followed. Thus he remained intensely moved-lost to all surrounding objects:- "In such high hour Of visitation from the Living God, Thought was not." Overwhelming emotion had, for a time, annihilated thought. A gentle hand was laid upon his shoulder. He started to his feet, suddenly recalled to self-consciousness. page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 R E A LIXT Y. "Mr. Raymond," said Minnie, trembling and coloring deeply. "Mr. Raymond, are you ill? You look deathly pale." I am not well, Miss Minnie, but hope I shall soon be better," he replied, drawing his thin hand' across the high forehead, on which a cold perspiration was glistening. "Please come this way ; I want you to be acquainted with my friend, Mr. Dinsmore." So saying, Minnie led Raymond across the room, tothe place where the three persons whom she had left were standing. Mr. Dinsmore, this is my good Mr. Raymond," said Minnie. * Mr. Dinsmore cordially grasped the hand of the artist. Irene turned away her head in unmitigated embarrassment. The lover of classic architecture bowed in the most patroniz-r ing manner, saying: "I perceive, my young friend, gyou have reverentially fol-. lowed my suggestion and produced a Grecian' Villa. Here are one hundred dollars for it;" he continued, taking opt a long crimson silk-purse, and counting out the money in gold pieces, " will that compensate .you, with one hundred dollars more for -the working-plans?" That Grecian Villa, which he had drawn'more for amuse- ment than with any prospect of such a result! . He accepted the proffer at once. "And there is a perspective view of a church," said Mr. Dinsmore. "I like it exceedingly, with a very few exceptions. Will you call at my house, or shall I call at your studio to- ,morrow, and consult with you about a plan for a church similar to that " THE ACADEMY OF FIN E ATS . 13 85 Raymond remembered that the next day was the one for his departure from Mr. Htazlehills building, and replied, I will call on you, if you please, sir." Mr. Dinsmore handed his address, and perceiving the con- fusion and blushe s of Irene, bowed and moved on with her and Minnie to another part of the room, leaving Ra ymond for further confabulation with Mr. Sesquepedalia Verba. That gentleman's self-consequence was onderfully elated by the thought of having given classic inspiration to the Architect, and he unconsciously paid the hundred dolars as. a tribute to himself. page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 REALITY. CHAPTER XVIII. CAPTAIN DRIGGS OF THE ELIZA JANE. RAYMOND returned to his room in a more resigned, if not more cheerful mood, and commenced preparations for depar- ture on the morrow. But whither should he go? That question was at present unanswerable. Prod girl! She turned from me disdainfully. Why should I bestow a thought on her? There are a thousand reasons why shd can never be anything to me but a formal acquaintance; I will banish her provoking image from my mind. I will not be annoyed by it." Ah! can you do it? Can you banish your shadow when you walk in sunshine? And Raymond gathered up his drawings and thrust them in a box, and furiously packed his trunk, as though vigorous bodily exertion would annihilate troublesome thoughts, While thus engaged, he was interrupted by the entrance of the sailor to whom he had shown so much kindness: "How now, shipmate! Are you about to pull up anchor ." was the sailor's salutation. "How are you, Jack? I am glad to see you able to be out again." , CAPTA IN DRIGGS. 1 "Thanks to you, and One above, I am almost well now- - limp a little, that's all; soon be off to sea again. -Please don't call me Jack; my name is Tom Nicklin." "Toin Nicklin; well Tom, what do you intend to do with yourself till you go to sea Do you know of any vessel in which you can ship?" "I haven't. inquired. I came to thank you for your great kindness-God bless you." "But you have no money, Tom; you may not find a vessel ready to'sail soon. Besides, you do not look strong yet." "I never shall be strong-again; that day has gone by," and the old sailor laid his hand on his grey head. "You don't find much strength where the hair is as white as mine." "Poor fellow! Here is a trifle for you; I wish I had more to give you. Go to a decent boarding-house, till you can find a vessel in which you can be employed," said Raymond, quietly dropping a half-eagle in the sailor's rough hand. 'Excuse me ; I don't believe you can afford it. You are one of them generous ones that ought to be rich, but some- how never are," replied the sailor, with a shrewd guess at the condition of his benefactor. "Take it, take it, my good fellow. We will both hope for better times, and put our earnest trust in One who never yet has deserted a human being who cast all his cares on Him. Just as Raymond said this, there was an imperative rap at the door; on opening it, he met the frowning countenance of Mr. Hazlehill. "There's your bill, sir, receipted," was the curt salutation of the landlord, as he strode into the room. page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 1EALIT8. . ' Raymond removed some articles from a chair, and Mr azlehill seated himself opposite the sailor, while Raymond counted out the quarter's rent, twenty-five dollars, in gold. "I vow!" exclaimed the sailor, looking sharply at his -vis-Avis, ,you are Cap'n Driggs, of the 'Liza Jane.' How are you, cap'n ." "I am Mr. I tazlehill, of 'Hazlehill," he replied, with an annihilating frown. an a Your money, sir." said Raymond. "Stop-stop a bit---Hazlehill!" exclaimed the'sailor, limp- ing towards him, and peering into the scowling sage; "ttazlehill! You are Cap'n Driggs of the 'iza Jane , wreked o m th Jarse y shore. I could swear to you among ten thousand!" "You lie, you old impostor." "The same to yourself, cap'n." Mr. Htazlehill lifted his cane to strike, but as he did so, his wrist was. grasped by a firm hand, and Raymond thundered '"Sir} the sailor is under my protection i", by "e is under myroof, and he shal depart immediately, im m e d ia te ly! t" s a id M r . ff o E a z hi I , w ren c h i n g h i s al m e ly "te is in my room-mine till to-Morro, ri swearing here, sir."7 "Cap'n you are a mean scoundrel' for all your fine toggery. What became of the poor'bo L "The sailor is insane, and I will have him put in an a m immediately!', said tMr. LHazlehill, wrenching his arm from Raymond's powerful grasp. Foaming withrage,he hurried * with- reh CAPTAIN DRIGGS. 139 out of the room, and down the',-stairs, with fearful impetu- -osity. "What does this mean, Tom? ." "It means that he, Cap'n Driggs, is the blamedest old rascal that ever lived. I never sailed with him but once; it was in the ILiza Jane, from Jamaica, about twenty years ago. We took a lady aboard with her little son at that island. Poor lady! she died with yellow fever, on the passage. Cap'n Driggs promised to give her Christian burial-so at night, he stole into the harbor of Decoven, and the poor lady was buried there; but I believe he would have thrown her into the sea, if it hadn't been that he meant to leave the poor little boy on shore. It was the easiest way to get rid of him. But, friend! what makes you lookso awful white, and tremble so like a loose sail in a gale of wind ." "'I was that very little boy. There can be no mistake, for I have lived at Decoven ever since, till I came to this city. I , perfectly remember that one fof the sailors was kind to me on that woeful night. And you must be the very man. Wonderful are the ways of God's Providence i" "Murder will out!" exclaimed the sailor, grasping Ray- mond's hand. "Do-you know the cap'n ran the vessel ashore on the Jarsey coast, near Long Branch? He said it was an accident! Hum! It might have been, for there was a thick fog. But he had"all his trunks and valuables safe in a boat at the starn. All hands were below asleep at the time, but just I myself, and the cap'n who was on the look-out ' She's going ashore!' yelled the cap'n; ".All hands on deck 1' And he sprang into the boat, and let her off. I jumped in after him f.:,' page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O REALITY. -he cut loose, and by the time we were a stone's throw from the schooner, she struck on the beach, under full sail, and keeled right over-capsized!" And what became of the poor sailors .w "Drownded-every soul of them." "And the boy-what became of him .9" "I never heard from that day to this. When we had buried the poor lady, Cap'n Driggs sent me ahead to have the boat ready. When he came to the wharf, in the hurry to get aboard I didn't see that the boy was not with us. Soon after we had got to the schooner, I asked the cap'n what he'd done with the boy. He said he had left him where he would be taken good care of; and that was the last I ever heard of him. As I was saying, the very next night we ran ashore on the Jarsey coast. The schooner was a wreck-her cargo of fruit was all lost, and the cap'n, who belonged some- where at the West, went to parts unknown. He piid my full wages and made up for the loss of my chist and traps. I steered straight for Philadelphy, and have sailed from that port, and from Baltimore, ever since. And now, Mr. Ray- m6nd, do you really believe you are that very same little boy who was left in his night-gown and nothing else, at Decoven ." "Yes; it must be so. I will show you the very night- gown 8" Raymond took from among the parcels he was packing in his trunk one wrapped in an old newspaper. He unrolled it and displayed a child's yellowish-white flannel night-gown, and a small, fine linen shirt, marked G. RIF' ,.. CAPTAIN DRIGGS. "No doubt of it, you are the 'dentical boy," said the sailor, grasping his hand, and staring into his eyes. "What becamfe of you that awful night " "It's a long story, Tom; I must give it to you another - time. How can you prove Mr. Hazlehill to be Captain Driggs .n" I can swear to it. Didn't I know his swagger? Don't I know his face as well as I do my own." "But in twenty years great changes take place -in a man's appearance." 7 "They haven't changed his ugly mug. He knew me, too; the moment he set his eyes on me, he turned-purple, all in blotches, just as he used to when he was mad at the sailors.' A noise of several persons coming rapidly up the stairs was now heard. Raymond stepped to the door, turned the key in the lock, and shoved a strong bolt. Without knocking, some one attempted to enter. "Who's there 1" cried Raymond. "Mr. Hazlehill. I have come with help to take the crazy, sailor to the Lunatic Asylum'." "The sailor is not so mad as you are cap'n," said. Tom, with a loud laugh.. :, ' "There. You see he is as crazy as a loon. He takes me for some captain or other. Let me in, Raymond, or I'll break the door down." "Do it at your peril. The laws protect me in my rights. The sailor, Tom Nicklin, is my guest. He is perfectly sane, as you may learn at the Hospital in -- street, where he has been for the last week or two." page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2- REALITY. "-This is a strange affair," said one of the police officers, who had been summoned by Mr. Hazlehill to assist in secur- ing the mad sailor. "We had better inquire of the physician at the hospital." "Folly! stupidity! I tell you my life is not safe while! this madman is at large. Let me in!" continued Mr -Hazle- hill, thumping tremendously on the door with his gold-headed cane. ' The uproar alarmed the other tenants, who came crowding up the staircase 'from every part of the large building.. The peaceful -occupant of No. 19, was not acquainted with a single man in the whole, tenement, excepting the por. ter. He had, of course, passed and repassed the other occu- pants frequently, and his polite, dignified deportment had won their respect. They now eagerly inquired the canse of this uproar. ' , "Mr. Hazlehill threatens to break into Mr. Raymond's room, No. 19," replied one of his neighbors. "What right has he to do that?" exclaimed a young lawyer. "Perhaps he don't pay- up," suggested a third, in a whisper. "That's no reason for the old curmudgeon's breaking in upon him," added the lawyer, who- had once for the same cause encountered the wrath of the grasping landlord. "We ought to. protect our fellow-tenant in his rights," exclaimed the first speaker. "But there are two police officers." "Never mind! Let's hustle' them down stairs. It's so ,' CAPTAIN DBIGGS. 143 confounded dark in the entry they never will know who did it." "'What's all this about?" demanded the young lawyer, of the posse at the door of No. 19. "A crazy sailor, who has taken refuge in this gentleman's room," was the information given by one of the police officers. "Well, if the gentleman chooses to give himn refuge he -is more in danger than any- one else. Let his door alone. Every man's room is(his castle," said the lawyer. "If you break in, you are liable to be indicted for burg- lary." Mr. Hazlehill felt that he was making this matter quite too notorious, and whispered to the police officers, "Disperse this mob, we will take another opportunity to secure the madman." "Gentlemen, you had better retire, this is a matter which calls for more investigation on: my part," said the shrewd policeman, who saw there was something suspicious in Mr. Hazlehill'g conduct. "Move off if you please. We shall leave the supposed insane person at present where he is." Thus addressed, the crowd immediately dispersed, with the exception of the young lawyer, who kept a sharp look-out for " a case." "What are you going to do ." inquired Mr. Hazlehill. "I must have that man." "'I am going directly to the hospital, to inquire of the physician about him. You had better send away the carmen for the present," replied, the policeman, as he hurried down stairs. , page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4, R E -A L X T Y. -Two stout carmen, with ropes in their hands, stood ready to .bind the sailor, and place him on a cart waiting at the door. Mr. Hazlehill spoke aside to them, telling them not to leave the premises, but to keep watch at the door below, and if the crazy man appeared, to bind him, and carry him to the asylum, and he would pay them ten dollars apiece. They nodded assent, and hastened down stairs. Mr. Hazle- hill followed with the other police officer, whom he persuaded to remain with the carmen while he went with the other to thie hospital. A few moments after they left, there was a gentle tap at the door of Raymond's room. ' "Who's there a." "It's me-Moses, the porter." "What do you want, Moses?" "I want to know if a poor nigger can do anything for you, Mr. Raymond; you seem to be in trouble, and you've been mighty kind to me." "Thank you", Moses; you can oblige me by carrying two notes immediately for me. Wait a minute where you are." Raymond wrote two hurried notes,; one to Dr. Batterman, the other to Mr. Dinsmore, whose benevolent countenance had inspired him with confidence and profound respect. He briefly mentioned that he was in trouble and perplexity, and begged their immediate presence and advice. Moses, whose warm, honest heart had been won -by the uniform kindness of Ra'ymlondb hastened with -all speed to the gentlemen, and on handing the notes, added a word of entreaty on his own part, saying, "The nice young gem'- ? -g C APTAIN D R I GG S. 145 man is in a peck of trouble for showing civility to a poor old sailor." - Mr. Dinsmore's carriage was at the door. Without a moment's hesitation, .he hastened to Raymond. Dr. Batter- man was encountered in the street, and met Mr. Dinsmore just as he was stepping from his carriage. "What's the matter here-s" asked the doctor, in his usual rapid manner. "I don't know; I saw Mr. Raymond only a few hours since, at the Academy," replied Mr. Dinsmore. The carmen, with ropes in their hands, were leaning against two posts in front of the door, eagerly watching for the egress of the crazy sailor. '"What are you about?" demanded the doctor. "We know our own, business," was the surly answer of one, as he winked at' the other. Moses was there to show the way to Mr.' Raymond's room. Mr. Dinsmore and Dr. Batterman entered it, and the door was again locked and bolted. In about twenty minutes they came out, followed by Raymond and Tom Nicklin, and hurried down stairs. They all stepped out on the pavement. Mr. Dinsmore pointed to the carriage-box, telling Tom to mount up and take a seat with the co0chman. Ropes were instantly thrown around the sailor by the carmen, who then attempted to drag him to the cart; but Raymond and Dr. Batterman seized- upon him, while Moses, pulling out a jack-knife, cut the ropes, and, as the best mode of escape, Tom jumped into the carriage. ' -a , . page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 . - REALITY. Mr. Dinsmore, Dr. Batterman, and Raymond instantly followed. "Drive home!" shouted Mr. Dinsmore. On the way, Tom Nicklin, the sailor, again related the same stolry he had been telling Raymond, who confirmed the truth of it, so far as he was himself concerned. When thev reached Mr. Dinsmore's, Dr. Batterman left, saying, "You are in good hands, Raymond; we will sift this matter through and through." Mr Dinsmore did not alight from his carriage. "I have some farther questioning, for you, my good friend," said he to the sailor; "'get out of the carriage, and' pull the bell." ' ' Tom Nicklin hobbled up the steps and gave a tremendous pull. The waiter appeared. "Here, Martin, take good care of this poor fellow till I come back; see that he has a dinner. Come, Mr. Raymond, we will go back for your goods and chattels, left at the mercy of the rabble." "There is no necessity for that; I took the precaution to fasten the door as we were leaving." "A wise precaution; still they would be safer elsewhere. Samuel, drive back as fast as you can to the tenement we left." The coachman, did not spare the sleek black, horses, and they soon arrived. As they ascended the stairs they heard a loud noise as of . CAPTAIN DRIGOS. 147 repeated blows. When they reached the landing-place, Mr. Hazlehill, axe in hand, had just succeeded in bursting open the door, believing it still to be locked inside. A stout por- ter stood beside him, and two of his own clerks. "Sir," said Mr. Dinsmore, with calm dignity, " why do you perpetrate this outrage on an unoffending tenant?" "He has secreted a mad sailor in his room." "You have no right to break his door down, if he has," said the young lawyer, who was still on hand, and had coaxed' -his fellow-tenants to be quiet and see the spoit, till the hated landlord had done something " actionable." "Where is the crazy creature who dared to insult me?" demanded Mr. Hazlehill, turning to Raymond, when he per- , ceived the room was vacant. "Sir, please to stand aside. Enter that room at your peril, without Mr. Raymond's permission," said Mr. Dinsmore. "I have no occasion to enter that-gentleman's room now," replied Mr. Hazlehill, suddenly quelled into the most craven manner. "Mr. Raymond, this porter will take your trunks down, and place them on my carriage," continued Mr. Dinsmore. "Yes, sir. One man's jSb is as good as another," replied the porter, grinning at the disappointed landlord, "But I have not yet decided where to go," said Raymond, in a low voice, to Mr. Dinsmore. . "Allow- me to decide for you," he replied. The clerks skulked away, followed by their conscience- stricken master, who knew perfectly well, when he was breaking in, that the sailor was not there. One of the policemen had told , C, page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] 1+&8 REALIT Y-, him of that fact, and- his object had probably been to secure Raymond's papers. The artist's trunks and boxes were neither so numerous, nor so heavy as to render any other conveyance necessary besid'e the carriage, ,and they were soon safely placed there. "Drive home," said Mr. Dinsmore, with a tone of exulta- tion; and rubbing his hands together with great animation, he sprang like a boy into the carriage, having insisted that Raymond should precede him. After a few moments of silence, Raymond said, "You are taking a great deal of trou- ble for an entire stranger, Mr. Dinsmore." "! have known you well through Minnie, and you do not disappoint my expectations. With your leave, I am going to take you home, and establish you in my library., Without your orders, I had your sign taken down, and if you have no objections, I shall have it placed on my door." "Sir, to my knowledge, I have not a relation in the world; this morning I thought I had not a friend.' Mr. Dinsmore interrupted Raymond, by saying, "Man's extremity is God's opportunity" "Hehas indeed raised up for me a generous friend, in my extremest need," continued the grateful artist. , "Your gratitude is rightly placed; we- should acknowledge Him in all our ways; we are but instruments in His hands When we are settled in our library, you will tell me all the way in which He has led you." i x FR A N O C,0 NFESS IONS. 149 CHAPTER XIX. FRANK CONFESSIONS. IRENSE HAZT ,VH1T L returned from the Academy and imme- diately wrote the following letter to her friend. "MY DEAR REBA: Stern as you seemed to me in your last, I yet love you, and have followed your advice. I met Mr. Raymond to-day at the Academy, looking pale and sad, and turned away from him with icy coldness of manner, while my heart was a raging volcano. It alarms me to penetrate into its fearful depths. I must leave this place. I cannot endure another meeting. Will you let me come to you . Will you send me an urgent invitation to pay you a visit? How humiliating to your proud friend to crave such a favor? Yet, if you knew one half the suffering I am enduring, you would urge me to fly to you! I now feel most keenly the effects of too much romance-reading. My imagin- ation has been excited and my sensibility stimulated, till they have both become morbid. Your calmness will be to me "like a cool hand on an aching. brow;" your common sense, page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] IS0 R EALITY. -ah! that I dread-it will be, however, the caustic which I need. a I shall not leave the house again, till I -hear from you. "Most humbly your obliged friend, i "IRENE;' "P. S. I open my letter, dear Reba, to add a 'page or two. I cannot imagine what ails papa. Dinner waited for him a full hour to-day. When he came,. at last, the change in his appearance since morning was astonishing; I should hardly have known him. His face was literally a deep crimson, his eyes bloodshot, and his hair in wild confusion, standing out in all directions. He looked at me with an expression H could not understand-more in sorrow than -in anger, I thought. When my mother entered the room, he absolutely , groaned aloud. . She gazed at him with a bewildered stare, and then whispered to me-' He has -been drinking!' I doubted it; but durst not question him. "I should'not think it right to tell iyou all this, only it seems necessary -to explain what follows. He swallowed a few mouthfuls, evidently unconscious of what he' was doing, then shoved his plate aside and exclaimed: "You must go to Hazlehill, both of you!' "To Hazlehill! When?' demanded my mother. "By the first train, to-morrow.' "Why?" "'No-matter why. Pack up everything that belongs to you, both of you, and be ready to start in the early morning train. ' - FRANK CO NESSIO NS. 151 '"Furniture and all .' asked my mother, in consternation. "'No ;' he replied, with a ghastly smile-' Your own woman's duds-the furniture don't belong to you ' "So saying, he seized his hat and left us without further explanation. "I go to prepare for this most unexpected journey. Fare- well!" , * page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 REALI TY. - CHAPTER XX. REMINISCENCES. A BRIGHT fire was glowing in the polished grate, in the library of Mr. Dinsmore. Everything was in its usual neat and elegant order. An Additional table had been added to the furniture, and on it were placed the drawings, portfolios and architectural books of George Raymond. On one side of the white marble fire-place, sat Mr. Dinsmore, in a luxurious arm- chair, covered with green morocco--directly opposite sat Raymond, enjoying a similar comfortable seat. ': Now for your story," said Mr. Dinsmore. " I must have been seven or eight years old when I awoke one morning on the damp grave of my mother. -The sailor whom Providence threw in my way, has told you how I was left there by the captain, of the vessel which was lost on the Jersey shore. I had never known any parent, excepting that blessed mother, and she was no more. "It was a dismal night. My agony was so intense that I have no remembrance of the man ner in which I was left by the captain. I have a dim remembrance of having found my way back from the gate of the cemetery to the new-made grave, and there I probably cried myself to sleep." R E M I N I SC NCS. 153 Raymond now opened a small mahogany writing-desk and took opt a folded paper, saying: "( You will learn my subsequent story better from this than from my own recollection. It is the statement of good Miss Milly Osborne, testified to by herself and her brother before a justice of the peace. MissMilly drew it up with great care -dear Miss Milly ! she was a trifle proud of her composition and penmanship." " It was a dark and rainy night on the 10th of June, 18-, but the morning was as beautiful as that which dawned on the garden of Eden when the advent of Eve was expected by Adam. About six o'clock I went with my brother Benjamin- to cover our father's grave with green sod. That sainted father had lately gone to the promised 'mansion' above. The rain-drops glittered on the wavinig grass of the beautiful cemetery, and bedewed the fresh rose-buds, which were bursting into joyous young life in that solemn home of the dead. " As we approached the grave of our departed parent, I was startled by a small figure reclining on a new-made grave -I trembled, and exclaimed :- "' Is that a marble statue ? It looks like life; , and I am sure it was not here yesterday.' " Brother Benjamin left the barrow in which were the green sods, and followed me to the grave, on which the. figure reclined. A white drapery was folded about this strange figure, the arms fell on each side-the face as pale as m arble but the dark hair hanging damp and disordered, and the 7e page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 164 REALITY. dark lashes ot the white cheeks proved to us that it was not monumental marble. I placed my hand on the cold forehead and said: "' Poor child! who are you, and how came you here a' "The child slowly awoke from a dull sleep. I repeated the question. "' I don't know,' he replied, and immediately went into a kind of swoon. "'Benjamin,' said I,' leave the sod by father's grave and then come back immediately,'we must take the child home.' "Benjamin did so. - We placed the forlorn stranger in the wheelbarrow, and thus we took him to our humble home. Fater's room was vacant, and on the bed where he breathed his last, we laid the helpless child. The tears streamed down the cheeks of my kind-hearted -brother, as he looked at -the thin, delicate little creature, lying there without motion, just breathing faintly, as though every breath would be the last. "Benjamin hastened for the doctor. Before he came, a change had taken place; the child was in a raging fever. rhe doctor said, after a second' visit, it seemed very much like yellow fever, but modified by a change of climate. But for fear of alarming the people, he advised us to say nothing about it. "I prepared some clothing for the boy, and laid aside his white flannel night-gown, and fine linen shirt, marked G. R. It was- all he had on. "Well, we nursed him through a- dreadful sickness, and through God's blessing, he at length recovered, No inquiry R E M r N aS E:N C E S. 165 had been made for him, and h6 had not been able to give any account of himself. I told Benjamin he ought to adver- tise him. Poor Benjamin was no scholar; he was a bright boy when young, but a fall somewhat injured his brain but it did not injure his noble heart. "Benjamin looked up an old newspaper, containing an advertisement for a stray dog, which. had been found, and copied it almost verbatim: "'Found, on the morning of- the 10th of June, a small boy, who had strayed, or been stolen from his owner, who may have the said boy on proving property and paying for this advertisement. "'Inquire of Benjamin Osborne, Mill street, Decoven.'j "It was a queer advertisement, but I did not like to hurt poor Benjamin's feelings;by suggesting anything different. "No owner appeared--and none has to. this day.- -The boy, George Raymond, has never been able to tell us the place from whence he came, only that his mother left home in a vessel, died on the passage, and was buried in the grave where we found him. It is hnow two years since, and wishing to adopt him for our own son, we make this statement; and place-our names below. MT- "M tJENT OSBORNE. "BENJAMN OSBORNE. ' Signed and sealed before me, this 11th day of June, 18-. "FREDERICK STILWATER, JUtstice of Peace." "This singular document I have carefully preserved," con- tinued Raymond. b . . page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 RE ALI'TY. "A very important one," replied Mr, Dinsmore; "but have you no reminiscences of your early home ." "!My mind must have been in a disorded state for some weeks during my convalescence, for my kind friends- could elicit nothing from me, excepting my name, and that I had lived at Coleraine; that I came in the vessel in which my mother died: But where was Coleraine? I did not know. After awhile, I remembered my home, and described it as a large, low house, with a gallery all around it, and many orange and lemon-trees. I remembered an old gentleman, and a great many black servants who called my mother Miss Bella; and the old gentleman called her Isabel. Miss Milly asked if she had no other name; I never had heard any , other. My intellectual education .had not been much advanced, or else I had forgotten all I had once known. Miss Milly, who prided herself not a little on her scholarship, taught me- the alphabet, and in spite of her many cares and duties, continued my, education for three years. She then sent me to the Latin grammar school. Benjamin Osborne was a journeyman carpenter. I often went with him to the shop, and amused myself with building houses with spare blocks, and carving various ornaments in wood. But my dear, kind Miss Milly would not allow me to learn a trade. She had herself been so well educated as to appreciate a liberal education, and decided on sending me to college. "The joint labor of these generous friends enabled them to carry out their munificent design. They denied them- selves every luxury and, almost every comfort for this purpose. I passed through my collegiate course, and received the RE M I S E N EN . 