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Wliat ii dcli^ilitfiil scliiiol Mo* eo):le, tVir her efforts in their beliaU." THK CANADIAN NFAVS AND PUBLISHING CO. riililislifis, Toronto. PINK AM) W II 1TB TYRAXXY. ^ ,^ocictu ^ilovcl »Y MRS. HARRlI/r 15KKAHKR SToWi:. >.CriIi)H OK " I XCLK iUMV i:AI!I\," " iMlK MINISTKIl's WJi'lNH," Klf. KV: ' CiMiie, then, the oi>li)r> ami Ih'j ;.;ri>tnui iirc'inwe : Dip ill Uic rainbow, trick lior uff in air ; t'liuosL' a liriii clipiiil before it fail, uiul in it Catch, ore the clian^fe, the < 'yiitliia of tliis ini.uite." i'0!K. MEMORIAL 'I'ORON'IXJ : THE CANADIAN NEWS AND PIT.LlSHIN(i CO. 1871. . N PKEFACIv "iy ,f~\' DiAK R.F,Ai>KR,— 'I'his stor)- is not to he a novel, as the '^ world understands the word ; and we tell you so heforehand, lest you he in ill-humor hy not finding what you expected. For if you have heen told that your dinner is to he salmon and green peas, and made up your mind to that hill of fare, and then, on coming to the tahle, find that it is beefsteak and tomatoes, you may he out of sorts ; fio^ because beefsteak and tomatoes are not resi)ectable viands, but because they are not what you have made up your mind to enjoy. Now, a novel, in our days, is a three-story affair, a complicated, complex, multiform composition, recjuiring no end of scenery and dramatis pcrsoNce, and plot and plan, together with trap-doors, pit- falls, wonderful escapes and thrilling dangers ; and the scenes trans- port one all over the earth, — to England, Italy, Switzerland, Japan, and Kamtschatka. But this is a little commonplace history, all about one man and one woman, living straight along in one little prosaic town in New England. It is, moreover, a story with a moral ; and for fear that you shouldn't find out exactly what the moral is, we shall adopt the i)]an of the painter who wrote under his pictures, " This is a bear," and " This is a turtle-dove." V\'e shall tell you in the proper time succinctly what the moral is, and send you off edified as if you had been hearing a sermon. So please to call this little sketch a parable, and wait for the exposition thereof. /? ^^ z^ 4- ^ "^ I r {) \ r i N IS fi 1. I'm. I i\i; IN I.ovK y II. W'llAI SHI I'lllNKS Ol II 17 1 1 1. Till, Sim ],K ,, I v. I'kii'Ai; \ ri()\ lOK M Ai'.Ki.\(;i, 27 v. Wl DIUNC, AM) W'l.DDINC Ikli' ^(j \ I. Il()\IA-\Ii/(iN. A\|) Al ll.K iQ \'l i. Will -'.Ml, I \Kl n ? ^(y VIII. Si'i\iil,i;\\()')i) - , '-• -^ ^"--^ '::::: 57 .\. (, IIAXCI'S 5 , \1. XiAVPoRi' ; Oil. I in; i'AKAinsi (.!• Ndi mini; 10 IK) 67 .XII. Mo.MI. A l.A I'oMI'ADoCK 7. .\II!. JOHNS HiRiiiDw ,So Xl\'. .\ (Iki'ai Mok.m, Com i. hi .s^ XV. 'riii'. I''oi,i.i\(.si;kks auki\|': g, X\'I. Mks. Joiix Si:\.MorK"s ['aria, and wiiai cami: <»' 11 10_' XAII. AiTi.R ril!. r.AllIK ,|Q XVJU. .\ I'.KIl K il.RN.s n- ,,<^ XL\. Tiii, ('as I'm: ok I ndoi. i:\ti-: i^- XX. Till- \'a\ .Vsi R A', HANS .... ,.. XXJ. .Mrs. !-'oi.i.iX(;si!r.!;'.^ I'ar ia . ani> w ha i cami: ok i r i ^8 XXII. Thk .Si'IIm;k-\\ I'.i! i;RoKi:N , ,^j XXIII. Co.M.MoN-Sl-.NSI. .\R(;L'.M1 N |s .rn '^,) XXI\'. SKxriMKxr .-. .Srxsiiiii.riA ,-, XX\'. W'iwjdinc Hi:i,i,s j-^ XXVI. MoM!i:RH(-poi) j-y XXVII. CfIKC KMA I K ... ,5^ XXVIII. Akikk iin: .Sior.m ^^^ XXIX. Thi: X;a\ Lii.i.n: i^. » i « I PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. CHAPTKR I. u FAhllNd IS' LOVE. WHO /v that beautiful (Tt'atnrc ?" said John Seymour, as a Htjht. sylph-Hkeforni tripped uj) the steps of the verandah of the hotel where lie was lounginj^ away his summer vacation. •'That! Why, don't you know, man? That is the celebrated, the divine Lillie Ellis, the most adroit 'fisher of men' that has i)een seen in our davs." •' l^y (leorge, but she's pretty, thouj^h 1' said John, following with enchanted eyes the distant motions of the sylphide. The vision that he saw was of a delicate little fairy form ; a com- plexion of pearly white, with a cheek of the hue of a pink shell ; a fair, sweet, infantine face, surrounded by a fleecy radiance of soft golden hair. The vision appeared to float in some white gauzy robes ; and, when she spoke or smiled, what an innocent, fresh, untouched, ims|joiled look there was upon her face ! John gazed, and thought of all sorts of poetical similes : of a " daisy just wet with morning dew ;■' of a " violet by a mossy stone ;" in short, of all the things that poets have made and provided for the use of young gentlemen in the way of falling in love. This John Seymour was about as good and honest a man as there is going in this world of ours. He was a genenms, just, manly, religious young fellow ; he was heir to a large, solid property ; he was a well-read lawyer, established in a flourishing business ; he was a man that all the world spoke well of. 'J'he only duty to society which John had left as yet unjjerformed was that of matrimony. Three and thirty years had passed ; and, with every advantage for stipporting a wife, with a charming home all ready for a mistress, John, as yet, had not proposed to be the defender and provider for any of the more helpless portion of creation, The cause of this was, in the first place, that J ohn was very happy in the society of a sister, a little older than himself, who managed his house admirably, and was a charming companion to his leisure hours ; and, in the second 10 /7.VA' .i.\7> wiiiTi: Tvn \x\y. I I' I I place, th.it he had a secret, h.ishliil ^eUdeprcciatioii in regard t(» his power of |»leasiiig women, which made him ill at ease in their society. Not that he (Ud not iiKan to marry, lie (ert.iinly did. lUit the fair i)ein;.( that he was to marry was a distant idi'al. a certain unde- fmed and (loud-like creature; and, u|) to this tinu', he had been waitinj^' to meet her, without takinj; any dehnite steps towards that end. To say the truth. John Seymour, like many other (jutwardly st)lid, sober minded, respectable ( iti/.ens, had deep within himself a little private bit of romance. He » ould not utter it, he ne\er talked it ; he would have blushed and stammered and stuttered wolully. and made a verj poor figure, in trying to tell any one about it ; but, nevertheless it was there, a se( hided ( hamber of imagery, and the future Mrs. John Seymour formed its principal ornament. The wife that John had imaged, his ut, with the visionary Mrs. Jcjhn Seymour aforesaid, he never seemed to himself to be either reading history or settling accounts, or talking politics ; he was off with her in some sort of enchanted cloudkind of happiness, where she was all to him, and he to her, a sort of rapture oi ]jrotective love on one side, and of confiding devotion on the other, (piite ine.xj^ressible, and that John would not have talked of for the world. So when he saw this distant vision of airy gauzes, of pearly white- ness, of sea-shell pink, of infantine smiles, and waving, golden curls, he stood uj) with a shy desire to ap])roach the wonderful creature, and yet with a sort of embarrassed feeling of being very awkward and clumsy. He felt, somehow, as if he were a great, coarse, behe- moth ; his arms seemed to him awkward appendages ; his hand.s sudden l\- appeared to him rough, and his fuigers swelled and stumpy. When hethiOught of asking an introduction, he felt himself growing very hot, and blushing to the roots of his hair. "Want to be introduced to her, Seymour?" said Carryl Kthridge. "I'll trot you uj). 1 know her.'' " No, thank you.'' said John, slittl). In his heart he felt an absurd anger at C'arryl tor the easy, assured way in which he spoke of the sacred creature who seemed to him something too divine to be lightly talked of. Ind then he saw Carryl marching up to her with his air of easy assurance. He saw ihe bewitching smile come over that fair, llowery face ; he saw Carryl, with unabashed famili- arity, take her fan out of her Jiand, look at it as if it were a mere common, earthly fan, toss it about, and pretend to fan himself w ith it. "11 re^'ard in his -' in tlit.irs()(ict\-. >• (lid. Hilt the '• 'Iht outwardly ^^ithin hinisfir.'i lie never talked littered wolully. ■ about it ; I, lit. lagery, and the cnt. > not at all like loiight her one irnest, resjjcct- '-"Klish history ^ politics with K'h as any man [ohn Seymour ling history or 1 lier in some vas all to him, one side, and 'l^le, and that ■ jJearly white- golden curls, rful creature, '■ery awkward coarse, behe- ' ; his hands and stumpy. iself growing ryl Kthridge. lie felt an •h he sjjoke oo divine to i up to her smile come shed famili- 'ere a mere tan himself # FAf T.is'n IS' i.ovh:. 11 " 1 didn't know he was sut h a puppy '■' said John to himself, as he stood in a sort of angry bashfulness, envying the man that was so familiar with that lo\eliness. All '. John, John I You wouldn't for the world have told to man or woman what a fool you wi-re at that moment. '* What a fool I am .'"' was his mental commentary : "just as if it was anything to me." And he turned atid walked to the other end of the \eranda. '• 1 think you've hooked another fish, Lillie, " said Helle Trevurs, in the ear of the little divinity. "Who ?" "Why! that .Seymour there, at the end of the veranda. He is looking at you. do you know? He is rich. vi;ry rich, ;uul of an old family. Didn't you see how he started and looked after you when you came \\\) on the veranda?" "Oh ! 1 saw him plain enough," said the divinity, with one of her unconscicnis, baby like smiles. " What are you ladies talking ? ' said Carry! Kthridge. " Oh, secrets !"' said iJelle 'I'revors. "You are very i)resimiing, sir, to in(|uire." " Mr. I'Uhridge," said Lillie Klli.s, "don't you think it would be nice to j)romenade?" This was said with such a i)retty coolness, such a (|uiet composure as showed Miss I.illie to be (|uile mistress of the situation ; there was, of course, no sort of design in it. Kthridge offered his arm at once ; and the two sauntered to the end of the veranda, where ]ohn Seymour was standing. '{'he blood rushed in hot currents over him, and he could hear the beating of his heart : he telt somehow as if the hour of his tate was coming. He had a wild desire to retreat, and put it off. He looked over the end of the veranda, with some vague itlea of leaping it ; but, alas ! it was ten feet above ground, and a lover's leap would have only ticketed him as f)ut of his head. There was nothing for it but to meet his destiny like a man. Carryl came up with the lady on his arm ; and as he stood there for a moment, in the coolest, most indifferent tone in the world, said, "Oh! by the by, Miss l^Uis, let me present my friend, Mr. Seymour.'' The die was cast. John's face burned like fire ; he muttered sometliing about "being ha])[)y to make Miss l'".llis's ac(|uaiiitance," looking all the time as if lie would be glad to jump over the railing, ox take wings and fly, to get rid of the happiness. Miss Isllis was a belle by ])rofessIon, and she understood her busi- ness perfectly, In nc.itliing did she show herself master of her craft, more than in the adroitness with which she could sooth the bashful pangs f.f new votaries, and place them on an easy footing # ^>^ IS PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. l\ '' Mr, Seymour.' she said affably, " to tell the truth, I have been desirous of the honour of your accjuaintance, ever since I saw you in the breakfast-room this morning.'' " I am sure I am very much flattered,' said John, his heart beat- ing thick and fast. " May I ask why you honored me with such a wisli ?" " Well, to tell the truth, because you strikingly resemble a very dear friend of mine," said Miss Ellis, with her sweet, unconscious simplicity of manner. " I am still more flattered," said John, with a quicker beating of the heart ; " only 1 fear that you may find me an unpleasant con- trast." " Oh ! I think not," said Lillie, with another smile : " we .shall soon ])e good friends, too, I trust." " I trust so certainly," said John, earnestly. Belle Trevors now joined the party, and the four were soon chat- ting together on the best footing of accjuaintance. John was delight- ed to feel himself already on easy terms with the fair vision. " You have not been here long ?" said I.illie to John. " No, I have only just arrived." "And you were never here before?" " No, Miss Ellis, I am entirely new to the place." " I am an old habitude here," said Lillie, " and can recommend myself as authority on all points connected with it." *' Then," said John, " I hope you will take me under your tuition." " Certainly, free of charge," she said, with .another ravishing fsmile. "You haven't seen the boiling spring yet?" she added. " No, I haven't seen anything yet," *' Well, then, if you'll give me your arm across the lawn, I'll show it to you," All this was done in the easiest, most matter-of-course manner in the world ; and off they started, John in a flutter of flattered delight at the gracious acceptance accorded him, . Ethridge and Belle Trevors looked after them with a nod of intel- ligence at each other. " Hooked, by George !" said Ethridge, •' Well, it'll be a good thing for Lillie, won't it ?" '* For her? Oh, yes, a capital thing yiv her r " Well, for him, too." "Well, I don't know. John is a pretty nice tellow ; a very nice fellow, besides being rich, and all that ; and Lillie is somewhat shop- worn by this time. Let me see : she must be seven and twenty," i " Oh, yes, she's all that !" said Belle, with ingenious ardor, "Why, she was in society while I was a school-girl ! Yes, dear Lillie is cer- tainly twenty-seven, if not more ; but she keeps her freshness won- derfully.' I . ^^ FALLIXG IN LOVE. 13 I have been -e I saw you is heart beat- 2 with such a mble a very unconscious r beating of jleasant con- ve shall soon e soon chat- was dehght- on. recommend 3ur tuition." 1" ravishing n, I'll show manner in *ed delight )d of intel- . very nice ^'hat shop- venty." , ■• '.'Why, . Hie is cer- ness won- *' Well, she looks fresh enough, I suppose, to a good, honest, art- less fellow like John Seymour, who knows as little of the world as a milkmaid. John is a great, innocent, country steer, fed on clover and dew ; and as honest and ignorant of all sorts of naughty, wicked things as his mother or sister. He takes Lillie in a sacred simplicity quite refreshing ; but to me Lillie is played out. I know her like a book. I know all her smiles and wiles, advices and devices ; and her system of tactics is an old story with me. I shan't interrupt any of her little games. Let her have her little field all to herself : it's time she was married, to be sure." Meanwhile, John was being charmingly ciceroned by Lillie, and scarcely knew whether he was in the body or out. All that he felt, and felt with a sort of wonder, was that he seemed to be acceptable and pleasing in the eyes of this little fairy, and that she was leading him into wonderland. They went not only to the boiling spring, but up and down so many wild woodland paths that had been cut for the adornment of the Carmel Springs, and so well pleased were both parties, that it was supper-time before they reappeared on the lawn ; and when they did appear, I^illie was leaning confidentially on John's arm, with a ^vreath of woodbine in her hair that he had arranged there, wondering all the while at his own wonderful boldness, and at the grace of the fair entertainer. The returning couple were seen from the windows of Mrs. Chit, who sat on the lookout for useful information ; and who forthwith ran to the apartments of Mrs Chat, and told her to look out at them. Billy This, who was smoking his cigar on the verandah, immedi- ately ran and called Harry That to look at them, and laid a bet at once that Lillie had " hooked '' Seymour. " She'll have him, by (icorge, she will !" " Oh, p.shaw ! she is always hooking fellows, but you see she don't get married," said matter-of-fact Harry. " It won't come to any thing, now, I'll bet. Everybody said she was engaged to Danforth, but it all ended in smoke. Whether it would be an engagement, or would all end in smoke, was the talk of Carmel Springs for the next two weeks. At the end of that time, the mind of Carmel Springs was relieved by the announcement that it was an engagement. The important deciding announcement was first authentically made by Lillie to Belle Trevors, who had been invited into her room that night fo'* the purpose. *' Well, Belle, it's all over. He spoke out to night." "He offered himself?" '• Certainly." *' And you took him." "Of course I did : 1 should be a fool not to." --». ■■■*'*a^-.- ■■ ^ \. S 4» * ~ «.■* * yii^ 14 PINK .iND WHITE TYRANNY. " Oh, so I think, decidedly !" said Belle, kissing her friend in a rapture. " You dear creature ! how nice ! it's splendid !" Lillie took the embrace with her usual sweet composure, and turned to her looking-glass, and began taking down her hair for the night. It will be perceived that this young lady was not overcome with emotion, but in a perfectly collected state of mind. " He's a little bald and getting rather stout," she said reflectively, '• but he'll do." " I never saw a creature so dead in love as he is," said Belle. A quiet smile passed over the soft, peach-blow cheeks, as I^illie answered, — " Oh, dear, yes I He perfectly worships the ground I tread on." " Lil, you fortunate creature, you I Positively it's the best match that there has been about here this summer. He's rich, of an old, respectable family ; and then he has got good principles, you know, and all that," said Belle. " I think he's nice myself," said Lillie, as she stood brushing out a golden tangle of curls. " Dear me !" she added, " how much better he is than that Danforth ! Really ! Danforth was a little too horrid ; his teeth were dreadful. Do you know, I should have had something of a struggle to take him, though he was so terribly rich ? Then Danforth had been horribly dissipated — you dont know — Maria San- ford told me such shocking things about him, and she knows they are true. Now, I don't think John has ever been dissipated." " Oh, no !" said Belle. " I heard all about him. He joined the church when he was only twenty, and has been always spoken of as a perfect model. I only think you may find it a little slow, living in Springdale. He has a fine, large, old-fashioned house there, and his sister is a very nice woman ; but they are a sort of respectable, retired set — never go into fashionable company." " Oh, I don't mind it I" said Lillie. " I shall have things my own way, I know. One isn't obliged to live in Springdale, nor with pokey old sisters, you know ; and John will do just as I say, and live where I please." She said this with her simple, soft air of perfect assurance, twisting her shower of bright, golden curls ; with her gentle, childlike face, and soft, beseeching blue eyes, and dimpling little mouth, looking back on her, out of the mirror. By these the little queen had always ruled from her cradle, and should she not rule now ? Was it any won- der that John was half out of his wits with joy at the thought of pos- sessing //^v ? Simply and honestly, she thought not. He was to be congratulated ; though it wasn't a bad thing for her, either. " Belle," said Lillio, after an interval of reflection, " I wont be n'lar- ried in white satin — that I'm resolved on. Now," she said, facing round with great earnestness, " there have been five weddings in our set, and all the girls have been married in just the same dress— white satin and point lace, over and over, till I'm tired of it. Fm deter- termined I'll have something new." •I % FALLING IN LOVE. 15 ;r friend in a !" nposure, and sr hair for the not overconie I reflectively, id Belle. ;ks, as Lillie 1 tread on." e best match 1, of an old, s, you know, ■ushing out a much better i too horrid ; id something •ich? Then —Maria San- knows they ated." 2 joined the poken of as 3w, living in ere, and his able, retired ngs my own e, nor with I say, and 'ce, twisting ildlike face, ith, looking had always it any won- ght of pos- : was to be )nt be n^ar- lid, facing ngs in our sss — white /'/// deter- " Well, I would, I'm sure," said Helle. " Say white luUe, for instance : you know you are so/f///<' and f^iiry-like." " No ; I 'hall write out to Madame La Roche, and tell her she must get up something wholly original. I shall send for my whole trousseau. Papa will be glad enough to come down, since he gets me off his hands, and no more fuss about bills, you know. Do you know, Helle, that creature is just wild about me ; he'd like to ran- sack all the jeweller's shops in New York for me. He's going up to-morrow, just to choose the engagement ring. He says he can't trust to an order ; that he must go and choose one worthy of me.'" "Oh ! it's plain enough that that game is all in your hands, as to him, Lillie ; but, Lil, what will your cousin Harry say to all this?' " Well, of course he won't like it ; but I can't help it if he don't. Harry ought to know that it's all nonsense for him and me to think of marrying. He does know it." " To tell the truth, I always thought, Lil, you were more in love with Harry than anybody you ever knew." Lillie laughed a little, and then the prjpttiest sweet-pea flush deep- ened the pink of her cheeks. " To say the truth. Belle, I could have been, if he had been in cir- cumstances to marry. But, you see, I am one of those to whom the luxuries are essential. I never could rub, and scrub, and work ; in fact, I had rather not live at all than live poor ; and Harry is poor, and he always will be poor. It's a pity, too, poor fellow, for he's nice. Well, he is off in India 1 I know he will be tragical and gloomy, and all that," .she said ; and then the soft child-like face smiled to itself in the glass — such a pretty little innocent smile 1 All this while, John sat up with his heart beating very fast, writing all about his engagement to his sister, and, up to this point, his near- est, dearest, most confidential friend. It is almost too bad to copy the letter of a shy man who finds himself in love for the first time in his life ; but we venture to make an extract : — •• ii i^ not her beauty merely that draws me to her, though she is the must beautiful human being I ever saw ; it is the exciuisite femi- iiiiie softness and delicacy of her character, that sympathetic pliability Ijy which .she adai)ts herself to every varying feeling of the heart* You my dear sister, are the noblest of women, and your place in my heart is still wiiat it always was ; but I feel that this dear little crea- ture, while she fills a place no other has ever entered, will yet be a new bond to unite us. She will love us both ; she will gradually come into all our ways and opinions, and be insensibly formed by us into a noble womanhood. Her extreme beauty, and the great admi- ration that has always followed her, have exposed her to many temp- tations, and caused most ungenerous things to be said of her. ■' Hitherto she has lived only in the fashionable world ; and her literary and domestic education, as she herself is sensible, has been somewhat neglected. . ••' -^' »*--,'SI«w<.'»^»^"^-*'-*-*'^ . _^. .-:a*tti>-,-":'""^-~-J '^ ^^ 16 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. 'i i i " But she longs to retire from all this ; she is sick of fashionable folly, and will come to us to be all our own. Gradually the charm- ing circle of cultivated families which form our society will elevate her taste, and form her mind. Love is woman's inspiration, and love will lead her to all that is noble and good. My dear sister, think not that any new ties are going to make you any less to me, or touch your place in my heart. I have already spoken of you to Lillie, and she longs to know you. You must be to her what yoi; have always been to me, — guide, phil- osopher, and Yriend. " I am sure I never felt better impulse, more humble, more thank- ful, more religious, than I do now. That the happiness of this soft, gentle, fragile creature is to be henceforth in my hands is to me^ solemn and inspiring thought. What man is worthy of a refined, delicate woman ? I feel my unworthiness of her every hour ; but, so help me God, I shall try to be all to her that a husband should ; and you, my sister, I know, will help me to make happy the future which she so confidently trusts to me. " Believe me, dear sister, I never was so much your affectionate brother, John Seymour. I '* P. S. — I forgot to tell you that Lillie remarkably resembles the ivory miniature of our dear sainted mother. She was very much affected when I told her of it. I think naturally Lillie has very much such a character as our mother ; though circumstances, in her case, have been unfavourable to the development of it." h ^ fl I ! ^ Whether the charming vision was realised ; whether the little sove- reign now enthroned will be a just and clement one ; what immuni- ties and privileges she will allow to her slaves, — is yet to be seen in this story. I \s ..y .^^ of fashionable lly the charm- ety will elevate r to all that is ly new ties are 'e in my heart. 5 to know you. , —guide, phil- e, more thank- is of this soft, nds is to me^ of a refined, ry hour ; but, band should ; ipy the future r affectionate fN Seymour. esembles the 5 very much lie has very mces, in her le little sove- hat immuni- 3 be seen in CHAPTER II. WffAT SHE THINKS OF IT. . SPRING!) ALE was one of those beautiful rural towns whose flourishing aspect is a striking exponent of the peculiarities of New England life. The ride through it presents a refreshing picture of wide, cool, grassy streets, overhung with green arches of elm, with rows of large handsome houses on either side, each standing back from the street, in its own retired square of gardens, green turf, shady trees, and flowering shrubs. It was, so to speak, a little city of country-seats. It spoke of wealth, thrift, leisure cultivation, quiet, thoughtful habits, and moral tastes. Some of these mansions were of ancestral reputation, and had been in the family whose name they bore for generations back ; a circumstance sometimes occurring even in New England towns where neither law nor custom unites to perpetuate property in certain family lines. The Seymour house was a well-known, respected mansion for generations back. Old Judge Seymour, the grandfather, was the lineal descendant of Parson Seymour ; the pastor who first came with the little colony of Springdale, when it was founded as a church in the wilderness, amid all the dangers of wild beasts and Indians. This present Seymour mansion was founded on the spot where the house of the first minister was built by the active hands of his parish- ioners ; and from generation to generation, order, piety, education, and high respectability had been the tradition of the place. The reader will come in with us, on this bright June morning, through the grassy front yard, which has only the New-England fault of being too densely shaded. The house we enter has a wide, cool hall running through its centre and out into a back garden, now all aglow with every beauty of June. The broad alleys at the garden showed bright stores of all sorts of good old-fashioned flowers, well tended and kept. Clumps of stately hollyhocks and scarlet peonies ; roses of every hue, purple, blush, gold-color, and white, were shower- ing down their leaves on the grassy turf; honeysuckles climbed and clambered over arbors ; and great stately tufts of virgin white lillies exalted their majestic heads in saintly magnificence. The garden '\^.:. ^SP*^-'" "•-■»« .ji. .,_.. „«*S,W-- ^ „^. I ! Hi !L I i i i: 18 J'ljVh' AND WHITE TYRANNY. was Miss (Iracc Seymour's delight and i)ride. F>ery root in it was fragrant with the invisible blossoms of memory,- -memories of the mother who loved, and planted and watched them before her, and the grandfather who had cared for them before that. The spirit of these charming old-fashioned gardens is the spirit of family love ; and if ever blessed souls from their better home feel drawn back to any- thing on earth, we think it must be to their flower-garden. Miss Cirace had been up early, and now, with her garden hat on, and scissors in hand, was coming up the steps with her apron full of roses, white lillies, meadow-sweets, and honey-suckle, for the parlor vases, when the servant handed her a letter. " From John," she said, "good fellow ;" and then she laid it on the mantel-shelf of the parlor, while she busied herself in arranging her flowers. Y% " 1 must get these into water or they will wilt,'' she said. The large parlor was like many that you and I have seen in a cer- tain respectable class ot houses, — wide, cool, shady, and with a mel- low old tone to everything in its furniture and belongings. It was a parlor of the past, and not of to-day, yet exquisitely neat and well kept. The Turkey-carpet was faded ; it had been part of the wed- ding furnishing of Grace's mother, years ago. The great, wide, motherly, chintz-covered sofa, which filled a recess commanding the window, was as different as possible from any smart wooden article of the name. The heavy, claw-footed, mahogany chairs , the tall clock that ticked in one corner ; the footstools and ottomans in faded embroidery, all spoke of days past. So did the portraits on the wall. One was of a fair, rosy young girl, in a white gow^n, with powdered hair dressed high over a cushion. It was the portrait of Grace's mother. Another was that of a minister in gown and bands, with black-silk gloved hands holding up conspicuously a large Bible. This was the remote ancestor, the minister. Then there was the picture of John's father, placed lovingly where the eyes seemed always to be following the slight, white-robed figure of the young wife. The walls were papered with an old fashioned paper of a peculiar pattern, bought in France seventy-five years before. The vases of India-china that adorned the mantels, the framed engravings of architecture and pictures in Rome, all were memorials of the taste of those long passed away. Yet the room had a fresh, sweet, sociable air. The roses and honeysuckles looked in at the windows ; the table covered with books and magazines, and the familiar work- basket of Miss (irace, with its work, gave a sort of impression of modern family household life. It was a wide, open, hospitable, generous-minded room, that seemed to breath a fragrance of invita- tion and general sociability ; it was a room full of associations and memories, and its daily arrangement and ornamentations made one of the pleasant tasks of Miss (irace's life. She spread down a newspaper on the large, square center-table, ■ -i.*-^*^'',L, ■ -/^-.0**''^^d.-»' ;/>«C.. g towards the ir lover." (irace, as she t, I ask noth- " said Letitia, piece, opened hed her face, g a letter, had an inter- lually a dark ovement she and covered that any one n her's, said, WffAT SUE rillNKS OF IT. 31 m a tone of er." •uld have ex- f any of the Lce. " John links he sees I," said Miss is the most i^eeping the my life with must make is house, so le must be n the room, o this emo- md put her seriously. 1 always be ■■m ■''M m 1 " No, he won't, — no married man ever is," said Miss (irace, wiping her eyes, and sitting up very straight. " No man, that is a gentle- man, is ever master in his own house. He has only such rights there as his wife chooses to give him ; and this woman won't like me, I'm sure." " Perhaps she will, " said Letitia, in a faltering voice. " No, she won't ; because 1 have no faculty for lying, or playing the hypocrite in any way, and 1 shan't api)rove of her. These soft, slippery, pretty little fibbing women have always been my abomina- tion." " Oh, my t/iirr (Irace !" said Miss Ferguson, " do let us make the best of it."' " I (/i(/ think," said Miss (irace, wiping her eyes, " that John had some sense. 1 wasn't such a fool, nor so selfish, as to want him al- ways to live for me. 1 wanted him to marry ; and if he had got en- gaged to your Rose, for instance () Letitia I I always did so /ii)/>(' that he and Rose would like each other." " We can't choose for our brothers," said Miss Letitia, " and, hard as it is, we must make up our minds to love those they bring to us. U'ho knows what good influences may do for poor Lillie Ellis ? She never has had any yet. Her family are extremely common sort of ]jeople, without any culture or breeding, and only her wonderful l)eauty brought them into notice ; and they have always used that as a sort of stock in trade." "And John says, in this letter, that she reminds him of our mo- ther," said Miss Cirace ; " and he thinks that naturally she was very much such a character. Just think of that, now !" "He must be far gone," said Miss Ferguson ; " but then, you see, she is distractingly pretty. She has just the most ex(|uisitely pearly, pure, delicate, saint-like look, at times, that you ever saw ; and then, she knows exactly how she does look, and just how to use her looks ; and John can't be blamed for believing in her. I, who know all about her, am sometimes taken in by her." " Well," said Miss Clrace, " Mrs. Lennox was at Newport last sum- mer at the time that she was there, and she told me all about her. I think her an artful, unscnipulous, unprincipled woman, and her be- ing made mistress of this house, just breaks up our pleasant sociable life here. She has no literary tastes ; she does not care for reading and study ; she won't like our set here, and she will gradually drive them from the house. She won't like me, and she will want to alien- ate John from me,- -so there is just the situation." " You may read that letter," added (Irace, wiping her eyes, and tossing her brother's letter into Miss Letitia's lap. Miss Letitia took the letter and read it. " (lood fellow !" she exclaimed warmly, "you see just what I say, — his heart is all with you." •' Oh, John's heart is all right enough !" said Miss (irace ; "and I don't doubt his love. He's the best, noblest, most affectionate fel- i 1 I y 22 /'LVh' AXff WiriTH TVhWNW. low in the world. I only think he reckons without his; host, in think- ing he can keep all (nir old relations unbroken, when he puts a new mistress into the house, and such a mistress."' " Hut if she really loves him'- " I'shaw I she don't. That kind of woman can't love. They are like cats, that want to be stroked and caressed, and to be petted, and to lie soft and warm ; and they will purr to any one that will pet them, — that's all. As for love that leads to any self-sacrifice, they don't begin to know anything about it." "(Iracie, dear," said Miss Ferguson, " this sort of thing will never do. If you meet your brother in this way you will throw him off, and, may be, make a fatal breach. Meet it like a good Christian, as you arc. You know," she said gently, " where we have a right to carry our troubles, and of whom we should ask guidance." " ( )h, I do know, 'Titia !" said Miss (Irace ; " but 1 am letting my- self be wicked just a little, you know, to relieve my mind. I ought to put myself to school to make the best of it ; but it came on me so 7voman ever got married?" It often hai)i)ens to such women to expend on some brother thai stock of hero-worship and devotion which it has not come in their way to give to a nearer friend. Alas ! it is iniilding on a sands- foundation ; for, just as the union of hearts is comjjlete, the chemical affinity which began in the cradle, and strengthens with every year of life, is dissolved by the introducti(jn of that third clement which makes of the brother a husband, while the new combination casts out the old, — sometimes with a disagreeable etiervescence. John and (irace Seymour were two only children of a very aftec- I 24 I'INK AN It WJIITN TVRASNV tionutf family ; and ihcy had grown u|) in the closest liahits of intimacy. They had written to ea( h other those long letters in which thoughtful people who live in retired situations delight : letters not of outward events, hut of sentiments and opinions, the |)hases of the inner life. They had studied and pursued courses of reading ta^e de/ois gms" if we don't eat it ? What is to become of us if we do, is entip^v a secondary question. ^ On the whole, there was not one jot nor tittle of the most exorbi- tant requirements of fashion that was not fulfilled on this occasion. W£DDL\(;, AXD WEDDJXG TRIP. 8T rt'est modem The house was a crush of wilting tlowcrs, and smelt of tuheroses enough to give one a vertigo for a month. A band of music brayed and clashed every minute ofthc time ; and a jam of i)c(ji)1c', in elegant dresses, shrieked to each other above the din, and several of Lillie's former admirers got tipsy in the supper-room. In short, nothing could be fmer ; and it was agreed, on all hands that it was "stunning." Accounts of it, and of all the bride's dresses, presents, and even wardrobe, went into the daily papers ; and thus was the charming Lillie Kllis made into Mrs. John Seymour. Then followed the approved wedding journey, the programme of which had been drawn up by Lillie herself, with ajrff blanche from John, and included every jjlace where a bride's new toilets could be seen in the most select fashionable circles. They went to Niagara and Trenton, they went to Newport and Saratoga, to the White Moun- tains and Montreal ; and Mrs. John Seymour was a meteor of fashion- able wonder and delight at all these places. Her dresses and her diamonds, her hats and her bonnets, were all wonderful to behold. The stir and excitement that she had created as simple Miss Ellis was nothing to the stir and excitement about Mrs. John Seymour. It was the mere grub compared with the full-blown butterfly, — the bud compared with the rose. AVherever she api^eared her old admirers flocked in her train. The unmarried girls were so to speak, nowhere. Marriage was a new lease of power and splendor, and she revelled in it like a humming-bird in the sunshine. And was John equally happy ? ^Vell, to say the truth, John's head was a little turned by the possession of this curious and manifold creature that fluttered and flapped her wings about the eyes and ears of his understanding, and appeared before him every day in some new device of the toilet, fair and fresh ; smiling and bewitching, kiss- ing and coaxing, laughing and crying, and in all ways bewildering him, the once sober-minded John, till he scarce knew whether he stood upon his head or his hsels. He knew that this sort of rattling, scatter-brained life must come to an end some-time. He knew there was a sober, serious life-work for him ; something that must try his mind and soul and strength, and that would, by and by, leave him neither time nor strength to be the mere wandering attache of a gay- bird, wh(i)se string he held in hand, and who now seemed to pull him hither and thither at her will. John thought of all these things at intervals ; and then, when he thought of the quiet, sober, respectable life at Springdale, of the good old staple families, with their steady ways, — of the girls in his neighbourhood with their reading societies, their sewing-circles for the poor, their book-clubs and art-unions for practice in various accom- plishments, — he thought, with apprehension, that there appeared not a spark of interest in his charmer's mind for anything in this direc- tion. She never had read anything, — knew nothing on all those subjects about which the women and young girls in his circle were HI if':/! T< ' .» f ( ■ '^ I'i! 'M ^jt.-i -jf-iBrni , I, !■ * 8> PyA^A' ^AV; IF/Z/rj? TYRANNY. interested ; while, in Springdale, there were none of the excitements which made her interested in life. He could not help perceiving that Lillie's five hundred particular friends were mostly of the other sex, and wondering whether he alone, when the matter should be reduced to that, could make up to her for all her retinue of slaves. Like most good boys who grow into good men, John had unlimit- ed faith in women. Whatever little defects and flaws they might have, still at heart he supposed they were all of the same substratum as his mother and sister. The moment a woman was married, he imagined that all the lovely domestic graces would spring up in her, no matter what may have been her disadvantages, merely because she was a woman. He had no doubt of the usual orthodox oak-and- ivy theory in relation to man and woman ; and that his wife, when he got one, would be the clinging ivy that would bend her flexible tendrils in the way his strong will and wisdom directed. He had never, perhaps, seen, in southern regions, a fine tree completely smothered and killed in the embraces of a gay, flaunting parasite ; and so received no warning from vegetable analogies. Somehow or other, he was persuaded, he should gradually bring his wife to all his own ways of thinking, and all his schemes and plans and opinions. This might, he thought, be diflficult, were she one of the pronounced, strong-minded sort, accustomed to thinking and judging for herself. Such a one, he could easily imagine, there might be a risk of encountering in the close intimacy of domestic life. Even in his dealings with his sister, he was made aware of a force of character and a vigor of intellect that sometimes made the carrying of his own way over hers a matter of some difficulty. Were it not that Grace was the best of women, and her ways always the very best of ways, John was not so sure but that she might prove a little too masterful for him. But this lovely bit of pink and white ; this downy, gauzy, airy little elf; this creature, so slim and slender and unsubstantial, — surely he need have no fear that he could not mould and control and man- age her ? Oh, no ! He imagined her melting like a moon-beam, into all manner of sweet compliances, becoming an image and reflection of his own better self ; and repeated to himself the lines of Wordsworth, — «' I saw her on a nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too, — Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty. A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, ^^ For transient pleasure's, simple wiles, ^P .' Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles." -1 M'KDDIXG ASD WKDDISC, TlilV. 30 John fancied he saw his little Lillie subdued into a pattern wife, weaned from fashionable follies, eagerly seeking mental improve- ment under his guidance, and joining him and (irace in all sorts of edifying works and ways. The reader may see from the conversations we have detailed, that nothing was farther from Lillie's intentions than any such con- formity. The intentions of the married pair, in fact, ran exactly contrary to one another. John meant to bring Lillie to a sober, rational, useful family life ; and Lillie meant to run a career of fashionable display, ann make John pay for it. Neither, at present stated their purposes precisely to the other, because they were "honey-mooning." John, as yet, was the enraptured lover ; and Lillie was his pink and white sultana, — his absolute mistress, her word was law, and his will was hers. How the case was ever to be reversed, so as to suit the terms of the marriage service, John did not precisely enquire. But, when husband and wife start in life with exactly op|)osing in- tentions, which, think you, is Hkely to conciuer, — the man or the woman ? That is a very nice question and deserves further consid- eration. % I. ill m ,\ i ': ■ ■ -1 \ ■ 1 1 ■ l .liiU 1 ' ■'■! i i ■ 1 ' ' 'li 1 i, . ' 4d(i„ CHAPTER VI. IIONEY-MOON, AND AFTER. WE left Mr. and Mrs. John Seymour honey-mooning. The honey-moon, dear ladies, is supposed to l)e the i)eriod of male subjection. The young queen is enthroned ; and the first of her slaves walks obediently in her train, jarries her fan, her parasol, runs of her errands, packs her trunk, writes her letters, buys her any thing she cries for, and is ready to do the impossible for her, on every suitable occasion. A great strong man sometimes feels awkwardly, when thus led captive ; but the greatest, strongest, and most boastful, often go most obediently under woman-rule ; for which, see Shakespeare, concern- ing Cleopatra, and Julius Cresar, and Mark xVntony. But then all kingdoms, and all sway, and all authority must come to an end. Nothing lasts, you see. The plain prose of life must have its turn, after the poetry and honey-moons — stretch them out to their utmost limit — have their terminus. So, at the end of six weeks, John and Lillie, somewhat dusty and travel-Wv.rn, were received by Grace into the old family mansion at Sp'ingdale. Grace had read her Bible and Fenelon to such purpose, that she had accepted her cross with open arms. Dear reader, Grace was not a severe, angular, old maid sister, ready to snarl at the advent of a young beauty ; but an elegant and accomplished woman, with a wide culture, a trained and disciplined mind, a charming taste, and polished manners ; and, above all, a thorough self-understanding and discipline. Though past thirty, she still liad admirers and lovers ; yet, till now, her brother, insensibly to herself, had blocked up the door\vay of her heart ; and the perfect- ness of the fraternal friendship had prevented the wish and the long- ing by which some fortunate man might have found and given hap- piness. Grace had resolved she would love her new sister ; that she would look upon all her past faults and errors with eyes of indulgence ; that she would put out of her head every story she had ever heard against her, and unite with her brother to make her lot a happy one. " John is so good a man," she said to Miss Letitia Ferguson, " that I am sure Lillie cannot but become a good woman." So Grace adorned the wedding with her presence, in an elegant * nONEY-MOON, AXD AFTER. 41 Parisian dress, ordered for the occasion, and presented the young bride with a set of pearl and amethyst that were perfectly bewitching, and kisses and notes of aftection had been exchanged between them ; and, during various intervals, and for weeks past, drace had been pleasantly employed in preparing the family mansion to receive the new mistress. John's bachelor apartments had been new furnished, and made into a perfect bower of roses. The rest of the house, after the usual household process of purifi- cation, had been rearranged, as John and his sister had always kept it since their mother's death in the way that she loved to see it. There was something quaint and sweet and antique about it, that suited (irace. Its unfashionable difference from the smart, flippant, stereotyped rooms of to-day had a charm in her eyes, Lillie, however, surveyed the scene, the first night that she took possession, with a cjuiet "tletermination to remodernize on the very earliest opportunity. What would Mrs. Frippit and Mrs. Nippit sa)- to such rooms, she thought. But then there was time enough to attend to that. Not a shade of these internal reflections was visible in her manner. She said, " Oh, how sweet ! How perfectly charm- ing ! How splendid ! " in all proper places ; and John was delighted. She also fell into the arms of Grace, and kissed her with effusion ; and John saw the sisterly union, which he had anticipated, auspici- ously commencing. The only trouble in (irace's mind was from a terrible sort of clair- voyance that seems to be.set very sincere people, and makes them sensitive to the presence of anything unreal or untrue. Fair and soft and caressing as the new sister was, and determined as Grace was to believe in her, and trust her, and like her, — she found an invisible, chilly barrier between her heart and Lillie. She scolded herself, and, in the effort to confide, became unnaturally demonstra- tive, and said and did more than was her wont ^o show affection ; and yet, to her own mortification, she found herself, after all, seem- ing to herself to be hypocritical, and professing more than she felt. As to the fair Lillie, who, as we have remarked, was no fool, she took the measure of her new sister with that instinctive knowledge of character which is the essence of womanhood. IJllie was not in love with John, because that was an experience she was not capable of. But she had married him, and now considered him as her pro- perty, her subject, — hers with an intensity of ownership that should shut out all former proprietors. We have heard much talk, of late, concerning the husband's owner- ship of the wife. But, dear ladies, is that any more pronounced a fact than every wife's ownership of her husband ? — an ownership so intense and pervading that it may be said to be the controlling n'^rve of womanhood. Let any one touch your right to the first place in your husband's regard, and see I 3 n IjI " id I1s| fill -. :.p.