157 highest honor of the college, the valedictory oration at Com- mencement. "My greatest pleasure on that occasion, was derived from the glow of satisfaction and pride on the honest faces of Miss Milly and her brother Benjamin, as they eagerly listened to their adopted, son. "' While in college, I pursued, during vacations, and at leisure intervals, my chosen art, through the' aid of a fine architectural library, the books being loaned to me by the liberal .owner. "I looked forward with fond anticipation to the time when I should be able, in some degree at least, to repay my noble- hearted benefactors; to maintain and comfort them in the. decline of life. It was not so ordered; they both died during the same sad year, leaving me, by will, all their earthly possessions. I laid them, brother and sister, beside their sainted father, and erected a simple, but appropriate monu- ment to their blessed memory. The small property which they left, has all been spent-all--even to their last gifts, Benjamin's watch, and dear Miss Milly's gold beads." Here Raymond paused. After a silence of many minutes, Mr. Dinsmore said, "Have you no remembrance :of your mother's countenance 2?" "It comes before me in dreams, sweet and beautiful,-hut shadowy and vague." "Does it resemble this?" inquired Mr. Dinsmore, in a tremulous voice, as he handed Raymond a miniature likeness of a beautiful-young lady. Raymond perused the features with intense interest, and page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 REALITY,. then replied, "Indeed, my memory of her is so very indis- tinct, that I cannot say; would that it were like her, for it is a heavenly countenance." "It is a faint likeness of what your mother was; as I remember her at eighteen." "Then, indeed, you were acquainted with my mofher!' "She was my lovely and loving wife, and you are our only son, for whom I have mourned as buried within the depths of ocean." , * , MR. DINSMORS' S TORY. 159 CHAPTER XXT MR. DINSMORE S STORY. WITH the consent and approbation of Mr. Raymond, a wealthy planter of Jamaica, Mr. Dinsmore, married Isabella Raymond. She was an only child. Soon after the marriage, Mr. Dinsmore was obliged, by urgent business, to return to New York, his native city, He was there detained for more than a year, by the illness and death of. his father, and the settlement of his estate. During that time he received fre- quent letters from his wife and his father-in-law. Ohe of these welcome letters contained the joyful news of the birth of a son, who was baptized, and named after his grandfather; George Raymond. Just before Mr. Dinsmore had finally arranged his affairs in New York, he received s letter from his father-in-law, Mr. Raymond, requesting him to sail by the earliest vessel to Liverpool, to attend to a very important law-suit. In compliance with'this request, Mr. Dinsmore sailed for England, though -his heart was aching to see his wife and son. The vessel in which he sailed was not such as he would have chosen (our glorious ocean steamers had not then been C. .V page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 RE ALITY Y. dreamed of), it was old and leaky-ten days out the leaks increased, and finally became so unmanageable that passengers and crew took to the boats. After incredible hardships, the boat in which Mr. Dinsmore embarked reached the coast of Africa. There he was taken prisoner and sent to the interior. Six long dreary years of suffering elapsed before he escaped. He then found his way to Sierra Leone. From thence he sailed to England, and soon after took passage for Jamaica. On arriving at the island he hastened to Clairmont. It was , in the possession of a stranger. Mr. Raymond had been dead several years. Mrs. Dinsmore had sold the plantation, and with the avails of that (and other large possessions), in gold, had sailed for New York with her son, hoping there to , learn something of her long-lost husband. Captain Driggs would not allow her to take any servants on board. The new occupant of Clairmont showed Mr. 1Dinsmore a New York paper which he had received, contain- ing an account of the wreck of the Eliza Jane, Captain t;i " I Driggs, on the Jersey shore, stating that all on board had been lost, excepting one sailor, who swam ashore. :, The heart-broken man, after having collected all the infor- mation possible with regard to his wife and son, left for New York, hoping there to- find the one sailor. In vain did he advertise for him-search the sailors' boarding-houses--go on board vessels, both there and in other parts. No tidings of that one sailor ever reached him till the day on which he met Tom Nicklin at No. 19. Perhaps the interest thus excited in behalf of seamen Irad been one 'leading reason for MR. DINSMORE' S TORY. 161 his determination to build? a hospital for old and infirm sailors. After the relation which is here briefly given, Mr. Dins- -more said:- "I had appropriated nearly all my means to the hospital and to the building of a free church, and have already pur- chased the site for both. Now, I may change my plans." "Not on any account," replied Raymond. "It is a noble plan, which, I trust, will be successfully carried out. I would only ask the pleasure of making the designs, if you think me competent. I hope you approve of my choice of a profes- sion." '"Most certainly, and I have no doubt, my son, of seeing you a distinguished architect. But how shall we compel that diabolical captain to confess his crime - He must have cov- eted that gold-it amounted to many thousand pounds, to which you, as the heir of Mr. Raymond, are entitled." "Let him have his gold," said Raymond, "it is enough for me that I have found a father." "But he must and shall disgorge the stolen property, and, if possible, meet the punishment due to his crimes." "Spare him for the sake "-- Raymond would have added, "for the sake of his daughter ,"but Mr. Dinsmore, not antici- pating such a request, interrupted him, exclaiming, "Fiat justitia, ruat ccelum." page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 REA LI TY. ; ' MR. DINSMORE'S LIGT"EI TO CAPTAIN DRIGOS, alias MORRIS " SIR : Through the wonderful leadings of divine Providence, I have recovered my long-lost son, George Raymond Dinsmore. :iThe property belonging to him, which you have sequestrated for twenty years, must be immediately restored, principal and ;interest, or legal measures.for the adjustment of his claim will be taken without further notice. " I need not point out to you, Captain Driggs, the reason why an amicable adjustment of my son's rightful demands will be for your advantage. J' " "LEONIDAS DINSMORE." This note was handed to Mr. Hazlehill, just as he was stepping into the carriage, which was to take him to the Station, with Mrs. Hazlehill and Irene, en route for Hazlehill.' As if sur- mising the contents, he thrust it into his pocket unopened CHAPTER XXl .I IN that Temple of Mammon, the library of Mr. Hazlehill, the devotee strode to and fro, occasionally wringing his hands, and lifting upward his bloodshot eyes; his lips moved, but not in prayer; "curses, not loud, but deep," were on those livid lips; conscience, so long smothered, now seemed aided by a thousand fiends to torment the guilty man. No repent- ance softened that obdurate, iron-bound heart; keen remorse, vulture-like, fastened upon it. The schemes of a life had utterly failed. Crimes, hidden in the depths of his own dark soul, were now to be brought out in the stunning light of day. "One cunning bosom sin " had beckoned him on, at the same time spreading unseen snares, and digging deep pitfalls in his seemingly smooth pathway. ,He must now retrace that path. He must give back his beloved gains. In the full vigor of heroic manhood, the victim of his wicked wiles had come to claim his own. No, he could not bear it; he could not part with his gold; he could not stand before the world barefaced-the monster which all along he had been in secret. And yet, this man of pretext, through long, long years, had overlooked himself. Now, as that hateful self stood revealed in all its page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 REA LITY. mean and detestable lineaments, the soul shuddered, shrinking from the direful revelation. Suddenly the millionaire paused from his hurried pacing to and fro. He stealthily opened a small rosewood case, and drew from it a shining weapon--a richly inlaid pistol. Without one moment's hesitation, he placed it deliberately on the right temple. The next instant he fell, never to rise again. 'The millionaire had gone to give an account of his stewardship to an impartial Judge. At, the report of the pistol the alarmed servants rushed to , the library, Soon the fatal- news was brought to Mrs. Hazlehill and 'Irene. "Just what might have been expected," said Mrs. Hazle- hill, rocking herself violently in a large rocking-chair, "just what might have been .expected--the sinful man has put an be . end to his awful life." "Oh'! mother, mother! How can you speak so coolly of this 'horrible calamity?" exclaimed Irene, throwing herself on the carpet, and biting her lips till the blood gushed from them. "You have- not the consolation, child, that I have; I believe in predestination, and submit to this as a divine decree. I have long suffered under the conviction that he i was a hardened sinner, given over to a reprobate mind, and now, like Judas, he has-gone to his own place" "' "Have you no mercy? He was your husband and my father!" ' i "Many a, long, dreadful year, have I pondered over that - ;. life-no human being can be told what I have suffered from ,? -! , . M A M MON. 166 him. There was something terribly wrong in his life'; mys- tery! mystery! but what he committed suicide for. I can't imagine. Losses-losses, perhaps. Oh!. dear, dear-that would be shocking."' "Mother, mother! You will drive me frantic," shrieked Irene, whose emotions had now become so violent as to alarm Mrs. Hazlehill. . "Don't take on so, child; you'll kill yourself, and then what would become of me, all alone in the world! You are selfish in your grief, you quite forget your poor sick mother," said Mrs. Hazlehill, weeping. Irene, startled by this accusation, said, ." Indeed, mother, if there is anything to be done, I am ready." She rose from the floor and staggered towards a sofa. There she sat stark upright, with her hair hanging about her shoulders, her lips and chin smeared with blood, and her eyes wildly wandering with the fearful glare of coming insanity. "Mother! mother! My 'mind, my mind! I am losing all command over myself. At this moment the physician, who had been summoned for Mr. Hazlehill, came in; having found medical aid was not needed in that case, he sought the distressed family. He prescribed an opiate for Irene, so powerful as to induce many hours of oblivious sleep. He had long been, Mrs. Hazlehill's physician, and now recommended that she should keep her room for three days, and on no account whatever, speak of this fearful subject of sorrow to her daughter. i / * page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 REALITY. CHAPTER XXIII. T HE O L D H'AIR T R U N KS. SOME weeks' had elapsed since the awful death-soene was enacted at Hazlehill. That library! It was the first time'Irene had entered into the apartment---the first time her timid footsteps had ever passed over that threshold. All traces, of the recent occur- rence had been removed. The large writing-desk on the table was locked; so were the single book-case, and those large, old trunks on one side of the -room.! There was no other furniture, excepting a greatleather-covered arm-chair, standing by the table. A super stitious awe stole over Irene. She felt, in every shiveringd nerve, the fearful presence of the self-murderer. Her beating heart seemed ready to burst from its cell; her trembling limbs would not support her, she sank into the arm-chair, -and covering her face with her .hands, dropped her head on the writing-desk. She prayed fervently. Such prayer comes only from the helpless and despairing, in hours of extremest need. 'By this appeal to Him who pitieth the sufferer who yields THE OLD HAIR TRUNKS. 167 to the chastening rod, even as a father pitieth his erring, but penitent child, Irene, became measurably calm. A large bunch of keys had" been found in Mr. Hazlehill's pocket-they now hung over the mantel-piece, Her mother had insisted on it as a duty, which Irene alone should perform, to look over the contents of that library. With a trembling hand, she tried the keys in the rusty lock of a very old-fashioned hair trunk, before which she knelt. The cover, dry and warped, sprang open suddenly, as soon as the key was turned-sprang wide open, as if by volition, and, revealed to her astonished eyes, rich female attire. A lady's silk dresses, shawls, and bonnets of a fashion long since passed away. Beautiful and costly were these antique dresses; Irene lifted one from its long resting-place, and the rustle of the rich silk sounded like a sigh to her excited- imagination. .She dropped it hastily, and endeavored to close the trunk; it resisted her efforts, and remained: half open. The second trunk was filled with a boy's wearing apparel. A few books lay at the top of the trunk. . Irene took up a well-worn spell- ing-book. On the 'fly-leaf was written "George Raymond." The lid of the trunk fell, leaving the book in her hand. Sev- eral minutes passed, and her eyes were staring wildly at that name. She at length replaced the book, and opened the third trunk. It contained only a few articles-a small casket of jewelry, in which, besides other valuables, were a miniature likeness of a gentleman, and a small watch; the other contents were files of letters a Bible, prayer-book and several other volumes. page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] , 168 REALIT'Y. The contents of the writing-desk might throw some light on this mystery. She sternly nerved herself to open it, and to examine pcapers which, probably, no human eye but one had ever rested upon-an eye which she shuddered to recall. Here were files of letters marked "Private correspond- ence"--the accumulated letters of years, arranged chrono- logically. What was her astonishment to find the earlier letters addressed to Captain Driggs! The later ones, for twenty years, were addressed to Mr. Morris Hazlehill. Among the files of papers was a small one, carefully tied up with a faded green ribbon and sealed with the Hazlehill crest; it was labelled "Schedule of property belonging to George Raymond-to be kept till called for." The faded ribbon broke in her hand, and the loose papers ivere free foi her investigation. i In this "Schedule," the three trunks were first mentioned as having remained untouched since they came, into his possession. The third one had contained the coveted gold! "Thirty -thousand dollars in gold." The .interest was set down from year to year, for twenty-one years, at six per cent. Besides, as if for amusement, the compound interest had been accurately calculated,:till the sum total was immense. To this singular "Schedule" was appended the following sentence :-- "This property I hold in possession for the rightful owner, George Raymond of Jamaica, should he ever appear to claim it. He has been for many years irrecoverably lost, and is probably dead. MORRIS HAZLEHILL. %! THE OLD HAIR TRUNK. 169 The amazement of Irene for a time deprived her of thought. She remained like one struck by asphyxia, with her eyes fastened on the paper.;- At length, her faculties slowly returned, and with the return, the question, "What is to be done?" She remembered her father's fearful anger when he learned that George Raymond had been his guest, and his subsequent imperious command that she should never speak to Raymond again, and not a doubt remained in her mind that he was the very p'erson named in this mysterious paper. But whom could she consult? Alas, among her many fashionable acquaintances she could not single'out one friend. The person for whom she felt the most respect was Mr. Dinsmore; she would write to him, but first, she must consult her! mother. As briefly as possible, she related to. Mrs. Hazlehill the result of her visit to the library. "I don't believe a word of all this stuff; the man was crazy.? "Mother, that is not possible. His papers are all in perfect order. The letters addressed to Captain Driggs, are) filed, and placed with those which arei addressed to Morris Hazle- hill, as though they were' one and the same person." Evidently Mrs. Hazlehill had never known anything of the early life of her deceased'husband. She exclaimed-- "Why, child! he came to our place in Indiana to consult my father about buying tand. He was Hazlehill then. He bought a large tract of land, which he afterwards sold. He fell in love with me. I was only eighteen, and he was about thirty-five-seventeen years older--you know he looked old - . ^ 8 a ' page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 REALITY. enough to be my father. We were married out in Indiana, at my father's, when I had only known him two months. He courted me, Irene, but he never loved me. I have often wondered what he married me for. I suppose it was because my father was a rich farmer, though for that matter, Hazle- hill had money enough, and paid for his land in solid gold. After two years, he got tired of farming, sold a part of his land, and moved to the city. You were then a small baby. He set up a bank. I lived with' him a few years in town, and then he bought this place, and called it Hazlehill, after himself. There was always something mysterious about the 'man. I have felt it for years. Those very trunks I have seen when we have moved from place to place, and once I asked what was in them. lHe gave me such a fierce look, that I never asked him again. Oh, he was a dreadful man! He never let any one goo into that library but himself. He must have come unlawfully by those trunks. What shall we two poor females do? Suppose we have the trunks and papers all burnt up immediately." "Oh, no, mother, certainly not, that would be unjust, dis- honest. You see my father -intended to restore them to the rightful owner, whenever he should appear." "But he must be dead,.or he would have claimed them long ago." "I have great confidence in the wisdom of Mr. Dinsmore, I- will write to him for his advice." "But it would be a frightful loss to us if the person named as George Raynimond should claim. all that Hazlehill says belongs to hinm. I hope he is dead." 1 . THE OLD HAIR, TRUNR , 171 "I hope not," said Irene, fervently; "it would be a great satisfaction to be able to restore to him his own property. It is not ours, mother." 4"That wicked, wicked man! , He knew it did not belong to him, and quieted his guilty conscience'in this paltry way, keeping this account shut up in his writing-desk, and calcu- lating the interest every year'! Just like him! He never gave the true reason for anything, and I often and often had to guess and guess, till my brain ached, why he did .this or that. But consider, Irene, you would reduce your poor mother to poverty." "My father, was very rich; there is no danger of your being left without abundant means. By God's help, I will do what is just and right." "Well, only promise you will leave enough for me to live on, as I have always lived," sobbed out Mrs. Hazlehill, who had given up the i" pomps and vanities " of -this wicked world, only to form a more unmitigated attachment to its luxurious ' "creature comforts." "Don't make yourself uneasy, mother," said Irene, kindly taking her mother's hand, "-so long as I have health and strength you shall want for nothing really needful for your comfort. I hope to be more to you than I have ever bedn. My conscience reproaches me for neglect and impatience. Forgive me for the past, and I will endeavor to atone for my delinquencies." ' Mrs. Hazlehill was touched by, this earnest, heartfelt appeal, and for the first time in many years, threw her arms about her daughter's neck, and gave her a warm embrace. ) .*- page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] - z172 . ' ' REALITY. - " In -pursuance of her hastily-formed resolution, Irene immediately wrote' an urgent request to Mr. Dinsmore to come to Hazlehill, merely telling him that she wished to consult him on business of pressing importance. The next day Mr. Dinsmore arrived. That library! Who could describe the emotions which agitated the husband and- father as the apparel of his long-lost wife and child met his astonished gaze! The deathly paleness of his countenance, and the trembling of every nerve were unnoticed by Irene, as she opened the trunks-so intense were her own emotions. Not a word was spoken' till Mr. Dinsmore, entirely over- come, sank into the arm-chair, and covering his face, murmured--"Oh, my own Isabella!" Irene did not understand the exclamation, and believing that the extreme agitation of Mr. Dinsmore arose from a con- viction of her father's guilt, handed him the schedule, saying: l - "You will find by this, that the intended all should be restored to the rightful owner, and it must be done." Mr. Dinsmore examined the paper. "I think the person there referred to may possibly be Mr. Gearge Raymond, who is not unknown to you," timidly suggested Irene, trembling. "There is no doubt of it," exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore, " there is a very large amount due to him.", "It shall all be restored to him, if possible. I hope, how- ever, a comfortable provision can be made for my invalid mother. Please tell me what measures must be taken for the settlement of- my father's estate." THE OLD HAIR TRUNK. 173 "Have you found no will ." "I have not." "Then if Mr:Hazlehill died intestate, the surrogate of the county takes charge of the settlement of the estate. It may be that this claim will not be allowed without a law-suit." "It must be allowed," exclaimed Irene, vehemently-and seizing pen and paper, she wrote as follows: "MR. RAYMOND, SIR: Enclosed you will find a schedule of property, which in some mysterious way, came into my father's possession. There is no doubt in my mind, that your sir, are the rightful owner, and it is my mother's wish and my own, that you, sir, claim and take possession of it as soon as possible. "Very respectfully, &c., "RENE HAZ7LFEILL." She gave the note to Mr. Dinsmore, eagerly entreating him to assist Mr. Raymond in recovering what had been so long retained without his knowledge. "4 My dear young lady, your conduct is very honorable; no one can appreciate it more truly than I do, excepting the person most immediately concerned. I shall at once confer with him about this momentous affair. Meantime, who have you to counsel you, and to sympathize with you ." "No one but my invalid mother, who is utterly incapable of acting for herself." "A tremendous weight of care and responsibility devolves upon you. I am ready to aid you asfar as lies in my power, but that is very limited. God help you." , fi' - page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 REALITY. i "Thank you. I have led a frivolous, .useless life, and this " calamity has fallen on me like an avalanche. I wish to do my duty faithfully; but I am weak and ignorant. Your advice anrid sincere sympathy at this time, are beyond all price. I thank you, Mr. Dinsmore, a thousand times." O"God bless you, -my dear, I shall see yqu again very soon. Farewell." And Mr. Dinsmore grasped her hand, and fervently repeated, "Farewell,' ) ..\V GAENBROSITY. 17. CHAPTER XXIV. GENEROSITY. WHENS Mr. Dinsmore returned home, he found Raymond engaged with several eager applicants for his professional services. The modest sign, "George Raymond, Architect," which had attracted so little attention on the door-way of the former tenement, among a host of others, had been regilded by nothing save its transposition to the door of Mr. Dinsmore, yet in this fashionable street it glittered marvellously; change of position had changed the sign and the man. In the eyes of the world wealth "makes the man--the want of it the fellow." Raymond could now scarcely answer - the increasing demand for plans, elevations, designs, and specifications, which poured in upon him. Mr. Dinsmore waited with impatience till the importunate applicants had dispersed, and then handed Raymond Irene's note. The agitation of the reader was extreme. Mr. Dinsmore, supposing-his son was not personally acquainted with Miss Hazlehill, and remembering the meeting at the Academy, where no sign of recognition passed between them, was * *'!. page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] - REALITY, surprised at the excessive emotion expressed in Raymond's fine countenance. .He held the note in his hand, and his eyes wandered over it again and again, till Mr. Dinsmore inter- rupted his meditation, saying: "It is very noble in this young girl." "Very noble," echoed Raymond, i but no more than might have been expected from her countenance." Feeling instantly, that this was a contemptible evasion, he added, ,It is in accordance with the estimate I had formed of her character from my first, and I wish I could add, only interview." ! "You surprise me," exclaimed the father. Raymond then mentioned his accidental meeting at Mrs. Burkitt's door-the invitation to the ball-the acceptance- i -the morning call and the mortifying change in the manner of ! Irene. ; "Capnces-freaks-all women are subject tothem! Per- haps she found she had gone too far for delicacy; quite too far for the etiquette of society she certainly had, and pro- bably had become aware of it. At the Academy you should have made the advances." It was evidently Mr. Dinsmore's intention to look only on the bright side; Irene's attentions to his son, when unknown and unnoticed, were calculated to win his favor, and he repeated, "She is a very noble girl." 2Raymond's eyes were still riveted upon the note-- Legal measures," he said, slowly and thoughtfully-"egai mea- aures; withyourpermission, si, I shall take no means whatever to regain this large fortune. I would tot for the sake of the o h'saeo h GENEROSITY. 1 ' unfortunate family of the miserable man, give publicity to his crimes." "Might it not be accomplished privately?" suggested Mr. Dinsmore. ("I have been spared, 'in God's good Providence, from an idle and luxurious life, and led to the choice of a profession which I ardently admire. I love the art, for itself, and now i that I have work. enough, I am perfectly contented. I have ; I no predilection for the dolce far niente." "But then, my son, your cultivated taste and intellectual habits would enable you to enjoy the dolce far niente. The treasures of European art would be opened to you for careful study. Years might be profitably and agreeably spent in foreign travel. On your return you could surround yourself with all that would delight a classic taste, and minister' to refined sensibility." Raymond waved his hand as though he would put aside the tempter, and replied, "I cannot avail myself of this generous proposal. The change in my circumstances already overwhelms me with gratitude. What were millions to me, a lonely, isolated being, compared with my present happiness- a father and a home." Mr. Dinsmore's dark eyes were tearful, and his voice trem- bled, as he grasped the hand of Raymond, and exclaimed: "You are worthy to be the son of my sainted Isabella." After a moment's pause he added, "I thank God that you have not been corrupted by the crying sin of our age and country-an,eager, besotted, unscrupulous desire for wealth." "My excellent friends Melicent and Benjamin, by their , v - i page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] I I. REALITY., lives of simple, earnest goodness, and unwearied industry, i taught me a lesson which, I trust, I shall never forget. They were the happiest persons I have ever known, for they filled '?up to the brim the capacity God had given them for work and'for usefulness. They made labor not only respectable, but even beautiful in my eyes, and I find the same pleasure in my work that thev did in theirs. No Pre-Raphaelite ever put more heart into his work than I do into mine." "I most cordially approve of your decision, my son; the advantage to be derived from travelling may be yours in a few years, through you own exertions, and if my life i spared to complete our Church, and ouTr Hospital, I intend to visit Europe with you.' "Thank you, for presenting such a richl vista for anticipa- tion." , Mr. Dinsmore had reason to be proud of his son. God made this world " very good," and very beautiful, that man 'might enjoy it with Him; moreover, e has given to j moreover, Ifs :as given to man the sense of the beautiful, and the power to create it, as one evidene that human nature was made in the image of the divine. Not to aggrandize, not for ostentation, should works of art be constructed or collected by the wealthy, but to gratify a pure taste, and tdo afford pleasure to such as have not the means to purchase this gratification forthemselves. Theartist who paintsan exquisite picture, the sculptor who executes a noble statue, the architect who builds a magnificent edifice, is a benefactor to the human race; so ismtie man who patroni GENEROS TY. 179 zes these artists. Yet, when he considers noble works of art merely as adjuncts to increase his self-importanoe, without the taste to appreciate or enjoy them, he becomes simply ridiculous. True, the works remain, the artists are remu- nerated and encouraged, though the gross possessor may not have as much enjoyment in them as the wild Indian has in his glass beads, red paint, and feather mantle. The women of our country surely ought to cultivate a refined-taste, that they may know how to spend nobly and gracefully the money lavished upon them by the gold-gatherers-their fathers and husbands. ' The immense claim of George Raymond on the estate of Morris Hazlehill was known only to the few persons most interested. Through Mr. Dinsmore, he informed Irene that he appreciated her generosity, but decidedly relinquished all claim, excepting to the three trunks. They were sent to him without delay. Memory, which had so long slept, awoke att he sight of those familiar objects. The lovely and loving mother was again beside him. He could say, with the poet Cowper: "Life has passed With me but roughly since I heard thee last-- -- Thy own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me." The boy, another self, and yet the same, had worn those well-known garments. The electric train of association page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 - RE ALIT Y. flashed from the living present, to the dead past, enduing it with vitality. Many a proof of a mother's love was brought home warmly to his rejoicing heart. Many an anecdote of boyhood delighted the listening ear of the grateful father. o L CONDO LEN CE. 181 CHAPTER XXV. CONDOLENCE. MNNIE DELL came in from a morning walk. "Oh, Aunt Burkitt, I have the most wonderful news to tell you," exclaimed Minnie, who had been absent from town, with her aunt, for a few weeks, " such wonderful news! My tutor, Mr. Raymond, is the own son of my dear, good Mr. ' Dinsmore." And Minnie, unawed by her sterh aunt, clapped her small hands and capered about the room, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Mr. Raymond the son. of Mr. Dinsmore . How can that be, Miss Minnie ."