-.-.-..-^,, ^,.J^-^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 42 J'JNK AND WHITE TYRANNY. :J i Ifjp lilt 1 A \ h%'' Well, then, Lillie saw at a glance just what Grace was, and what her influence with her brother must be ; and also that, in order to live the life she meditated, John must act under her sway, and not under his sister's ; and so the resolve had gone forth, in her mind, that (trace's dominion in the family should come to an end, and that she would, as sole empress, reconstruct the state. But, of course, she was ♦^oo wise to say a word about it. "Dear me I" she said, the next morning, when Grace proposed showing her through the house and delivering up the keys, " I'm sure I don't see why you want to show things to me. I'm nothing of a housekeeper, you know ; all I know is what I want, and I've always had what I've wanted, you know ; but, you see, I haven't the least idea how it's to be done, Why at home I've been everybody's baby. Mamma laughs at the idea of my knowing anything. So, (irace dear, you must just be prime minister; and I'll be the good- for-nothing Queen, and just sign the papers, and all that, you know." Grace found, the first week, that to be housekeeper to a young duchess, in an American village and with American servants was no sinecure. The young mistress, the next week, tumbled into the wash an. amount of muslin and lace and French pufiing and fluting sufticient to employ two artists for two or three days, and by which honest Bridget, as she stood at her family wash-tub, was sorely perplexed. But, in America, no woman ever dies for want of speaking her mind ; and the lower orders have their turn in teaching the catechism to their superiors, which they do with an effectiveness that does credit to democracy. " And would ye be piased to step here. Miss Saymour," said Bridget to Grace, in a voice of suppressed emotion, and pointing oratorically with her soapy right arm, to a snow-wreath of French finery and pufiing on the floor. " What, / asks. Miss Grace, is, Who is to do all this ? I'm sure it would take me and Katy a week, workin' day and night, let alone the cookin' and the silver and the beds and all them. It's a pity, now, somebody shouldn't spake to that young crather ; fur she's nothin' but a baby, and likely don't know anything, as ladies mostly don't, about what's right and proper." Bridget's Christian charity and condescension in this last sentence was some mitigation of the crisis ; but still Grace was appalled. We all of us, my dear sisters, have stood appalled at the tribunal of good Bridgets rising in their majesty and declaring their ultimatum. Bridget was a treasure in the town of Springdale, where servants were scarce and poor ; and what was more, she was a treasure that knew her own worth. Grace knew very well how she had been beset with applioitions and ofi"ers of higher wages to draw her to various hotels and boarding-houses, in the vicinity, but had preferred the comparative dignity and tranquility of a private gentleman's family. But the family had been small, orderly, and systematic, and (irace IIONF.Y-MOON, AND AFTER. 43 the most confident of housekeepers. Still, it was not to be denied, that though an indulgent and considerate mistress, Bridget was, in fact, mistress of the Seymour mansion, and that her mind and will concerning the washing must be made known to the young queen. It was a sore trial to [)eak to Lillie ; but it would be sorer to be left at once desolate in the kitchen dey)artment, and exposed to the marauding inroads of unskilled Hibernians. In the most delicate way. Grace made Lillie actjuainted with the domestic cri.sis ; as, in old times the prime minister might have car- ried to one of the Charleses the remonstrance and protest of the House of Commons. " Oh 1 I'm sure I don't know how it's to be done," said Lillie, gayiy. " Mamma always got my things done someho^v. They always were done, and always must be ; you just tell her so. I think it's always best to be decided with servants. Face 'em down in the beginning." " But you see, Lillie, dear, it's almost impossible to get servants at all in Springdale ; and such servants as ours everybody says arc an exception. If we talk to Bridget in that way, she'll just go off an. I leave us ; and then what shall we do ?" " What in the world does John want to live in such a place for? ' said Lillie, peevishly. "There are plenty of servants to be got m New York ; and that's the only place fit to live in. Well, it's no ai- fair of mine. Tell John he married me, and must take care of me. He must settle it some way ; I shan't trouble my head about it." The idea of living in New York, and uprooting the old time-hon ored establishment in Springdale, struck Grace as a sort of sacrilege ; yet she could not help feeling with a kind of fear, that the young mistress had power to do it. " Don't darling, talk so, for pity's sake," she said. " I will go to John, and we will arrange it somehow." A long consultation with faithful John, in the evening, revealed to him the perplexing nature of the material processes necessary to get up his fair puff of thistle-down in all that wonderful whiteness and fancifulness of costume which had so entranced him. I^illie cried, and said she never had any trouble before about "get- ting her things done." She was sure mamma, or Trixie or somebody did them, or got them done — she never knew how or when. With many tears and sobs, she protested her ardent desire to realize the Scriptural idea of the fowls of the air, and the lillies of the field, which were fed and clothed, "like Solomon in all his glory," without ever giving a moment's care to the matter. John kissed, and embraced, and wiped away her tears, and de- clared she should have everything just as she desired it, if it took half of his kingdom. After consoling his fair one, he burst into (irace's room in the evening, just at the hour when they used to have their old brotherly and sisterlv confidential talk. 'Mi ■ "'11 ,1 ■ % 44 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. I }( ! mm % 8 ' -^ ilii" ':\ l\ 1? ir. " You see, Grace — poor Lillie, dear little thing — you don't know how distressed she is \ and, Grace, we must find somebody to do up all her fol-de-rols and fiz-gigs for her, you know. You see, she's been used to this kind of thing ; can't do without it," " Well, I'll try to, to-morrow, John," said Grace, patiently. "There is Mrs. Atkins — she is a very nice woman." " Oh, exactly ! just the thing," said John. " Yes, we'll get her to take all Lillie's things every week. That settles it." " Do you know, John, at the prices that Mrs. Atkins asks, you will have to pay more than for all your family service together ? What we have this week would be twenty dollars, at the least computation ; and it is worth it too — the work of getting up is so elaborate." John opened his eyes, and looked grave. Like all staple New England families, the Seymours, while they practised the broadest liberality, had instincts of great sobriety in expense. Needless pro- fusion shocked them as out of taste ; and a quiet and decent reticence in matters of self-indulgence was habitual with them. Such a price for the fine linen bf his little angel, rather staggered him, but he gulped it down. " Well, well, (iracie," he said, " cost what it may, she must have it as she likes it. The little creature, you see, has never been accus- tomed to calculate or reflect in these matters ; and it is trial enough to come down to our stupid way of living — so differeiit, you know, from the gay life she has been leading." Miss Seymour'ssaintshipwas somewhat rudely tested by this remark. That anybody should think it a sacrifice to be John's wife, and a trial to accept the homestead at Springdale, with all its tranquility and comforts — that John, under her influence, should speak of the Spring- dale life as stupid — was a little drop too much in her cup. A bright streak appeared in either cheek, as she said — "Well, John, I never knew you found Springdale stupid before. I'm sure, we have been happy here," — and her voice quavered. " Pshaw, Gracie I you know what I mean. I don't mean that / find it stupid. I don't like the kind of ratt^brained life we've been leading this six weeks. But then it just suitSLillie ; and it's so sweet and patient of her to come here, and give all up, and say not a word of regret ; and then, you see, I shall be just up to my ears in busi- ness now, and can't give all my time to her, as I have. There's ever so much law business coming on, and all the factory matters at Spindlewood ; and I can see that Lillie will have rather a hard time of it. You must dovote yourself to her, Gracie, like a dear good soul, as you always were, and try to get her interested in our kind of life. Of course, all our set will call, and that will be something ; and then — there will be some invitations out." " Oh, yes, John ! we'll manage it,' said (irace, who had by this time swallowed her anger, and shouldered her cross once more with a womanly perseverance. " Oh, yes ! the Fergusons, and the Wil- If 'ii IIONEY-MOON, AND AFTER. 45 coxes, and the Lennoxes, will all call, and we shall have picnics, and lawn teas, and musicals, and parties." "Yes, yes, I see,' said John. " Gracie, />/// .she a dear little thing ? Didn't she look cunning in that white wrapper this morning ? How do women do those things, I wonder?" said John. "Don't you think her manners are lovely ?" " They are very sweet, and she is charmingly pretty,"' said Clrace ; " and I love her dearly." " And so affectionate I Don't you think so?' continued John. " She's a person that you can do anything with through her heart. She's all heart, and very little head. I ought not to say that either. I think she has fair natural abilities, had they ever been cul- tivated." " My dear John," said Grace, " you forget what time it is. Good night !". 0^ 5 ^; h'i j^jgjIH^ CHAPTER VII. WILL SHE LFKfJ IT f f 1 S ;;^: ni^i ^: !■ , I' I &^, !,! ill 'I " ~rOHN," said Grace, " when are you going out again to our tj Sunday-school at Spindlewood ? They are all asking after you. Do you know it is now two months since they have seen you ?" " I know it," said John. " I am going to-morrow. You see, Gracie, I couldn't well before." " Oh ! I have told them all about it, and I have kept things up ; but then there are so many who want to see you, and so many things that you alone could settle and manage." " Oh, yes ! I'll go to-morrow," said John. " And after this, I shall be steady at it. I wonder if we could get Lillie to go," said he, doubtfully. Grace did not answer. Lillie was a subject on which it was always embarrassing to her to be appealed to. She was so afraid of appear- ing jealous or unappreciative ; and her opinions were so different from those of her brother, that it was rather difficult to say any- thing. " Do you think she would like it, Grace ?" " Indeed, John, you must know better than I. If anybody could make her take an interest in it, it would L j you." Before his marriage, John had always had the idea that pretty, af- fectionate little women were religious and self-denying at heart, as matters of course. No matter through what labyrinths of fashionable follies and dissipation they had been wandering, still a talent for .saintship was lying dormant in their natures, which it needed only the touch of love to develop. The wings of the angel were always concealed under the fashionable attire of the belle, and would unfold themselves when the hour came. A nearer acquaintance with Lillie he was forced to confess, had not, so far, confirmed this idea. Though hers was a face so fair and pure that, when he first knew her, it suggested ideas of prayer and communion with angels, yet he could not disguise from himself that, in all near acquaintance with her, she had proved to be "of the earth, earthy." .She was alive and fervent about fashionable gossip, — of who is who, and what does what ; she was alive to equipages, to dress, to sight-seeing, to dancing, to any- WILL SHE LIKE IT? 4f thing of which the whole stimukis and excitement was earthly and physical. At times, too, he remembered that she had talked a sort of pensive sentimentalism, of a slightly religious nature ; but the least idea of a moral purpose in life — of self-denial, and devotion to some- thing higher than immediate self-gratification — seemed never to have entered her head. What is more, John had found his attemjjts to in- troduce such topics with her always unsuccessful. Lillie either gaped in his face, and asked him what time it was ; or playfully pulled his whiskers, asked him why he didn't take to the ministry ; or adroitly turned the conversation with kissing and compliments. Sunday morning came, shining down gloriously through the dewy elm-arches of Springdale. The green turf on either side of the wide streets was mottled and flecked with vivid flashes and glimmers of emerald, like the sheen of a changeable silk, as here and there long arrows of sunlight darted down through the leaves and touched the ground. The gardens between the great shady houses that flanked the street were full of tall white and crimson phloxes in all the majesty of their summer bloom, and the air was filled with fragrance ; and Lillie, after a two hour's toilet, came forth from her chamber fresh and lovely as the bride in the Canticles. " 'i'hou art all fair, my love ; there is no spot in thee." She was killingly dressed in the rural-simplicity style. All her robes and sashes were of the purest white ; and a knot of field-daisies and grasses, with French dew-drops on them, twinkled in an infinitesimal bonnet on her little head, and her hair was all creped into a filmy golden aureole round her face. In short, dear reader, she was a perfectly got-up angel, and wanted only some tulle clouds and an opening heaven to have gone up at once, as similar angels do from the Parisian stage. " You like me, don't you ?" she said, as she saw the delight in John's eyes. John was tempted to lay hold of his plaything. " Don't now, — you'll crumple me," she said, fighting him oft" with a dainty parasol. " Positive'y you shan't touch me till after church." John laid the little white hand on his arm with pride, and looked down at her over his shoulder all the way to church. He felt proud of her. They would look at her, and see how pretty she was, he thought. And so they did. Lillie had been used to admiration in church. It was one of her fields of triumph. She had received compliments on her toilet even from young clergymen, who, in the course of their preaching and praying, found leisure to observe the beauties of nature and grace in their congregation. She had been quite used to knowing of young men who got good seats in church simply for the purpose of seeing her ; consequently, going to church had not the moral advantages for her that it has for people who go simply to pray and be instructed. John saw the turning of heads, and the little movements and whispers of admiration ; and his heart f. ; ' ■» -■ -^1 1. :(■ !S. ;1 '^^isam taamm I -t 48 PLVK AND WHITE TYRANNV. M';^lf m was glad within him. The thought of her mingled with prayer and hymn ; even when he closed his eyes, and bowed his head, she was there. Perhaps this was not exactly as it should be ; yet let us hope the angels look tenderly down on the sins of too much love. John felt as if he would be glad of a chance to die for her ; and, when he thought of her in his prayers, it was because he loved her better than himself. As to Lillie, there was an extraordinary sympathy of sentiment between them at that moment. John was thinking only of her ; and she was thinking only of herself, as was her usual habit, — herself, the one object of her life, the one idol of her love. Not that she knew, in so many words, that she, the little frail bit of dust and ashes that she was, was her own idol, and that she appeared before her Maker, in those solemn walls, to draw to her- self the homage and attention that was due to Ciod alone ; but yet it was true that, for years and years, Lillie's unconfessed yet only motive for appearing in church had been the display of herself, and the winning of admiration. But is she so much worse than others ? — than the clergyman who uses the pulpit and the sacred office to show off his talents ? — than the singers who sing God's praises to show their voices, who intone the agonies of their Redeemer, or the glories of the Te Deuni, con- fident on the comments of the newspaper press on their performance the next week ? No : Lillie may be a little sinner, but not above others in this matter. " Lillie," said John to her after dinner, assuming a careless, ma er- of-course air, " would you like to drive with me over to Spindlewood, and see my Sunday school ?" '* Your Sunday school, John ? Why, bless me ! do you teach Sunday school ?" " Certainly I do. Grace and I have a school of two hundred children and young people belonging to our factories. I am super- intendent." " I never heard of anything so odd I" said Lillie. " What in the world can you want to take all that trouble for, — go basking over there in the hot sun, and be shut up with a room full of those ill- smelling factory people ? Why, I'm sure it can't be your duty ! I wouldn't do it for the world. Nothing would tempt me. Why, gracious, John, you might catch small-pox or something I" " Pooh I LiUie, child, you don't know anything about them. They are just as cleanly and respectable as anybody." •' Oh, well ! they may be. But these Irish and Germans and Swedes and Danes, and all that low class, do smell so, — you needn't tell me, now I — that working-class smell is a thing that can't be disguised." • •: n WILL SHE LIKE IT? 4» " But, Lillie, these are our people. They are the laborers from whose toil our wealth comes ; and we owe them something." '* Well, you pay them something, don't you ?" " I mean morally. We owe our efforts to instruct their children, and to elevate and to guide them. Lillie, I feel it is wrong for us to use wealth merely as a means of self-gratification. We ought to la- bor for those who labor for us. We ought to deny ourselves, and make some sacrifices of ease for their good." '• You dear old preachy creature !" said Lillie. " How good you must be ! But, really, I haven't the smallest vocation to be a mis- sionary, — not the smallest. I can't think of anything that would in- duce me to take a long, hot ride in the sun, and to sit in that stived- up room with those common creatures.'' John looked grave. " Lillie," he said, " you shouldn't speak of any of your fellow-beings in that heartless way." " Well, now, if you are going to scold me, I'm sure I don't want to go. I'm sure, if everybody that stays at home, and has comfortable times, Sundays, instead of going out on missions, is heartless, there are a good many heartless people in the world." " I beg your pardon, my darling. 1 didn't mean, dear, that jw/ were heartless, but that what you said sounded so. I knew you didn't really mean it. I didn't ask you, dear, to go to 7oork, — -only to be company for me." " And I ask you to stay at home and be company for me. I'm sure it is lonesome enough here, and you are off on business almost all your days ; and you might stay with me Sundays. You could hire some poor pious young man to do all the work over there. There are plenty of them, dear knows, that it would be a real charity to help, and that could preach and pray better than you can, I know. I don't think a man that is busy all the week ought to work Sundays. It is breaking the Sabbath." " But, Lillie, I am interested in my Sunday-school. I know all my people, and they know me ; and no one else in the world could do for them what I could." " Well, I should think you might be interested in tne : nobody else can do for me what you can, and I want you to stay with me. 'I'hat's just the way with you men : you don't care anything about us after you get us." " Now, Lillie, darling, you know that isn't so." " It's just so. You care more for your old missionary work, now, than you do for me. I'm sure I never knew I'd married a home- missionary." " Darling, please, now, don't laugh at me, and try to make me self- ish and worldly. You have such power over me, you ought to be my inspiration." '* I'll be your common-sense, John. When you get on stilts, and run benevolence into the ground, I'll pull you down. Now, I know >' P |: '1, i I • ■■)l m r4 . i 00 riXK AM) WHITE TYRANNY fi: it must be bad for a man, that has as much as you to occupy his mind all the week, to go out and work Sundays ; and it's foolish, when you could perfectly well hire somebody else to do it, and stay at home and have a good time." "But, Lillie, 1 ;/m/it myself.' " Need it, — what for? I can't imagine." " To keep me from becoming a mere selfish, worldly man, and liv- ing for mere material good and pleasure." " You dear old Don Quixote ! Well, you are altogether in the clouds above me. I can't understand a word of all that." " Well, good-by, darling," said John, kissing her, and hastening out of the room, to cut short the interview. Milton has described the peculiar influence of woman over man, in lowering his moral tone, and bringing him down to what he con- sidered the i)eculiarly womanly level. " You women," he said to his wife, when she tried to induce him to seek favors at court by some concession of principle, — " you women never care for anything but to be fine, and to ride in your coaches." In Father Adam's descrip- tion of the original Eve, he says, — " All higher knowledgo in her presence falls Degraded ; wisdom, in discourse with her, Loses, discountenanced, and like folly shows." Something like this effect was always produced on John's mind when he tried to settle questions relating to his higher nature with Lillie. He seemed, somehow, always to get the worst of it. All her womanly graces and fascinations, so powerful over his senses and imagination, arrayed themselves" formidably against him, and for the time seemed to strike him dumb. What he believed, and believed with enthusiasm, when he was alone or with Grace, seemed to drizzle away, and be belittled, when he undertook to convince her of it. Lest John should be called a muff and a spoon for his peculiarity, we cite once more the high authority aforesaid, when Milton makes poor Adam tell the angel,— " Yet when I ajtproach Her loveliness, so absolute she seems And in herself complete, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do or sa}' Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best,' John went out from Lillie's presence rather humbled and over- crowed. When the woman that a man loves laughs at his moral en- thusiasms, it is like a black frost on the delicate tips of budding trees. It is up-hill work, as we all know, to battle with indolence ahd self- ishness, and self-seeking and hard-hearted worldliness. Then the highest and holiest part of our nature has a bashfiilness of its own. WILL SHK LIKE IT? 51 It is a heavenly stranger, and easily shamed. A ntml)le-tf)ngued, skilful woman can so easily show the ridiculous side of what seemed heroism ; and what is called common-sense, so generally, is only some neatly put phase of selfishness. Poor John needed the angel at his ell)ow, to give him the caution which he is represented as giv- ing to Father Adam ; " What tmtiHport.s tht;c .so? An oiitsidf ? — fair, no doubt, und worthy well Thy cheriwhiug, thy honor und thy lovu, Not thy objection. Weigh iier with thyself, Then value. Oft-tinies nothing profit.s more Than self-esteem, urounded on jiist and right. Well managed : of that skill the more thou knowest. Tiie more she will acknowledge tliee her head, And to realities yield ail her shows." Hut John had an angel at his elbow. He was a fellow with x great heart, — good as gold, — with u])ward aspirations, but with slow •speech ; and, when not sympathized with, he became confused and incoherent, and even dumb. So his only way with his little pink and white empress was immediate and precipitate flight. I.illie ran to the window when he was gone, and saw him and (irace get into the carriage together ; and then she .saw them drive to the old Ferguson House, and Rose Ferguson came out and got in with them. " Well," she said to herself, " he shan't do that many times more, — I'm resolved." No, she did not say it. It Avould be well for us all, if we dii^ put into words, plain and explicit, many instinctive resolves and purposes that arise in our hearts, and which, for walit of being so e.vpressed, influence us undetected and unchallenged. If we could say out boldly, " I don't care for right or wrong, or good or evil, or anybody's rights or anybody's happiness, or the general good, or (iod himself, — all I care for, or feel the least interest in, is to have a good time myself, and I mean to do it, come what may," — we should be only expressing a feeling which often lies in the dark back-room of the human heart ; and saying it might alarm us from the drugged sleej) of life. It might rouse us to shake off the slow, creej)ing ))aralysis of selfishness and sin before it is for ever too late. But I illie was a creature who had lost the power of self-knowledge. She was, my dear sir, what you suppose the true woman to be — a bundle of blind instincts ; and among these the strongest was that of property in her husband, and power over him. She had lived in her power over men ; it was her field of ambition. She knew them thoroughly. Women are called ivy ; and the ivy has a hundred little fingers in every inch of its length, that strike at every flaw and crack and weak place in the strong wall they mean to overgrow ; and so had Lillie. She saw, at a glance, that the sober, thoughtful. Christian ' ■ .»; ' i. u /7.VA' AM) WIlITh: TVRAXNY. f -. ''1 life of Springdalc was wholly opposed to the life she wanted to lead, and in which John was to he her instrument. She saw that if such women as (irace and Rose had |)ower with him, she should not have ; and her husband should he hers alone. He should do her will, and be her subject — so she thought, smiling at herself as she looked in the l(joking-glass, and then curled herself peacefully and languidly down in the t:orner of the sofa, and drew forth the I'Vench novel that was her usual Sunday companion. Lillie liked French novels. There was an atmosphere of things in them that suited her. The young married woman had lovers and admirers ; and there was the constant stimulus of being courted and adored, under the safe i)rotection of a good natured "■/fiari." In I'Yance, the Hirting is done after marriage, and the young girl looks forward to it as an introduction to a career of conquest. In America, so great is our democratic; liberality, that we think of uniting tlie two systems. A knowledge of French is beginning to be con- sidered as the pearl of great price, to gain which, all else must be sold. The girls must go to the Frencii theatre, and be stared at by French debauchees, who laugh at them while they pretend to under- stand what, thank Heaven, they cannot. Then we are to have series of French novels, carefully translated, and jjuffed and praised even by the religious press, written by the corps of F Yench female reformers, which will show them exactly how the naughty French women man- age their cards ; so that, by-and-by, we shall have the latest phase of eclecticism — the union of American and French manners. The girl will flirt till twenty a la Amiri<}ainc, and then marry and flirt till forty a la Framaise. This was about Lillie's plan of life. Could she hope to carry it out in Springdale ? ( f[.\l»rKK VIII. SI'INJ>l.EWOnD. ; I IT scciiK'd a little like old times to Orace, to be once more going with Rose and John over the jiretty romantic road to Spindle- wood. John did not reflect upon how little she now saw of him, and how much of a trial the sejjaration was ; but he noticed how bright and almost gay she was, when they were by themselves once more. He was gay too. In the congenial atmosphere of sympathy, his confi- dence in himself, and his own right in the little controversy that had occurred, returned. Not that he said a word of it ; he did not do so, and would not have done so for the world, (irace and Rose were full of anecdotes of this, that, and the other of their scholars ; and all the jjarticulars of some of their new movements were discussed. The people had, of their own accord, raised a subscription for a library, which was to be j)resented to John that day, with a request that he would select the books. " (Iracie, that must be your work," said John ; "you know I shall have an important case next week." " Oh yes 1 Rose and I will settle it," said Orace. " Rose, we'll get the catalogues from all the book stores, and mark the things." " We'll want books for the children just beginnyig to read ; and then books for the young men in John's Bible-class, and all the way between," said Rose. "It will be (juite a work to select." " And then to bargain with the book stores, and make the money go ' far as possible,' " said (irace. " And then there'll be the covering of the books," said Rose. I'll tell you. I think I'll manage to have a lawn tea at our house ; and the girls shall all come early, and get the books covered — thatll be charming." " I think Lillie would like that," said John. " I should be so glad," said Rose. " What a lovely litde thing she is I I hope she'll like it. I wanted to get up something pretty for her, I think, at this time of the year, lawn teas are a little variety. ' " Oh I shell like it, of course !" said John, with some sinking of heart about the Sunday-school books. ''fix '1 ■f, a. •■ss^ 14 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. \ 'kv u\ \'1 There were so many pressing to shake hands with John, and con- gratulate him, so many histories to tell, so many cases presented for consultation, that it was (juite late before they got away ; and tea had been waiting for them more than an hour when tiiey returned. Lillie looked pensive, and had that indescribable air of patient martyrdom which some women know how to make so very effective. Ivillie had a good general knowledge of the science of martyrdom— a little spice and flavor of it had been gently infused at times into her demeanor ever since she had l)een at Springdale. She could do the uncomiilaining sufferer with the happiest effect. She contrived to insinuate at times how she didn't complain — how dull and slow she found her life, and yet how she endeavored to be cheerful. " 1 know," she said to John when they were by themselves, '"that you and Cirace both think I'm a horrid creature." "Why, no, dearest ; indeed we don't." " But you do, though ; oh I feel it ! The fact is, John, 1 haven't a particle of constitution ; and if I should try to go on as (irace does, it would kill me in a month. Ma never would let me try to do any- thing ; and if I did, 1 was sure to break all down under it ; but, if you say so, I'll try to go into this school." " Oh, no, Lillie ! I don't want you to go in. I know, darling, you could not stand any fatigue. I only wanted you to take an interest —just to go and see them for my sake." " Well, John, if you must go, and must keep it up, 1 must tiy to go. I'll go with you next Sunday. It will make my head ache, perhaps ; but no matter, if you wish it. You don't think badly of me, do you ?" she said coaxingly, playing with his whiskers. "No, darling, not the least."." " I suppose it would be a great deal better for you if you had married a strong, energetic woman, like your sister. I do admire her so ; but it di.scourages me." " Darling, I'd a thousand times rather have you what you are," said John ; fcff-^- " What she wills to do, Secuis wisest, virtuousest, di.screetest, best." "O John ! come, you ought to be sincere." "Sincere, Lillie ! I am sincere.* " You really would rather have poor, j)oor little me than a woman like Grace, — a great, strong, energetic woman?" And Lillie laid her soft cheek down on his arm in pensive humility. " Yes, a thousand million times,' said John in his enthusiasm, catching her in his arms and kissing her. " I wouldn't for the world have you any thing but the darling little Lillie you are. I love your faults more than the virtues of other women. You are a thousand times better than I am. I am a great, coarse blockhead, compared SPINDLEWOOD. 55 to you. I hope I didn't hurt your feelings this noon ; you know, LilHe, I'm hasty, and apt to be inconsiderate. I don't really know that I ought to let you go over next Sunday." "() John, you are so good I Ortainly if you go I ought to ; and 1 shall try my best." Then John told her all about the books and the lawn tea, and Lillie listened approvingly. So they had a lawn tea at the Fergusons that week, where Lillie was the cynosure of all eyes. Mr. Mathews, the young clergyman of Springdale, was there. Mr. Mathews had been credited as one of the admirers of Rose Ferguson ; but on this occasion he promenaded and talked with Lillie, and Lillie alone, with an exclusive devotion. •' What a lovely young creature your new sister is !"' he said to (irace. " She seems to have so much religious .sensibility," " I say, Lillie," .said John, " Mathews seemed to be smitten with you. I had a notion of interfering." " Did you ever .see anything like it, John ? I couldn't shake the creature off. I was so thankful when you came up and took me. He's Rose's admirer, and he hardly spoke a word to her. I think it's shameful." , The next Sunday, Lillie rode over to Spindlewood with John and Rose and Mr. Mathews. Never had the picturesque of religion received more lustre than from her presence. John was delighted to see how they all gazed at her and wondered. I,illie looked like a first-rate French picture of the youthful Madonna, — white, pure, and patient. The day was hot, and the hall crowded ; and John noticed, what he never did be- fore, the close smell and confined air, and it made him uneasy. When we are feeling with the nerves of some one else, we notice the roughne.ss and inconvenience. John thought he had never seen his school appear so little to advantage. Yet Lillie was an image of pa- tient endurance, trying to be pleased ; and John thought her, as she sat and did nothing, more of a .saint than Rose and Grace, who were laboriously sorting books, and gathering aro^ml them large ( las.ses of factory boys, to whom they talked with an exhausting de- votedness. When all was over, Lillie .sat back on the carriage cushions, and smelled at her gold vinaigrette. " You are all worn out, dear," said John, tenderly. " k's no matter," she said faintly. " Lillie, darling ! dors your head ache ?" '■ .\ little, — you know it was close in there. I'm very sensitive to such things. I don't think they affect others as they do me," said Lillie, with the voice of a dying zephyr. '• Lillie, // is noi your duty to j^o," said John ; '' if you are not made ill by this, I never will take you again ; you are too precious to be risked. " " How can you say so, John ? I'm a poor little creature, no use to anvbodv. ' ■' Vi f ^ I ' ,1' 5t) PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY Hereupon John told her that her only use in life was to be lovely and to be loved,— that a thing of beauty was a joy forever, &c., &c. But I^illie was too much exhausted, on her return, to appear at the tea-table. She took to her bed at once with sick headache, to the poignant remorse of J ohn. " You see how it is, Gracie,'' he said. " Poor dear little thing, she is willing enough, but there's nothing of her. We mustn't allow her to exert herself ; her feelings always carry her away. " The next Sunday, John sat at home with Li Hie, who found herself too unwell to go to church, and was in a state of such low spirits as to require constant soothing to keep her quiet. " It is fortunate that I have you and Rose to trust the school with,"' .said John; "you see, it's my first duty to take care of Lillie." t' •f I !| ;l!' 1 Hi:, ;.(:! l: ' : I I." if'. ; ri CHAPTER IX. A CRISIS. ONE of the shrewdest and most subtle modern French writers has given his views of womankind in the following passage : — " There are few women who have not lound themselves, at least once in their Iive.s, in regard to some incontestable fact, faced down by precise, keen, searching enquiry, — one of those questions pitilessly put by their husbands, the very idea of which enters the heart like a stroke of a dagger. Hence comes the maxim, Every woman lies — obliging lies — venial lies — sublime lies — horrible lies — but always the obligation of lying. " This obligation once admitted, must it not be a necessity lo know how to lie well? In France, the women lie admirably. Oi;.- customs instruct them so well in imposture. .\nd woman i.-> -v> naively impertinent, so pretty, so graceful, so true, in her lyin; '. They so well understand its usefulness in social life for a\oidiii4 those violent shocks which would destroy happiness, — it is like the cotton in which they pack their jewelry. " Lying is to them the very foundation of language, and truth is only the exception ; they speak it, as they are virtuous, from caprice or for a purpose. According to their character, some women laugh when they lie, and some cry ; some become grave, and others get angry. Having begun life by pretending perfect insensibility to that homage which flatters them most, they often finish by lying even to themselves. Who has not admired their apparent superiority and calm, at a moment when they are trembling for the mysterious trea- sures of their love? Who has not studied their ease and facility, their presence of mind in the midst ot the most critical em Ijarrass- ments of social life ? There is nothing awkward about it ; their de- ception flows as softly as the snow falls from heaven. " Yet there are men who have the presumption to expect to get the better of the Parisian woman ! — of the woman wlio pijssesses thirty-seven thousand ways of saying ' No,' and incomniensinable variations in saying ' Yes.' " This is a Frenchman's view of life in a country where women are trained more .systematically for the mere purposes of attraction than in any other country, and where the pursuit of admiration and liie excitement of winning lovers are represented by its authors as con- stituting the main staple of woman's existence. France, unfovtunaiL- ly, is becoming the great society-teacher of the world. What vviiji 4 Y '5 n .ki'l. . r*, ^fl ^t- gg^SBgjf • Wk I ! 88 PjyK ANIJ WHITE TYRANNY. French theatres, French operas, French novels, and the universal rush of American women for travel, France is becoming so powerful on American fashionable society, that the things said of the Parisian woman begin in some cases to apply to some women in America. Lillie was as precisely the woman here descril)ed as if she had been born and bred in Paris. She had all the thirty-seven thousand ways of saying "No," and the incommensurable variations in saying"Yes," as completely as the best French teaching could have given it. She possessed, and had used, all that graceful facility, in the story of her- self that she had told John in the days of courtship. Her power over him was based on a dangerous foundation of unreality. Hence, dur- ing the first few weeks of her wedded life, came a t;ritical scene, in which she was brought in collision with one of those " pitiless ques- tions" our author speaks of Her wedding presents, manifold and brilliant, had remained at home, in the charge of her mother, during the wedding journey. One bright day, a few weeks after her arrival in Springdale, the boxes con- taining the treasures were landed there ; and John, with all enthusi- asm, busied himself with the work of unpacking these boxes, and drawing forth these treasures. Now, it so happened that Lillie's maternal grandfather, a nice, pious old gentleman, had taken the occasion to make her the edifying and suggestive present of a large, elegantly-bound family Bible. The binding was unexceptionable ; and Lillie assigned it a proper place of honor among her wedding-gear. Alas ! she had not looked into it, nor seen what dangers to her i)ower were lodged between its leaves. But John, who was curious in the matter of books, sat ([uietly down in a corner to examine it ; and on the middle page, tmder the head, " Family Record,'' he found, in a large, bold hand, the date of the birth of " T.illie Fllis" in figures of the most uncompromising plain- ness ; and thence, with one flash of his well-trained arithmetical sense, came the perception that, instead of being twenty years old, she was in fact twenty-seven,— and that of course she had lied to him. It was a horrid and a hard word for an American young man to have suggested in relation to his wife. If we may believe the P'rench romancer, a F>enchman would simply have smiled in amusement on detecting this petty feminine ruse of his beloved. But American men are in the habit of expecting the truth from rMSjjectable women as a matter of course ; and the want of it in the smallest degree strikes them as shocking. Only an Englishman or an American can under- stand the dreadful pain of that discovery to John. The Anglo-Saxon race have, so to speak, a worship of truth ; and they hate and abhor lying with an energy which leaves no power of tolerance. The Celtic races have a certain sympathy with deception. They have a certain ap])reciation of the value of lying as a fine art, which A CRISIS. 59 i universal io powerful he Parisian America, ic had been lusand ways lying "Yes," /en it. She story of her- - power over Hence, dur- ;al scene, in )itiless ques- remained at ourney. One ne boxes con- h all enthusi- e boxes, and , a nice, pious ; edifying and ible. id it a proper id not looked d between its quietly down ider the head, _ date of the omising plain- imetical sense, old, she was :o him. 'oung man to ve the French imusement on \.merican men e women as a degree strikes an can under- of truth ; and ];s no power of bption. They ine art, which s has never been more skilfully shown than in the passage from De Balzac we have quoted. The woman who is described by him as lying so sweetly and skilfully is represented as one of those women *' qui ont je ne sais quoi de saint et de sacre, qui inspirent tant de respect que I'amour,"' — " a woman who has an indescribable some- thing of holiness and purity which inspires respect as well as love." It was no detraction from the character of Jesus, according to the es- timate of Renan, to represent him as consenting to a benevolent fraud, and seeming to work miracles, when he did not work them, by way of increasing his gnod influence over the multitude. Hut John was the offspring of a generation of men for hundreds of years, who would any of them have gone to the stake rather than have told the smallest untruth ; and for him who had been watched and guarded and catechised against this sin from his cradle, till he was as true and pure as a crystal rock, to have his faith shattered in the v.'oman he loved was a terrible thing. As he read the fatal figures a mist swam before his eyes, — a sort of faintness came over him. It seemed for a moment as if his ver)- life was sinking down through his boots into the carpet. He threw down the book hastily, and, turning, "*^"pped through an open win- dow into the garden, and walked quickly off. "Where in the world is John going?" said Lillie, running to the door, and calling after him in imperative tones. "John, John, come back. I haven't done with you yet;" but John never turned his head. " How very odd ! what in the world is the matter with him?" she said to herself John was gone all the afternoon. He took a long, long walk, all by himself, and thought the matter over. He remembered that fresh, childlike, almost infantine face, that looked up into his face with such a bewitching air of frankness and candor, as she professed to be tell- ing all about herself and her history ; and now which or what of it was true ? It seemed as if he loathed her ; and yet he couldn't help loving her, while he despised himself for doing it. When he came home to supper he was silent and morose. Lillie came running to meet him ; but he threw her off, saying he was tired. She was frightened ; she had never seen him look like that. "John, what is the matter with you?" said (irace at the tea-table. " You are upsetting everything, and don't drink your tea." •' Nothing — only — I have some troublesome business to settle," he said, getting up to go out again. " You needn't wait for me ; I shall he out late." " What can be the matter ?" Lillie indeed had not the remotest idea. Yet she remembered his jumping up suddenly, and throwing down the Bible ; and mechanic- ally she went to it, and opened it. She turned it over ; and the re- cord nx't her eye. ' ■ 4 ■^^^get^amuaam eo FJNK AND WHITE TYRANNY. ' I " Provoking !'' she said. " Stupid old creature ! must needs go and put that out in full." Lille took a paper-folder, and cut the leaf out quite neatly ; then folded and burned it. She knew not what was the matter. John was angry with her ; but she could not help wondering that he should be so angry. If he had laughed at her, teased her, taxed her with the trick, she would have understood what to do. But this was terrible gloom, this awful com- motion of the elements frightened her. She went to her room saying that she had a headache, and woiild go to bed. But she did not. She took her French novel, and read till she heard him coming ; and then she threw down her book and began to cry. He came into the room, and saw her leaning like a little white snow-wreath over the table, sobbing as if her heart would break. To do her justice, Lillie's sobs were not affected. She was lonesome and thoroughly frightened ; and, when she heard him com- ing, her nerves gave out. John's heart yearned towards her. His short-lived anger had burned out ; and he was perfectly longing for a reconciliation. He felt as if he must have her to love, no matter what she was. He came up to her and stroked her hair. " O Lillie !" he said, " why couldn't you have told me the truth ? What made you deceive me?" " I was afraid you wouldn't like me if I did," said Lillie, in her sobs. " O Lillie ! I should have liked you no matter how old you were, — only you should have told me ///ld Man of the Sea ' on his back in the shape of this woman ; and I expect she'll be the ruin of him yet. I can't want to break up his illusion about her ; because, what good will it do ? He has married her, and must live with her ; and, for Heaven's sake, let the illusion last while it can ! I'm going to draw off, and leave them to each other ; there's no other way." •' You are, (xracie?" '* Yes ; you see John came to me, all stammering and embarrass- ment, about this making over of the old place ; but I put him at case at once. ' The most natural thing in the world, John,' said I. ' Of course Lillie has her taste ; and it's her right to have the house arranged to suit it.' And then I proposed to take all the old family things, and furnish the house that I own on Kim Street, and live there, and let John and Lillie keep house by themselves. You see there is no helping the thing. Married people must be left to them- selves ; nobody can help them. They must make their own dis- coveries, fight their own battles, sink or swim, together ; and I have determined that not by the winking of an eye will I interfere between them.