-said Mrs. Burkitt, with an ominous frown, and a shake of the head, which threatened to dislodge her immense turban. I don't know how it can be, but it is be. Mr. Dinsmore told me so himself, and Mr. Raymond's name is on his father's door. Now, that he is a gentleman's son, is he not a gentleman himself?" ' "' That may be, and may not." "But, indeed, aunt, he wears a nice- coat, and nice boots, and his father's seal ring. I saw it on his finger, when he shook hands with me this morning. He had the air of a page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 REALITY. nobleman; not proud and lofty, not condescending even to poor little me, but dignified and gracious. Oh, I am so delighted!" "This is very strange; I must inquire about it. Some persons attributed Mr. EHazlehill's death to that Raymond. - It is rumored, the banker's life was threatened by your mysterious tutor, and poor Mr. Hazlehill shot himself in consequence." ,W "Why should he prefer shooting himself, to the possibility of being shot? It surely would be better to be murdered than to beta murderer," said Minnie. ' It was a suicide, not a murder." "Is not suicide to kill one's self8? and does not the Com- mandment say, 'Thou shalt not kill ' Why is it not murder?" "You are very pert, miss. If that Raymond is the son of Mr. Dinsmore, there must be some dreadful mystery about it. Poor Irene-Hazlehill! I shall write her a letter of condo- lence. She is a great heiress, perhaps the richest young lady in our city, and will hold her position in society, in spite of her father's suicide. Did you say Mr. Dinsmore's door was disgraced by the architect's sign '" iNo; honored by it. Mr. Raymond's office is now in Mr. Dinsmore's beautiful library. He said when I came to read with him again, I must come directly to the parlor, because his son had so many professional calls." "You must"ago there no more, Minnie Dell. Alas! that I should have undertaken the charge of your education! I am every way disappointed. Dr. Batterman has done nothing 4 ' . CON D O LEN CE. for the physique. You are, still insignificantly small. Your intellectual progress has been entirely defeated, through the mistaken choice of a tutor, for which, too, Dr. Batterman is accountable. You show no proof of having profited by my indefatigable efforts to advance the morale. Contretemps, contretemps, nothing but contretem2ps from first bo last. I am thankful I have no children of my own." Minne was by this time weeping violently. "I have not even taught you self-command; the tears are just as near-the corners of your eyes as ever, silly child!" Though the sensibility of Minnie Dell had been subjected 'to an indurating process, she had not- become a stalactite- the tenderness and susceptibility of her character rendered such a result impossible. Her young heart was like a warm, gushing fountain under ice; it burst through the frozen con- ventionalisms which pressed upon it, keeping her life pure and healthful. "Then I am not to see my dear, good Mr. Dinsmore again," said she, while those forbidden tears were in a state of insurrection. "I shall never forget his kindness to me." "It is not so much Mr. Dinsmore, but if you go there you may meet that suspicious young man who, I have no doubt, has imposed on the weak, credulous, old man whom he claims as a father! I never liked that Raymond from the first, moment my eyes rested on him-he was as proud'as Lucifer, and as poor as Job's cat. My wounded feelings have not yet recovered from the shock of that first interview, when he tried to look down on me as though he-he indeed-was my page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] -184 RI A LI T Y. superior. Then, at'-Miss tHazlehill's ball, where everybody was ridiculing and despising him, he carried himself as loftily and consequentially as though he had been the Prince de Joinville; and the ball had been given in honor of himself. Oh, his impudence .was intolerable!" "He was most gentle and kind to me," sobbed out the aggrieved Minnie.:- * "Go to your room, naughty child; after all the pains I have bestowed on you, I believe you do not feel one millionth part as much gratitude and affection for me as you do for that insolent fellow, who, under false pretences, has inveigled himself into the house of a respectable man. Hand me my- wIiting-desk; and then march off and reflect on your base ingratitude." MRS. BUR KITT T O MSS HAZLEHLL. "MY VERY DEAR IRENE : No one sympathizes more sincerely with you, in the recent loss you have sustained, than myself Your most unfortunate father, I understand, was-driven to des- peration by the dreadful threatenings of that impudent young man who intruded himself on your notice, no doubt with an eye to your immense fortune. You were unsophisticated, and therefore pardonable for not being suspicious of such designs. You will now be obliged to keep a sharp look-out for these unprincipled fortune-hunters; you can rightly claim a bon part, and I hope vou have sense enough not to be satisfied with any other. "My dear Irene, I am going to Saratoga and to Newport r a n d t o N e w p o r t CO NDOLE N C. 185 the coming season, and take this early opportunity to engage you to be of my party. You will need change of scene and recreation, and I will again be your chaperone. "Of course you do not wear mourning. Spring and summer fashions are open. I will make any purchases for you which you may order. Bonnets are worn smaller than ever. Orange is the prevailing color, though here and-there a pink bonnet- hows its diminished head. "Truly yours, "LAVINIA BURKITT S Mrs. Burkitt read over her letter with great satisfaction, and summoning a waiter, immediately dispatched it to the post office. About an hour after, Mr. Burkitt came in to dinner. "We had astonishing news on-'Change to-day," said the little man. "Hazlehill, who was supposed to be worth at least a million, died, absolutely bankrupt." "You frighten me out of my senses! What do you mean, Mr. Burkitt?' "Simply that he had of late entered into ruinous specula- tions, and has left his wife and daughter penniless!" "Horror of horrors! And my letter-my lettert I shall have this poverty-stricken girl on my hands for the season. What a mistake! What a misfortune!;i Mrs. Burkitt explained the contents of her letter. "Never fear," replied Mr. Burkitt-"Miss Hazlehill has too much good sense and good feeling to accept your invita- tion." page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 R E A L I T Y ... . "Indeed she has!" whispered Minnie. What a moral lesson Mrs. Burkitt was giving to the simple- minded girl! What an insight to that'worldly wisdom which is he antipode of the wisdom which is "first pure, then peaceable, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy." The startling news heard on 'Change was true. The millionaire, respected for his shrewd, calculating, foreseeing, business talents, had of late entered recklessly into enormous speculations in fancy stocks, which had proved worthless. The " bubble reputation " buoyed him up and floated him onward gallantly for a while, and then dissolved into thin air. Poverty and disgrace scouted at his "full-blown pride." "He had kept them at bay, and dared them to do their worst. Money would bribe justice-money would soothe his con- science-money would sustain him among men, should the dreaded Raymond claim what he had so carefully kept for (from) him. He could prove that 'such was his intention. ;He always had such proof on hand. MurderelI He was no murderer! The Eliza Jane ran ashore in a fog. Yet, he oftentimes, amid the dash of waves on the sea-shore, heard the dying wail of the lost mariners, and in dreams their glazed eyes stared at him from skeleton skulls. : He knew his victim was living; he knew charity supplied the wants which his avarice denied and his crime had induced. He never lost sight of the boy, nor of the young man who was making a desperate struggle to gaih a standing-place on the arena of life. Raymond came upon him at last suddenly, like an avenging ,! CONDOOLENCE. 1le angel. In the hot pursuit of wealth, the banker had tried to stun his conscience; yet it still kept him from destroying the victim of his cupidity. Even after he knew Raymond was his own tenant, he hoped to escape detection, and laid the flattering unction to his soul that his intentions were good; he had, perhaps, taken better care of the young man's money than the young man could have done himself. He would hold out a little longer, and increase his own wealth,. so that if the worst came, he could restore, and still be a millionaire. Crafty devil! Thus he leads his minions gently down the slippery path, and gives them at length the push which sends them, with a terrible impulse, to final destruction and fearful retribution. This same crafty devil has a lodgment in every human heart.. page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] -188 REALITY. . CHAPTER XXVI. A NEW PHASE O LIPE. ADVERSITY oftentimes reveals virtues which were hidden by prosperity.. Beneath the trash which formed the upper crust of Irene's character, there was a firm substratum of, good common'sense. .The tendency of her whole life had not been towards .the cultivation of domestic excellence.. Very early, she was sent to a fashionable boarding-school,' where she remained from year to year, with only occasional visits to her parents. She now and then wrote a dutiful letter to her mother, which cost her a tremendous effort. She never knew what to say to'her. They seemed not to have a single thought in common. No sympathy, no confi- dence grew up between them.- After her return home, previous to her "coming out," Irene became a complete devotee to a circulating library, where all the silly novels of by-gone days still held their place among better company. Those novels, which, as Coleridge says, "Transmit the moving phantoms of one man's delirium, so as to people the barrenness of an hundred other brains, afflicted with the same trance or suspension of all common sense, and all definite purpose." *f , ' ,' ' A NEW PH ASE OF LIFE. 189 Now, Irene had a " definite purpose," of sufficient magni- tude to dispel the " moving phantoms" from her heated imagination. Mrs. Hazlehill was left penniless. From the wreck of the millionaire's estate,-not a single waif floated down to her. Irene was possessed of a small property left her by a bachelor uncle, her mother's brother, which yielded about five hundred dollars a year. This had come into her possession when she was eighteen, and remained entire. After the extreme luxury in which they had lived, this seemed to them -a mere pittance, only sufficient to6 keep starvation at bay. As Irene recovered from the fearful shock she had sustained, she aroused her dormant energies to encounter that hydra-headed foe (or friend?) Poverty. Her first, and paramount duty was now the care and maintenance of her invalid mother, whom the late grievous calamities had' rendered "more irritable -and peevish than ever. The fire which was consuming the dross in the character of Irene, threatened only to scorch and shrivel up the cold heart of her mother. Yet, to this mother she turned as the being bound to her by the strongest earthly tie, and blinding herself to those faults which had formerly glared out, and exquisitely pained her morbid sensibility, Irene became tender and affectionate, as well as dutiful. Hazlehill, the beautiful Hazlehill, with its rich furniture, had all been mortgaged to supply capital for -the banker's greedy speculation, and now passed to the mortgagee. Irene had found, by an advertisement, that a small cottage, with a few aeres attached, was to be leased. It was the first time she had ever ventured from home -, page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 REALITY. alone, when she went to look at this cottage. She walked to the railroad-station, about a mile distant from Hazlehill, and there, among a crowd, to many of whom she was well known, awaited the train. The suicide's daughter! no longer the heiress-the millionaire's daughter. Many of her neigh- bors had considered her proud and ostentatious, merely because she made no acquaintance with them, especially some of the villagers at Mudford. Miss Scraber, the dashing belle of the village, whispered and sneered, while her "beau," the tallow-chandler, bowed familiarly to Irene, though he had no claims to her acquaint- ance. But these were "trifles light as air," to one whose mind was pre-occupied with a "definite purpose."- She did not even notice the kind expression of sympathy on the countenance of her neighbor from the porter's lodge, the lovely Susan White, who modestly refrained from obtruding herself. When Irene entered the crowded car, she found herself among entire strangers, and for a moment became quite bewildered. No person rose to give' her a seat; every one seemed satisfied with his own comfort, and heedless about the comfort of others. As she was standing, doubtful and embarrassed, a gentle voice whispered in her ear, "I have found a seat unoccupied, -Miss Hazlehill; will you sit with me ." It was Susan White who thus kindly addressed her. Irene gratefully accepted the offer. With delicate tact, the beau- tiful girl refrained from conversation. No ten miles-of railway in our country could present A NEW PHASE OF LIFE. 191 more varied, picturesque, and sublime scenery than the ten over which the young travellers were speeding their rapid course. Irene, ever alive to the beautiful, was at last won from mournful abstraction, by those majestic scenes on the banks of the Hudsbn, which arouse even the most insensible to nature's charms, tp wonder and admiration. Mountains grouped together in the wildest confusion, clothed with deep green to their summits, or bald and bare, showing the richest variety of coloring, from deep purple and brown, to orange. Here and there, a tiny house, seeming no larger than a martin-box, perched on the side of the mountains. Then splendid mansions, among luxuriant trees, and fresh lawns; deep ravines, cultivated valleys; sparkling rivers rushing to the embrace of the nobler stream, that magnificent river itself, with its myriads of white-sailed vessels, floating on its bosom like the clouds of a sunset sky on the clear blue.. Who could be insensible to this glorious demonstration of the Creator's power and love! Not Irene. She turned to her silent companion, and in a subdued voice, .which was, however, perfectly distinct, from its peculiarly penetrative power, she remarked, "I am sure, Miss White, you appreciate this beautiful scenery." ((Not as you do, Miss Hazlehill, for I have not the culti- vated taste which gives you a higher power of apprecia- tion." Some other remarks, followed, and Irene learned with pleasure that her companion would stop at the same station where she herself intended to -alight. They were soon there. page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 R EAL IT Y "I am going to look at a little place called Locust Cot- tage," said Irene, as they stood together on a small platform attached to the still smaller station-house. "I believe it is nearly a mile off, and I am an entire stranger to this part of the country." "I am going the same way, and if you will allow me, I will walk with you to Locust Cottage, where I have fre- quently been before," Again was Susan White's offer gratefully accepted. The refined politeness and gentle sympathy of the girl, whom she had so many times admired, merely as a beautiful picture, and in whom she had taken no human interest, sent a thrill of pleasurable emotion to the desolate heart of Irene-the first she had felt for a long time; it cheered and strengthened her; for true sympathy is ever as pacifying to the suffering soul, as water to the parched traveller of the desert. With a cordial shake of the hand, and many thanks, she parted with Susan White, at the gate of Locust Cottage. The gate opened into a small court-yard, overgrown with shrubbery, and much neglected. A rustic porch in front of the cottage had been covered with vines, which now trailed on the ground, or hung in ungraceful carelessness from the latticed sides of the porch. The cottage could boast of only two rooms and a kitchen, over which were three bed-rooms, all finished in a plain but neat manner. The woman who acted as cicerone was not the owner of Locust Cottage, she remained there solely for the purpose of recommending it to visitors who wished to buy or to rest the premises. So she ran over her catalogue of recommenda- A NEW PHASE OF LIFE. 198 tions: "' Two large rooms and a convenient kitchen; a good- -sized entry and fine stair-case; three nice bed-rooms; a store- room and pantry; a wood-house' and wash-room; a chicken- house, and barn for a cow; a fine garden, all planted for the season, worth at least thirty dollars a year; five acres of pasture-land, &c., &c., all for one hundred and thirty doll lars." "When can the tenant take possession?" , Right away; to-morrow, if you like." Irene agreed to take Locust Cottage on the,terms named, and mentioned the coming week as the time for taking possession. Then she hurried to meet the "down train," and arrived just in time. Her mind was so fully occupied with plans for fitting up and furnishing her new home, that she hardly felt the loneliness of her situation, and the train stopped at Mudford before she had quite decided whether she would put a green or a brown carpet on the best room, which she had appropriated to her mother. The agent for the owner of the furnished house Mr. Hazlehill had occupied in town, had written to Mrs. Hazlehill, that a harp, a work-box, and a papier-mache writing-desk, were left in the house, and were not in his inventory of the furniture. ("Those things are yours, Irene, they were given to you, and you have a right to them ;" said her mother. Irene- immediately wrote to the agent, telling him they were her own, and begging him to dispose of harp and work- box for the benefit of her father's creditors, especially if there were tradespeople who had suffered by his bankruptcy. On inquiry it was found that Mr. Hazlehill bad always 9 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 REA LI TY. paid ready money to all his tradespeople, and no demands of that kind were made upon the estate. The agent had taken pains to inquire of those persons who had the care of settling it, and they informed him that whatever belonged to Miss Sazlehill must be returned to her. He added, if he could be of service to her, in any way, it would give him much pleasure. Irene gladly availed herself of this offer, and wrote again, requesting him to dispose of the harp and work-box, and to send her the writing-desk, which contained letters and papers of her own. A few days subsequent the kind agent sent her writing- desk and a check for a thousand dollars; saying he was obliged to make a sacrifice on the articles sold, though they had been scarcely used at all. It was with this thousand dollars that Irene was to furnish the cottage. . .4 ^,N "OCUST COTTA GE. 195 CHAPTER XXVII. LOCUST COTTAGE. ONE THOUAD dollars! I don't suppose that will furnish a whole house. Why, it is not even what the harp cost at first!" thought Irene. Mrs. Hazlehill could not aid her, for she had never, in her whole life, purchased an article of household furniture. "A bright thought! I will consult Susan White"' And Irene walked through the long avenue leading to the gate of Hazlehill, and knocked at the door of the Porter's-Lodge Cottage. It was opened by Susan, for her mother and herself were the only tenants. Susan expressed no surprise at the sight of her visitor, though it was the first visit. She gave Irene a pleasant welcome, and introduced her to Mrs. White, her lame mother. Irene was surprised at the extreme plainness, and equally extreme neatness of the interior of the pretty cottage. The carpet was home-made-a rag-carpet; the window- curtains of the cheapest chintz; the furniture of the most common kind, and yet so exquisitely clean and tidy, that the air of the whole room could not be called vulgar. It was by page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 198 - REALITY. no means elegant, or tasteful, yet the expression was that of comfort. Irene- made a few polite inquiries about Mrs. White's health; and learned that she was perfectly well, and only prevented by lameness from going out. She was able to use her needle, and with the aid of her daughter, was comfortably supported in this way. Irene instinctively felt that it would be almost an insult to' ask Susan White if a thousand dollars would furnish a cottage; she therefore said, timidly, "'I have come to ask some advice: about a house I have taken, which I wish to furnish plainly." She then mentioned the number and size of the rooms, and wished for a rough estimate of what the cost of furnish- ing them would probably be. "( It would be very difficult for me to estimate the cost of suick furniture as would be suitable for Miss Hazlehill," was Mrs. White's reply, with a coldness of manner which was almost repulsive. "Plain and comfortable-by no means expensive," replied ' Irene, gently. "I am entirely at a loss to know what would be required, and have taken a great liberty in coming here to inquire. Susan was so very kind to me the other day in the cats, that I hoped she would not take it amiss." "By no means, Miss Hazlehill," replied Susan, gently and respectfully; "I have been making a calculation in my head, rapidly, of course, and not very accurately. I think you might furnish such a house as you describe, very comfortably, for five hundred dollars. "OCUST COTTAGE . l97 "Do you,'indeed! That is delightful. I wish, for .my poor mother's sake, to have one room made as pleasant as possible, that the change-we are compelled to make may shock her as little as need be." Mrs: White was quite softened. : "We shall most gladly assist you, the little that's in our power, but we live so poorly, so meanly, ourselves, we can be no guide for you." "Indeed, Mrs. White, the means for living are supplied to us in God's own way. I am most thankful for a moderate competence, and shall try to incur no debts. I am going to town to-morrow, to make the necessary purchases, and thought it would be advisable to write out a list of what was needed, and the probable cost." "If I could be of any assistance to you, Miss Hazlehill, I would go with you. I am, of course, better acquainted with the places where you would be obliged to go, and it might not be agreeable for you to go alone," said Susan. "Thank you, fervently. -Oh! may she go with me, Mrs. White?" "Certainly, if you wish it." Irene took a small memorandum book from her pocket, in which she 'had already written down the various articles for the furnishing of Locust Cottage. She seated herself with Susan at a small table, and together they-planned, and calculated, and deliberated for a full hour, Mrs. White now and then assisting them. Early the- next morning, Irene and Susan White were seated in the cars, on their way to the city. Susan, though page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] t19s 8 REAL I T Y. dressed with simplicity had that indefinable air, which gives even to the simplest dress a wonderful charm. The graceful folds in which her light shawl fell about her shoulders might have pleased even the perfect taste of Mademoiselle Rachel, while the pose of her plain straw bonnet defied imitation. 'No head but Susan White's could have given it that beauti- ful expression. Expression to a bonnet! Ridiculous! Yet, the expression of la bonnet is given by the wearer, however ridiculous the suggestion may at first appear. The immate- rial communicates an expression to all its material surround- ings, else, why that indescribable, yet palpable air, which individualizes every human being, as completely as the voice and countenance? Irene was as plainly dressed as her elegant wardrobe would allow, and over -her bonnet she wore a thick green veil. Her mind dwelt sadly on the last journey she had taken on that road, and frequent tears were dashed from her eyes. She had a dread of meeting any of her former acquaint- ances, and could not but hope, as it was now June, that many of them were out of town. As they walked through the streets, the extreme beauty of Susan White attracted the impertinent gaze of the loun- gers about the hotels, and as they passed a group of these idlers,- Irene heard the well-remembered voice of Mr. Scap- wit: "( By Jewpiter! Isn't that a thweet creature ." Whether Susan heard the exclamation or not, she made no remark, and they hurried on to a less crowded and less fashionable street, where the cottage furniture was to be pur- chased. "OCUST COTTAGE. 199 At the farther end of the long show-room were Mrs. Bur- kitt, and two other ladies, who had come to look at furniture for their country houses. Irene and her companion did not observe them, and while looking at one article and another, gradually approached them. One of the ladies whispered to Mrs. Burkitt in a manner doubtless intended to reach the ear of Irene, "Isn't that the millionaire's daughter?" If such were the intention, no one could have discovered from Irene's countenance whether the malicious shaft hit. The reply from Mrs. Burkitt, with a sneer which almost sounded like a hiss, caused Irene to tremble and turn pale. "The bankrupt suicide's daughter! I shall c-out her acquaintance." After this ebullition of spite, Mrs. Birkitt and her friends swept by Irene and Susan and left the shop. Irene soon regained composure, and made her purchases with as much calmness fand good judgment as though she had not been thus assaulted. The morning had been bright and unclouded; before they had completed their shopping it began to rain violently; the shower continued relentlessly, till the streets were almost flooded with water, and streams like rivulets poured over all the crossings. It was time for them to leave for the cars, and they started in spite of the rain, and hurried on to the depot. As they stood by one of the crossings, looking hopelessly at the wide, muddy stream, more than ankle-deep, over which they must pass, a gentleman accosted them, saying politely, "Ladies, if you will please take my umbrella, I will throw the plank lying there across this young river." v # page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] O0 i % REALITY. The umbrella was placed in Susan's hand, and Irene drew her dripping green, veil closely over her face, for she. recog- nized the rich voice of George Raymond. The plank was seized and thrown across, and then the gentleman handed them over. He then insisted they should retain the umbrella till they arrived at the place of their destination, in spite of the protestations of Susan White, that, as they were thoroughly drenched it was of no consequence ; "We are near the depot," she Maid, "-and would not trouble you, sir." "No trouble at all-but I fear you will-take cold by sitting : in the cars after such a drenching; would it not be well to e go to some friend's house, and be made comfortable before starting ." Susan was about to appeal to Irene, who, perceiving it, press- ed her arm, and whispered, "Don't speak to me. Hurry on." "No, I thank you, sir," replied Susan. "Excuse my urgency, ladies, I have a friend living near, an old gentleman, Mr. Dinsmore; his housekeeper would gladly render yiou any service you may need." . "r 4Hurry on," again whispered Irene. "Thank you, we must reach the cars in time, for we would on no account be left in town."' They almost flew over the ground, followed by Raymond. As soon as they reached the depot, Susan returned the umbrella to the gentleman, who politely handed her into the car. Irene followed, trembling. As Raymond aided her to mount the high steps, the wet veil slipped from her bonnet, revealing to him the changed, but well-known face of Irene Hazlehill. , "OCUST COTTABGE. 201 The whistle already sent forth its warning peal, and in another second they were on their homeward way. "Were you afraid of that stranger, Miss Hazlehill?" asked Susan White. "He seemed to me the most truly polite man I ever met." "No, I was not afraid of him," murmured Irene. "His very voice gave me a feeling of confidence, and his manner a sense of protection, which was quite new to me," remarked the innocent Susan White. "He must have been struck by her beauty," thought Irene, with a momentary pang. "What is that to me?" was the question which immediately followed, and gladly-would she have replied, " nothing at all." Susan, perceiving that the topic, for some unknown reason, was not a pleasant one, did not recur to it again. Meantime, Raymond walked homeward full of regret, thinking only of Irene. page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] CHAPTER XXVIII.- GOOD -TASTE. ASTER a few weeks, Mrs. Hazlehill and Irene were quite. settled at Locust Cottage. The good taste, and genuine love of the beautiful, of which Irene had formerly boasted, were now fully demon- strated by the neat, and even elegant appearance of the cottage. No person would have inquired for the cabinet-maker and upholsterer who furnished that simple parlor. A lady's taste was conspicuous in the graceful tamboured muslin-drapery of the small windows; the French chintz covering of chairs and couches; the vases of beautiful flowers; the dtagere with its few handsome books; the two small, but choice pictures, which had been sent to her with her writing-desk, by some unknown friend. The expression of the little parlor was charming--it was cheerful and home-like-not homely. Every person of refined taste, on entering it, would have felt that the presiding genius was a woman of delicate senti- ment. It was neither a show-room for ostentation, nor a lounging-room for the luxuriously lazy. The papier-mache writing-desk ornamented a small work-table, which rejoiced in a capacious green silk bag, suspended beneath the lower drawer of, the table. This work-table was Irene's chef- d'oeuvre. It was a common pine table, which she had painted with burnt umber and sienna, in beautiful designs, and then varnished. -The green silk bag, for which a now useless dress had been sacrificed, was suspended beneath, forming a pleasing contrast with the dark brown and yellow of the varnished table. For her mother's bed-room she had selected a complete set of tasteful cottage-furniture. The window-curtains and covering for the comfortable couch and rocking-chair, were of green worsted damask, corresponding with the color of the neat Brussels carpet. The wall was covered with a pretty paper, and the mantel ornamented with vases filled with flowers. Mrs. White and Susan had effectively aided Irene in all her preparations, and- had been suitably rewarded by the grateful girl. Mrs. Hazlehill, who had not been out of her room till now, since the direful event at Hazlehill, left that beautiful place without regret. Irene was anxious about the first impressions of her mother, at her new residence. She feared the fatigue of the journey might increase the tendency to fault-finding, which needed no such stimulus. Mrs. Hazlehill alighted from the omnibus which brought them from the depot, with a manner which said plainly, "No matter where you take me; all places are alike to me." Irene led her gently to her room, and seated her in the * 4 . page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 R E A L IT Y . comfortable rocking-chair; she looked around awhile; indif- fterence vanished like a shadow from her countenance, and as a pleasant smile stole, over her wasted, wan features, she exclaimed: "Why, Irene! What a sweet-looking room!" Amply was the generous girl repaid for weeks of toil and care. Joyful tears were in her eyes, as she shid, "Let me put your bonnet and shawl in the wardrobe, mother." "A wardrobe! and a pretty one, too, and a fine, large closet besides. This is a great deal pleasanter room than the one I have left." . When Irene had relieved her mother of bonnet and shawl, she went out a moment, and soon returned with a luncheon-- nice bread and butter, strawherries and cream-- which she placed on a small table, by her mother, and drawing a chair to the other side, partook of the delicious country fare with her. "I haven't had such an appetite for years," said Mrs. HazlehilL "Who made this bread "' "Our woman, Kezia; she has been here several weeks, and I think will answer our purpose quite well." "I am astonished, Irene.- I expected to come to a place where everything would be topsy-turvy for weeks and weeks." After Mrs. Hazlehill had discussed the delicious luncheon, she wished to see the rest of the house. "I am afraid you will be too much fatigued!" suggested Irene. "I don't think it will hurt me; I feel. stronger than usual." And Mrs. Hazlehill followed Irene to the parlor and G OD ,T A S T E. 205 kitchen, and to the bed-rooms, inspecting every article of furniture, and prying into pantry and store-room. "Well, this is wonderful, Irene; and you say you have furnished this cottage, and supplied your well-filled store- room all for six hundred dollars!" "You know Mrs. White and Susan helped me, and advised me," replied Irene, coloring at the unexpected turn in her- mother's conduct. ' Yes, yes; but it was your own good taste after all, my child." "I hope you will take an interest in the garden, mother; you know so much more about gardening than I do." "Is there a large garden . I must see it'." "Now .?" "Oh, yes; just get my parasol." The garden contained fruit trees, besides beds of straw- berries, and plenty of currants and gooseberries. It had been planted with vegetables early in the spring, and they were now thrifty and promising. "Really, Irene, you were very fortunate to hire this place for one hundred and thirty dollars a year. . The garden will produce almost half that sum. Now, if we only had a cow, and some chickens, wouldn't it be nice! I could teach our woman with the odd name, how to make butter." "We will have a cow and chickens," responded Irene, quite delighted that the proposal should come from her mother. The roses in the front yard were in full bloom. The s.^ page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 RE A LIT Y. honey suckles and clematis had been carefully trained upon the lattice of the rustic porch, and the shrubbery nicely trimmed, under the superintendence of Mrs. Hazlehill. It is early in July. Irene is laying the breakfast table for three persons. But why for three. Hasty feet are heard pattering down stairs; Minnie Dell bursts into the room, throws her arms around Irene's neck, and exclaims: "Oh, my dear Miss Hazlehill, do forgive me for being so lazy this morning! I intended to have seen the sun rise, but I was so tired with my journey, I slept like a mole. Let me help you now about breakfast." "Thank yout dear; you are quite in season. Breakfast will be ready when we return from my mother's room, where we go for morning prayers," replied Irene, giving sweet Minnie two or three kisses on her glowing cheeks. How earnest and sincere were those devotions. No lip- service there insulted the Heavenly Father before whom they knelt. Irene's voice was slightly tremulous as she read the morning lesson and the twenty-second psalm, and humble and low as she uttered the morning prayer. Minnie, who had seen Mrs. Hazlehill the previous evening, now inquired very tenderly after her health. "I am wonderfully better than I have been; I don't call myself an invalid any longer." The breakfast-table was neat, and the food simple, but wholesome and relishing. "Will you take strawherries and cream, Miss Dell ." said Mrs, Hazlehill. GOOD TASTE. 207 "With pleasure, Mrs. Hazlehi!l; I haven't seen them on the table' for breakfast since I left Brookside. But please call me Minnie, ma'amn." "I am glad you like them," said Mrs. Hazlehill, heaping a saucer with the ripe fruit, and pouring -over them the rich cream. "They grew in our garden; and we have a nice little cow, who gives the very best milk that you ever tasted." "Do you know, Miss Hazlehill, strawherries seem to me first cousins to roses!' remarked Minnie, as she divided one for a mouthful. "All flowers and fruit are near relations; but there is in fact a close affinity between roses and strawherries, for they belong to the same natural family." "Do they, indeed! That is delightful!" exclaimed Minnie, with the enthusiasm of one who is pleased with the acquisi: tion bf a new fact. Thus they chatted on -till just before breakfast was over, when Minnie, assuming a grave air, said: "I have a request to make of you, Mrs. Hazlehill and Miss Irene." "I hope it is not one that we cannot grant," said Mrs. Hazlehill, rising from table." I leave Irene to answer it, for I hear my chickens clamoring for their breakfast." Kezia now brought in the means and appliances for wash- ing up the breakfast things, and while Irene was thus occupied, Minnie went on: "You know papa came in from his long cruise, and found me at Aunt Burkitt's. Well, he was quite displeased- to find I had been so long without a tutor, and was really a4ngry e w X 4, page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 REALITY. about some other matters which I don't wish to mention. Only think!- How strange! Mr. Dinsmore was an old friend of papa's, and he told him how wonderfully Providence had led him to the discovery of his own, his only son. Well, Aunt Burkitt was going to travel this summer, and papa thought Brookside would be too lonely and sad a place for him, and-now comes the request. Put on your consenting face, my dear Miss Hazlehill, he wants me to stay with you. Now don't look solemn, and shake those graceful curls; he wishes you to be my teacher; your friends have spoken so highly of you, and I love you so dearly, I am sure you will not have the heart to refuse him." "But if"- - I have read somewhere that 'but if is a traitor;' so I must strangle 'but if. Papa will soon be here from the tavern, as he calls it, and I shouldn't be surprised to see him with my bag and baggage. Please, Miss, Hazlehill, be pre- pared to be gracious to him." ' "(Could you be contented, Minnie, in this humble cottage, and to sleep in that tiny attic bed-room?" "I could be contented anywhere with you. The tiny bed- room is the sweetest little room, so pure and white--fit for a fairy-and the cottage is a darling, just such a pet cottage as I was about to describe when that queer man at the Academy, who had the Greek mania, interrupted me. Why, there is the very rivulet and the rustic bridge, just as I imagined them ;" continued Minnie, pointing to the pretty landscape in: front, :through the open window; "isn't it perfectly lovely " . of " *,' . G O OD TASTE. 209 "Minnie dear, I fear- my own education has not been thorough enough for me to undertake to teach you. Indeed your mind seems in some respects quite,in advance of mine; very much so, considering you are not yet quite fourteen, and I am nearly nineteen." "I 'fear' is worse than 'but if.' Oh! here comes papa to try his persuasive powers." Captain Dell was one of those handsome men whose quiet air and bearing,proclaim at once the- Navy officer-one accustomed to command, and to have his commands instantly obeyed. His soft hair, originally dark, was just sufficiently silvered to be extremely becoming to his healthy, ruddy com- plexion. Athough his thin lips, when firmly pressed, gave decision to his countenance, when parted they revealed regular, beautiful teeth, and a blarid and fascinating smile. Those smiles were indeed " angel visits, few and far between," so few, that in conversing with Captain Dell, one was per- petually seeking to call them forth. He now, in gallant style, gave Irene and Minnie the salu- tations of the morning. "Oh, papa, I slept delightfully, and then such strawherries, fresh with morning dew." "i I perceive I am not too late for the strawherries,"' inter- rupted the Captain, drawing a chair by the table, "if Miss Hazlehill will allow me to make myself at home." "With pleasure," replied Irene, handing a saucer and spoon, and offering bread and butter, then continuing the use of her little mop in washing cups, spoons, &c., as unmoved as though she had always been accustomed to the work. page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 2z0 - REALITy. "I breakfasted an hour ago, but a walk has given me a second appetite," said he, partaking of the delicate fare with a keen relish. He at length handed saucer and spoon to Irene, saying- "Well, Minnie, I hope you have broken the ice for me already." "The ice was quite hard at first. I hope I have softened it a little,' said Minnie, playfully tapping Irene on the "shoulder. "Then Miss Hazlehill consents to be your governess?" "Not my governess, papa, that would throw her off too great a distance--my friend--my teacher." "Yes, Minnie, your governess, if I assume a responsibility for which I fear I am quite incompetent. Before I can answer you I must consult my mother. . Excuse me for a few moments." Irene hastened to the garden, where she found her mother directing a young gardener how to hoe potatoes! She mentioned the proposition -of Captain Dell with some hesitation, and was quite surprised at her mother's reply: "Let her come, by all means--I like the child. There, Tom, that hill is not heaped up enough; I know all about farm-work." Irene communicated her mother's reply with a pleasant smile. The joyous spirit of Minnie,-which had been checked by - the stern discipline of her aunt, as a rivulet frozen by the breath of winter dances at the genial touch of spring, gushed; forth in the sunshine of Irene's smile. She threw her arms g., GOOD TASTE. 2" around the neck of her future governess, exclaiming "I will call you my own Irene, my dear Irene, if you are my gover- ness." ' The father rejoiced at the warmth of affection still glowing in the bosom of his only daughter, and cheerfully left her under Irene's guardianship. As he parted with Irene, he leftin her hand a small enve- lope which contained a bank-note for $100, and the few words following: "MY DEAR FRIEND :-With many thanks for your kindness in receiving Minnie, I take the liberty to enclose the first quarter's payment in advance. "' Truly, your obliged, humble servant, "WILtIAM DELL." Minnie became a pupil, and at the same time, an assistant to Irene. She entered with cordial sympathy into all the domestic affairs of the cottage, as one of the family, and soon became a favorite with Mrs. Hazlehill. -The influence she exerted on that once unhappy woman was marvellous. The child's natural gaiety and sweetness of disposition had not been stifled by the religion inculcated by her loving mother. Whatsoever things are "pure, lovely and of good report," were the bloom and effluence of that religion. The young girl was a conscientious Christian, and yet, a young, lively girl, not one of those little " old-fashioned " children--monsters with old heads on young shoulders. Minnie was as gay as a bird, and as active and lively as the squirrels which ran on the rail-fences about the cottage. page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 REALITY. tier favorite, Hero, had been sent by her father as a guard to Locust Cottage. Rambles in the woods, protected by this faithful friend, gave her more health and happiness than the dancing-school balls of the previous winter, where over- dressed manikins ard ilanikinesses aped their elders in fash- ionable folly and flirtlation. / From her excellent mother Minnie had imbibed a genuine love of Nature, and a recognition of God as its divine Author. She loved to watch the gorgeous sunsets, seated on some. high crag commanding a view of the majestic river, and the far off mountains; ' Foeg the sun, and from the breezy air, Sweet influences trembled o'er her frame, And she, with many feelings many thoughts, Made up a meditative joy, and found ' Religious meanings in the forms of Nature." "Bird, and bee and blossom taught herl and Irene availed herself of all the aids thus afforded for her pupil's instruction. - ' Minnie would come home from these rambles laden with wild flowers, mosses and .evergreens, and carrying them to Mrs. Hazlehill, beg to know their names. Many of them were old acquaintances of the farmer's daughter, and called up reminiscences of therich lands and wide prairies of her early home, and gave occasion to many a narrative of the adven- tures of her girlhood. Minnie became a moral Hygeia to the sick soul of Mrs. Hazlehill. A crushing weight had bowed it down and in GOOD TASTE. 213 seeking relief, mistaken views of religion had closely enveloped it in darkness and gloom. The constant suspicion of mystery and wrong-doing, and the want of sympathy and affection on the part of her husband, formed that crushing weight. The cause was removed, and gradually light was dawningunder the genial influences which breathed new life -into her troubled existence. Irene and Minnie, in addition to studies and house- hold cares, found time to assist Mrs. Hazlehill in the cultiva- tion of flowers and shrubbery. The kitchen-garden was a source of both pleasure and profit. Instead of lolling all day on couch or easy-chair, Mrs. Hazlehill not only superintended the gardener, and directed the- churning, ,but put her own hands to the work. More butter was made, and more vegetables raised, than could be ' used in the family, and they were sent to market, furnishing Mrs. Hazlehill with pocket-money, which she rejoiced in as the fruit of her own labor. Never in her whole life had the poor lady enjoyed more innocent pleasure, never had she more quiet sleep or more true contentment. Irene's usefulness was not confined to the sphere of home, though there it was like .the genial light and warmth of the household fire. It became more diffusive, penetrating like sunshine into the houses of the poor, and gladdening many a habitation darkened by sin and sorrow. All along by the railr6ad, about a mile distant from Locust Cottage, were the shanties of laborers; out of them issued swarms of ragged, dirty, little half-humans, whose hair ignored combs, as their faces did cold water. With the mothers of these unkempt and unwashed urchins, Irene and Minnie made page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 RE ALITY. acquaintance, and endeavored to give them some ideas of neatness and propriety. For the children, Irene formed a sewing-school, which in summer and autumn met every pleasant Saturday afternoon under a large oak-tree. Minnie was the delighted and able assistant of Irene in these plans of benevolence.' The pocket- money with which Captain Dell had abundantly supplied her, was gladly spent for material for work and small spelling- books, out of which she- taught the youngsters the first ele- ments of learning, with wonderful patience. Mrs. Hazlehill, who had happily discovered (not too late), that " faith without work is dead," prepared sewing for the children, cutting out small garments from such of her own as were no longer useful to herself, and devising various oth-,.-r kinds of employment for them. To instruction in needle-work and domestic economy, Irene added such 'moral and religious instruction as her ragged school" could understand. "True and undefiled religion" became the life-spring of the tenants of Locust Cottage. They not only visited ' the widow and the fatherless in their affliction, but kept them- selves unspotted from the world."' Their religion did not consist of a set of dry dogmas to be maintained at all hazards, even the fearful hazard of extinguishing every spark of that Charity which ',hopeth all things, and endureth all things," without which dogmas are " as sounding brass and tinkling cymbal." It did not content itself with a rigid adherence to forms, rites, and ceremonies, a religion as purely mechanical as the Buddhist's with his "praying machine;" nor did it GOOD TASTE. 215 expend itself in morbid sensibility and extravagant excite- ment. Calm and rational, it was at the same time an active, energetic principle, breathed into the heart by the Holy Spirit; like the attraction of gravitation, its existence was demonstrated by its effects. Duty, stern and rigid as it had once appeared to Irene, now wore a pleasant smile, and each day as it glided by developed some new and lovely trait in her character. Minnie rapidly improved under her teaching, for Irene revived with ardor her school, studies and brought in the aid of her natural enthusiasm to the " delightful task." Dull, cold, and ineffective is that teaching which has no spark of enthusi- asm to vivify it; the ground is prepared-the seed sown, then comes the electric fire to give the seed vitality. If Irene ventured at any time to fall into a reverie, the mysterious connection of her father with Raymond troubled her thoughts. Not the least explanation had ever been given. Mr. Dinsmore had written, pressing upon her his services, in any way which could be useful and acceptable. She thanked him cordially for his kindness, and declined the offer. The only mode by which she could banish painful, harrow- ing remembrances, was by keeping herself constantly employed. When the long days of summer were past, autumn came to garnish the cottage ground with her gorgeous flowers, and winter, as if to atone for their loss, beautified the ever- greens with snow-wreaths amid their dark foilage. The inmates of the cottage were now to seek fireside enjoy- menty e vl K 4,. page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 R EA LI T Y. Duties and simple'pleasures filled each day to the full-- neither -satiety nor lassitude yawned at that humble hearth. The rector -of the parish and his good wife were occasional visitors; other society they had none, excepting now and- then a most welcome visit from Susan White. Nor were their poor neighbors by the railroad forggtten. Food and medicine from the cottage found its way to the sick and suffering. Mrs. Hazlehill, during the lonely winter-even- ings betook herself, vigorously, to knitting small yarn-stock-- ings, while Irene and Minnie, by turns, read aloud, books of travels, history, and natural science, with an occasional raid into the realms of fiction. Mrs. Hazlehill's more healthful state of mind enabled her to listen with interest, although she still gave time to religious W reading. Thus the year glided away, and with the month of June returned Captain Dell. "I am quite astonished, Minnie,' exclaimed he, ' what Dr. Batterman could not accomplish for the physique, has been done by freedom, exercise, pleasant company and country I air. You have grown several inches in height, and you are as plump and rosy as a milk-maid." "Yes, papa, I have really grown three inches, without a stretching-machine, yet I am still your little Minnie." Frequent letters from Minnie, and occasional ones from Irene, had informed Captain Dell of her pursuits, and assured him of her rapid improvement. He now came to remove her to Brookside, But not alone with her would he willingly return to hit desolate home. He 'had become feel- " . , I GOOD 'TASTE. 217 Ingly alive to the virtues of Irene Hazlehill, and urgently entreated her still to have the charge of Minnie,-not as her governess, but as her step-mother. Though exceedingly sorry to part with her pupil, Irene )olitely declined the flattering proposal of the gallant Iaptain. eO page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 REALI'TY. CHAPTER X I X. "OVE NOT MERCENARY. SAD and solitary was Irene without the society and sweet sympathy of Minnie; yet an approving conscience and self-respect sustained her under the loss. For the sake of a beautiful home, a kind protector, and her darling pupil, she would not marry a man whom she did not love; she would not give herself in part where she could not give herself wholly; she would not dispose of herself as a chattel, while, mentally, she was her own mistress. "A person may be highly estimable, on the whole, nay, amiable as neighbor, friend, housemate-in short, in all the concentric circles of attachment, save only the last and inmost. ' Though the stern cares and rigid duties of life had effec- tually driven away the phantoms of romance and imagination, which had haunted Irene's girlhood, she still had an unwaver- ing faith in "'Love, as distinguished from friendship; that love which age cannot take away, and which in all our lov- ings is the Love. That willing sense of the insufficingness of 'the self for itself, which predisposes a generous nature to see 4 , . "OVE NOT MERCENARY. 219 in the total being of another, the supplement and completion of its own." To such love the heart of Irene was still a stranger. And where all this time was Rebecca Dalton, the early schoolmate and friend of Irene? -Married and gene to the Far West; so completely absorbed in the duties of wife and mother as to have dropped Irene from the now limited list of her correspondents. MNNIE DELL TO IRENE. "MY DEAREST FRIEND :--In spite of myself I had a tearful journey homeward. For some reason, which I did not quite understand, papa was unusually silent and sad, leaving me to my own sombre reflections. Of course, many' mournful associations were awakened by a return to Brook- side.- My kind, honest-hearted Bridget was there, so full of joy at my return, that she rivalled Hero in-her wild leaps and gambols. , "The house has been partly re-furnished, and -the grounds are in beautiful order. "But, my darling friend, what do you think of Minnie, little insignificant Minnie, as housekeeper! . Yet, to such honor I am elevated, by papa's express command. "'The very day after my return, he handed me the 'House- Book,' all in order, for me to keep the accounts; then a pon- derous bunch of keys in a pretty basket! Me! little me, to keep accounts, manage servants, and deal out stores. I have set about it 'with zeal enough, and such knowledge as I have acquired from you. I am striving to be industrious, and o Z page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 R E A L IT Y. useful, but now and then, as I see Hero running about the garden, I am like the lady in the story-book, who had been once a cat; when she saw a. mouse, she was in danger of becoming a cat again. I long to be the child again, and frolic about the grounds as I did before I left Brookside. "Papa appears to be well satisfied with my management. He invited our good rector, Mr. Fearon and his wife to dine with us yesterday, and I sat at the head of the table (in a high chair!) and imitated one Miss Hazlehill, as nearly as I could-a pitiful imitation, no doubt-as much like you, however, as your dark daguerreotype, which resembles an African queen. Papa was satisfied, yet, after the guests had left us, he murmured to himself, in the words of the ancient Arrow-Maker : ]- "'Thus it is our daughters leave us, Those we love, and those who love us I Just when they have learned to help us, When we are old, and lean upon them, Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, With his flute of reeds, a stranger Wanders piping through the village, Beckons to the fairest maiden, And she follows where he leads her. Leaving all things for the stranger. "'And his Minnie quickly answered: Father is not old and feeble; Handsome, strong is he and lively, Many happy years await him, With his little housewife-daughter; Many years before a stranger Beckon her from lovely Brookside. "OVE OTM, ]EROEN ARY. 221 "I am almost glad I cannot see you while you are reading this letter. I am so afraid you are smiling derisively. No, dearest friend, it is wrong to admit such an unkindsuspicion. There! it is banished.