*' " Well, but do you think John wants you to go ?" " He feels badly about it ; and yet F have convinced him that it's best. Poor fellow ! all these changes are not a bit to his taste. He liked the old place as it was, and the old ways ; but John is so unsel- fish. He has got it in his head that I-illie is very sensitive and peculiar, and that her spirits re([uire all these changes, as well as Newport air." •'Weil," said Letitia, "if a man begins to say A in that line, he must say H." •'Of course," said Orace; " and also C and D, and so on, down to X, Y, Z. A woman, armed with sick-headaches, nervousness, debility, i)resentiments, fears, horrors, and all sorts of imaginary and roni diseases, has an eternal armory of weapons of subjugation. What can a man do? Can he tell her that she is lying and shanmiing ? Half the time she isn't ; she can actually work herself into about any jihysical state she chooses. The fortnight before Lillie went to New- ])ort, she looked really pale, and ate next to nothing : and she man- Hf^ed admirably to seem to be trying to keep up, and not to complain, -yet you see how she can go on at Newport." \ M m> ^H 70 PfXK AND WHITE TYRANNY. "It seems a pity John couldn't understand her.'" " My dear, I wouldn't have him for the world. Whenever he doe.s, he will de.s|)ise her; and then he will be wretched. I'or John is no hypocrite, any more than I am. No, I earnestly i)ray that his soap- bul)l)le may not break." "Well, then," said l.etitia, "at least, he might go down to New- port for a day or two ; and his presence there might set some things right : it might at least chec:k reports. You might suggest to him that unfriendly things were being .said." "Well, I'll see what 1 can do,' said Cirace. So, by a little feminine tact in suggestion, (irace despatched her brother to spend a day or two in New port. His coming and presence interrupted the lounging hours in Liliie's room ; the introduction to " my husband " shortened the interviews. John was courteous and affable ; but he neither smoked nor drank, and there was a mutual repulsion between him and many of Lillie's hahittds. " I say, Dan," said Bill Sanders to 1 )anforth, as they were smoking on one end of the veranda, " you are driven out of your lodgings since Seymour came. " "No more than the rest of you," said Danforth. " I don't know about that, Dan. I think you might have been taken for master of those premises. Look here now, Dan, why didn't you take little Lill yourself? Everybody thought you were going to last year.'' "Didn't want her; knew too much," said Danforth. "Didn't want to keep her ; she's too cursedly extravagant, it's jolly to have this sort of concern on hand \ but I'd rather Seymourd pay her bills than I." " Who thought you were so practiail, Dan ?" " Practical I that I am ; I'm an old bird. Take my advice, boys, now : keep shy of the girls, and flirt with the married ones, — then you don't get roped in." "I say, boys," said Tom Nichols, "isn't she a case now? What a head she has I I bet she can smoke equal to any of us." " Yes ; I keep her in cigarettes," said Danforth ; " ohe's got a box of them somewhere under her ruffles now." " What if Seymour should find them ?" .said Tom. " Seymour ? pooh ! he's a mufl" and a prig. I bet you he won't find her out ; she's the joUiest little humbugger there is going. She'd cheat a fellow out of the sight of his eyes. It's perfectly wonderful." " How came Seymour to marry her ?" " He? Why, he's a pious youth, green as grass itself; and I sup- po.se she talked religion to him. Did you ever hear her talk religion?" A roar of laughter followed this, out of which Danforth went on. ^' By George, boys, she gave me a prayer-book once! I've got it yet." NEWPORT. Tl "Well, if that isn't the best thing I ever heard !" said Nichols. '* Ft was at the time she was laying siege to me, you see. She undertook the part of guardian angel, and used to talk lots of senti- ment. 'J'he girls get lots of that out of (leorge Sand's novels about the /lolinrss oi do'mg just as you've a mind to, and all that," said Danforth. "By(ieorge, Dan, you oughtn't to laugh. She may have more good in her than you think." "Oh, humbug I don't I k ow her ?" " Well, at any rate she's a wonderful creature to hold her look>. By (ieorge I how she does hold out 1 You'd say, now, she wasn't more than twentv. " "Yes; she understands getting herself up," said Danforth, "and touches up her cheeks a bit now and then.'" "She don't paint, though ?" " Don't jxiint 1 Don't aha? I'd like to know if she don't ; but she does it like an artist, like an old master, in fact." " Or like a young mistress," said Tom, and then laughed at his own wit. Now, it so haj)])ened that John was sitting at an open window above, and heard occasional snatches of this conversation, quite sufficient to im])ress him disagreeably. He had not heard enough to know exactly what had been said, but enough to feel that a set of coarse, low-minded men were making (|uite free with the name and reputation of his Lillie ; and he was indignant. " She is so pretty, so frank, and so impulsive," he said. " Such women are always misconstrued. I'm resolved to caution her." •• IJllie, " he said, "who is this Danforth ?" "Charlie Danforth — oh I he's a millionaire that L refused." He was wild about me, — is now, for that matter. He i)erfectly haunts my rooms, and is always teasing me to ride with him." " Well, Lillie, if I were you, I wouldn't have any thing to do with him." "John, I don't mean to, any more than I can help. I try to keep him off all I can ; but one doesn't want to be rude, you know." " My darling," .said John, " you little know the wickedness of the world, and the cruel things that men will allow themselves to say of women who are meaning no harm. You can't be too careful, Lillie." "Oh I 1 am careful. Mamma is here, you know, all the while ; and I never receive except she is present." John sat abstractedly fingering the various objects on the table ; then he opened a drawer in the same mechanical manner. "Why, Lillie I what's this? what in the world are these?" "O John I sure enough ! well, there is something I was going to ask you about. Danforth used always to be sending me things, you know, before we were married,- flowers and confectionery, and one thing or other ; and, since I have been here now, he has done the i if 12 PINK AND WIIITK TY'RANNY. i i'i .v*: '( ^1 \\ same, and I really didn't know what to do about it. You know I didn't want to quarrel with him, or get his ill-will ; he's a high-spirited fellow, and a man who one doesn't want for an enemy ; so I have just passed it over as easy as 1 could." "But, Lillie, a box of cigarettes I —of course, they can be of no use to you." " Of course : they are only a sort of curiosity that he imports from Spain with his cigars." " I've a great mind to .send them back to him myself," said John. " Oh, don't, John ! why, how it would look ! as if you were angry, or thought he meant something wrong. No ; I'll contrive a way to give em back without oft'ending him. i am up to all such littliit he 13 I t ■'•Hi 'Ml 76 /'/A'A' AX/J WniTE TVHANNY. perceived that, in this year, the balance would be all absorbed ; and this troubled him. Then, again, his establishment being now given up by his sister must be reorganized, with Lillie at its head ; and Lillie declared in tlie outset that she could not, and would not, take any trouble about any thing. "John would have to get ser\ants ;and the servants v/ould have to see to things ;" she '" was resolved, for one thing, that she wasn't going to be a slave to house-keeping." By great pains and in;portuniiy, and an ofter of high wages, (irace and John retained Hridget in liie esiablislirnent, and secured from New York a seamstress and a waitress, and other members to make out a domestic staff. This sisterhood were from the Isle of Krin, and not an unfiivorable specimen of that imj)ortant portion of our domestic life. They were (piick-witted, well versed in a certain degree of household and do- mestic skill, guided in well-doing more by impulsive good feeling tlian by any very enlightened principle. The dominant idea with them all appeared to be, that they were living in the house of a mil- lionaire, where money flowed through the establishment in a golden stream, out of which all might drink freely and rejoicingly with no questions askecJ. Mrs. Lillie concerned herself only with results, and paid no attention to ways and means. She wanted a dainty and generous table to be spread for her, at all proper hours, with every pleasing and agreeable variety ; to which she should come as she would to the table of a boan ling-house, without troubling her head where anything came from or went to. Bridget, having been for some years under the training and surveillance of Grace Seymour, was more than usually competent as cook and provider ; but Bridget had abundance of the Irish astuteness, which led her to feel the genius of circumstances, and to shape her course accordingly. With (irace, she had been accurate, sa\ing, and economical; for Miss Grace was so. Bridget had felt, under her sway, the beauty of that economy which saves because saving is in itself so fitting and so respectable ; and because, iii this way, a power for a wise generosity is accumulated. She was sympathetic with the ruling spirit of the establishment. But, under the new mistress, Bridget declined in virtue. The announcement that the mistress of the establishment isn't going to give herself any trouble, nor bother her head with care about any- thing, is one the influence of which is felt downward in every depart- ment. ^Vhy should Bridget give herself any trouble to save and economize for a mistress who took none herself? She had worked hard all her life, why not take it easy ? And it was so much easier to send daily a basket of cold victuals to her cousin on Vine Street than to contrive ways of making the most of things, that Bridget felt perfectly justified in doing it. It once in a while, a little tea and a no ME A I. A POMPADOUR. 7T paper of sugar found their way into the same basket, who would ever miss it? The seamstress was an elegant lady. She kei)t all Lillie's dresses and laces and wardrobe, and had something ready for her to put on when she changed her toilet every day. If this very fine latly woie her mistress's skirts and sashes, and laces and jewelry, on the sly, to evening j)arties among the upper servant circles of Springdale, who was to know it ? Mrs. John Seymour knew nothing about where her things were, nor what was their condition, and never wanted to trouble herself to in(|uire. It may therefore be inferred th.it when John began to settle up accounts, and look into financial matters, they seemed to him not to be going exactly in the most promising way. He thought he wtnild give Lillie a little practical insight into his business, show her exactly what his income was, and make some estimates of his expenses, jusL that she might have some little idea how things were going. So John, with great care, prepared a nice little account-book, prefaced by a table of figures, showing the income of theSpindlcwood property, and the income of his law business, and his income from other sources. Against this, he placed the necessary out-goes of his business, and showed what balance might be left. Then he showed what had hitherto been spent for various benevolent purposes con- nected with the schools and his establishments at Spindlewood. He showed what had been the bills for the refitting of the house, and what were now the rinming current expenses of the family. He hoped that he had made all these so plain and simjjle. that lallie might easily be made to understand them, and that thus some clear financial boundaries might ai)i»ear in her mind. 'I'hen he seized a favorable hour and produced his book. " Lillie.'" he said. " 1 want t'> make you understand a little about 01.; 'expenditures and income. ' " Oh, dreadful, John ! don't, i)ray ! I never had any head for things of that kind." " But, Lillie, />/(\jsr let me show you." ]>ersisted John. *' I've made it just as simple as can be." "() John! now — I just-- can't — there now! Don't bring that book now ; it'll just make me low-spirited and cross. 1 never had the least head for figures ; mamma always said so : and if there /vany thing thai seems to me perfectly dreadful, it is accounts. I don't think it's any of a woman's business it's all ;//<7//'.*- work, and men have got to see to it. Now, p/casr don't," she added, coming to him coaxingly, and putting her arm round his neck. "But, you see, Lillie," Johi\ ])ersevered, in a pleading tone, — "you see, all these alterations that have been made in the house have involved very serious expenses ; and, then, too, we are living at a very dififerent rate of expense from what we ever lived before" — 11 F' m T8 PLKK AND WHITE TYRANNY. # . *' There it is, John ! Now, you oughtn't to reproach me with it ; for you know it was your own idea. I didn't want the alterations made ; but you would insist on it. I didn't think it was best ; but you would have them."' " Hut, Lillie, it was all because you wanted them." " Well, 1 dare say ; but I shouldn't have wanted them if I thought it was going to bring in all this bother and trouble, and make me have to look over old accounts, and all such things. I'd rather never have had any thing !" And here Lillie began to cry. " Come, now, my darling, do be a sensible woman, and not act like a baby." " There, John ! it's just as I knew it would be ; I always said you wanted a different sort of a woman for a wife. Now, you knew when you took me that I wasn't in the least strong-minded or sensible, but a ])oor litde helpless thing ; and you are beginning to get tired of me already. You wish you had married a woman like (Irace, I know you do." "J-illie, how silly! Please do listen, now; You have no idea how simple and easy what I want to explain to you is." "Well, John, I can't to-night, anyhow, because I have a headache. Just this talk has got my head to thumping so, — it's really dreadful ! and I'm so low-spirited I I do wish you had a wife that would suit you better." And forthwith Mrs. Lillie dissolved in tears ; and John stroked her head, and petted her, and called her a nice little pussy, and begged her pardon for being so rough with her, and, in short, acted like a fool generally. " If that woman was my wife now," I fancy I hear some youth with a promising moustache remark, " I'd make her behave I" Well, sir, suj)posing she was your wife, what are you going to do about it ? What are you going to do when accounts give your wife a sick headache, so that she cannot po.ssibly attend to them ? Are you going to enact the Blue Beard, and rage and storm, and threaten to cut her head off ? What good would that do ? Cutting off a wrong little head would not turn it into a right one. An ancient proverb significantly remarks, "You can't have more of a cat than her skin," — and no amount of fuming and storming can make any thing more of a woman than she is. Suck as your wife is, sir, you must take her, and make the best of it. Perhaps you want your own way. Don't you wish you could get it ? Hut didn't she promise to obey ? Didn't she ? Of course. Then why is it that I must be all the while yielding points, and she never ? Well, sir, that is for you to settle. The marriage service gives you authority ; so does the law of the land. John could lock up Mrs. Lillie till she learned her lessons ; he could do any of twenty other things that no gendeman would ever think of doing, and the law HOME A LA POMPADOrR. 70 would support him in it. Hut, because John is a gentleman, and not Paddy from Cork, he strokes his wife's head, and submits. We understand that our brethren, the Methodists, have recently decided to leave the word " obey" out of the marriage service. ( )ur friends are, as all the world knows, a most wise and prudent tlenom ination, and guided by a very practical sense in their arrangements. If they have left the word "obey" out, it is because they have con- cluded that it does no good to put it in, — ^a decision that John's ex- perience would go a long way to justify. W < i CHAI'TKR XIII. .lO/lN'S BIRT1U)M\ ki A T Y dear Lillie," (]uoth John one morning, " next week Wed- jLVJ.. nesday is my birthday. " Is it ? How charming ! What shall we do?" " Well, I.iilie, it has always been our custom — (Iraces and mine- to give a grand /<•//• here to all our work-people. \Ne invite them all over I'n masse, and have the house and grounds all open, and devote ourselves to giving them a good time." I.illie's countenance fell. "Now, really, John, how trying ! what shall we do? You don't really i)ropose to bring all those low, dirty, little factory children in Spindlewood through our elegant new house? Just look at that satin furniture, and think what it will be when a whole parcel of freckled, tow-headed, snubby-nosed children have eaten bread and butter and doughnuts over it I Now, John, there is reason in all things ; t/iis house is not made for a missionary asylum." John, thus admonished, looked at his house, and was fain to admit that there was the usual amount of that good, .selfish, hard grit — called common sense — in I-illie's remarks. Rooms have their atmosjjhere, their necessities, their artistic pro- perties. Apartments (//>// to be at all the proper thing ; nowhere where he could lounge, and read his newspaper, without a feeling of impropriety ; nowhere that he could indulge in any of the slight Hottentot-isms wherein unrenewed male nature delights. - without a feeling of rebuke. John had not philosophized on the causes of this, lie knew, in a general and unconfessed way, that he was not comfortable in his new arrangements ; but he supposed it was his own fault. lie hud fallen into rusty, old-fashioned, bachelor ways ; and, like other things that are not agreeable to the natural man, he sui)pose(l his trim, resplendent, genteel house was good for him, and that he ought to like it, and by grace should attain to liking it, if he only tried long enough. Only he took long rests every day when he went to (Irace's, on Elm Street, and stretched himself on the old sofa, and sat in his mo- ther's old arm-chair, and told (Irace how very elegant their house was, and how much taste the architect had shown, and how much T jllie was delighted with it. Hut this silent walk of John's, up and down his brilliant apart- ments, opened his eyes to another troublesome prospect. He was a Christian man, with a . high aim and ideal in life. He believed in the Sermon on the Mount, and other radical-preaching of that nature ; and he was a very honest man, and hated humbug in every shape. Nothing seemed meaner to him than to profess a sham. lUit it began in a cloudy way to a])i)ear to him that there is a manner of arranging one's houses that makes it dithcult — yes, well nigh impos- sible -to act out in them any of the brotherhood jmnciplds of those discourses. There are houses where the self-res])ecting poor, or the honest labouring man and woman, cannot be made to enter or to feel at home. 'I'hey are made for the selfish luxury of the privileged few. Then John rejected, uneasily, that this change in his house had absorbed that whole balance which usually remained on his accounts to be devoted to benevolent puri)0ses, and with which this year he had proposed to erect a reading-room for his work- people. " Lillie," said John, as he walked uneasily up and down, " I wish you would try to help me in this thing. I always have done it, — my father and mother did it before me,— and I don't want all of a sud- den to depart from it. It may seem a litde thing, but it docs a great \' 'i 82 r/iVK AM) WJflTE TYRANNY. ' I- ■.: i '!! deal of good. It produces kind feeling ; it refines and educates and softens them." "Oh, well, John! if you say so, I must, I suppose,'' said Lillie, with a sigh. " J can have the carpets and furniture all covered, I suppose ; it'll be no end of trouble, but I'll try. JJut I must .say, I think all this kind of petting of the working-classes does no sort of good ; it only makes them ujjpish and exacting : you never get any gratitude for it." " But you know, dearie, what is said about doing good, 'hoping for nothing again," said John. " Now, John, i)lease don't preach, of all things. Haven't I told you that I'll try my l^cst ? I am going to, — I'll work with all my strength, — you know that isn't much, — but I shall exert myself to the utmost if you say so." " My dear, I don't want you to injure yourself I" " Oh 1 I don't mind," said Lillie, with the air of a martyr. " The servants, I suppose, will make a fuss aboi t it ; and I shouldn't won- der if it was the means of sending them every one off in a body, and leaving me without any help in the house, just as the Follin»sbees and the Simpkinses are coming to visit us.' '■ I didn't know that you had invited the Follingsbees and Simp- kinses," said John. " Didn't I tell you? I meant to," said Mrs. Lillie, innocently. " 1 don't like those Follingsbees, Lillie. He i:: a man I lia^ e no respect for ; he is one of those shoddy upstarts, not at all our iort of folks. I am sorry you asked him." " But his wife is my particular friend,' said Lillie, " and they were very polite to mamma and me at Newport ; and we really owe them some attention." " Well, Lillie, since you have asked them, I will be polite to them ; and I will try and do everything to save you care in this entertain- ment, ril speak to Bridget myself ; she knows our ways, and has been used to managing.' And so, as John was greatly beloved by Bridget, and as all the domestic staff had the true Irish fealty ^o the man of the house, and would run themselves off their feet in his service any day, — it came to })ass that the/c/r was holden, as of yore, in the grounds. Grace was there and helped, and so weie Letitia and Rose Ferguson; and all passed off better than could be expected. But John did not en- joy it. Hf feii all the while that he was dragging Lillie as a thou- sand-pound weight after him ; and he inly resolved that, once out of that day's festival, he would never try to have it again. i-illic went to bed with sick headache, and lay two days alter it, during which she cried and lamented incessantly. She "■ knew she was not the wife for John;" she "always told him he wouldn't be satisfied with her, and now she saw he wasn't ; but she had tried her very best, and now it was cruel to think she should not succeed any better." a JOHN'S BIRTHDAY. 