- "Please remember me affectionately to Mrs. Hazlehill. Herewith, I send her four papers of flower seeds, which our gardener says have just been brought from China. "Tell Kezia I miss her nice butter; we cannot get as good bread or butter here as she makes. "Please write to me very soon, and give me advice about my housekeeping. "If papa were at home, he would wish to send his regards. Truly and lovingly yours, "MNNIE DXmL." ^ page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] ^222e REALITY. CHA-PTER XXX, UNEXPECTED GUESTS. IT was early in August and Locust Cottage was still in its summer glory. Just at twilight Mrs. Hazlehill was in her vegetable garden, leaning on the arm of Irene, surveying with pride the long rows of beans, Indian corn, and potatoes, which promised a plentiful harvest. Irene, in one of her simplest white dresses, was perhaps too elegantly attired for the place and occupation, yet, as she wore the dresses'she already had; instead of purchasing plainer, she was quite excusable. She had not lost her love of the beautiful, and never neglected her own person, although there was no one save her mother and herself to notice her appearance. ' Her glossy luxuriant hair was this evening, as usual, taste- fully arranged, and, as it was after sunset, she wore no bonnet; on one round, plump arm hung a willow-basket, filled with- flowers and peaches-on the other arm leaned her mother. There was a marked change in the countenance of Irene, and in her air. The former wore a more thoughtful express- ion, it was more mild 'and sweet, with a dash of pensiveness which softened her fine eyes; her air, which had been a little U N EXP E C TED G E STS. 223 too prononck was now that of a dignified woman, in the first full flush and grace of womanhood. The change in Mrs. Hazlehill was still greater; from a sallow, sickly, peevish invalid, she had become a healthy, cheer- ful woman; her complexion somewhat browned by daily exposure to sun and air had a wholesome hue, and her step was firm. She leaned on Irene's arm just because it gave her pleasure to be near her. So intently were they occupied that they did not observe the approach of two persons in the garden, till they were quite near. "My dear Miss Hazlehill!" exclaimed one of them, grasp- ing the hand of Irene, "I am most happy to meet you again. Excuse our intrusion; we were directed here by your servant.' "No intrusion. It is my kind 'friend Mr. Dinsmore; my mother, Mr. Dinsmore." "Permit me to introduce mny son, Mrs. Hazlehill; my son, George Raymond, Miss Hazlehill." A formal bow passed between the younger couple. "Mr. Dinsmore, to relieve their evident embarrassment drew attention to the flowers and fruit, and insisted on carry- ing the basket, while he gallantly offered his arm to Mrs. Hazlehill, who accepted it-with a low, old-fashioned courtesy. They led the way to the house, followed by a silent couple, whose eyes were downcast, and whose thoughts were troubled. Their relative position was changed, and so were their rela- tive feelings; Raymond from a sense of delicacy was humble and distritil; Irene was cold, and rather more dignified 2; page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 REALITY, than need be. A barrier of ice was between them, which neither seemed willing to break. The moon had just risen, and shone full upon the rustic porch. Mr. Dinsmore proposed enjoying the evening there, to which Mrs. Hazlehill consented. They,seated themselves upon the benches on each side, the basket was placed on the floor, and Mrs. Hazlehill, with great delight, distributed the flowers and the peaches, calling to Kezia for knives, doylies and plates. "Miss Hazlehill," said Mr. Dinsmore, as he sat opposite to 'her, beside her mother, " you must have thought me very neg- lectful through this long year, never once to write to you, or to visit you. George and I have been very much occupied. We have at last finished our beloved church, and our hospital for disabled seamen. The church was consecrated last Sunday by our good bishop-St. JohR's, after the beloved disciple--and one of our best friends, Mr. Nicklin is governor of our hospital, where there are already ten seamen. Now, we have come to the country to pass a few weeks in recreation. We have established, ourselves at the tavern in the village, and you may expect us, Mrs. Hazlehill, to encroach frequently on your hos- pitality." "No encroachment," replied Mrs. Hazlehill, briskly. "Come and dine with -us to-morrow, to prove you mean what you say? We dine early, in country-fashion, at one o'clock." -"Thank you, we will come with pleasure. I cannot rest longer, without confessing a kind of treachery which has been practised towards you, Miss Hazlehill." "Treachery! and towards me!" exclaimed Irene. f' UNEXPE CTED GU ESTS. 225 "Yes, treachery--a conspiracy against you. My good friend Captain Dell is the arch traitor; he sent us all your letters, and many of Minnie's to read, that we might know, from time to time of yourwelfare." 'Treachery, indeed!" exclaimed Irene, with a touch of anger in the tone of her voice. "( On the principle that, 'the partaker is as bad as the thief,' we must come in for a share of your disapprobation. I know that it was wrong, and humbly ask your forgiveness. I am too old to kneel to a lady, even in such a case as this; George may humble himself in that approved manter; he ought so to, do, I am sure." But George made no reply, either by word or action. After a few moments of lively chat on the part of Mr. Dinsmore, he said, "We have a long walk before us and must take leave.? Good evening." And Mr. Dinsmore cordially grasped the hands of the ladies, Raymond extended his hand to Irene; she did not perceive it till he withdrew it; then she partially offered her own, and instantly dropped it; so they bowed distantly and parted. The visitors were scarcely out of hearing when Mrs. Hazlehill exclaimed, "Is that young man deaf and dumb, or only dumbt I don't remember to have heard him speak a single word." "He was very silent," replied Irene, with a deepening color, visible even by moonlight, " but he is not deaf and dumb.' "He is quite a tall young man," said Mrs. Hazlehill. "Had you ever seen him in town 8" "Yes, mother, several times; it is getting cold, it would be well for us to go in." 10* page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 R E A L I T Y. "Yes, and to retire soon; for I must be up early in the morning, to pick peas before the sun is on them. I shall have quite a variety of vegetables for the table to-morrow, and a fine pair of chickens of my own raising. How fortunate it is that our Kezia is such anexcellent cook." * Xr -" - A PARTY QUARREI. 227 CHAPTER X XXI. "A PARTY QUARRiE. WHEN the guests arrived the dinner-table was already spread in the little parlor, but having been neatly covered over with,napkins, was scarcely noticeable. Mr. Dinsmore was in fine spirits, and chatted with Mrs. Hazlehill about gardening and farming. Raymond had recovered the use of speech, and fortunately picked up a copy of Spenser's "Faerie Que'ene" from the pretty work-table, which. afforded a topic for conversation with Irene till dinner was on the table. Mrs. Hazlehill looked anxiously at Kezia, while she placed the dishes, and a little fussily rose and removed one which happened to be on the wrong side; a look of entreaty from Irene restored the good lady to as much "genteel repose "as she was capable of practising. "Dinner is ready, ma'am," said the- woman-of-all-work, smoothing down the stiffly-starched apron which she had just donned for the purpose of waiting on table. The party quarree placed themselves at table. The ease and gracefulness with which Irene presided, while paying due respect to her mother, who sat at the head of the table, won page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] the entire respect of Mr. Dinsmore, who, with the politeness of the old school, had all its dignity and a slight touch of its preciseness. The dinner was not ostentatious. It was suited to the circumstances of the hostess; and yet it was an excellent dinner. Kezia fully justified the commendation of her mistress. Perhaps Mrs. Hazlehill urged upon her guests rather too warmly the poultry, peas, and early cucumbers of her own raising; with that exception the dinner passed off admirably. Conversation became animated, easy, and agreeable, till Mrs. Hazlehill, while they were enjoying the dessert, suddenly asked:- "How is it that Mr. Dinsmore's son is called Mr. Ray- mond?" "That involves a long story," replied Mr. Dinsmore, "which I must defer till'another occasion. I can now only inform you that my son bears the name, by which he was baptized, of his maternal grandfather, and retains it because it was the dying request of my beloved wife's revered father. And yet," he continued, after a thoughtful pause, "it involves severe self-denial on my part, for I should be proud to have my own name ennobled by one who is so truly excellent." This high compliment was uttered in a low tone to Mrs. Hazlehil, while Raymond was talking very earnestly with Irene, who, however, betrayed by a bright flush that she was not indifferent to the praise thus bestowed. Mr. Dinsmore then spoke of the success his son had achieved as an architect; and when they rose from table he A 1: A Rk'1 YI v goLiu L " - - exhibited, with unconcealed pride, drawings of the church and hospital which were just completed. "Miss Hazlehill," said he, "you know enough of archi- tecture to see that this church is a fine specimen of the An- glicized Gothic. Have I not reason to be proud of a son who promises to be the first architect in the country ." Irene thought Mr. Dinsmore's pride in his son quite par- donable. Raymond was not what is commonly styled a "self-taught genius;" yet he had manfully struggled with difficulties which would have vanquished a weak-minded man. "Self-taught genius!"There is no such anomaly. Genius i is the gift of Heaven. Yet, like a delicate flower, it can only be fully developed under favoring circumstances and genial culture. Through ignorance and want of taste in the public, the most crude and unartistic performances have been thrust upon us as chefs d'oeuvre, and highly esteemed, because they were the work of self-taught artists. Instead-of paying one of these pseudo-artists an immense sum for a work of art, which is to perpetuate his own presump- tion and the purchaser's ignorance, would it not be better to give the artist five thousand dollars to tarry at Rome or Flo- rence till he is neither self-taught nor self-sufficient. - It is time for us to have done with this infatuation about self-taught genius. page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 20 R A L I T Y. CHAPTER XXXII. SMTT RS AND TEARS. ALMOST daily, for a month, the father and the son, or the son without the father, found some excuse for being at Locust Cottage. Raymond assisted Mrs. Hazlehill about her garden; and she said he was " the most helpful, handy young man she had ever seen; he really ought to have been a gardener." His devotion to the mother did not prevent assiduous at- tendance upon the daughter. He read to Irene while she was occupied with her needle, and again and again their eyes, raised from book and work, met, when a noble sentiment, or a beautiful description, touched a chord in their hearts which responded simultaneously. Raymond walked with Ireno to the Saturday-afternoon school under the oak tree, and interested himself warmly in all her benevolent plans for the improvement of her charity- scholars, and their parents. In short, Raymond realized the bright ideal which her heart, rather than her fancy, had pictured. With high princi- ples, regulated by a Christian standard, he possessed that rare manliness of character which she so ardently .admired; yet, SMLES AND TEARS. 231 when, returning one rosy evening from a walk to the village, he modestly proposed himself, she refused him. Mr. Dinsmore had closely studied Irene's character, and was so highly pleased with it that he had completely set aside the many reasons which had at first suggested themselves against the union. He added his solicitations to his son's, and drew from Irene the confession that her heart's answer was not given. Mr. Dinsmore immediately consulted Mrs. Hazlehill, and asked if some arrangement could not be made for her com- fort during ITene's absence. "Arrangement! I need no other arrangement; I am per- fectly contented here. Kezia will take good care of me. I have my garden, and my cow, and my pchickens-" They were interrupted by the arrival of Susan White. Irene and Raymond were in the porch. He immediately recognized- the beautiful girl whom he had escorted to the station-house in the city. She asked for a private interview with Irene, and immediately was led up stairs to Irene's room. "Miss. Hazlehill, I have come to you this time for advice. The present owner of the cottage where we live wants it for a Porter's Lodge," Susau's, beautiful fade was rosy red-evidently something more wras still to come. "Then you are obliged to give up the cottage?" "Yes, in a measure, obliged; not but what, inclination prompts me to it. My mother, however, is very unwilling to page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 REA LITY. go to 4azlehill. She says young people ought to keep house by themselves." "To Hazlehill! Why do you go there, Susan a" "Because, because Mr. Mallory, the present owner of the place, will take no refusal." Irene divined from her own heart what this meant, and ex- claimed--"Such is life! Then you are to be the wife of Mr. Mallory, and mistress of Hazlehill ." "That is his wish?" "Is Mr. Mallory a' young, man ." inquired Irene with evi- dent anxiety. "Oh, yes, he is about thirty. I came to see if my mother could-occupy Miss Minnie's room, and have a home with you for the present. I know it is a bold request, but mv dear mother is so amiable and excellent, I am sure she would be a pleasant companion for Mrs. tHazlehill; and then our inter- course with Locust Cottage, which has been a great pleasure to me, will be more frequent than ever, for Mr. Mallory has a profound respect for Miss Hazlehill1. "I will consult my mother," replied Irene, in' an agitated, tremulous'voice. "Wait here till I return." Irene was absent nearly an hour, while Susan White waited in anxious expectation. At the' end of that time, which seemed to Susan a whole day, Irene returned, and throwing her arms around Susan's neck, she burst into tears, and whis- pered : "It is all arranged. You are to go to Hazlehill, and your v mother is to come here." ' / SMLES AND TEARS. 233 "Why, then, do you weep, my dear friend, are you unwill- ing to receive her?" "No, indeed." "Then why do you weep?" ".It is so new and strange-all so strange and unexpected. Mr. Raymond, the gentleman whom you so sincerely admired on that memorable day when we were overtaken by the rain, Mr.,Raymond is to be-" Poor Irene hesitated; it was a large word for her to speak, Susan came to her aid, and smiling radiantly, added: "Is to be your companion-your husband." "So Providence appoints, and wonderfully has this arrange- ment, with regard to your mother, facilitated this result. Come, I must introduce Mr. Raymond and Mr. Dinsmore to you," continued Irene, brushing away the tears which had filled her eyes. : "My friend, Susan White," said Irene, " without whose ad- vice and assistance I could not have made the arrangements at Locust Cottage, which, you are pleased to praise so heartily."' "The-mere business part of the matter; the taste, Miss Hazlehill, was all your own," replied Susan. "Well, my dear," said Mrs. Hazlehill, " you are both nice girls, and good daughters. Good daughters, Mr. Dinsmore, will certainly make good wives.' This well-meant but blunt compliment was quite embar- rassing to the parties more immediately concerned, and Susan immediately took leave. Irene and Raymond accompanied her to the gate. . page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 284 . REALITY. "She must have received a good early education," remarked Raymond." Do you know her history, Irene?" No more than this," replied she, coloring to hear herself thus addressed by him, "the vicissitudes of life' threw her mother and herself into a position to which they were not accustomed. I never heard her refer to their former life. From my first acquaintance with Susan White, I have, felt that she was in every sense a lady, and would grace any station." "So I thought, Irene, the day we met in town. There was an indefinable grace and elegance in her whole appearance and manners." "( Yes; and you scarcely noticed me at all," replied Irene, with pretended pique; remembering the pang of jealousy which had rankled in her heart for months after that brief interview. "You evidently did not wish to be noticed. Fortunately the green veil slipped off, and then I quite forgot-but, Irene, I am not going to pay you silly compliments. I am too much in earnest. Let us take a walk to the river, and arrange our future plans." i He drew her arm within his, and soon after they were seated in a cosy-nook, overshadowed by maple trees, with the river rippling near their feet, and-" the birds of, the air," who sang in those maple trees, never carried the news they heard to a human being. Yet, we may conjecture, very rational views of life and its responsibilities were taken by two Chris- tian people, who had had such experience of its stern realities. They were now to render life as pleasant and as dear to SMLBE AND TEARS. 235* each other as was consistent with preparation for an ever- lasting home. The amenities and graces which sweeten and adorn life, were not lightly esteemed, but an infinitely higher value was placed on those graces of the soul, which raise man to communion with his Maker, through Jesus Christ, and fit him for the " mansion " prepared in Heaven for all who love and serve God, in this beautiful, but fallen world. The marriage ceremony, which united George' Raymond and Irene Hazlehill, was the first which had been performed in St. John's Church. The last rays of an October sun were gleaming through the painted oriel, and fell in a shower of rich light on the devout pair, who knelt at the altar with hearts bound together; by human and holy sympathy and love. , , page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] ab RI EALITT. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE INGLE SIDE. MR. DINSMORE had bought a small, neat house for his son, in a pleasant part of the city, and furnished it accord- ing to his own good taste. The single parlor, of moderate size, was on the second floor, the front room on the first being appropriated to the studio, or office of the architect. Light and graceful, fit reception-room for a young bride, was that parlor, with its bright colors, and tasteful, but not expensive furniture. The dining-room was adjoining the parlor, but not connected with it by folding-doors; it was as cosy and cheerful as the parlor, and its accessories, china- closet and store-roojm, were as convenient as ingenuity could make them. It is mentioned in the memoirs of the. celebrated Elizabeth Smith, that when she removed from a spacious mansion, to which she had always been accustomed, to a very small, plain house, she was delighted with its few: conveniences, and among them "a dear little closet." So itwas with Irene, only it was a dumb-waiter which elicited her warmest admira- tion. "A" dumb-waiter how convenient. Better for us than a THE INSLE SIDE. 237 talking waiter," she exclaimed. "Your good father has thought of everything for comfort." There was a small library or sitting-room at the end of the hall, which Mr. Dinsmote named Irene's (not boudoir, but) work-room; there was her work-table, with a new green bag, and her pretty work-box upon it. In the third story were two large and two small bed-rooms, furnished with exquisite neatness. Just like ten thousand other houses in the city. Yet there was a refined air, and an inviting,.hospitable expression in its physiognomy, which ten thousand other houses lack entirely. The only expensive article in the house was a fine piano. It was Mr. Dinsmore's wish that Irene should not lose what musical knowledge she had alrqady acquired, and that for Raymond's sake, she should make farther acquisitions. The house and its appointments quite charmed the happy bride, and no cloud darkened the' matrimonial horizon; at least none was visible. Mr. Dinsmore having so long lived by himself, preferred still to keep up his own establishment. His son and daughter were to dine with him: every Thurs- day, and he was to dine at their table every Saturday. "I am going to- introduce you to the kitchen and the cook," said Raymond, " instead of bringing Chloe to you. I hope you will pay her a daily-visit, Irene. I do not 'wish you to put your hands to anything, but I do wish you to be the head of the domestic department, and make your authority recognized and felt, continually. I think a lady can exer- page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 28.8 I E ALITY. cise a strict surveillance over her servants, without rendering herself obnoxious to them." . In the spacious kitchen, with its convenient cooking-range,- was Chloe, a mniddle-aged womln, preparing dinner., "'Here is your mistress, Chloe." "Glad to see you, ma'am. Hope you have a good appetite after your journey. Dinner be ready in half an hour; hope it won't have to wait," and Chloe looked in the oven with more interest and anxiety than she looked at her mistress. "And here is Diana, our waiter and chambermaid." Diana, a strong, buxom lass, just from the country, made an awkward courtesy, and said "thank you, sir." Diana always said'" thank you," to everything. Neither cook nor chambermaid felt more awkwardness and constraint than did Irene, at this formal introduc- tion. She could not find a word to say to them, and gladly ascended to the upper regions to take off her wrappings and arrange her hair, so that the anxious Chloe's dinner should have ample justice. e * ^r * ok : " It was a dreary, drizzling November evening. No honey- moon had waxed and waned with more serene and unclouded glory, since the expulsion from Paradise, than that of Ray- mond and Irene. It was now in the last quarter. The shutters of the parlor windows were closed; the crim- son curtains dropped over them. A bright fire was glowing in the poished grate. Without, the wind howled and groaned, driving the sharp sleet furiously before it. All without was dark and gloomy, all within bright and cheerful. , , , THE INGLE SIDE. 239 Raymond had drawn his favorite arm-chair before the grate, and placed a lower chair beside it, for Irene. The gas was not lighted. They sat, enjoying the gloaming in silence. She was leaning on his shoulder, while his arm encircled her waist. It was a sweet picture ofrdomestic comfort. Irene's eyes were fixed. on the glowing coals of the grate. Suddenly she started, and a violent shudder passed over her whole frame. "What is it, dearest?" exclaimed Raymond, drawing his wife more tenderly to his sheltering side. "Do you see that dreadful face in the fire ." "No; where?" "Just in that corner; the whole head and face complete." "I see it now, but I shouldn't have noticed it if your vivid imagination had not detected it." It was a large coal, which, by one of those not uncommon fire-freaks, bore a strong resemblance to a human head; the; profile was a striking likeness of Mr. Hazlehill. Not a word had ever been spoken of him between the two. In all their intercourse, no allusion had ever been made to the miserable suicide. There was another silence. They gazed intently on the head, which was light about the face, while the back part of it was dark, and perfectly resembled hair just silvered with grey. At length Irene whispered timidly, "George, do you see a resemblance in that head to any person you know?" In lher heart of hearts she hoped he did not. He replied evasively, "If you were to give full play to ; i .':*A page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 REALITY. your lively imagination, you might make out a crowd of grotesque heads and faces there, resembling Hogarth's 'Musical Concert,' or his ' Consultation of Physicians.'" The face assumed a fearful expression; it glowed with fierce anger; it scowled with ineffable contempt. "Oh, it is horrible!" exclaimed Irene, hiding her face in , i ' her husband's bosom, and trembling violently. Raymond seized the poker, and with one stroke dispelled the illusion. - \ ' t Irene looked up; even by the ruddy light her face was ghastly pale. Raymond bent his head and kissed her fore- head. Tears gushed from her eyes. She again Aropped her rj t 'head on his shoulder, and after a few moments, becoming i I more composed, she whispered, softly, "Dear George, why should there be mystery between us? You have never told me anything about your early life." Raymond was silent for a moment, and then spoke gravely, with just the slightest tone of displeasure in his expressive voice--"Irene,' let the dead past bury its dead.' "' i' . The cloud, "no bigger than a man's hand," had suddenly appeared in their horizon. Irene was wounded by his calmness, which her excited feelings exaggerated to sternness, and drawing herself away from-him, sat stiffly upright. Without seeming to notice it, Raymond rose and lighted I the chandelier. The apartment assumed a more cheerful aspect; not so the countenance of Irene. Hers was a face which required a pleasant'expression to beautify it- It was one of those expressive faces in which you continually see T H E I'N LE SIDE. 241 the character and forget the features. She was occasionally beautiful, and again and again had her husband repeated to himself: ' - "Her dark and lifted eye has caught Its lustre from the spirit's gem, And round her brow the light of thought Is like an angel's diadem." They were now summoned to the tea-table. Irene presided in gloomy silence. Her countenance was positively ugly; his, grave and thoughtful. They both felt that something had gone from them-the perfect, unsullied joy and mutual sympathy which had been theirs"for nearly one month. Seldom does -the cprrent of life flow on for a month, without hidden rocks to disturb, or a storm to ruffle its surface. After tea, Raymond came in with his overcoat in hand, and taking a pamphlet from the pocket, handed it to Irene, saying, "There's a new number of Harper's Magazine; I hope it will amuse you." Then, as he. deliberately put on the overcoat, he continued, "I am going to pass an hour or two with my father." There was sadness in his voice and in his manner, when he kissed her, and bade her "G Good evening." From Irene there was no response; a fit of wilfulness had come over her. She returned to the parlor. The glare of the gas-light did not suit "the gloomy temper of her soul." She turned out the gas and sat down, listening to the storm without, into which she knew she had driven her husband. The voices of the passers-by sounded harsh and dissonant; the wind moaned and shrieke'd. Her thoughts careered " page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 REALITY. , I wildly and tumultuously through her excited brain, for a while; at length, the multitudinous host gave place to one alone. "Why did I marry Raymond when there was this fearful ': mystery between us i" Again and again she repeated the question, till her head throbbed and ached violently. ' The clock struck ten; the hour for their united evening prayer, but Raymond had not returned. Ireie rang for Diana. u . 1 "Tell Mr. Raymond, when he returns, I have gone to my room." She left the parlor, knowing this to be a wrong step;. l i Raymond, the officiating priest at the family altar, was ,: 'simple, sincere, andfervent. Irene attempted to offer up her devotions alone. There was -no fire on the altar; no incense ascended to Heaven; dull and cold, her thoughts .wandered; her few words were forced and undevout; the ".Amen," like Macheth's, stuck in her throat. ' Dissatisfied, self-condemning, but not penitent, she retired to rest. Raymond found his father alone in his spacious library, with a volume of Leighton's Works open before him. "Glad to see' you, George. Very kind of you to come out to see your father this tempestuous evening. I hope Irene is quite well. I was thinking of you as I read this last sentence. Just one of those combinations of circumstances which we,short-sighted mortals, call remarkable coincidences. I am sometimes tempted to believe in magnetic symipathies, THE IN I E SIDE. , 243 I so frequently am thinking of a person the very instant he appears." By this time Raymond had taken off his overcoat and -fur tippet, and seated himself on the other side of the small table, before the fire, where he had" passed so many pleasant and profitable hours. "What was the passage you were reading, father, which reminded you of us?" "It was this: "' It is one main point of happiness, that he that is happy, doth know and judge himself to be so. This being the peculiar good of a reasonable creature, it is to be enjoyed in a reasonable way. It is not as the dull resting of a stone or any other natural body, in its natural place; but the know- ledge and consideration of it is the fruition of it; the very relishing,and tasting of its sweetness.' "I was thinking, my son, how admirably apposite this passage was to your own case. You set a high value on Irene, and she deserves it. You know your own rational happiness, and, I trust, bless God for it." A smothered sigh was Raymond's only answer. "I have been writing a few simple, hints for your benefit and Irene's. Here is the paper; I have prefaced it with an extract from my favorite Leighton." He drew the little paper from between the leaves of the book before him, and read as follows: "'What though the polite man count thy fashion' a little odd, and too precise; it is because he knows nothing above the model of goodness which he hath set himself, and there- page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 R E A L XT Y. fore approves of nothing beyond it; he knows not God, and therefore does not discern and esteepa what is most like Him.. When courtiers come down into the country, the common home-bred people possibly think thair habit strange; but they care not for that; it is the fashion at court. What need, then, that Christians should be so tender-foreheaded because the world looks on holiness as a singularity ? It is the only fashion in the highest court, yea, of the King -of' kings himself.' My dear children, through the good Providence of God, you have been led to form an independent household-to have a home of your.own. Bear with an old man, while he gives you a little homely, well-meant advice: '1., Consecrate your home to the service of God. "As for me and myhouse, we will serve the Lord." 2. Consider well what are your aims in life; what your , means and resources for attaining them; what your obliga- !tions to the church, to your country, to society, to the poor, to foreigners; 3. Know, as nearly as possible, your pecuniary means, and devote a certain proportion of your income to a "charity purse," and draw from it prudently, cheerfully, conscientiously. . -4. A.dopt your .own mode of life, and regulate it accord- ing to internal circumstances: i. e., you are not bound to forego certain gratifications, such as beautifying your house from time to time, by a new picture or engraving, or going now, and then to a concerti because your next neighbor, on thle efft, cannot afford- to gratify his: taste; and you are not to set up, a cariiage and have a, picture-gallery, because your ) - THE IN GLE SIDE . .45 next neighbor, on the right, indulges himself in those luxu. ries. 5. David could not wear Saul's armor-it did not fit. Do what is fitting to your own condition. Families in- a city are like trees in a forest-each has its independent existence, yet they sustain each other; oftentimes the trees interfere with their neighbors, and becomes gnarled and unsylmmetri- cal. The same thing'happens between meddlesome families. "et the affairs of Tom, Dick, and Harry alone, and con- sider their opinions about your domestic arrangements not worth a straw. What harm will their private or expressed disapprobation of your 'mode of living do you, when you know it is best to promote your own happiness, and does not interfere with theirs? What do they know, and what right have they to know, anything of your pecuniary resources, your peculiar tastes, your specific obligations, your mental and moral idiosyncrasy? 6. There are many advantages and pleasures to be enjoyed in a large city, which people living in the country must forego. Lectures, concerts, exhibitions pf the fine arts, a curiosities from foreign lands, large libraries, &c., &c. These are all to be enjoyed with moderation. Systematize your affairs so that you can decide how much time and money you can afford to spend for rational recreation. When you have done so, do not allow conscientious scruples, or in other words, a diseased conscience, to interfere with your innocent enjoyments. 7. Choose fitting society, No matter who people are, or what they are in the eyes of the world in" general; if there r:. o page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 ' R E A L IT Y. be not strong affinities, congenial tastes, and mutual respect, intimacy will neither be a source of pleasure nor profit. You will not invite an ignorant, stupid fellow to dine with you every week, because he carries a well-filled purse. What is it to you, who do not need his money? And if you did, it would be as Franklin said, " paying too dear fdr the whistle," for is not your time, after all, more valuable than his money. You will not seek the society of a man of superior intellect, if every other sentence he utters is flourished off with an oath. You will not welcome a gourmand to your table, who merely comes to eat with gusto, and smack his lips over your wines. You will not long endure the infliction of the insipid prattle of a vain, fashionable woman, who gads from house to house, to- show her fine clothing and splendid- equipage-one who would encroach less on the time of sensible people, by send- ing round to her acquaintances, for momentary inspection, the fine clothing and splendid equipage, without the useless adjunct of her silly self. Do not patronize gossips, male or finale, who pick up sweet morsels of slander here, and 'racy bits of scandal there, and meddle with other people's affairs everywhere-avoid these rabid devourers of reputations, as you would a mad dog. 8. Gather around your table a circle of fast friends, and let the ephemeral butterflies who claim five hundred acquaint- - ances flit where they please. Enter warmly into all the heart and soul interests of your friends, and give them earnest sympathy, cheering encouragement, and when they ask and need it, advice, the best you are capable of giving; but force your advice upon none. I . . THE IN'GLE SIDE. 247 Especially, invite to your house deserving young men and young women, who have no home of their own, and are far removed from home-influence, and the soothing kindness of the family-circle. -1 9. Consider your servants a very important part of your household, not only for the service they render to you, but as persons to whom your service is due. You are bound to serve them, by making them comfortable by day and by night, expecting no more labor from" them than they are able to perform-by understanding their characters and aiding them in overcoming their faults-by patiently bearing with their faults and infirmities, and striving by precept and example, to make them faithful Christians.'" While Mr. Dinsmore was reading this good advice, Ray- mond's mind wandered from it quite frequently, and when the paper was placed in his hand, he looked at it abstractedly. '"Is there anything you object to, in my homily 8" inquired, Mr. Dinsmore. "Oh, no!" certainly not. I came to you to-night for advice," said Raymond, with his eyes still fixed on the paper, in -an absent manner. "Advice. I was fearing I had given you a double dose already." "I have thought it best for Irenes happiness and mine, that I should never allude to my early life, involved as it is with the life of her father. This mystery weighs on her mind pain- fully, and I fear will prove a bitter infusion in our cup of joy. Perhaps I have misjudged with regard to this concealment. Your wisdom and experience may aid me in deciding the f ' page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 24-8 . RE ALIT Y. perplexing question." Raymond then briefly related the cir- cumstance which had led to Irene's eager inquiry about his early life. "Alas! The sins of the parents are visited on the children as a natural, inevitable consequence, not as a direct punish- ment. I feared this woeful web, in which your life, my son, was for a time intertwined with that of the miserable man, would have to be disentangled to gratify woman's curiosity- and yet I had strong confidence in the good sense and high principles of Irene." "It is very natural that Irene should wish to know the whole history of a man to whom-she has entrusted her happiness," said Raymond, apologetically and warmly. "Very natural and very proper, under ordinary circum- stances, yet,there are many cases in which it would be advis- able for a wife not to pry too closely into those by-gone years, when her life was a thing apart froap his existence. After marriage, hopes and purposes, joys and griefs, friends and fortunes are one-then, confidence should be mutual and entire." ' "You avoid giving your advice directly, in this particular case. Shall I tell my wife everything or nothing?" "My dear George, did you never think Blue Beard was a fool, to give his wife the fatal key? It must have been for the sole purpose of adding another to his murdered victims. The man, who desires to keep a secret from a woman, should never cruelly tempt her by giving her the key. . Irene is imaginative and romantic, the severe discipline to which she has been ubjected has somewhat tamed down her imagination, and THE INGLE SIDE. 49 dispelled wild romance, and yet she retains a superfluous share of both." "Excuse me, sir, my wife has no school-girl romance, nor sickly sentimentalism." Mr. Dinsmore smiled at the warmth with which Raymond repelled the slightest insinuation derogatory to Irene, and continued: "She is so deeply and devotedly attached to you, that a knowledge of the suffering and sorrow which her father brought on you by-his crimes, would render her more wretched than all the chimeras her imagination could create. Will you tell her all or nothing " "I trust I may be guided to the best possible decision.. I will not harrow up her soul by a recital of the dark deeds of her father. Her own good sense, and her confidence' in my affection, will soon quell this sudden outhreak of curiosity. You have no idea, father, hoW striking the resemblance was to Mr. Hazlehill in that coal of fire. It is not strange that it should have agitated the sensitive, delicate nerves of my dear Irene, when even my strong frame shuddered at the friglit- ful visage. I hope you do. not think less of her now than you have done." "I do net. God grant that your decision may be the cor- rect one," fervently added-Mr Dinsmore. Raymond now took a hasty leave, and hurried homeward, intent on restoring peace and confidence to the heart which he prized above all earthly things. .II* . v.. A page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] I 250 RE LIT Y. ! CHAPTER XXXIV. i THE CLUB. As Raymond was swiftly turning the corner of the street leading to his home, he suddenly came upon two men who were holding a third against the wall of a house, and in .the act of robbing him. By the light of a street-lamp he saw the glitter of a gold watch, as it was drawn from the man's pocket, and instantly raising his walking-stick, gave prie of the robbers a smart stroke across the eyes. He let the watch drop and ran off at full speed, followed by his accom- plice. IThe man stood motionless, apparently, without notic- ing the watch which was attached to a strong guard-chain. "Can I be of any further assistance to you?" inquired Ray- mond. "I don't know," stammered the stranger, stupefied either by fear or by intoxication. "Have you received any injury?" "I can't find my way home," was the nearly inarticulate reply. The man was dressed like a gentleman, but in the condi- tion which he now was, no one would have considered him gentleman-like, excepting the. diners-out who habitually leave the table highly "'exhilarated." THE:OVIUB. 251 Raymond was in haste to be home, and, for a moment, tempted to leave the drunken gentleman to the robbers, or the police, but'more kind and charitable feelings prevailed, and he asked, "In what street is your house, sir?" "Number 135 Street." It was nearly a mile from the corner where they were now standing. "I will go home with you," said Raymond, offering his- arm to the stranger, who, even with this assistance, found great difficulty in pursuing his " winding way." They went on in silence, and after an exceedingly disagree- able and fatiguing walk, to Raymond's great relief, arrived at No. 135 Street. Raymond almost dragged his companion up the steps, and pulled the bell with a startling violence, which proclaimed haste and impatience. The door was opened by an elegantly, dressed lady; the full light of the chandelier in the vestibule fell on her, and Raymond recognized the beautiful face and graceful person of Susan White--now Mrs. Mallory. "Oh! Mr. Mallory, I have been waiting for. you alone a whole hour," said she, without observing his companion. "I sent the waiter for you, and the other servants are all in bed." "Sent the,servants to bed! How dare you do it 8" This was said in a loud voice and angry tone, while Mr. Mallory leaned against the door-post, unable to walk in with- out assistance. Mrs. Mallory's beautiful face became deathly pale as she page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] i i 252 RF ALITY. exclaimed, " Oh ! what is the matter ? Are you ill, my dear .' Pray, sir, help my husband to come in." . She turned to Raymond and recognized him. " Oh! Mr. Raymond, what has happened to Mr. Mallory ? he went away quite well a few hours ago."/ "Come in, Mr. Mallory, you can perhaps explain to Mrs. Mallory the circumstances which have detained you so long from home.' " Oh! he has been to his club, and stayed too long with those gay men." " You lie, you vixen !" was the reply from Mr. Mallory, who was becoming quite uproarious. Raymond attempted to assist him, and for his proffered aid received a back-handed blow across .the chest. A watchman now came trudging along on the pavement, and with his efficient help, Mr. Mallory was dragged into the splendid drawing-room, and seated on a sofa covered with blue damask.- "Please dismiss the watchman, but don't go yet, Mr. Ray- mond," whispered the terrified wife. The watchman gave a knowing wink to Raymond, -and dis- appeared. Mr. Mallory became exceedingly violent. He shrieked like a maniac-made out a capital imitation of an Indian war-whoop, intermingled with the warning note of a railroad- fwhistle, and swung his clenched fists around like a windmill in a hurricane. "Can't we send for a physician 8" whispered the agonized wife, who had retreated to a distant corner of the room. THE CLUB. 253 "I think not; -Mr. Mallory will be better after sleeping." , Come here, wife," yelled Mr. Mallory. She did not move, but shrunk partly behind the lace window-curtain. "Wife! wife, I say, come here," shrieked- the infuriated man, and as she refused to come, a tornado of oaths and curses followed the refusal. "Oh, this is horrible! horrible!" exclaimed the lovely wife, sinking to the floor behind the curtain, and sobbing aloud. '1 Go out of my house this instant-what business have you here, interloper?" exclaimed Mr. Mallory, assuming a threat- ening attitude, and attempting to rise. Raymond advanced towards'the door. Susan sprang from her hiding-place, and running to him seized his arm, and implored him not to leave, adding, "I never was in the room with an intoxicated person before." "Drunk! did you say? you lie, both of you." "I tell you, man, get .out of my house, or I will put you out." Raymond again advanced towards the door, Susan follow- ing him. "Perhaps you had better remain with your husband," gently suggested Raymond as he reached the door. With uplifted hands and streaming eyes, Susan implored him not to leave her. ' "Then close the door, madam, and I will sit down in the hall, and should you need my assistance you can call me." Instead of remaining in the drawing-room and closing the door, she stepped without, closed it and turned .the key. page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 - REALITY. Oh! Mr. Raymond, promise me you will never mention the dreadful events of this evening." "I promise I will not, but indeed, Mrs. Mallory, I must insist on your remaining with your husband." "My husband! my husband! Gracious goodness! can it be?' Is that horrible, raving man my husband 8" Raymond unlocked the door-the distressed wife was obliged to enter; as he closed it, he heard Mr. Mallory say- "Who's there? Why don't they bring my whisky-punch?" To the great relief of Raymond the outer door now opened, and the waiter, who had been in search of Mr. Mallory came in; having ascertained at the club that the gentleman left in a "critical situation'." Evidently the servant, to verify the proverb, " like master, like man," had consoled himself for his long walk by a dram, for his steaming breath reeked with rum and tobacco fumes. However, he was less intoxicated by the abominable mixture than his master, whose liberal potations of Cham- pagne, Mareschina and Mint-julep, were taken to'promote the refined conviviality of the club of fashionable men,. who would have black-balled a respectable merchant or mechanic. [ Bowing consequentially to Raymord, Francis demanded- ! "t What's your will, sir" 8 ("'Mr. Mallory is in a bad condition; the best thing you can do, is to get him off to bed as soon as possible." I "Yes, sir-ee! I can manage him swately-have done it a hundred times. I just gives him a strong whisky-punch; that settles him. Was the madam skeered .?" I f "Go in and- try to pacify Mr. Mallory without the punch." THE CLUB. 255 "Can't do it, sir. He hasn't been to club. ever since he was married till to-night. Must give him the settler." No sooner had Francis put his shock-head within the door, than Mr. Mallory exclaimed : i"Out of my sight, you villain, with that brazen, impudent face; you must be drunk." Without heeding this salutation, Francis strode directly to Mr. Mallory, and putting his strong hand under the gentle- man's arm, said, in a gruff, authoritative voice: "Come, sir, you must go to your room." To the surprise and relief of the horror-stricken wife, Mr. Mallory instantly obeyed the servant, as a bear would his keeper; and, with his assistance, staggered to his own apart- ment. Meanwhile, Raymond slipped quietly out of the front door, and wended his way homeward. The great clock pealed out a solemn one. The wind, which had increased to a gale, blew the sharp sleet into his face and eyes, while the slippery pavement prevented rapid progress. "What will Irene think of me? And I cannot explain, What excuse can I make?" Questions not easy to answer satisfactorily. He expected to find Irene waiting for him in the parlor. The apartment was glowing with heat and light, but Irene was not there. The house was hushed to perfect silence. Ray- mond laid aside his-overcoat and fur tippet-drew off his boots, settled himself in the arm-chair he had left early in the evening, and gave himself up to painful meditation. Another mystery to tax the confidence of his belovedswife! page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] O z5O R A LITY. Heartily did he wish to revoke the promise given to Mrs. Mal- lory. Unfortunate Susan White! What could he do for her? How could he win her husband from that career, the first steps of which had long since been taken, and. only a few more were needed to plunge lim into irretrievable ruin? He would make the attempt to save him. He formed, at last, a plan, which would demand self-sacrifice and the co-operation of Irene. Raymond then- laid opein the large family Bible, the gift of his father on his wedding-day, and read the parable of the Prodigal Son. Was it unmanly to weep over that matchless narrative of sin, repentance, and pardon? - The- only perfect example of manliness wept over Jerusalem, and at the grave of Lazarus. Ah, how fervently Raymond prayed for the sinful man, sand how tenderly for the unfortunate wife! Still more fer- vently for his own beloved Irene. "Vigils of contemplation, praise, and prayer- A stream, which from the fountain of the heart Issuing, however feebly, nowhere flows Without access of unexpected strength." Raymond rose from his knees calm and hopeful. It was nearly three o'clock. He would not disturb Irene's quiet sleep, and wrapping his grey travelling shawl about him, threw him- self on a sofa and fell into that quiet sleep induced by "Conscience reverenced and obeyed." Irene had listened with painful solicitude for the return of THE CLUB. 257 her husband, hour after hour. Weary with watching and weeping, she at last found herself in dream-land, still haunted by the fearful visage which had broken up the peaceful enjoyment of the previous evening. She awoke, sad and unrefreshed, with a confused remembrance of what had passed, and a suspicion that she had over-slept herself, and was late for morning prayers. Making a hurried toilette, she glided down stairs, and timidly entered the parlor. The fire had already been made, and yet, there was Raymond on the sofa, in a profound and peaceful sleep. His noble countenance was calm and serene. Irene stood a moment-in anxious silence, and then dropped on her knees beside him, and bending over him, listened to his gentle breathing. He was-not ill. She thanked God from the depths of her heart that he was safe and well. Distrust vanished, and grievous self-reproach took its place. Irene determined to be heroic, and to greet her husband with her usual cheerfulness and confidence. Sud- denly, as :though her presence had power over even his sleeping thoughts, he murmured, ' My own, my dear Irene." "What is it, George? Are you dreaming8" "Dreaming? No, dearest, I am wide awake!" he replied, looking lovingly into the smiling face of his kneeling wife. The events of the preceding evening flashed suddenly across his waking memory. He started up, and threw off his shawl, exclaiming, "I hope you slept well, Irene, in spite of my unaccountable absence."1 Irene evaded the question. page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] ^t '-258 R E A L I T Y "Go, naughty man, aud arrange your hair; it 'is in wild disorder." While Raymond went to obey this command, she sat by the fire and sighed deeply. It was a mighty effort for her to grant her husband full confidence,when circumstances were so tremendously arrayed against him. He soon returned. With the brightest smile of approval, he handed Irene her French Bible to look over, while he read the morning lesson. The two servants were .called in, and prayers were offered with Raymond's usual fervency and devoutness. At the breakfast-table, Irene was as sweet and cheerful as a morning in June. - They chatted about ordinary matters, till Raymond, with an evident effort not to have the question appear to have been put with maliceprepense, asked- "Is it your place, Irene, to call on your quondam friend Susan 'White, Mrs. Mallory, or do you wait for a call from her" "I have not had a thought about it," quickly replied Irene, "but now I do think of it, according to etiquette, which I shall completely ignore, I, being first settled in town, ought to pay her the first visit." "Then I hope you will do so." -Indeed, I shall not." "May I ask why not?" Pride and jealousy were now aroused with a vengeance, and Irene replied, "Because I don't choose to step one foot within the circle in which Mrs. Mallory, will-move." "But if it should be my earnest wish, dearest." ' THE CLUB. 259 "I must have the privilege of regulating my own visiting- list, Mr. Raymond; I shall not interfere with yours." -' A pretty stiff breeze-danger of a squall," thought Ray- mond, and yet, manlike, he would not be warned by approaching danger; boldly, recklessly, he rushed onward, knowing breakers were ahead. "Irene, I think you owe it to yol'l friend to aid her with your experience in city life." "My experience, George, my bitter experience of the folly, vanity, and sinfulness of fashionable life -I shall not visit Mrs. Mallory." "I have an urgent reason for wishing it." "Of course, you will not be so tyrannical as to command it." Raymond's dark eyes kindled-flashed--he bit his lips, and trembled with anger. Irene bridled up, and looked as stern and imperious as Elizabeth of England. A silence of some minutes ensued; then Raymond hastily rose from the table and went down to his office. Poor, willful Irene! Where were all her morning reso- lutions? She had acted-nobly, but alas! broke down under the mighty effort. Seed frequently remains dormant in the ground, till quickened by favoring circumstances. Thus had the latent seeds of evil lingered in the heart of Irene, till suddenly, as by a flash of electricity, they started into full life. She had boasted of independence at school, she had nurtured it in society, she had called- it by the flattering name of self- reliancc-a very good trait, but the extreme of it renders a page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] woman a mauvais sujet tothe lord and -master whom she has promised to ." obey."' During Irene's residence at Locust Cottage, without seeming to rule her mother, she did so in effect. Minnie Dell was her obedient pupil. There was nothing in her daily life at the cottage to render her imperious will odious, either to herself or to them who quietly submitted to it, as to destiny. ' ' Now, she had come under lawful authority; and mWill was a rebel in the camp; a traitor, leading her to betray her dearest interests, to subvert her loyalty, to destroy her peace and happiness. ' The first quarrel had come-a terrible thing in married life-like the breaking away of a levee on a Mississippi plan - tation. The sanctity of home invaded; loving tenderness, and delicacy of sentiment gone., Jealousy, suspicion, anger- Fiends! avaunt! 4 .. TH E RUBY BRACELET. 261 CHAPTER XXXV, THE RUBY BRACELET. MR. MALORY was a gay man, and, while a bachelor, had been a constant and welcome member of a club, composed of other gay, good fellows. For a few weeks after his return to the city, with his lovely young wife, he passed his evenings at home. Sweet and amiable as she was, she was neither intellectually strong, nor highly 'cultivated, nor accomplished. Moreover, she had little knowledge of the world in general, and none at all of that exclusive, conventional, small cijrcle, calling itself " the great world-." To this circle the mother of Mr. Mallory belonged. She bitterly lamented her only son's mesalliance, as she termed it, and drew from him a reluctant half-promise that the girl from the "' Porter's Lodge," should not appear in society the first winter. Mr. Mallory's evenings at home soon became insipid to his vitiated taste, and he was now sliding back to his old habits, greeted and cheered on by his old associates. The next morning Susan was feverish, and apparently quite page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 RE AL I T Y. ill. Mr. Mallory unconscious, or only dimly conscious that he might have been the cause, inquired of Francis how he had come home the night before. "Rather ' How came ye so?"' was the insolent reply, with a tight drawing up of the right eye. "And was there not some impertinent fellowl with me?" "Yes, sir-ee, a very impertinent covey-one Raymond. I , heard the mistress call him by that name." ; "I don't know any one of that name. Who could it have been " - "Better ask the leddy," replied the saucy waiter, with another of those peculiar winks of the right eye. The man had noticed Raymond's expression of strong dis- approbation, or rather disgust, when he came in the previous evening, redolent of rum and tobacco, and had retained a grudge against the stranger. Mallory, fully conscious of wrong-doing himself, and still partially under the influence of his midnight excess, deter- mined on a coup d'etat. Going to his wife's room, he accused her as the offending party, and poured out a torrent of abusive -words, which quite overwhelmed the innocent and amiable 1 Susan, Poor Mrs. Mallory! She had never before, in her whole life, met with unkindness. It came now like a hail-storm in June, cutting and tearing up the tender plants of love and- confidence from her gentle heart. Mr. Mallory had fallen in love with her beauty. He had not the delicate perception, which could discern the native sensibility and pure unselfishness beneath her quiet exterior. THE RUBY BRACELET. 263 She was won by the assiduity of her lover, who had many attractive qualities, and her affection for him was as disinter- ested and as earnest as though he had not been worth a single dime. After having dealt out the full measure of his wrath, the man was astonished at its effect upon his unoffending wife. She was completely convulsed. In the agony of grief she shrieked aloud, wrung her hands, and beat her head violently against the bedstead. Mr. Mallory was alarmed. He flew down stairs, and dis- patched Francis for Dr. Batterman--"Tell him to come im- mediately." Mr. Mallory awaited the doctor's arrival in the hall. His meditations meantime were not particularly sweet. "Well. What's the matter here, Mr. Mallory; I thought you were ill?"' said Dr. Batterman, in his rapid way, while taking off his overcoat and putting it on the hat-stand. "No. It's my wife." ' "Wife! I did not know you had a wife. How long have you been married?" ' "About three months. My wife has a touch of hysterics, I believe. You will find her like Niobe, all tears. I don't understand womankind." "Ha! but I understand manrind,2 thought the sapient doctor, as he looked right into the blear red eyes of Mr. Mal- lory, and asked, "How long has she been ill?" "' A sudden attack-very--only since last night. I suppose there was really no occasion for sending for a physician, only I have perfect confidence in you and none in myself." . .j page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 REALIT'Y. The doctor sagely thought the confidence, and the want of it, not misplaced. "Come, introduce me to my patient. Lead the way, I follow." Mr. Mallory, without the least warning to his wife, opened the door of her apartment, and introduced the prompt, hearty, honest doctor. There lay his patient on a carved rosewood bedstead, under curtains of lace, lined with -rose-colored silk, and on a pillow of the finest linen, with its linen-cambric frill. Her cap, trimmed with Valenciennes, had slipped from her aching head, and her luxuriant dark curls were floating over the pil- low, and the crimson-damask bed-spread. She held before her face an embroidered .handkerchief, completely saturated with tears. "Susan, my dear, can't you look at the doctor ." Dr. Batterman waved his hand to Mr. Mallory; he under- stood the signal, and disappeared. Susan's agony of grief had subsided, and she was now sobbing, like a grieved child, those quick, heaving sobs which almost take away the breath. The doctor drew a chair to the bedside, and taking out a ponderous watch, felt the pulse of his patient. "Too quick, too quick, by twenty or more-ninety a minute. Mr. Mallory tells me you were taken last night. Please, madam, let me see your tongue." Susan uncovered her face, and displayed those beautiful features, which no one could see without admiration. D , THE RUBY BRACELET. 