83 K I 'olIin?sbees " My dearest child,' said John, who, to say the trnth, was begin- ning to find this thing less charming than it used to be, " 1 om satis- fied. I am much obliged to you. I'm sure you have done all that could be asked." "Well, I'm sure I hope those folks of yours were pleased," (juoth Lillie, as she lay looking like a martyr, with a cloth wet irr' ice-water bound round her head. " They ought to be ; they have left grease- spots all over the sofa in my boudoir, from one end to the other ; and cake and raisins have been trodden into the carpets ; and the turf around the oval is all cut up ; and they have broken my little Diana ; and such a din as there was ! — oh, me ! it makes my head ache to think of it." *' Never mind, Lillie, I'll see to it, and see it all right." " No, you can't. One of the children broke that model of the Leaning Tower, too. I found it. You can't teach such children to let things alone. Oh, dear me ! my head I" "There, there, pussy! only don't worry," said John, in soothing tones. " Don't think me horrid, pkas\' don't," said Lillie, piteously. " I did try to have things go right ; didn't I }" "Certainly you did, dearie ; so don't worry. I'll get all the spots taken out, and all the things mended, and make everything right." So John called Rosa on his way down stairs. " Show me the sofa that thev spoiled,'" said he. " Sofa ?" said Rosa. " Yes ; I understand that the children greased the sofa in Mrs. Seymour's boudoir."' " Oh, dear, no .' nothing of the sort ; I've been putting everything to rights in all the rooms, and they look beautifully." " Didn't they break something ?" " Oh, no, nothing ! The little things were good as could be." *' The Leaning Tower, and that little Diana," suggested John. " Oh, dear me, no ! I broke those a month ago, and showed them to Mrs. Seymour, and promised to mend them. Oh I she knows all about that.' " Ah! " said John, " I didn't know that. Well, Rosa, put every- thing up nicely, and divide this money among the girls for extra trouble," he added, slipping a bill into her hand. " I'm sure there's no trouble, " said Rosa. " We all enjoyed it ; and I believe everybody did ; only I'm sorry it was too much for Mrs. Seymour ; she is very delicate." " Yes, she is,'' said John, as he turnedaway, drawing a long, slow sigh. That long, .slow sigh had become a frecjuent and unconscious oc- currence with him of late. ^Vhen our ideals are sick unto death ; when they are slowly dying and passing away from I's, we sigh thus. John said to himself, slowly, nf) matter what ; but he felt the |)ang of knowing again what he had known so often of late, that his Lillie's I" ii 84 I'INK AND WHITE TYRANNY. word was not golden. What she said would not bear close examina- tion. Therefore, why examine ? " Evidently, she is determined that this thing shall not go on," said John. " Well, I shall never try again ; it's of no use ;"' and John went uivto his sister's, and threw himself down upon the «ld chintz sofa as if it had been his mother's bosom. His sister sat there, sew- ing. The sun came twinkling through a rustic frame-work of ivy which it had been the pride of her heart to arrange the week before. All the old family pictures and heirlooms, and sketches and pencil- lings, were arranged in the most charming way, so that her rooms seemed a rejjroduction of the old home. " Hang it all !" said John, with a great flounce as he turned over on the sofa. " I'm not up to par this morning." Now, (irace had that perfect intuitive knowledge of just what the matter was with her brother, that women always have who have grown up in intimacy with a man. These fine female eyes see farther be- tween the rough cracks and ridges of the oak bark of manhood than men themselves. Nothing would have been easier, had Clrac been a jealous rxigca?ite woman, than to have passed a fine probe of sister- ly inquiry into the weak places where the ties between John and Lillie were growing slack, and untied and loosened them more and more. She could have done it so tenderly, so conscientiously, so pityingly, — encouraging John to talk and to comj)lain, and taking part with him, — till there should come to be two parties in the family, the brother and sister against the wife. How strong the temptation was, those may feel who reflect that this one subject caused an almost total eclipse of the life-long habit of confidence which had existed between (Jrace and her brother, and that her brother was her life and her world. Hut (Irace was one of those women formed under the kindly se- vere discipline of Puritan New Mngland, to act not from ])lind im- pulse or instinct, l)ut from high principle. The ha])it of self-examin- ation and self-inspection, for which the religious teaching of New England has been peculiar, produced a race of women, who rose superior to those mere feminiiK- caprices and impulses, which often hurry very generous and kindly-natured persons into ungenerous and dishonorable conduct. (Irace had been trained by a father and mo- ther whose marriage union was the lioliest and most awful of obliga- tions. To her. the idea of a husl)and or a wife betraying each other's weaknesses or faults by < onii)lainls to a third party seemed some- thing sacrilegious; and she used all her womnnly tact and skill to prevent any :onver.sation that might lead to such a result. " Lillie is entirely knocketl up by the affair yesterday ; sin had a terrible headache this morning," said John. " Poor child ! She is a delicate little thing," said (irace. "She couldn't have had any labor," continued John, "for I saw to everything and jirovided everything myself ; and Bridget and Rosa JO/IX'S in RT 11 DAY. 8i I examina- iirned over .11 id skill to and all the girls entered into it with real spirit, and Lillio did the best she could, poor girl ! but 1 could see all the time she was wor- rying about her new fizgigs and folderols in the house. Hang it ! I wish they were all in the Red Sea !" l)ur>l out John, glad to find something to vent himself upon. " If I had known that making the house over was going to be such a restraint onafellow, I would never have done it." " Oh, well ! ne\er mind that now," said (irace. " Your house will get rubbed down by and by, and the new gloss taken off; and so will your wife, and you will all be cosy and easy as an old shoe. Young mistresses, )ou see, ha\e ner\es all over their bodies at first. They tremble at every dent in dieir furniture, and wink when you come near it. as if you were going to hit it a blow ; but that wears off in time, and then they learn to take it easy." John looked relieved ; but after a minute broke out again : - " I say, (Iracie, Lillie has gone and invited the Simpkinses and the Kollingsbees here this fall. Just think of it :" " Well, I supjjose you expect your wife to have the right of inviting her company." said (irace. " But, you know, (iracie, they are not at all our sort of folks," said John. " None of our set would think of visiting them, and it'll seem so odd to see them here. Follingsbee is a vulgar sharper, who has made his mone\ out of our country by dishonest contracts during the war. I don't know much alxjut his wife. Lillie .says she is her intimate friend.'" " Oh, well, John ! we must get over it in the (piietest way jjossible. It wouldn't be handsome not to make the agreeable to your wife's company; and if you don't like the (juality of it, why, you are a good deal nearer to her than any one el.se can be, — you can gradually detach her from them." " Then you tliink I (jught to i)ut a good face on their coming? " .said John, with a sigh of relief. "Oh, certainly I of course. V\'hiit else can you do? It's one of the things to be expected with a young wife." " And do you think the Wilcoxes and the Fergusons and the rest of our set will be civil ?" " VV^hy, of course they will," said (irace. " Rose and Letitia will, certainly; and the others will follow suit. After all, John, perhaps we old families, as we call ourselves, are a little bit pharisaical and self-righteous, and too apt to thank (iod we are not as other men are. It'll do us good to be obliged to come a little out of our crinkles." " It isn't any old family feeling about Follingsbee," said John. " Hut I feel that that man deserves to be in State's prison much more than man) a poor dog that is there now." " And that may be true of many another, even in the selectest circles of good society,' said (irace ; " but we are not called on to play Providence nor pronounce judgements. The common courtesies ^ r t 86 riNK AND WHITE rYRANNY. II iHI tin iw (■■ /BH f of life do not commit us one way or the other. The Lord himself does not express his opinion of the wicked, but allows all an equal share of his kindliness." " Well, Gracie, you are right ; and I'll constrain myself to do the thing handsomely," said John. "The thing with you men," said (Irace, " is, that you want your wives to see with your eyes, all in a minute, what has got to come with years and intimacy, and the gradual growing cIo.ser and closer together. 'I'he husband and wife, of tiiemselves, drop many friendships and associations that at first were mutually dista.ste- ful, simply because their tastes have grown insensiby to be the same." John hoped it would be so with himself and Lillie ; for he was still very much in love with her ; and it comforted him to have Grace speak so cheerfully, as if it were possible. "You think Lillie will grow into our ways by and by ?"-— he said inquiringly. '' Well, if we have patience and give her time. You know, John, that you knew when you took her that she had not been brought up in our way.^ of living and thinking. Lillie conies from an entirely different set of people from any we are accustomed to ; but a man must face all the consec[uencesof his marriage honestly and honorably." " I know it," said John, with a sigh. " 1 say, (Jracie, do you think the Fergusons like Lillie ? I want her to be intimate with them." "Well, 1 think they admire her, .said (irace, evasively, "and feel disposed to be as intimate as she will let them." " Because,'" said John, " Rose Ferguson is such a splendid girl ; she is so strong, and so generous, and so perfectly true and reliable it would be the joy of my heart if Lillie would chose her for a friend." •• 'I'hen, i)ray don't tell her so," said Grace earnestly; "and don't praise her to Lillie,- and, above all things, never hold her up as a pattern, unless you want your wife to hate her." John opened his eyes very wide. "So 1" said he, slowly, " I never thought of that. You think she would be jealous ?"" and John smiled, as men do at the idea that their wives may be jealous, not disliking it on the whole. " I know / sliouldnt be in much charity with a woman m\' husband jjroposed to me as a model ; that is to say, supposing 1 had one," .said Grace. " That reminds me," said John, suddenly rising up from the sofa. " Do you know, Gracie, that Colonel Sydenham has come back from his cruise ?' " I had heard of it." said Grace, quietly. "Now, John, don't interrupt me. " I'm just going to tiuii this corner, and must count, — 'one, two, three, four, five, six,' " — John looked at his sister. " How handsome she looks when her cheeks have that color 1" he tliought. " I wonder if there ever was anything in that afiair between them." CHAPTER XIV. A GREAT MORAL CONFLICT. " "^r^^* Jolin, dear, I have something very particular that I want _L.\ you to promise me, " said Mrs. LiUie, a day or two after the scenes ju^t recorded. Our Lilhe had recovered her sjjirits, and got over her headache, and had come down and done her best to l)e dehghtful ; and when a very pretty woman, who has all her life studed the art of pleasing, does that, she generally succeeds. "John thought to himself he " didn't care lo/iat she was, he loved her ;" and that .she certainly was the prettiest, most bewitching little creature on earth. He flung his sighs and his doubts and fears to the wind, and suffered himself to be coaxed, and cajoled, and led captive, in the most amiable manner possible. His fair one had a point to carry, — a point that instinct told her was to be managed with great adroitness. "Well," said John, over his newspai)er. "what is this something so very particular ?" " First, sir, put down that paper, and listen to me, said Mrs. Lillie, coming up and seating herself on his knee, and sweeping down the offending paper with an air of authority. " Yes'm," said John, submissively. " Let's see, — how was that in the marriage service ? I promised to obey, didn't I ?" "Of course you did ; that service is always intcri)reted by contra- ries — ever since Eve made Adam mind her in tiie beginning," said Mrs. Li Hie, laughing. " And got things into a pretty mess in that way," said John ; "but come, now, what is it ?" "Well, John, you know the l'"nllingsl)ees are coming next week?" " I know it,'' said John, looking amiaiile and cone iliatory. " Well, dear, there are some things about our establishment that are not just as I should feel pleased to receive them to." ' ^h '" said John ; " why, Lillie. 1 thought we were fine as a fiddle, from the top of the iiouse to the bottom." "Oh! it's not the house; the house is splendid. I shouldn't be in the least ashamed to show it to anybody ; but about the tabic arrangements." w i m 88 I'LVh' AND WHITE TYRASNY 'm f ■ I' .! " Now, really, [.illie, what can one have more than real old china and heavy silver plate? I rather piijue myself on that ; I think it has (|uite a good, rich, solid old air. " "Well, John, to say the truth, why do we ne\er have any wine? I don't care for it, — I never drink it ; but the decanters, and the different colored glasses, and all the apparatus, are such an adorn- ment ; and then the FollingsWees are such judges of wine. He im))orts his own from Spain." John's face had been hardening down into a firm, decided look, while i.illie, stroking his whiskers and playing with his collar, went on with this address. At last he said, " Lillie, F have done almost everything you ever asked ; but this one thing I cannot dc;, it is a matter of principle. I never drink wine, never have it on my table, never give it, because I have i)ledged myself not to do it." " Now, John, here is some more of your (Quixotism, isn't it?" "Well, I.illie, I suppose you will call it so," said John ; "but listen to me patiently. My father and I labored for a long time to root out drinking from our village at Spindlewood. It seemed for the time, as if it would be the tlestruction of everything there. The fact was, there was rum in every family ; the parents took it daily, the children learned to love and long after it, by seeing the parents, and drinking little .sweetened remains at the bottoms of tumblers. There were, every year, families broken up and destroyed, and fine fellows going to the very devil, with this thing ; and so we made a movement to form a temperance society. I paid lecturers, and finally lectured myself. At last they said to me : " It's all very well for you rich peo|>le, that have twice as fine houses and twice as many pleasures as we poor folks, to i)ick on us for having a little some- thing comfortable to drink in our houses. If we could afford your fine nice wines, and all thpt, we wouldn't drink whisky. You must all have yo\\x wine on the table ; whisky is the poor man's wine.' " " I think," .said Lillie, " they were abominably impertinent to talk so to you. I should have told them so." " Perhaps they thought I was impertinent in talking to them about their private affairs," said John ; " but I will tell you what I said to them. 1 said, ' My good fellows, I will clear my house and table of wine, if you will clear yours of rum.' On this agreement I formed a temperance Society ; my father and I i)ut our names at the head of the list, and we got every boy and man in Spindlewood. It was a com})lete victory ; and, since then, there hasn't been a more tem- perate, thrifty set of people in these United States." " Didn't your mother object ?"' " My mother ! no indeed ; I wish you could liave known my mother. It was no small sacrifice t(j her and father. Not that they cared a penny for the wine itself ; but the poetry and hos- pitality of the thing, the fine old cheery associations connected with J3.» A ORKAT MORAL CONFLICT. 89 (I china think it y wine? md the I adorn- le. He ;d look, ar, went 'Oil ever rinciple. l)ecause it?" II ; " but ; time to nned for re. The it daily, ; parents, Lumblers. land fine made a •ers, and very well J as many tie some- brd your {ou must ivine. It to talk ,in about I said to and table I formed the head It was nore tem- nown my Not that and hos- icted with it, were a real sacrifice. IJut when we tokl my mother how it was, she never hesitated a moment. All our cellar of fine old wines was sent round as presents to hospitals, except a little that we keep for sickness." " Well, really 1" said Lillie, in a dry, cool tone, " I supi)ose it was very good of you, perfectly saintlike, and all that ; but it does seem a great pity. Why couldn't these people take care of themselves ? I don't see why you should go on denying yourself, just to keep them in the ways of virtue. " " Oh, it's no self-denial now ! I'm (juite used to it," said John, cheerily. '" I am young and strong, and just as well as I can be, and don't need wine : in fact, i never think of it. The I''ergusons, who are with us in the .Spindlewood business, took just the same view of it, and did just as we did ; and the Wilcoxes joined us ; in fact, all the good old families of our set came into it." "Well, couldn't you, just while the Follingsbees are here, do differently ?" " No, Lillie : there's my pledge, you see. No: it's really impos- sible." Tiillie frowned and looked disconsolate. " John, I really do think you are selfish ; you don't seem to have any consideration for me at all. It's going to make it so disagree- able and uncomfortable for me. The Follingsbees are accustomed to wine every day. I'm perfectly ashamed not to give it to them. " Do 'em good to fast awhile, then,'' said John, laughing like a hard-hearted monster. " You'll see they won't suffer materially. Bridget makes splendid coffee." " It's a shame to laugh at what troubles me, John; The Follings- bees are my friends, and of course I want to treat them handsomely." "We will treat them just as handsomely as we treat ourselves," said John, and mortal man or woman ought not to ask more." " I don't care," said I-illie, after a i)ause. " I hate all these moral movements and society questions. They are always in the way of people's having a good time ; and I believe the world would wag just as well as it does, if nobody had ever thought of them. People will call you a real muff, John." " How very terrible!" .said John, laughing. "What shall I do if] am called a muff? and what a jolly little Mrs. IVIuff you will be !'' he said, pinching her cheek. "You needn't laugh, John," said Lillie, [)outing. "You don't know how things look in fashionable circles. 'I"he Follingsbees are m the very highest circle. I'hey have lived in Paris, and been nvited by the Emperor." " I haven't much opinion «f Americans who live in Paris and are invited by the Emperor," said John. "But, be that as it may. I shall do the best I can for them, and Mr. Young says ' angels could ii tit s I ;•' r 90 r/NK AAJ) \y///TK rvnANSY n J l-.I ■ ll if ii ; do no more ; " so, good-by, puss ; I iiiust go to my ofticc ; and doH'l let's talk about this any more." And John put on his cap and s(|uare(l his broad shoulders, and, marching otV with a resolute stride, went to his (jftice, and had a most uncomfortable morning ot" it. V'ou :-.ee, my dear friends, that though nature has set the seal of sovereignty on man, in broatl shoulders and bushy beard ; though he fortify and incase himself in rough over- coats and heavy boots, and walk with a dashing air, and whistle like a freeman, we all know it is not an easy thing to wage a warfare with a pretty little creature in lace cap and tiny slippers, who has a faculty of looking very pensive and grieved, and making up a sad little mouth, as if her heart were breaking. John never doubted tliat he was right, and in the way of duty ; and yet, though he braved it out so stoutly with Lillie, and though he marched out from her presence victoriously, as it were, with drums beating and colors Hying, yet there was a dismal sinking of heart under it. " I'm right ; I know I am. Of course I cant give up here ; it's a matter of principle, of honor/' he said over and over to liimself. " Perhajjs if I.illie had been here I never should have taken such a l^ledge ; but as 1 have, there's no help for it." Then he thought of what I. illie had suggested al)out it's looking niggardly in hospitality, and was angry with himself for feeling uncom- fortable. " What do I care what Dick I'ollingsbee thinks?" said he to himself: '* a man that 1 despite ; a cheat and a swindler, — a man of no principle. Lillie doesn't know the sacrifice it is to me to have such people in my house at all. Hang it all I 1 wish I-illie was a little more like the women I've been used to,- like (Irace and Rose and my mother. Hut, poor thing, 1 oughtn't to blame her, after all, for her unfortunate bringing uj). But it's so nice to be with women > that can understand the grounds you go on. A man never wants to fight a woman. I'd rather give \\\) hook and line, and let Lillie have her own way in everything. But then it won't do ; a fellow must stop somewhere. Well, I'll make it up in being a model of civility to these confounded i)cople that I wish were in the Red Sea. Let's see, I'll ask Lillie if she don't want to give a party for them when they come. By (leorge ! she shall have everything her own way there, — send to New V'ork for the supper, turn the house topsy-turvy, illuminate the grounds, and do anything else she can think of Yes, yes, she shall ha\e uutc h/a/ic/icUyx everything !" All which John told Mrs. Lillie when he returned to tUnner and found her enacting the dej^ressed wife in a most becoming lace cap and wrapi)er that made her look like a suffering angel : and the treaty was sealed with many kisses. " You shall have oirtc blanche, dearest,'' he said, '' for every thing but what we were speaking of: and that will content you, won't it?" And Lillie, with lingering ])ensiveness, very graciously acknow- .1 (iRKAT SOR \h COSFIICT. 91 :1 doH't s, and, a most though u)ulders ^h over- stle Ukc arc with a faculty ad little of duty ; I though ih driu-ns of heart rc ; it's a himself. II such a k the case when John went out in the morning, and so accepted the treaty of peace with a good degrtn- of cheerfulness ; and she was soon busy iliscussing the matter. •• Vou see, we've l)een invited everywhere, and ha\-en't given an\ thing," she said; and this will do up our social obligations to everybody here. And then we can show off our rooms ; they really ari* made to give jjar- ties in.' "Yes, so they are," said John, delighted to see her smile again : *' they .seem adapted to that, and I don't doubt you'll make a bril- liant affair of it, lallie.' " Trust me for that, John," said Liliie. "I'll show the Kollings- bees that something can be done here in Springdale as well as in New York." And so the great ([uestion was settled. i looking ig unconi- " said he , — a man e to have lie was a md Rose , after all, th women - r wants to ,illie have l(jw must of civility a. l-et's em when own way psy-turvy, of. Yes, inner and lace cap ; and the ;very thing won't it ?" ly acknow- C;H.\P! KR XV. THF FOr.niGSSfiFKS ARRIVE t vm ; NKXT week the Follingsbees alighted, so to speak, from a cloud of glory. They (aine in their own carriage, and with their own horses ; all in silk and silver, purple and fnie linen, "with rings on their fingers and bells on their toes," as the old song has it. We pause to caution our readers that this last clause is to be hiterpreted metaphorically. Springdale stood astonished. 'I'he (juiet, respectable old town had not seen any thing like it for many a long day ; the ostlers at the hotel talked of it ; the boys followed the carriage, and hung on the slats of the fence to see the i)arty alight, and said to one another in their artless vocabulaty, "(lolly I ain't it bully?" There was Mr. Dick P'ollingsbee, with a pair of waxed, tow-colored moustache's like the French emperor's, and ever so much longer. He was a little, thin, light-colored man, with a yellow complexion and sandy hair; who, with the appendages aforesaid, looked like some kind of large inject, with very long autcnme. There was Mrs. Fol- lingsbee, — a tall, handsome, dark-eyed, dark-haired, dashing woman, French dressed from the tip of her lace parasol to the toe of her boot. 'I'here was Mademoiselle There.se, the French maid, an inexpressi- bly fine lady ; and there was la petite Marie, Mrs. Follingsbee's three- year-old hopeful, a lean, bright-eyed little thing, with a great scarlet bow on her back that made her look like a walking butterfly. On the whole, the tableau of arrival was so impressive, that Bridget and Annie, Rosa and all the kitchen cabinet, were in a breathless state of excitement. " How do 1 find you, via ckere T' said Mrs. Follingsbee, folding I.illie rapturously to her breast. " I've been just dying to see you ! How lf)vely every thing looks ! Oh, del ! how like dear Paris 1" she said, as she was conducted into the parlor, and sunk upon the sofa. " Pretty well done, too, for America ! " said Mr. Follingsbee, gaz- ing round, and settling his collar. Mr. Follingsbee was one of the class of returned travellers who always si)eak condescendingly of any thing Amerif^an as "so-so," or " tolerable," or " pretty fair," — a con- siderateness which goes a long way towards keeping up the spirits of the <.;oiuitry. i ;iSii!rf|| TJIK FOL L I NO SUE KS A li Rl VE. 'JJ •' ] say, Dick,' said his lady, •'have you seen to the bags and wraps .'' " All right, madam.' "And my casket of medicines and the books ?" •' (). K.," rei)lied Dick, sententiously. *' Oh I how often must I tell you not to use those odious slang terms?" said his wife, reprovingly. 