265 Her eyes were closed, and the long, dark lashes lay on her flushed cheek. The doctor gazed with impunity at a face, which, though swollen with weeping, was still remarkably lovely. "That will do; not much coated-fever very slight." The handkerchief was again held before the face. "Here is a case for the department morale, as Mrs. Burkitt would say," thought the doctor, " but I must prescribe some- thing for the physique." "What anodynes 'or opiates can you take, madam .8" "I have never in my life taken anything, of the kind" sobbed ott Susan, as though the words would suffocate her. "Never 8? Well then we will not begin now. Do you take wine 2. Never!" with startling emphasis. "Then that will not answer. Have you a headache 2"He came near saying a "heart-ache." "Yes; my head aches badly. I was never ill before." The doctor took from his pocket a phial of ammonia. "Just try this a moment." The first inhalation gave Susan a tremendous start, and Dr. Batterman, with a smile, took the phial from her hand. "Never mind! It will do you good. In two minutes you may try another snuff,'not quite so -powerful as the first.. I am glad to make your acquaintance,0Mrs. Mallory, though not professionally; you will allow me to come as a visitor when I make my New Year's visits V 4 Certainly, sir.' '"I hope you will be quite well long before that time. 12 fi . , page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 REALIT Y. Indeed, I think you may be well to-morrow., Now take another good whiff of the ammonia." Susan tried it rather more gingerly this time, and returned the phial, saying, inher own natural, sweet tone, "T'hank you, sir, I feel better already." The doctor's words of kindness had been the medicine. "I knew you would. Have you breakfasted, madam 8" I' I have not." "Allow me to ring for your breakfast." The doctor gave a quick, imperative pull, which brought the chambermaid instantly. "Tell the cook to make a cup of tea, and- two slices of toast, and send them up as soon as possible." The doctor again felt his patient's pulse. "While they are preparing your. breakfast, you can get up and make your toilet for the day. When you have taken breakfast, you must go out for a drive. Unless I: meet Mr. Mallory below, I shall leave orders for your coachman to be at the door at twelve o'clock precisely." Susan's blue eyes dilated with astonishment. She Ibegan a weak remonstrance-- Go out for a drive this morning-" "My patients obey orders, madam. I shall call and inquire after you to-morrow at one o'clock. Expect to find you in the parlor. Good morning." "How do you find my wife?" inquired Mr. Mallory, meet- ing the doctor in the hall. "I find her one of the most beautiful women my eyes ever rested on." ' Mallory laughed, and added, "But her illness!" THE RUBY BRACELET. :' 26 "Soon, would be very ill, sir, if the unrevealed cause were to trouble her again. She has a delicate organization, yet hitherto has had perfect health. She must not cry. It will spoil her beauty, undermine her: fine constitution, and ruin her sweet disposition. You must keep Mrs. Mallory in good spirits, sir. Don't let her weep away the brightness from those heavenly blue eyes." Again Mallory laughed-a very heartless laugh it was--as he said, "So she did not hint at the cause of her illness." "She did not, Mr. Mallory; she is a prudent woman., I have ordered her to take a drive at twelve o'clock. Please see that the carriage is at the door precisely at that hour. Good morning." "Cunning old dog," muttered;Mallory, as he closed the door after the Doctor. "He cyphered out the whole matter." "Doctor-Doctor, stop a moment, exclaimed Mallory, open- ing the door and beckoning to Dr. Batterman, who was just about to step into his carriage. He returned, and stood in the vestibule. "Please, sir, excuse me for detaining you. Do you know a person of the name of Raymond?" i "George Raymond?" "I don't know his Christian name. He is a tall man, with dark hair and eyes, and a lofty air. He married the daughter of that scamp Hazlehill." "He did! That's asthunding news. Whew! I hear of nothing but births and deaths; marriages are out of my pro- fessional line." page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 2618 REAL ITY,. "George Raymond married Miss Halzehill," said Mallory. "Well,he is one of the noblest young men that ever trod American ground. He is a man of taste and genius; an architect, and a perfect gentleman. Have you made his acquaintance " "Not particularly A'-with evident embarrassment. "Then I advise you to do so immediately. Such choice spirits are rare. George Raymond's friendship would be an invaluable acquisition for any man, young or old. If souls could be measured, his would be found large enough to hold fifty souls of the common sort. Good morning, sir."' Mr. Mallory was now exceedingly sorry for his inhuman conduct to his wife. The doctor's admiration had gratified his pride and aroused regretful feelings. He went out, and in about an hour returned home, and flew up the long flight -of stairs, three steps at a leap. He found Mrs. Mallory dressed, for going out, reclining on a couch. From a small table before her, on which was a silver salver with tea and toast, she was endeavoring to obey the doctor's orders, though the task of swallowing seemed at first almost insur- mountable. "Glad to see you enjoying your breakfast, Sue. I was rather hard on you this morning. I went to club last night, and my friends were so glad to see me once more that they kept me too long, and toasted you so frequently, that I came home a little the worse for it. Come, Sue, that's a dear girl; let's make up and be friends again. I've brought you a present." THE RUBY BRACELET. 269 So saying, he took from his pocket a circular niorocco case, which he opened, and with intense satisfaction exhibited on its white satin cushion, a splendid ruby bracelet. "Hold out your arm, Sue." The fair, beautifuil arm was held out languidly, with an indifferent air, while Mr. Mallory clasped the bracelet around the wrist. "And here, Susan, I have brought you a box of white kid gloves. You must wear them constantly, for your hand don't correspond with your smooth white arm." "The hand has been- used to hard work," said she. "Yes, but all traces of it will disappear if you wear gloves all the while, for a year or so." Susan smiled, faintly. "There now; I am glad to see you like yourself once more. That odd fish, Dr. Batterman, said you would be well soon. Your carriage is at the door. Let me hand you to it in the most gallant style." page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 R E A L IT CHAPTER XXXVI. r, POOR NEIGHBORS. AFTER Raymond left Irene, she, as usual, washed up the 2 breakfast things, and gave out her orders for the day. She was a systematic, judicious housekeeper. Every department was filled completely, though she had but two servants. There was no jarring, no creaking of hinges in her house- wifery, everything went on smoothly, and without friction, as if aided by the ,finest oil. That oil was foresight, without which no domestic economy can go on smoothly. As she sat there by the table, giving the last polishing wipe to the tea-lurn, somewhat abstractedly looking out of the window, her attention was arrested and fixed on some of her neighbors. The dining-room faced an alley, or rather the houses, which displayed their rough brick walls, and loose, broken windows, to the inhabitants of the genteel street run- ning parallel with the vulgar alley; one of the many paral- lelisms between gentility and vulgarity, which offend the. eve, and disturb the complacency of the denizens of a city. A young girl, who had apparently seen some sixteen or seventeen rough winters, was hanging out clothes to dry, on the top of a wood-shed, which in all weathers was decorated POO,R NEIGHBORS. 271 with this miany-colored dangling drapery. The shed was stil slippery with the sleet which had fallen the preceding evening. While the girl, with her head uncovered, and her red arms bare to the elbow, placed the wet garments on the lines, a small child held a basket of clothes-pins; which she handed to the young washerwoman, as she needed them. Irene was near enough to see that they both shivered with cold, as they stood in that bleak place .exposed to the wind of a November day. She had, on other. occasions, observed'with interest this same young girl, who appeared to have several young a children under her special charge, and was constantly occUpied, early and late. Irene's eyes rested on the thinly-clad child who was hading the clothes-pins, who had gradually stepped back to the very verge of the flat roof-the very verge-one step more, and the child must fall. Irene threw open the window to warn her--but the fatal step was. taken-the child had fallen on the pavement below. There was only a wooden fence with a loose paling between the yard of Mr. Raymond's house, and the yard of the back neighbor. Irene, whose emotions were all quick and vivid, flew immediately down stairs, burst off a wide board from the fence, and reached the child at the same instant with the , young woman, who exclaimed, "Are you much hurt, darling af "No, sister, not very much; only this arm," replied the child, in a feeble voice, without moving at all. The sister stooped to lift her from the ground. "Let me help you," said Irene, tenderly placing her hands foul page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 REA LIT Y. under- the child. Together they lifted her, and carried her up the tottering staircase, to the third story, on which *as the room they occupied. One large bed stood in the corner of this room, add a chest, which served as a bed by night, and a bureau and table by day, in the opposite corner. The middle of the room was completely filled by a cooking-stove and wash-beich, on which were two wash-tubs. Irene did not look round to take an inventory of the scanty furniture, but gladly made her way. to the bed, mnd there deposited' the heavy burden which she had assisted in carrying up those long, weary stairs. "Poor child!" said she, gently; " way I feel of your arm 8" "Yes, ma'am," whispered the child. Irene lifted the arm; the hand hung like a flower on a broken stem. ,i Dear little Lottie!" exclaimed the sister, weeping. "We must send for a surgeon immediately; have you any one who can go?" "No, ma'am; Maggie has gone to pick up chips at the ship-yard, and Tom is away with the papers. I must go myself. There is a doctor just by, at the corner of the street." "Don't leave me, sister," said the child, with a piteous groan. "I must go. You know your are good, little Lottie. This nice lady will stay with you till I come back."'t So saying, the sister threw an old shawl over her head, and ran for the doctor. POOR EIGHBOR S. Irene took out her pocket-handkerchief, and wrapped it around the arm, which had been scratched as well as broken, and was now bleeding. "How long will Ria be gone?" asked the child. "Not long.' What is, your sister's name 8" "Ria; Larabee." "Maria, I suppose." "I don't know; we always calls her Ria." "Do you know how old you are, dear?" "I was three a great while ago; Could you give me a drink of water? There is the pail and 'the mug." Irene dipped the. brown earthen mug in the water, which was far from being clear as oiystal, yet the child most eagerly swallowed it. Ria soon returned, bringing a young physician with her. He stared with evident astonishment at the lady in her scarlet morning-wrapper, who seemed quite at ease in that miserable apartment. He bowed and scraped, holding his hat and cane behind his back, then approaching the child, bent slightly over her, and said: . , "Any bones broken ." "Yes; the right arm is broken," replied Irene, undoing the handkerchief. ("Shall I take your hat ,and cane, sir?" she added; with meaning emphasis. He took the hint and laid them aside, and daintily lifted the arm with his gloved hand. The arm was red and rough, and discolored with blood, but otherwise as clean as his own. "Girl, wash off the arm, and I can tell better what the 12* page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 REA LI TY. damage is," said he,drawing off his well-fitting kid gloves, while Ria washed the broken limb. "A compound fracture; the radius and the ulna are both broken; the tendons of the wrist stretched; a very bad case. I must go home for my instruments. Give the arm another washing, and have plenty of bandages ready against my return." "Shall I go home for bandages?" asked'Irene. "Oh, no, ma'am; I;guess we have more old things in the house than you have, being, as you are, new housekeepers." So, then, her opposite neighbor had noticed Irene, busy as - the girl seemed ever to have been. While she stripped up the bandages, Irene carefully washed the child's arm, saying, "Do I hurt you, dear 8!" "Yes, ma'am; very much," whimpered the poor child, making a mighty effort to restrain her tears. "Isn't she good little Lottie?" exclaimed the fond sister; "she never cries if she can help it." The doctor returned with the means. and appliances, and. while he was busy. with the operation, inquired how it happened. Ria told the story, and added; "This good lady, who lives over there, saw Lottie fall, and ran to help her." "Oh, that explains it!" and the young doctor bowed obsequiously to Irene. "You saw the child from that window?" Irene turned her eyes towards the window, where, to her POOR NEIGHBORS. 275 surprise, Mr. Raymond was standing, with his high forehead pressed against the window-pane, little suspecting that his wife was looking anxiously at him.' It was evidently a con- ciliatory step on his part, and her proud heart exulted at it. She could not then leave the child whose left arm she held, while the surgeon was tediously manipulating with the right. "Very kind of you, madam;, I presume that gentleman is your husband?" "He is," was the curt reply, which did not invite furthef questioning. With a deal of the pedantry and parade of a tyro in surgery, the broken limb was at length splintered and bandaged, and then the ostentatious order-- "No exciting food must be given to the patient; keep down fever by low diet-panada-blanc mange-barley- water-gruel-calves-foot jelly, &c., &c." With. another obsequious bow to Irene,- he-was about retiring, when Ria whispered to him, "What's to pay, doctor " He rubbed his forehead; there seemed to be a contest going on between the head and the heart-the latter was hard, the former soft--but it got the better of the two. He whispered, "Three dollars; a very small sum for performing such a delicate operation:. A very large sum for Maria Larabee, for it was all the money she had in the world. She drew an old -cotton purse from her pocket, and counted the money in small change, into the gloved hand. It lacked six cents. "Never mind that, my good girl," said he, with the air of v page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 270 REALIT Y a generous prince, giving half his kingdom to a subject; and he thrust the money into his vest pocket. "Yes, but I do mind it; I always pay every cent I owe, and I will hand the sixpence in at the corner," said Ria. "Pooh! pooh! What is sixpence to me! Don't trouble yourself about it; good"'morning. I shall step in and look ,at the child in a day or two." , "Thank you," said Maria, dropping a low courtesy. Irene's eyes were moist, and her face flushed; that con- temptuous expression, so full of meaning, which of late had been quite a stranger to her lips, had not lost its power; it struck the doctor as a very remarkable expression. He pondered over it uncomfortably as he hurried down the old staircase, and even after he sat down in his office it haunted him. "I will go home and make some blanc mange for' the child," said Irene. "Oh, no ; I will not trouble you. Indeed, ma'am, Lottie likes water-gruel, and I have plenty of Indian meal in the house." Irene went home with her heart softened towards all the world, excepting the young doctor at the corner, and deter- mined to make the amende honorable to helr husband. He was not at home. She had not yet asked him for rmoney, and happily had still a few gold pieces of her'otvn. She sent the cook immediately with a half-eagle for calves-foot jelly and barley, and. ordered her to carry them, with the change, to the room which she pointed out, and say they were for " good little Lottie." After this she felt even more kindly than before, and ear-* PooR NBIXEoBORBS. 2" nestly wished to see Mr. Raymond, and make her humble acknowledgments. She went to change her morning-dress, and while thus occupied heard the door-bell ring. Diana soon came to sayv: "There's a lady in the parlor." "Did she send her card?" "No, ma'am. She said, 'Tell Mrs. Raymond it is an old friend.'" "An old friend." That was a cheering announcement. She hurried her toilet, and hastened down to the parlor. There sat a lady, richly dressed, with a blue velvet mantle, trimmed and lined with ermine, white hat and feathers, a dress of silver-colored poplin, and a black Brussels-lace veil. , Under this splendid disguise she immediately recognized the graceful air of Susan White. Mrs. Mallory lifting her' veil, sprang forward to meet Irene, and throwing her arms around her friend's neck, kissed her, and burst into tears. Quite unprepared for such a greeting, Irene returned it warmly, forgetful, at the moment, of everything but her "friend's" distress. * -: ; "Sit down by me and say what troubles you, Susan." Susan still kept one arm fondly around Irene's neck, as she sat beside her, and sobbing, replied: ( Oh! I am so glad to see a friend." "Then these are tears of joy. I was just preparing to come and pay you a visit." - "Did Mr. Raymond tell you about last night?"' she asked, covering her face with her hands, and starting away from Irene. page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] :iO- REALITY. "Mr. Raymond!.- When have you seen himr" eagerly demanded Irene. "Not to-day," was the evasive answer, and then Mrs. Mal- lory added, "Will you take a-drive with me, Mrs. Ray- mond? My carriage is at the door. There was a sudden change in Irene's manner, and she answered coolly and haughtily: "Thank you, Mrs. Mallory, I cannot accept your polite invitation."' "I hope, -Mrs. Raymond, you do not--you are not"--she was about to say." ashamed to go out with me," but changed it to " unwilling to oblige me?" "Certainly not, especially when I remember how willing you. and your good nmother were to oblige me, when I needed advice and assistance." Good feeling was never long absent from Irene, and the sweet, appealing look of Susan was rapidly bringing it back, and she added: . "I am your friend, Susan, but I do not know of any way in which I can serve you. You have everything to make ; you happy." Susan shook her head mysteriously. Irene's mind was quite unsettled akain. "More mysteries! How I hate them!" she thought, as she waited for further communica- tions from Mrs. Mallory, who, after an embarrassing pause of some minutes, said: "So, Mrs. Raymond, you will not take a drive in my car- riage 8" v* POOR NEIGHBORS. 279 That "my carriage," grated harshy on the sensitive ear of Irene, and she replied, proudly: "No, Mrs. Mallory, I have had my time for going out in my carriage, it"is your turn now--I prefer walking." There was more bitterness in this reply than Irene would have believed to have been condensed in her whole heart, and she repented the moment it was uttered. Susan's sweet simplicity and genuine self-respect, saved her from being wounded, and she modestly added: "I prefer walking to riding, myself, but Mr. Mallory does not allow me to walk out alone." Then abruptly changing the subject, she inquired, "When have you heard from Mrs. Hazlehill? And how is she" - "She is quite well, anld perfectly contented. She has taken one of my proteges of the 'ragged school,' to-bring .up, and is interested in teaching her domestic affairs. The girl is about thirteen; and reads well enough to amuse my mother, who is devoted to works of charity; knits an immense num- ber of yarn stockings, and with the aid of Kezia, manages admirably, her domestic matters. The French proverb, that 'we always return to our first love,' is true in her case. She was a farmer's daughter, and understands the management of a dairy. With two cows, she makes butter enough for h6r own ;ise, and supplies us every week with butter and eggs. Beside} as she says in her last letter, she has 'a nice lot of butter, now and then, to send to a poor neighbor.' I believe she was never-happier in her life." "Oh 'dear! I wish I could say the same with regard to my own dear mother. She is not as happy at Hazlehill as she page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 R E A L-I T Y . was at Locust Cottage the few weeks she stayed with your mother. Hazlehill oppresses her with its magnificence. The servants take advantage of her lameness, and do just as they please. I am-sorry she consented to remain there this win- ter; it is so gloomy for her. - She has every luxury that Wealth can procure, and yet she misses her poor Susan." Tears were again in those beautiful eyes. "Good-bye, Mrs. Raymond; I wish I could see you fre- quently," said Susan, as she rose to take leave. ' I do not intend to pay many visits," coldly replied Irene. i But I do not visit at all, you know. Not one lady has yet cailled on me ." ' "If I should yield, it would not be to my husband," thought Irene; then came another naughty thought-"I will wait till he tells me why he wishes me to visit Mrs. Mallory," and she replied: "Indeed, you must excuse me, Susan. I shall be most happy to see you here, but I cannot return your visits." And so the young wives parted. Irene did not meet her husband till dinner time. The bad spirit still brooded over her mind. She did not look at Ray- mond, or his tender, sorrowful expression would have driven it away. Not finding her rat home, when he went to her on at visit of conciliation, he fondly hoped her better-self had prevailed, and that-she had gone to Mrs. Mallory's. Her averted and disdainful face now repelled him. His voice trembled as he a, blessing, and his manner had even more than its usual solemnity. PooR NEIGHBORBS. 2 81 By a strange contrariety in human nature, Irene was tempted to laugh, but she stifled the ill-timed emotion, and assumed a forced sternness. The silence was unbroken while Raymond was carving. After having attended to the civilities of the table, and dis- missed Diana, he said, in a pleasant, lively tone: ' I came up to see you this morning, dearl qnd you were. not at home." Oh, the perversity of woman! Irene longed to be recon- ciled to her husband, yet, she, thought, " why should not I have my mysteries too a" and replied, with more brevity than good nature: "I was not." Again Raymond was repelled. "I hoped you had gone out to see Mrs. Mal- lory:. "You were, then, very much mistaken." Raymond was completely foiled. A flash of anger passed over his face, but the hasty spark was gone as'rapidly as it came, and his voice was touchingly kind as hd replied: "You must have some good reason, Irene, for your persist- ent refusal a" Irene wickedly triumphed, and durst not trust herself to reply, lest it should'be in a tone of exiltation. The remainder of dinner time passed in silence. When Raymond was gone, Irene went to the parlor, threw herself on a sofa, saying, "I am the veriest fool in creation;" and gave herself up to woman's relief, " a good crying spell." Returned to, his office, and seated in. his arm-chair before page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] -282 a R A L I T Y. the fire, Raymond fell into a brown study, or a blue one, which ran very much after this manner: "I have wounded poor Irene, by a request wLhich seems un- reasonable. I have pressed that request too far. I seem to her exacting. ' My unaccountable absence last night is quite enough to render her unhappy. I find she is so dear to me, that the least disquietude on her part makes me very unhappy. I must soottie and console her." As he came to this generous conclusion he was interrupted 'by a knock at the office door. A card. was handed in. "Mr. Mallory." "Glad to make your acquaintance, sir," said Raymond, as though it were his first meeting with the gentleman. He was glad to see him in his own character, and politely offered Mr Mallory a chair. He took the offered seat, but seemed sorely puzzled how to commence conversation. Raymond relieved him, by saying: "I believe our wives-are old acquaintances? I remember meeting Mrs. Mallory, with Irene, a long time ago." "They are. I would have called this morning with Mrs. Mallory had I known she was coming to pay a visit to Mrs. Raymond." Raymond smiled. This, then, was the company of which she made such a mystery. "I am very glad to hear of Mrs. Mallory's politeness- to Mrs. Raymond. I hope their social intercourse may be on a friendly footing." "Thank you. Susan speaks in such enthusiastic terms of her friend, I am quite anxious to make her acquaintance." "We will go to her now, if you please, sir." you please, si POOR N E I GHB O RS. 283, ' Mr. Mallory followed Raymond to the parlor. Irene was not there. He went on to the dining-room-neither was she there. Accidentally he looked out of the window. Behold! There was Irene creeping through the fence of the back yard! He watched till he saw her enter the house, and then returned to the parlor. ? "I am sorry to say Mrs. Raymond is not at home." His countenance was indeed sorrowful. Mr. Mallory tholight far more so than the occasion called for, and yet he was piqued by what he supposed to be a refusal to see him. Raymond's own manner to him, however, being so cordial and kind, he would not mind the freak of his wife. They fell into conversation on topics of common interest, and although Raynoend was somewhat abstracted, his earnest desire to be&of service to his visitor rendered him quite agreeable; and Mr. Mallory left pleased with his visit, and hoping it would soon be returned. Raymond had no sooner bowed out his visitor than he hastened to the dining-room window. He looked anxiously over to the .old house which Irene had enteredi and there, at the window, was Irene, holding a child in her arms, and apparently soothing it, while a girl knelt by her side, undoing a bandage from the child's arm. "Ha! ha? My own precious wife! This is the way you do good by stealth! A pleasant mystery this. But what a sad, sad thing it wouldbe to have confidence shaken for a moment towards thetheiug so dear to the heart. No, no, it was only a strange circumstance. Hnever for an instant doubted the good intentions of my dear Irene." page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 REALITY. The sun was setting, and threw its last lingering rays on the housetops, as the interesting group disappeared from the Window. Raymond returned to the parlor; and had enjoyed a few moment's musing on the benevolent spirit of his wife before she entered the room. he sprang up, advanced rapidly towards her, and greeted her most cordially. "Again, I could not find you at home, runaway." "No, George, I was at one-of our poor neighbors. I ought to have told you this morning of the fearful accident which happened to one of them." ' She then briefly related the events of the morning, and continued: "The father and mother of these poor children died of cholera last summer, and the young ones have since been under the sole care of an older sister, who cannot be much more than sixteen. The father was a day laborer. The mother took in washing. The faithful girl continues to support the family by washing and any other kind of work she can find to do. The brother is a newsboy. The child, who is called good' little Lottie, is a patient sufferer; but I fear it was the first *: operation of the9 young surgeon who bandaged her arm, for it pained her fearfully."' "Don't you think, darling, I had better go immediately for Dr. Batterman? - "Oh, yes; do, if you please, immediately. The child is quite feverish. Raymond went for the physician without delay. Dr. Batterman's services were as readily given to the poor POOR NEIGHBORS. 285 as to the rich. In many a hovel he was named as " a blessed angel from heaven." He gave his services and medicines gratuitously, and, not contented with merely professional ser- vices, he frequently supplied the needy with food and fuel; and when medical aid was unavailing, administered to the wants of the never-dying soul, about to leave the perishing body. . . He found the condition of the arm such as Irene. had described it. Badly bandaged, unskilfully managed. He dressed it anew, and, while so doing, ehatted with the child, and amused her as- though she were one of his own little ones. He did not handle her daintily, and half-loathingly, as did the dandy doctor from the corner, but as a kind shepherd would tend a wounded lamb. i page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 -RE ALITY. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE BEAUTIFUL WIVEJ. AN invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Raymond to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Mallory "quite en fanmilleP!" "I will write an acceptance," said Raymond. "Very prompt,",thought Irene. Tis was only the day but'one after the visit of Mr. and Mrs. M'allory. Not a word had passed between Raymond and Irene about the two visits. Raymond seized pen and paper, wrote an acceptance, and handed it to the waiting messenger. Irene looked small daggers at her husband, and prudently bit her tongue while he was thus answering the invitation. , "It is rather a long walk; I will send for father's carriage to be at the door precisely at three o'clock. You are always so punctual, my dear, I am sure you will be ready." tf, - "I prefer walking," bolted out Irene, determined to have her way in something. ; "Very well; then we must start half an hour earlier. Good morning. I have business away from home, and shall not see you again till two o'clock." THE BEAUTIFUL WIFE. 287 This was carrying out authority with a high hand, at least,. so it seemed to Irene, who little thought, when she promised to " obey," that it was to become a fixed fact. She kept up a mental grumbling for an hour or two after Raymond left home; then she went to see her humble pro- tege, and finding Ria Larrabee going out to carry home work, she remained with the child, and in soothing and amusing her, soothed and amused herself. There is no surer panacea for the heart-ache, than minister- ing to the sad and suffering; not by sympathy alone, but with an abnegation of self, which renders the. chamber of sickness and sorrow, for the time being, the whole world. Irene was ready at the appointed hour, and during the long walk, Raymond interested her with an account of his morn- ing's employment, He was building a large church, and entered into the details of its architecture, and compared it with the churches which they passed; his hearty enthusiasm was contagious, and Irene became so intensely interested, that they arrived at Mr. Mallory's before she had the least suspicion of being near the end of the long walk. Mrs. Mallory was dressed with exquisite taste, and rivalled in beauty the dream of a Raphael. She received Ireie with the utmost cordiality. "I am most happy to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Raymond; Susan has no female friends in the city, and she is lonely when I am obliged to be absent from home. I hope you will see a great deal of each other," exclaimed Mr. Mallory. "Thank you," replied Irene, coolly. She had that quick perception of character, which we call intuition, but which page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 REALITY. C undoubtedly is the result- of rapid reasoning, and although she could not have analyzed the character of Mr. Mallory at the moment, the impression was fixed-a moral daguerreo- type-in an instant. She turned to Susan with more kind- ness than she had evinced at their first meeting, but it was mingled with intense pity. At the table, Mrs. Mallory presided with ease and unaffected politeness. Natural sweetness and simplicity gave apeculiar charm to her manners. The etiquette of the table she had learned from Mr. Mallory; -her politeness, springing as it did from pure good-nature, was far more acceptable than that which is put on and off as easily as a glove, and is quite as artificial. That indefinable charm which beauty of motion gives to a woman, Mrs. Mallory possessed in an uncommon degree. Beauty of form may, and often does exist, where there is no- gracefulness. A poetic admirer of a very beautiful, Juno.- like woman once said: "Oh, I wish she could never move!" "Would you then have her changed to a marble statue?" "Yes, for she would have as much human feeling then, as she has now. There is no more heart in her voice, than there is in a penny-whistle." Various choice wines were on the table, which Raymond and Irene declined. Mrs. Mallory promptly followed their example. "What! are you all teertotallers .w said Mr. Mallory. "I am not a' pledged tee-totaller," replied Raymond. "I tade wine only on are occasions, and when health absolutely rqwirs it. I avail -myself of wine and spirits as I would of T HE BEAUTI-FUL WIFE., 289 any other medicines, without scruple, but, .I could not take them to gratify the palate without danger to myself." Mr. Mallory put down the decanter, from which -he was about to fill his own glass, and for a moment was slightly embarrassed. Susan's eyes glistened with tears of joy. Immediately the conversation was skilfully diverted from the subject by Raymond, and the dinner ended pleasantly. Mr. Mallory was a man of liberal education and refined taste, but unfortunately he had no profession- no occupa- tion, and social in his disposition, he had become at first convivial, then sensual, and' was rapidly hastening to the climax " devilish,"-a sot. Hard words, indeed, to apply to a gentleman. Alas! how many of the noblest and most generous of men, have uncon- sciously glided down to this lowest degradation.; the smooth, pleasant current of conviviality bearing them onward, till in the end they become disgusting even to their boon com- panions., It was Raymond's decided purpose to save Mr. Mallory, if possible, from this horrible consummation. "Where do you attend church, Susan," asked Irene, as they were seated cosily together in the drawing-room, after dinner, while the "larger half" of the party was in Mr. Mallory's library. "I have not been to church since we came from the country," replied Susan, coloring. "Mr. Mallory has talked of taking a pew for me in Grace Church, but has not yet heard of a suitable one." 13 page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 R EALIT Y. "Will you take a seat with me at 'the Ascension' till he finds one for you " - "I will ask my husband. I wish he would go with me." I will invite him." ; Would -you dare to do it." "Dare! Why not . We should always dare to do what is kind and right." "Yes, but I am afraid of offending; it is so dreadful to have quarrels with people whom you love." Irene was silent, she felt the gentle reproof, though it was not intended for her. 'I have made up my mind, as far as possible, to have no will of my own," continued Mrs. Mallory. "Indeed! That is a difficult matter." "Not so difficult for me. My mother's will was immensely stronger than -mine, and having been completely under her influence, I very readily yield, to another, who has taken her M place. It is not the giving up of my own will, or even my own inclinations, that troubles me, but so many things are considered- right, here in the .city, which I have been taught to think wrong; that is what troubles me;" and Susan sighed deeply. As soon as the gentlemen came in, Irene asked Mr. Mallory if he and Mrs. Mallory would take a seat with her in church the next, Sunday. "Susan may go if she likes, but I must be excused'." "We have an exceedingly eloquent preacher; I am sure you would listen to him with interest." "If I were not asleep before the long and tedious THE BEAUTIFUL WIFE. 291 service were over, I should disgrace you by my fidgetting and restlessness." "Disgrace yourself, Mr. Mallory; we will run the risk of your disgracing us. Besides, you know we do not go to church to observe other people," retorted Irene. "Not go to church to observe other people! I'll venture nine-tenths go for no other purpose, excepting to be ob- served " "You are severe on church-goers, Mr. Mallory. No doubt there are many such, but they who know and acknowledge a higher purpose, should not be annoyed and disturbed by the non-worshippers, any more than you are when you go to an exhibition of fine pictures, by the persons who only go there to exhibit themselves." "Pardon me, madam; there would be few people at church if the pews were'built so high as to shut out the ladies from being seen of men."' Without noticing the rudeness of this remark, Irene replied: "I grant there are Pharisees and hypocrites, but the false in everything only proves the existence of the true. If there were no real coin there would be no counterfeit. If we adhere to the true and the right, we are not responsible for the false. Moreover,' the true coin in this case, may be discernible only to an omniscient Being." "Mr. Raymond, your wife ought to have been a lawyer. She has remarkable talent for special pleading. It is a dangerous weapon in the hands of a woman. The grey mare may become the better horse. Look out for that, sir," page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 RE ALIT Y. said Mr. Mallory, with an attempt at playfulness, which did not conceal a slight irritation. "If a woman is governed by right principles, and acts conscientiously, a strong and cultivated intellect, and even a strong will, can do her no harm. Irene does not march rank and file with the 'strong-minded '-that is, the strong-minded who belong to an organized army, and have set themselves in battle array against the other sex. The female Quixotes, who have a ' special mission' to change the natural order of things, and assume dominion over our heads, instead of our hearts, are guilty of almost as great a folly as angels would be, were they to come down from Heaven and mingle in the strife of one of our Presidential elections." Irene sagely suspected this speech of her good husband dike those of Congressmen intended for Buncome), had special reference to a person whom he did not at that time particularly address; it gave him a convenient opportunity for declaring his opinions and defining his position. Soon after, Mr. and Mrs. Raymond returned home. "Mother, you have no idea how splendidly Susan appears at the head of a dinner-table!" was Mr. Mallory's delighted excla- mation, the evening succeeding the dinner company en famille. The fashionable mother shook her head doubtfully. "I have accepted an invitation to dine with Mr. Raymond, where we shall meet Mr. Dinsmore, who is a finished gentle- man of the old school, and perhaps, other company. I will not keep Susan cooped up at home any longer." UIndeed, Edward, you are under a delusion; the country girl from the Porter's Lodge has bewitched you with her THE BEAUTIFUL WIFE, 293 beauty. I grant she is very handsome, but as to her finished manners, you might as well praise the perfume of a camellia japonica; one is as wanting in manners as the other in perfume." "Your comparison has more poetry than truth ; I shall take her into society, and she will soon learn the etiquette of fashionable life." On the following Saturday, a small party was assembled at the pleasant dinner-table of Mr. Raymond. Beside Mr. and Mrs. Mallory, and Mr. Dinsmore, there was a celebrated traveller and a young poet. It was -amusing to see the rapturous admiration of the latter, who sat opposite Mrs. Mallory. Actually, he could not eat with decent propriety; his eyes were fixed on the lovely lady, while he fished about his plate with his fork, at a venture, frequently lifting it to 'his mouth, when it had caught nothing. Mr. Mallory was not at all annoyed by the admiration excited by his beautiful wife, who was as much at ease as if she had been at home. Even the most fastidious could have found no fault with her simple, unaffected manners. The grand secret of her lady-like repose was her sweet uncon- sciousness. She had all her life been occupied with thoughtful care for others, especially for her lame mother. The traveller found her a charming listener, and what man does not prefer a pleased listener to an elegant converser? The poet, from whose conversation Raymond had expected to derive great satisfaction, was as silent as a monk of La Trappe, or a heathen worshipper. The slight stiffness of Mr. Dinsmore melted under the soft, ,I page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 R E AL I T Y. genial smile of beauty, and though he occasionally addressed a remark to Mrs. Mallory, which she did not fully compre- hend, her native politeness prevented her fronm betraying it. Mr. Mallory was in high spirits, without the aid of alcoholic stimulus, and the dinner passed off remarkably well, Ray- mond, happily, being quite as well pleased with Irene, as Mr. Mallory was with Susan. It was strange that he should. have been so well pleased with Irene, for she did everything mechanically, from a sense of duty; there was no heart in it. The mystery still hung over her, a dark cloud, keeping out the joyous sunlight of home; a home which, but for that, might have been a happy one. A wife may be obedient and dutiful year after year, but where the unction of confidence is wanting, love cannot be perfect. Alas! in this world there is no perfect love: "Such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal; The past unsighed for, and the future sure." DOING GQOD. 295 CHAPTER XXXVIII. DOING GOOD. ON Sunday, Raymond and Irene called for Mrs. Mallory to go with them to church. Her splendid dress was in striking contrast with the simple, unpretending style of Irene's, and attracted so much attention as they passed through the street, as to be quite' annoying. At church it was the same; people stared at Mrs. Mallory, as if to prove her husband's assertion, that they only went there to see and be seen. Mr. Mallory went out for a ride on horseback, dined with a friend, and came home- late, quite exhilarated; He had. heard his wife's beauty spoken of in the most extravagant terms, and was wonderfully elated by it. ' . "Well, Sue, you created quite a sensation to-day. Several of my friends met you on your way to church, and they are very anxiousto make your acquaintance. You will have a number of visitors to-morrow; look your prettiest, darling." Raymond and Irene had done what they could, through advice and example, to lead Mr. and Mrs. Mallory in the way of quiet, rational, domestic life---but in vain. The principle from which such a course should flow, was wanting. On Monday morning, Irene went to inquire after her pro- page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 RRE A L I T Y. t6ge. She no longer passed through the fence, but went round the corner to the alley. As she entered the front door, she found it almost blocked up with a quantity of old, broken household furniture. She made her way through the dirty entry, and up the stairs to Maria's room. There was the young washerwoman up to her elbows in the suds, rubbing away with all her might on the wash-board, while the younger sister was trying toamuse Lottie with some carpen- ters' blocks on the bed. At the foot of the bed sat a tall woman, with her dirty apron thrown over her head, weaving to and fro, and weeping violently. "I am afraid I intrude," said Irene, gently. "Oh, no, indeed, ma'am," replied Maria, wiping the suds off her arms, and handing a chair. "Thank you, I will not sit down, I came to inquire after good little Lottie." "She is doing mighty well; that famous'doctor mended the broken arm so nicely, that it doesn't give her any pain at all, now." The tall woman continued her groaning and weeping. Irene looked inquiringly -towards her.- "It's one of our neighbors-Mrs. McGinnis-she has been turned out this morning, because she couldn't pay her rent." . "It's jist that, ma'am," and the woman uncovered her red swollen face; "jist the rent, and'they have taken the childer, away to the 'sylum, my babby and all. And Pat is lying in the yard, dead drunk, he is-and I not knowing where to go." ' DOING GOOD. 297 The violent weeping was renewed. Oh, what shall I do? I wish I could die." "That is a very wicked wish," said Irene. Again the woman dropped her apron, and regarding Irene fiercely, demanded: "Are you one of them Track leddies 8" "What does she mean, Maria ." "A tract distributor. The lady called this morning and gave her a tract which she could not read. Mrs. McGinnis told her troubles, and the lady soon sent a cart and had the three children carried off to the Asylum." "'Taken 'em all away-every one of my swate darlints," and the woman's grief again became uproarious. "But you could do nothing with the children if you had no home for them. It is better that the kind ladies should take care of them," urged Irene. "Kind, is it? The track woman isn't kind, at;all, at-all. She always scolds, and scolds, and then leaves the bits of paper; out of thim niver come a bit of good to me and mine." At this moment there was a knock at the door. Maria opened it, and the tract distributor was about to hand in her "bits of paper," but seeing Mrs. Raymond, she stepped in. An over-dressed, dashing, fashionable, pious woman, was Mrs. Kinbridge-a society-woman. She had a -young family of five children, but it 'was not' her avocation to stay at home and take care of them.. The nurse -and chambermaid could do that. She had another ' mission.'". She was as busy as a page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 REALIT Y. Secretary of State, and as bustling as a police officer, newly inducted. ' : John Randolph might have told her, as he did the lady who solicited aid for the Greeks, "Madam, the Greeks are at ; your own door." Very little good would it have done'Mrs. Kinbridge. Belonging to ten societies, she was indefatigable- in fulfilling her mission, scarcely allowing herself time for anything but- dressing. The societies were good and useful; nobody could deny that-they were religious and philanthropic institutions, and somebody must carry out their benevolent designs. Mrs. Kinbridge shouldered the ten, or at least took a large share of their onerous duties- on herself. "What! are you here, McGinnis?" she exclaimed, in a falsetto voice, quite startling to Irene. "Here! And where should I be-turned out as I am?" exclaimed the woman, angrily, " you know I haven't a place to set the sole of my foot. Oh, my childher! Oh, my childher!" Here the woman set up a complete Irish howl. Mrs. Kinbridge wrapped her rich cashmere shawl closely , about her, that it need not come in contact with its unseemly i surroundings, and sidling up to Irene, whispered: "She's a wicked, intemperate creature; .there's no use in troubling yourself about her. I have visited her for a whole year, and preached to her, andsprayed with her;, and yet she will not believe and repent.", Irene was aroused by the dry, harsh manner of the society-a woman, and replied with an energy and intensity quite startling DOIN GOOD 299 to Mrs. Kinbridge: "Madam, I have yet to learn that the good Samaritan, when he found the poor Jew wounded and half dead, stopped to inquire into his character before he "poured oil and wine into his wounds. 'This poor woman is iungry and houseless. Charity dictates that we should pro- vide for her bodily wants, in humble imitation of Him who sendeth His rain on the just, and on the unjust." "A very unsuitable text to quote before that abominable sinner; more orthodox would it be to tell her, ' God is angry with the wicked every day.' Good morning, madam;" and the lady flourished out of the room, with very little of that charity which is not easily provoked,' in her countenance and manner. "Oh, my good leddy! I know I am a wicked woman, and a sorrowful thing it is to be such a sinner. It's all along of the rum-Patrick drinks and makes a baste of himself, and then I drinks because I want to forget my troubles." "And so, my good woman, you neglect your poor children, although you love them. Maria, do you know anything of Mrs. McGinnis ." Maria, who had resumed her washing, replied, " Indeed, ma'am, Mrs. McGinnis is a hard-working, lkind-hearted woman 'when she-is herself. I shall never forget how she nursed dear father and mother when'everybody else was afraid of the cholera, and how she comforted us poor children, when she had put them in their coffins. Indeed, ma'am, it is the drink that makes her bad." "Ria knows me. She's the best girl in the world, and as innocent as my poor baby," sobbed out Mrs. McGinnis. page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 RE A L I T Y. "Is one of your children a small baby ." "Yes, a swate, merry thing, only five months old; crying it is, I know it's crying this minute for its mother." Irene was sorely puzzled to know what to do.' After reflect- ing awhile, she said, "Mrs. McGinnis, if you would promise to give up drinking, we could do something for you. If I should pay your rent, and have your baby brought back to you, would you'promise. me not to touch a drop of liquor for a month?" "My dear leddy, I'lI promise not to touch a drap of the pison stuff till my baby's a year old. I'll make my mark to keep it, if you'll write it down, and Ria knows I'll keep my word. "How much do you owe for your rent?" "Twelve dollars." "Well, I will pay it. But what is to be done with your husband?" "He must go to penitench till- he's sober, poor cratur." Irene hastened home and consulted Raymond, who imme- diately threw down his pencil, and listened with interest, whiledshe, with touching pathos, described the scene she had just witnessed. "I will go to the proper authority, and have the man sent to the Penitentiary." Raymond hastened away--paid the rent, and sent off the drunken husband. Then he took Mrs. McGinnis in a carriage to the Asylum, and so successfully pleaded for the loving, erring mother, that her baby was restored to her. DOING GOOD. 301 The day was waning before all this was accomplished. When they returned, Mrs. McGinnis was greatly surprised to find her former dirty, forlorn room, now in perfect order. Maria, with the aid of a strong woman, had given the room a thorough cleansing. Mrs. Raymond had purchased a bed- spread, and a few other articles, which gave quite a tidy air to the apartment. The poor creature, completely overcome by the-kindness shown to her in her hour of extremest need, followed up by these substantial acts of charity, fell on her knees and poured forth a volley of thanks to Raymond, and blessings on his angel wife. , % ! - , . . page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 R L I T r. CHAPTER XXXIX. AN ABLE ASSISTANT. WHEN Raymond returned home, Irene was waiting for him in the office. He told her the result of his day's work, and added- ( But, my own work, meantime, has been set aside, and I am quite hurried just now."' "I have been trying my unpractised hand," said Irene, col- oring, and hesitating, as she exhibited a copy of a building in perspective, the rough draught of which he had left on the table. "Very neatly done!. Beautifully done! Why, my dear, I didn't know you had a decided talent for drawing." "At school, the drawing-master. flattered me with the assurance that I' was one of his best scholars; but it is so long since I have attempted anything of the kind, I was fearful of failure." "Indeed, it is surprising!" continued Raymond, lighting the gas, and then examining it more closely. "I have some leisure hours every day. Will you allow me to assist you?" asked Irene, in a subdued tone. "Thank you if it will not interfere with your domestic AN ABLE ASSISTANT. 303 duties. It will save me the trouble and expense of having a young man in my office. I was thinking, only a few days since, my increased business would render some assistance .in drawing necessary. Have you dined, Irene ." "No. I waited for you. Besides, I have been constantly occupied myself. I will order dinner, immediately." Raymond continued to examine the drawing after Irene left. He was greatly pleased with it, but more with the kind feel- ing which prompted it, and, gratefully acknowledged that he had one of the best wives in the world. And, yet, he had resolved to be master in his own house, and to bring that best of wives under lawful subjection, as the surest means of con- jagal happiness to both husband and wife. From this time, Irene so systematized her domestic affairs, as to have two or three hours every day for drawing. A spice of pride mingled with her better feelings, when she found herself thus useful to her husband. In addition to the Larabees, Irene had now under her special charge Mrs. McGinnis and the "babby ;" and all the 'time she could spare for the poor was devoted to them. She believed firmly in the usefulness of societies, and gave daily proof of the usefulness of individual effort. Mr. McGinnis had been in early life a sailor. Mr. Ray- mond induced him to try the sea again, and he willingly shipped for a long voyage. The baneful bottle was now ban- ished from the abode of Mrs. McGinnis, and her " childer" were restored to her. Maria Larabee's health was failing under the immense efforts she was making to support herself and her younger A i . page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304 REALITY. children. The snow lay deep on the old wood-shed, and it pained the kind heart of Irene, as she saw, from her dining- room window, the poor girl, shivering and trembling, exposed to the keen, benumbing cold of mid-winter. ' Irene set herself about devising a less trying ^occupation. Maria could do plain sewing, but where was it to be procured . Besides, it was not as profitable as washing, and much of her time being occupied with the care of the children, she could devote only a part of it to that employment. Irene consulted her wise young husband. "This is fortunate, or more reverentially, I should say, provi- dential. I am just Adrawing the plan of a house for a man who has a large clothing establishment. I can ask him for work for-Maria," he replied, with alacrity. "Yes, and I have just thought, McGinnis can cook for, the Larrabees at the same time she does for herself. She can take Maria's washing, and it will help her.. Oh, that will be a nice arrangement," exclaimed Irene, rubbing her hands with keen delight. Thus; where there's a will to help the poor, Providence opens the way. Maria was soon furnished with an abundant supply of plain sewing, for which Raymond saw that she was well paid. Then Irene learned to fold books, and taught Maria, and this employment was more profitable than coarse needle-work. Maggie no longer went to the wood-yard, yet there. was an abundant supply of fuel for the stove. Tom soon learned to assist Maria in folding books, and Mr. Raymond found 'him useful in shoeelling snow, running * AN ABLE ASSISTANT. 805 errands, and in various other ways which Raymond's inge- nuity devised. Mrs. McGinnis was steady and industrious. By aiding each other, the two families succeeded in getting along, as Mrs. McGinnis said, "in the natest,prettiest way-guite as well as they had in dear auld Ireland. ^ , ^ page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 80 o RE ALITY. CHAPTER XL. SHADOWS VANISH. MR. MALLORY, flattered by the admiration his beautiful wife excited, now exhibited her at the theatre, opera, balls, con- certs--everywhere she became noticeable as the "elegant Mrs. Mallory." A host of acquaintances were formed, and invita- tions crowded upon her, from the elite of the fashionable world. At first, Susan cared little for admiration, but vanity thrives on this fragrant incense, and soon it became delicious to her perverted taste. Home had no charms for her. Mr. Mallory gave himself up to his old companions, and left it for his mother to chaperone his young wife, and after a while, Susan was perfectly willing to go alone. She had neither strength of mind, nor of principle, to resist the strong current which was carrying her onward to the inevitable'whirlpool of fash- ionable dissipation. Before the close of the winter, scarcely a night passed without finding Mr. Mallory at the club. While his carriage waited to convey him home, in a state of almost brutal intoxication, Mrs. Mallory's was drawn up before some gay house, from which she departed at a late hour. Mrs. Raymond now seldom saw her quondam friend, and Mr. Mallory now cautiously avoided Raymond, who, finding , SHADOWS VANISH. 8 307 his well-meant efforts unsuccessful, reluctantly gave up the benevolent purpose of winning these young people to a rational Christian life. Such a life is possible, even amid the multitudinous tempta- tions of the "obstreperous city." Foreigners accuse us of not knowing how to render domestic life agreeable. The English, especially, boast of their home-comfort, as though they-were the only people on earth who, thoroughly knew how to enjoy -it. It is to be hoped they are mistaken; that at least some few among the many householders in our land, know how to gather about them the agreeabilities, and without narrowing don their interests entirely to the home- circle, find it the favorite, beloved sphere for happiness and usefulness. It most assuredly became such to Raymond and Irene. And yet there was a skeleton in the house-a haunting skele-, ton, ever coming between them and perfect peace. In a thousand ways 'it presented itself-the stern, irrevocable Past- with its awful mysteries. Irene's sensibility became so acute, that the most remote associations would bring it before her mind, and the strangest, most improbable circumstances were conjured up by her fertile imagination. She'thus acquired a habit of abstraction, which rendered her, at times, far from pleasing, as a fireside companion. Though Raymond suspected the cause of these frequent fits of abstraction, 1he made no allusion to it, but kindly endeavored to win her from sad thoughts. - One pleasant day in April, Mr. Dinsmore called for Irene, page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 REALITY. to take a drive with him to the hospital for disabled seamen, where he had some special business to transact. It was Irene's first visit to the hospital. Mr. Dinslnore showed her into the Governor's room, a neatly-furnished parlor, and said, "he would call the Gov- ernor." Soon after the Governor himself, our old friend Tom Nicklin, came limping in, and made his best sailor's bow, by touching a shining tarpaulin, ornamented with a broad, black ribbon hanging over-one eye. "Glad to see you in, my snug harbor, Mrs. Raymond." "Thank you,. Governor." "Yes, you've guessed right; I am the Governor here. Mr. Dinsmore told me you was the wife of George Raymond, and I must come and entertain you. Well, I'm glad the boy is married. I take a mighty interest in him, and have ever since that awful night, when his poor mother was buried, tho? I did'nt see him for twenty years.' Often and often I thought about him, and wondered whether he was still among the living, and whether some kind body had picked him up and cared for him, in the place where the captain left him. "Where was that, Mr. Nicklin ." inquired Irene, scarcely able to command her voice, from extreme agitation. "At Decoven. Have you never hearn tell of the poor lady's death and burial P' "Never." "Well, I suppose it is a mighty painful thing for the poor lad to talk about, but as you are his lawful wife you have a right to know all about it." . * . SHADOWS VANISH. 809 Irene nodded assent, in spite of a twinge of conscience. The old man gave free rein to his garrulity, and told the sad story, from the time of the poor lady's coming on. board the Eliza Jane, Captain Driggs, till the shipwreck on the Jersey coast. Mr. Dinsmore just then came in, and-the sailor ceased. Irene. was ghastly pale; it was only because Mr. Dinsmore and the Governor were earnestly engaged about some import- ant business affair, that they did not notice her extreme agi- tation. She partially recovered her- self-possession before entering, the carriage, but Mr. Dinsmore had a silent companion all the way home, and although his conversation, at another time, might have been deemed interesting, he had now an abstracted listener. Raymond was alone in his office. He was seated at his table, drawing. Irene went directly to him, and kneeling beside him, threw her arms around his neck, and laying her head on his bosom wept, not bitterly,'not remorsefully, but with tears of wholesome penitence. . "What toubles you, darling?" "Dear George, I know all. How generously, how nobly, you have aqted towards me, how suspicious, how unkind, how mean, I have been! Can you forgive me " "I don't understand you, Irene." "Nicklin!" It was enough. The garrulous old sailor had revealed the sad facts which Raymond had so carefully, so generously con- ' at page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310 It E ALI T Y. cealed from his wife, whom he had married for herself, disre- garding those antecedents. : "Banish from your rmind the mournful past," said Raymond, tenderly. "The inscrutable dealings of God's Providence have been overruled for good to us--we are' all in all to each other new, with no shadow between us, and henceforth let our motto be "'Act, act in the living present, Heart within, and God o'erhead.'" Mrs. Mallory fell a victim to the pride and folly of her husband. She did not survive the dissipation of a single winter. The early roses of Hazlehill shed their delicate leaves over her untimely grave.