'Oh ! .Mrs. John Seymour knows ;;/<• of c^ld," said .Mr. Kollingsbee, winking facetiously at Lillie. *' We've had many a jolly lark to- gether ; haven't we, 1-ill ?" '' ("ertainly we have,' said I.illie, atVably. " Hut come, darling," she added \.o Mrs. hollingsbee. " don't you want to be shown to your room ?■' " do it, then, my dearie ; and I'll toddle up with the fol-de-njls and what-you-may-calls,' said the incorrigible Dick. *' There, wife, Mrs. John .SeyuKjur shall go first, so that you shan't be jealous of her and me. Vou know we came pretty near being in interesting rela- tions ourselves at one time : didn't we n(jw y he said with another wink. " It is said that a thorough paced naturalist can reconstruit a whole animal from one spec-imen bone. In like manner, we imagine that, from these few words of dialogue, our expert readers can reconstruct Mr. and Mrs. KoUingsbee : he, vulgar, shallow, sharj), keen at a bar- gain, and utterly without scruples ; with a sort of hilarious, animal good nature that was in a state of constant ebullition. He was, as Richard Haxter .saiil of a better man, "always in that state of hilarity that another would be in when he hath taken a cup too much." Dick Follingsbee began his life as a peddler. He was now reputed to be master of untold wealth, kept a yacht and race-horses, ran his own theatre, and patronized the whole world and creation in general with a jocular freedom. Mrs. i''ollingsbee had been a covuitry giil. with small early advantages, but considerable ambition. She mar- ried Dick KoUingsbee, and helped him up in the world, as a clever, ambitious woman may. The last few years she had been s])ending in Paris, improving her mind and manners in reading Dumas' and Madame (leorge Sand's novels, and availing herself of sui h oplskirl advantages of the court of the 'I'uileries as industrious, pains-taking Americans, not embarrassed by self-respect, may command. Mrs. Follingsbee, like many another of our republicans who be- sieged the purlieus of the late empire, felt that a residence near the court, at a time when everything good and decent in France was hid- ing in obscure corners, and everything pan'enn was wide awake and active, entitled her to speak as one having authority cf)nierning French character, French manners and customs. This la»ly assiuned the sentimental literary role. She was always cultivating herself in her own way ; that is to say, she was assiduous in what she called keeping up her French. V \ If %, V^VT"°' ^ V^ Vj IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET {MT-3) 1.0 I.I |50 ■^" 1.25 i 1.4 6" 2.5 2.2 12.0 1.6 VI m / :V V .>' Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14SC0 (716) 872-4503 I' . a W 94 P/XK AND WHITE TyRANNV. '■■^ i( In the opinion of many of her class of thinkers, French is the key of the kingdom of heaven ; and, of course, it is worth one's while to sell all that one has to be possessed ot it, Mrs. Follingsbee had not been in the least backward to do this ; but, as to getting the golden key she had not succeeded. She had formed the ac([uaintance of many disreputable people ; she had read French novels and French plays such as no well-bred Frenchwoman would suffer in her family ; she had lost such innocence and purity of minrl as she had to lose, and, after all, had not got the F'rench language. However, there are losses that do not trouble the subject of them, because they bring insensibility. Just as Mrs. F'oUingsbee's ear was not delicate enough to know that she had spent her labour for "that which was not bread," She had only succeeded in actjuiring such an air that, on a careless survey, she might have been taken for one of the d(')ni-7nonde of l\iris ; while secretly she imagined herself the fascinating heroine of a I'Vench romance. The friendship between Mrs. Follingsbee and J.illie was of the most impassioned nature; though, as both of them were women of a good solid perception in regard to their own material interests, there were excellent reasons on both sides for this enthusiasm. Notwithstanding the immense wealth of the Follingsbees, there were circles to which Mrs. Follingsbee found it difficult to be admit- ted. With the usual human perversity, these, of course, became ex- actly the ones, and the only ones, she particularly cared for. Her ambition was to pass beyond the ranks of the *' shoddy" aristocracy to those of the old-established fiimilies. Now, the Seymours, the Fergusons, and the Wilcoxes were families of this sort ; and none of them had ever cased to conceal the fact, that they did not intend to know the F'ollingsbees. 'I'he marriage of Lillie int(^ the Seymour family was the opening of a door ; and Mrs. Follingsbee had been at 'Lillie's feet during her Newport campaign. On the other hand, LiUie, having taken the sense of the situation at Springdale, had cast her thoughts forward like a discreet young woman, and perceived in advance of her a very dull domestic winter, enlivened only by read- ing-circles and such slow tea-parties as unsophisticated Springdale found agreeable. The idea of a long visit to the New York alham- bra of the F'ollingsbees in the winter, with balls, parties, unlimited opera-boxes, was not a thing to be disregarded ; when Mrs. F'ollings- bee " ma cheraf Lillie, IJllie "my deared" Mrs. F^ollingsbee : and the [jair are to be seen at this blessed moment sitting with their arms tenderly around each other's waists on a causcusr in Mrs. Follingsbee's dressing-room. " Vou don't know, fnignonnc," said xMrs. Follingsbee. ", how per- fectly ravissante these apartments are ! I'm so glad poor Charlie did •ommands on h' vou. m\- poor Pray, how does your affair get on with him ?" said Lillie. ' O dearest ! you've no conception what a trial it is to me to keep \\m THE FOLLINaSnr.ES ARRIVE 95 the key while to had not e golden itance of 1 French : family ; I to lose. of them, ) ear was for "that ing such n for one :rself the Ls of the imen of a its, there ees, there be admit- ;came ex- or. Her •istocracy 3urs, the none of intend to Seymour d been at ler hand, had cast ceived in by read- pringdale rk alham- im limited Folhngs- jee : and heir arms lingsbee's how per- larlie did .•How :" to keep him in the bounds of reason. He has such struggles of mind about that stupid wife of his. Think of it, my dear! a man Uke Charlie Ferrola, all poetry, romance, ideality, tied to a woman who thinks of nothing but her children's teeth and bowels, and turns the whole house ir.to a nursery ! Oh, I've no i)atience with such people." " Well, i)oor t'c'llow ! it's a pity he ever got married," said Lillie. " Well, it would be all well enough if this sort of woman ever would be reasonable ; but they won't. They don't in the least comjjrehend the necessities of genius. 'I'hey want to yoke Pegasus to a cart, you see. Now, I understand Charlie perfectly. I could give him that which he needs. 1 appreciate him. I make a bower of peace and enjoyment for him, where his artistic nature finds the repose it craves." " And she pitches into him about you," said Lillie, not slow to per- ceive the true literal rendering of all this. " Of course, ma chere,- — tears him, rends him, lacerates his soul ; sometimes he comes to me in the most dreadful states. Really, dear, I have apprehended something ([uite awful ! I shouldn't in the least be surprised if he should blow his brains out I" And Mrs. FoUingsbee 'ighed deeply, gave a glance at herself in an opposite mirror, and smoothed down a bow pensively, as the prima donna at the grand opera generally does when her lover is getting ready to stab himself " Oh ! I don't think he's going to kill himself,"' said Mrs. Lillie, who, it must be understood, was secretly somewhat sceptical about the power of her friend's charms, and looked on this little French ro- mance with the eye of an outsider : " never you believe that, dearest. These men make dreadful tearings, and shocking eyes and mouths ; but they take pretty good care to keep in the world, after all. You see, if a man's dead, there's an end of all things ; and I fancy they think of that before they come to anything decisive." " Chen etourdie" said Mrs. FoUingsbee, regarding Lillie with a , pensive smile : " you are just 3'our old self, I see ; you are now at the height of your power, — '' jeune Madame, un mari qui vous adores ready to put all things under your feet. How can you feel for a worn, lonely heart like mine, that sighs for congeniality ?" " Bless me, now,'' said Lillie, briskly ; "you don't tell me that you are going to be so silly as to get in love with Charlie yourself ! It's all well enough to keep these fellows on the tragic high ropes ; but if a woman falls in love herself, there's an end of her power. And, darling, just think of it : you wouldn't have married that creature if you could ; he's poor as a rat, and always will be ; these desperately interesting fellows always are. Now you have money without end ; and of course you have position ; and your husbano is a man you can get anything in the world out of" " Oh ! as to that, I don't complain of Dick," said Mrs. FoUings- bee : " he's course and vulgar, to be sure, but he never^tands in my 96 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. • 'f 'fli- way, and I never stand in his ; and, as you say, he's free about money. But still, darling, sometimes it seems to me such a weary thing to live without sympathy of soul ! A marriage without congeniality of soul, mon Dieu, what is it ? And then the harsh, cold laws of human society prevent any relief. They forbid natures that are made for each other from Ijeing to each other what they can be." '* You mean that people will talk about you," said Lillie. "Well, I assure you, dearest, they will talk awfully, if you are not very careful. I say this to you frankly, as your friend, you know." " Ah, ma petite ! you don't need to tell me that. 1 am careful," said Mrs. Follingsbee. " I am always lecturing Charlie, and showing him that we must keep up Ics convenances ; but is it not hard on us poor women to lead always this repressed, secretive life ?" " What made you marry Mr. Follingsbee ?" said Lillie, with appar- ent artlessness. " Darling, I was but a child. 1 was ignorant of the mysteries of my own nature, of my capabilities. As Charlie said to me the other day, we never learn what we are till some congenial soul unlocks the secret door of our hearts. The fact is, dearest, that American society, with its sL'-ait-laced, puritanical notions, bears terribly hard on woman's heart. Poor Charlie ! he is no less one- of the victims of society." " Oh, nonsense !" .said I.illie. You take it too much to heart You mustn't mind all these men say. They are always being despe- rate and tragic. Charlie has talked just so to me, time and time again. I understand it all. He talked exactly so to me when he came to Newport last summer. You must take matters easy, my dear, — -you, with your beauty, and your style, and your money. Why, you can lead all New York captive ! Forty fellows like Charlie are not worth spoiling one's dinner for. Come, cheer up ; positively I shan't let you be blue, ma rcine. Let me ring for your maid to dress you for dinner. An ramr.'^ The fact was that Mrs. Lillie, having formerly set down this lovely Charlie on the list of her own adorers, had small sympathy with the sentimental romance of her friend. " What a fool she makes of herself I" she thought, as she contem- plated her own sylph-like figure and wonderful freshness of complex- ion in the glass. " Don't I know Charlie Ferrola? he wants her to get him into fashionable life, and knows the way to do it. To think of that stout, middle-aged party imagining that Charlie Ferrola's go- ing to die for her charms ! it's too funny ! How stout the dear old thing does get, to be sure !" It will be observed here that our dear Lillie did not want for per- spicacity. There is nothing so absolutely clear-sighted, in certain directions, as selfishness. Entire want of sympathy with others clears THE FOLLINOSBEES ARRIVE. 97 up one's vision astonishingly, and enables us to see all the weak points and ridiculous places of our neighbors in the most accurate manner possible. As to Mr. Charlie Ferrola, our Lillie was certainly in the right in respect to him. He was one of those blossoms of male humanity that seem as expressly designed by nature for the ornamentation of ladies' boudoirs, as an Italian greyhound : he had precisely the same graceful, shivery adaptation to live by petting and caresses. His tastes were all so extjuisite that it was the most difficult thing in the world to keep him out of misery a moment. He was in a chronic state of disgust with something or other in our lower world from morn- ing till night. His profession was naturally that of architecture and landscape gardening ; but, in point of fact, consisted in telling certain rich, b/ase^ stupid, fashionable people how they could (juickest get rid of their money. He ruled despotically in the FoUingsbee halls; he bought and rejected pictures and jewelry, ordered and sent off furniture, with the air of an absolute master ; amusing himself meanwhile with run- ning a French romance with the handsome mistress of the establish- ment. As a consequence, he had not only opportunities for much quiet feathering of his own nest, but the eclat of always having the use of the Follingsbees' carriages, horses, and opera-boxes, and being the acknowledged and supreme head of fashionable dictation. Ladie : sometimes pull caps for such charming individuals, as we have seen in the case of Mrs. FoUingsbee and Lillie. For it is not to be supposed that Mrs. FoUingsbee, though she had assumed the gushing style with her young friend, wanted spirit or perception on her part. Her darling Lillie had left a nettle in her bosom which rankled there. "The vanity of these thin, light, watery blondes!" she said to her- self, as she looked into her own great dark eyes in the mirror, — ''thinking Charlie Ferrola cares for her I I know just what he thinks of her, thank heaven! Poor thing! Don't you think Mrs. John Seymour has gone off astonishingly since her marriage ?" she said to Therese. "J/^// Dieu, madame (/oui,' said the obedient tire-woman, scrap- ing the very back of her throat in her zeal. " Madame Seymour has the real American /naigtrur. These thin women, madame, they have no substance ; there is noting to them. For yoimg girls, they are charming; but, as women, they are just noting at all. Now, you wiU see, madame, what I tell you. In a year or two, people shall ask, 'Was she ever handsome?' But jjw/, madame, you come to your prime like great rose ! (Jh, dere is no comparison of you to Mrs. John Seymour." And 'rher^se found her words highly acceptable, after the manner of aU her tribe, who ])rophesy smooth things unto their mistresses. It may be imagined that the entertaining of Dick FoUingsli>«e was l^ I ^m .98 PLVK AX/) WlllTK TYRANNY. no small strain on the conjugal endurance of our faithful John ; hut he was on duty, and endured without flinching that gentleman's free and easy jokes and patronizing civilities. '•J do wish, darling, you'd teach that creature not to call you 'J.illie' in that abominably free manner,'" he said to his wife, the first day, after dinner. " Mercy on us, John ! what can I do? All the world knows that Dick FoUingsbee's an oddity ; and everybody agrees to take what he says for what it's worth. If 1 should go to putting on airs, he'd be- have ten times worse than he does : the only way is, to pass it ofl' quietly, and not to seem to notice anything he says or does. My way is, to smile, and look gracious, and act as if I hadn't heard any thing but what is perfectly proper." " It's a tremendous intliction, I-illiel" " Poor man ! is it ?" said Lillie, putting her arm round iiis neck, and stroking his whiskers. " Well, now, he's a good man to bear it so well, so he is ; and they shan't i)lague him long. But, John, you must confess Mrs. Follingsbee is nice : poor woman ! she is mortified with the way Dick will go on; but she can't do anything with him.'' " Yes, I can get on with her," said John. In fact, John was one of those men so loyal to women that his })ath of virtue in regard to them always ran down hill. Mrs. Follingsbee was handsome, and had a gift of language, and some conside:able tact in adapting herself to her society; and, as she put forth all her powers to win his admir- ation, she succeeded. (irace had done her part to assist John in his hospitable intents, by securing the prompt co-operation of the Fergusons. The very first evening after their arrival, old Mrs. Ferguson, with I.etitia and Rose, called, not formall}' but socially, as had always been the custom of the two families. Dick Follingsbee Avas out, enjoying an evening cigar, — a circumstance on which John secretly congratulated himself as a favorable feature in the case. He felt instinctively a sort of un- easy responsibility for his guests ; and, judging the Fergusons by him- self, felt that their call was in some sort an act of self-abnegation on his account; and he was anxious to make it as easy as possible. Mrs. Follingsbee was presentable, so he thought; but he dreaded the iiTcpressible 1 )ick, and had much the same feeling about him that one has on presenting a pet spaniel or pointer in a lady's i)arlor,— there was no answering for what he might say or do. The Fergusons were disposed to make themselves most amiable to Mrs. Follingsbee; r.nd, with this intent, Miss Letitia started the sub- ject of her Parisian experiences, as being probably one where she would feel herself especially at home. Mrs. Follingsbee of course expanded in rapturous description, and was cjuite clever and inter- esting. "You must feel quite a difference between that country and this, in regwd to facilities of living," said Miss Letitia. John ; but .■man's free you 'Lillie' ■d first day, mows that ke what he s, he'd be- pass it ofl" does. My heard any d his neck, n to bear it John, you is mortified ; with him.' hn was one n regard to dsome, and )ting herself 1 his admir- i intents, by le very first a and Rose, custom of an evening ted himself sort of un- ons by him- egation on s possible. Idreaded the It him that 's parlor, — amiable to ted the sub- where she iG of course and inter- [y and this, riri': FOLUXdsnr.Es arrive 93 "Ah, indeed! do I not?" said Mrs. Follingshee, ourxri>i.\\' and yours ' rrclicyelu^ if you gi\e ihein nothing but tea and biscuit. Now, there's my i)ii;k : he respects your husband ; you (an see he does. In his odious slang way, he says he's 'some,' and 'a brick;' and he's a little anxious to please him, though he i)r()fesses not to care for anybody. Now, Dick has ])retty sharp sense, after all, or he'd never have been just where he is."' Our friend John, tluring these days preceding the party, the jKirty itself, and the clearing Up after it, enacted submissively that part of imconditional surrender which the ma.stcr of the house, if well train- ed, generally acts on such occasions. He resembled the prize ox, which is led forth, adorned with garlands, ribbons, and docility, to grace a triumjjhal procession. He went where he was told, did as he was bid, marched to the right, marched to the left, put on gloves and cravat, and took them off, entirely submissive to the word of his little general ; and exhibited, in short, an edifying spectacle of that pleasant domestic animal, a lame husband. He had to make atone- ment for being a reformer, and for endeavoring to live like a C'hris- tian, by conceding to his wife all this latitude of indulgence ; and he meant to go through it like a man and a philosopher. To be sure, in his eyes, it was all so much unutterable bosh and nonsense ; and bosh and nonsense for which he Vas eventually to settle the bills : but he armed himself with the patient reflection that all things have their end in time, — that fireworks and Chinese lanterns, bands of music and kid gloves, rutfs and pufts, and pinkings and quillings, and all sorts of unspeakable eatables with French names, would ere long float down the stream of time, and leave their record only in a few bad colds and days of indigestion, which also time would mercifully cure. So John studied his soul with a view of that comfortable future, when all this fuss should be over, and the coast cleared for some- thing better. Moreover, John found this good result of his patience : that he learned a little something in a Christian way by it. Men of elevated principle and moral honesty often treat themselves to such large slices of contempt and indignation, in regard to the rogues of society, as to forget a common brotherhood of pity. It is sometimes wholesome for such men to be obliged to tolerate a scamp to the extent of exchanging with him the ordinary benevolences of social life. John, in discharging the duty of a host to Dick Follingsbee, found himself, after a while, looking on him with pity, as a poor creature, like the rich fool in the (Jospels, without fliith, or love, or prayer ; spending life as a moth does, — ^in vain attempts to burn himself up in the candle, and knowing nothing better. In fact, after a while, the stilf, tow-colored moustache, smart stride, and flippant air of this poor little man struck him somewhere in the region between a smile \ 41 104 PINK AM) WHITE TYRASNY. ai ) >i 1*1 \i:\. n m •; . K " ! fl and a tear ; and his enforced hospitality l)enan to wear a tin< ture of real kindness. There is no less pathos in moral than in i)hysical imbecility. It is an observable social phenomenon that, when any family in a community makes an advance very greatly ahead of its neighbors in style of living or sj)lendor of entertainments, the fact causes great searchings of spirit in all the region round about, and abundance of talk, wherein the thoughts of many hearts are revealed. Springdale was a country town, containing a choice knot of the old, respectable, true-blue, IJoston-aristocracy families. Two or three of them had winter houses in Beacon Street, and went there, after Christmas, to enjoy the lectures, concer* , and select gayeties of the modern Athens ; others, like the Fergusons a.ul Seymours, were in intimate relationshij) with the same circle. Now, it is well known that the real old true-blue. Simon-pure, Boston family is one whose claims to be considered " the thing," and the only thing, are somewhat like the claim of apostolic succession in ancient churches. It is easy to see why certain affluent, cultivated, and eminently well-conducted peo])le should be considered " the thing " in their day and generation ; Init why they should be consid- ered as the " only thing" is the point insoluble to human reason, and to be received by foith alone ; also, why certain other people, equally affluent, cultivated, and well-conducted are not " the thing " is one of the divine mysteries, about which whoso observes Boston Society will do well not too curiously to exercise his reason. These " true-blue" families, however, have claims to respectability ; which make them, on the whole, ([uite a venerable and pleasurable feature of society in our young, topsy-turvy, American community. Some of them have family records extending clearly back to the set- tlement of Massachusetts Bay ; and the family estate is still on grounds first cleared up by aboriginal settlers. Being of a Puritan nobility, they have an ancestral record, affording more legitimate subject of family self-esteem than most other nobility. Their history runs back to an ancestry of unworldly faith and prayer and self-denial, of in- corruptible public virtue, sturdy resistance of evil, and pursuit of good. There is also a literary aroma pervading their circles. Dim sug- gestions of *' The North American Review," of " The Dial," of Cam- bridge, — a sort of vague " mielfluer " of authorship and poetry, — is supposed to float in the air around them ; and it is generally under- stood that in their homes exist tastes and appreciations denied to less favored regions. Almost every one of them has its great man, — its father, grandfather, cousin, or great uncle, who wrote a book, or edited a review, or was president of the United States, or minister to Bjigland, whose opinions are referred to by the family in any discus- sion, as good Christians quote the Bible. It is true that, in some few instances, the pleroma of aristocratic dignity undergoes a sort of acetic fermentation, and comes out in un- MliS. .lOILW SKYMOril'S I'AHTV. I or. U( turc of physical nily in a ,'hl)ors in ses great idance of ^f the old, three of ere, after ;ies of the , were in inon-pure, hing," and iuccession :iiltivated, ^red "the )e consid- L'ason, and le, eciually " is one of ociety will ectability ; easurable mmunity. the set- n grounds nobility, subject ory runs nial, of in- t of good. Dim sug- " of Cam- oetry,— is ly under- ied to less man, — its book, or minister to y discus- ristocratic out in un- congenial (|ualities. Now and then, at a public watering-|)l.ue, a man or woman appears no otherwise distinguished than by a remarkable talent for being disagreeable ; and it is anuising to fiiul, ou eiupiiry, thai this repulsiveuess of demeanor is entirely on account of belong- ing to an ancient family. Such is the tendency of democracy to a general mingling of ele- ments, that this frigidity is deemed necessary b)' these good souls to prevent the couunonalty from being attracted by them, and sticking to them, as straws and bits of i)aper do to amber. Jiut more gener- ally the " true blue" old families are simple anil urbane in their manners ; ami their ])reteiisions are, as Miss Mdgeworth says, pre- sented rather ////'f% m i« i ( 114 J'LVK AND WHITK TYRANNY After a while, howevLT, he peeped o ver her shoulder. " Why, darling ! " he said, " where did you get that ?'' " It is Mrs. Kollingsbee's," said I illie. " Dear, it is a bad book," said John, *• don't read it." " It amuses me, and helps pass away time," said Lillie ; "and I don't think it is bad ; it is beautiful. Besides, you read what amuses you ; and it's a pity if 1 can't read what amuses me." " I am glad to see you like to read French," continued John ; "and I can get you some delightful French stories, which are not only pretty and witty, but have nothing in them that tend to pull down one's moral principles. Edmund About's 'Marriages de Paris' and 'Tolla' are charming French things ; and, as he says, they might be read aloud by a man between his mother and sister, without a shade of offence. ' " Thank you, sir, for your moral lessons,'' said Lillie, turning her back on him defiantly, putting her feet on the fender, and going on with her reading. John seated himself, and went on with his book in silence. Now, this mode of passing a domestic evening is certainly not agreeable to either party ; but we sustain the thesis that in this sort of interior warfare the woman has generally the best of it. When it comes to the science of annoyance, commend us to the lovely sex I Their methods have a finesse^ a suppleness, a universal adaptability, that does them infinite credit ; and man with all his strength, and all his majesty, and his commanding talent, is about as well off as a buffalo or a bison against a tiny, rainbow-winged gnat or mosquito, who bites, sings, and stings everywhere at once, with an infinite grace and facility. A woman without magnanimity, without generosity, who has no love, and whom a man loves, is a terrible antagonist. To give up or to fight often seems equally impossible. How is a man going to make a woman have a good time, who is determined not to have it ? Lillie had sense enough to see, that, if she settled down into enjoyment of the little agreeablenesses and domesticities of the winter society in Springdale, she would lose her battle, and John would keep her there for life. The only way was to keep him as uncomfortable as possible without really breaking her power over him. In the long run, in these encounters of will, the woman has every advantage. The constant dropping that wears away t.ie stone has passed into a proverb. Lillie meant to go to New York, and have a long campaign at the Follingsbees. The thing had been all promised and arranged between them ; and it was necessary that she should appear sufficiently miser- able, and that John should be made sufficiently uncomfortable, to consent with effusion, at last, when her intentions were announced. These purposes were not distinctively stated to herself; for, as we have before intimated, uncultivated natures, who have never thought for a serious moment on self-education, or the way their character is AFTER THE BATTLE. IIS or, as we forming, act purely from a sort of instinct, and do iiot c\en in thoir own minds fairly and s([uarely face their own motives and purposes ; if they only did, their good angel would wear a less dejected look than he generally must. " Lillie had power enough, in that small circle, to stop and inter- rupt almost all its comfortable literary culture. The reading of Froude was given ui). John could not go to the study club ; and, after an evening or two of trying to read uj) at home, he used to stay an hour later at his office. Lillie would go up with him on Tuesday evening, after the readings were over ; and then it was understood that all parties were to devote themselves to making the evening pass agreeable to her. She was to be put forward, kept in the foreground, and everything arranged to make her appear the (jueen of the /»/<'. They had tableaux, where Rose made Lillie into marvellous pictures, which all admired and praised. They had little dances, which Lillie thought very stupid and humdrum, because they were not en a^rande toilette: yet Lillie always made a great merit of putting up with her life at Springdale. A pleasant English writer has a lively pa])er on the advantages of being a " cantankerous fool,' in which he goes on to show that men or women of inferior moral parts, little self-control, and great selfishness, often accjuire an absolute dominion over the circle in which they move, merely by the exercise of these traits. Every one being anxious to please and pacify them, and keep the peace with them, there is a constant succession of anxious complian- ces and compromises going on around them ; by all of which they are benefitted by getting their own will and way. The one person who will not give up, and cannot be expected to be considerate or accommodating, comes at last to rule the whole circle. He is counted on like the fixed facts of nature; everybody else must turn out for him. So Lillie reigned in Springdale. In every little social gathering where she appeared, the one uneasy ques- tion was, would she have a good time, and anxious provision made to that end. Lillie had declared that reading aloud was a bore, which was definite against reading-parties. She liked to play and sing ; so that was always a part of the programme. Lillie sang well, but needed a good deal of urging. Her throat was apt to be sore ; and she took pains to say that the harsh winter weather in Springdale was ruining her voice. A good part of an evening was often spent in supplications before she could be induced to make the endeavor. Lillie had taken up the whim of being jealous of Rose. Jealousy is said to be a sign of love. We hold another theory, and consider it more properly a sign of selfishness. Look at noble-hearted, unsel- fish women, and ask if they are easily made jealous. Look, again, at a woman who in her whole life shows no disposition to deny her- self for her husband, or to enter into his tastes and views and feel- ings : are not such as she the most frequently jealous? Her husband, in her view, is a piece of her property ; every look. fj'SI I i: 'I 119 PfNK AND WHITE TYRANNr. word, and thought which he gives to any body or thing else is a part of her private possession, unjustly withheld from her. Independently of that, Lillie felt the instinctive jealousy which a f>asscc (jueen of l)eauty sometimes has for a rival. She had eyes to see that Rose was daily growing more and more beautiful ; and not all that young girls considerateness, her self-for- getfulness, her persistent endeavors to put I jllie forward, and make her the (jueen of the hour, could disguise this fact. Lillie was a keen-sighted little body, and saw, at a glance, that, once launched into society together, Rose would carry the day ; all the more that no thought of any day to be carried was in her head. Ro.se Ferguson had one source of attraction which is as great a na- tural gift as beauty, and which, when it is found with beauty, makes it perfectly irresistible ; to wit, perfect unconsciousness of self This is a wholly different trait from unselfishness : it is not a moral virtue, attained by voluntary eftbrt, but a constitutional gift, and a very great one. Fenelon jiraises it as a Christian grace, under the name of simplicity ; but we incline to consider it only as an advantage of na- tural organization. There are many excellent Christians who are haunted by themselves, and in some form or other are always busy with themselves ; either concientiously pondering the right and wrong of their actions, or approbatively sensitive to the opinions of others, or aesthetically comparing their appearance and manners with an interior standard ; while there are others who have received the gift, beyond the artists eye or the musician's ear, of perfect self- forgetfulness. I'heir religion lacks the element of conflict, and comes to them by simple impulse. " Glad souls, without reproach or blot, Who do His will, and know it not." Rose had a frank, open joyousness of nature, that shed around her a healthy charm, like fine, breezy weather, or a bright morning ; making every one feel as if to be good were the most natural thing in the world. She seemed to be thinking always and directly of matters in hand, of things to be done, and subjects under discussion, as much as if she were an impersonal being. She had ever been educated with every solid advantage which old Boston can give to her nicest girls ; and that is saying a good deal. Returning to a country home at an early age, she had been made the companion of her father ; entering into all his literary tastes and receiving constantly, from association with him, that manly influence which a woman's mind needs to develop its completeness. Living the whole year in the country, the F'ergusons developed within themselves a multiplicity of resources. They read and studied, and discussed subjects with their father ; for, as we all know, the discus- sion of moral and social questions has been from the first, and always AFTKR THE /iATTLh'. W is a part whicli a ,nd more • self-for- nd make lie was a launched e that no real a na- ty, makes ;lf. This ral virtue, very great name of ige of na- i who are re always the right 2 opinions i manners ^ received rfect self- md comes round her morning ; ural thing lirectly of iscussion, •^hich old )od deal, ten made lastes and I influence Living Id within lied, and le discus- id always will he, a prime source of iimuscnient in New-Kngland families ; and many of tlicm keep up, with great spirit, a family debating society, in which whoever hath a psalm, a doctrine, or an inter[)retation, has free course. Rose had ne\er been into fashionable life, technically so called. She had not been brought out ; there never had been a mill-stone .set up to mark the place where *' her education was fmislied ;" and so she had gone on unconsciously,- studying, reading, drawing and cultivating herself from year to year, with her head and hands always so full of pleasurable schemes and j)lans, that there really seemed to be no room for anything else. We have seen with what interest she co-operated with Grace in the various good works of the factory village in which her father held shares, where her activity found abundant scope, and her beauty and grace of manner made her a sort of idol. Rose had once or twice been awakened to self-consciousness, by applicants rapping at the front door of her heart ; but she answered with* such a kind, frank, earnest, " No, I thank you, sir,"' as made friends of her lovers ; and she entered at once into pleasant relations with them. Her nature was so healthy, and free from all morbid suggestion ; her yes and no so perfectly frank and positive, that there seemed no possibility of any tragedy caused by her. Why did not John fall in love with Rose ? Why did not he, O most sapient senate of womanhood ? why did not your brother fall in love with that nice girl you know of, who grew up with you all at his very elbow, and was, as everybody else could see, just the proper person for him ? Well, why didn't he ? There is the doctrine of election. " The election hath obtained it ; and the rest were blinded." John was some six years older than Rose. He had romped with her as a little girl, drawn her on his sled, picked up her hair-pins, and worn her tippet, when they had skated together as girl and boy. They had made each other Christmas and New Year's presents all their lives ; and, to say the truth, loved each other honestly and truly : nev<*rthe- less, John fell in love with Lillie, and married her. Did you ever know a case like it ? II. a •' 4;; ^ k^i 4 11'* I dinner. " The tact is, Gracie, Bridget had to be getting up a lot of her things that were forgotten till the last moment ; and I told her not to mind, we could do on a cold lunch." Bridget herself had be- come so wholly accustomed to the ways of her little mistress, that it now seemed the most natural thing in the world that the whole house should be upset for her. But, at last, everything was ready and packed ; the trunks and boxes bhut and locked, and the keys sorted ; and John and Lillie were on their way to the station. " I shall find out Walter in New York, and bring him back with me," said John, cheerily, as he parted from Grace in the hall. " I leave you to get things all to rights for us." It would not have been a very agreeable or cheerful piece of work to tidy the disordered house and take command of the domestic forces under any other circumstances ; but now Grace found it a very nice diversion to prevent her thoughts from running too curiously on this future meeting. " After all," she thought to herself, " he is just the same venturesome, imprudent creature that he always was, jumping to conclusions, and insisting on seeing everything in his own way. How could he dare write such a letter without seeing me ? Ten years make great changes. How could he be sure he would like me ?" And she examined herself somewhat critically in the looking- glass. " Well," she said, " he may than*, me for it that we are not engag- ed, and that he comes only as an old friend, and perfectly free, for all he has said, to be nothing more, unless on seeing each other we are so agreed. 1 am so sorry the old place is all demolished and be- Frenchified. It won't look natural to him ; and I am not the kind of person to harmonize with these cold, polished, glistening, slippery surroundings, that have no home life or association in them." But Grace had to wake from these reflections to culinary counsels with Bridget, and to arrangements of apartments with Rosa. Her own exacting carefulness followed the careless footsteps of the untrain- ed hand-maids, and re-arranged every plait and fold ; so that by night- fall the next day she was thoroughly tired. She beguiled the last moments, while waiting for the coming of the cars, in arranging her hair, and putting on one of those wonderful Parisian dresses, which adapt themselves so precisely to the air of the wearer, that they seem to be in themselves works of ait. Then she stood with a fluttering color to see the carriage drive up to the door, and the two get out of it. It is almost too bad to spy out such meetings, and certainly one has no business to describe them ; but Walter Sydenham carried all before him, by an old habit which he had of taking all and every- thing for granted, as, from the first moment he did with Grace. He had no idea of hesitations or holdings off, and would have none; and 'iij^ ij I A BRICK TURNS UP. 126 met Grade as if they had parted only yesterday, and as if her word to him always had been yes, instead of no. In fact, they had not been together five minutes before the whole life of youth returned to them both, — that indestructible youth which belongs to warm hearts and buoyant spirits. Such a merry evening as they had of it ! When John, as the wood fire burned low on the hearth, with some excuse of letters to write in his library, left them alone together, Walter put on her finger a dia- mond ring, saying, — " There, Gracie ! now, when shall it be ? You see you've kept me waiting so long that I can't spare you much time. I have an en- gagement to be in Montreal the first of February, and I couldn't think of going alone. They have merry times there in midwinter ; and I'm sure it will be ever so much nicer for you than keeping house alone here." Grace said, of course, that it was impossible ; but Walter declared that doing the impossible was precisely in his line, and pushed on his various advantages with such spirit and energy that, when they parted for the night, Grace said she would think of it : which pro- mise, at the breakfast-table next morning, was interpreted by the un- blushing Walter, and reported to John as a full consent. Before noon that day, Walter had walked up with John and Grace to take a sur- vey of the cottage, and had given John indefinite power to engage workmen and artificers to rearrange and enlarge and beauty it for their return after the wedding journey. For the rest of the visit, all the three were busy with pencil and paper, projecting balconies, bow- windows, pantries, library, and dining-room, till the old cottage so blossomed out in imagination as to leave only a germ of its former self. Walter's visit brought back to John a deal of the warmth and free- dom which he had notknown since he married. We often live under an insensible pressure of which we are made aware only by its remov- al. John had been so much in the habit lately of watching to please Lillie, of measuring and checking his words or actions, that he now bubbled over with a wild, free delight in finding himself alone with Grace and Walter. He laughed, sang, whistled, skipped up stairs two at a time, and scarcely dared to say even to himself why he was so happy. He did not face himself with that question, and went du- tifully to the library at stated times to write to Lillie, and made much of her little letters. *f If- CHAPTER XIX. THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. i, ■ i I j,:: r^ IF John managed to be happy without Lillie in Springdale, Lillie managed to be blissful without him in New York, *' The bird let loose in Eastern skies" never hastened more fondly home than she to its glitter and gayety, its life and motion, dash and sensation. She rustled in all her bravery of curls and frills, pinkings and quillings, — a marvellous specimen of Parisian frostwork, without one breath of reason or philosophy or conscience to melt it. The Follingsbees house might stand for the original of the Castle of Indolence. " Halls where who can tell What elegance and grandeur wide expand, — The pride of Turkey and of Persia's laud ? Soft quilts on quilts ; on carpets, carpets spread , And couches stretched around in seemly band ; And endless pillows rise to prop the head : So that each spacious room was one full swelling bed." It was not without some considerable profit that Mrs. Follingsbee had read Balzac and Dumas, and had Charlie Ferrola for master of arts in her establishment. The effect of the whole was perfect ; it transported one, bodily, back to the times of Montespan and Pompa- dour, when life was all one glittering upper-crust, and pretty women were never troubled with even the shadow of a duty. It was with a rebound of joyousness that Lillie found herself once more with a crowded list of invitations, calls, operas, dancing, and shopping, that kept her pretty little head in a perfect whirl of excite- ment, and gave her not one moment for thought. Mrs. Follingsbee, to say the truth, would have been a little careful about inviting a rival queen of beauty into the circle, were it not that Charlie Ferrola, after an attentive considerat'" i'^ of the subject, had assured her that a golden-haired blonde would lOrm a most complete and effective tableau, in contrast with her own dark rich style of beauty. Neither would lose by it, so he said ; and the impression, as they rode together in an elegant open barouche, with ermine car- riage robes, would be " stunning." So they called each other ma smur, ) ' j i- it THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 12T ir ma sceur. and drove out in the park in a ravishing little pony-phaeton, all foamed over with ermine, drawn by a lovely pair of cream-colored horses, whose harness glittered with gold and silver, after the fashion of the Count of Monte Cristo. In truth, if Dick Follingsbee did not remind one of Solomon in all particulars, he was like him in one, that he " made silver and gold as the stones of the street" in New York. Lillie's presence, however, was all desirable ; because it would draw the calls of two or three old New York families who had hitherto stood upon their dignity, and refused to acknowledge the shoddy aristocracy. The beautiful Mrs. John Seymour, therefore, was no less useful than ornamental, and advanced Mrs. Follingsbee's purposes in her '* Excelsior " movements. *' Now, I suppose," said Mrs. Follingsbee to Lillie one doy, when they had been out making fashionable calls together, •' we really must call on Charlie's wife, just to keep her quiet." *' I thought you didn't like her," said Lillie. '* I don't ; I think she is dreadfully common," said Mrs. Follings- bee ; " she is one of those women who can't talk anything but baby, and bores Charlie half to death. But then, you know, when there is a liaison like mine with Charlie, one can't be too careful to cultivate the wives. Les convenances, you know, are the all important things. I send her presents constantly, and send my carriage around to take her to church or opera, or anything that is going on, and have her children at my fancy parties ; yet for all that the creature has not a particle of gratitude ; those narrow-minded women never have. You know I am very susceptible to people's atmospheres ; and I always feel that that creature is just as full of spite and jealousy as she can stick in her skin." It will be remarked that this was one of those idiomatic phrases which got lodged in Mrs. Follingsbee's head in a less cultivated period of her life, as a rusty needle sometimes hides in a cushion, coming out unexpectedly when excitement gives it an honest squeeze. " Now, I should think," pursued Mrs. Follingsbee, " that a woman who really loved her husband would be thankful to have him have such a rest from the disturbing family cares which smother a man's genius, as a house like ours offers him. How can the artistic nature exercise itself in the very grind of the thing, when this child has a cold, and the other the croup ; and there is fussing with mustard- paste and ipecac and paregoric, — all those realities, you know ? Why, Charlie tells me he feels a great deal more affection for his children when he is all calm and tranquil in the little boudoir at our house ; and he writes such lovely little poems about them, I must show you some of them. But this creature doesn't appreciate them a bit ; she has no poetry in her." " Well, I must say, I don't think I should have," said Lillie, honestly. " I should be just as mad as I could be, if John acted so." iii'-^ :*i. 1 1 I ; I ! 1 128 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. appreciation of high art. Angelo's * Moses,' and you would see where •* Oh, my dear ! the cases are different : Charlie has such peculi- arities of genius. The artistic nature, you know, requires soothing." Here they stopped, and rang at the door of a neat little house, and were ushered into a pair of those characteristic parlors which show that they have been arranged by a home-worshipper, and a mother. There were plants and birds and flowers, and little genre pictures of children, animals, and household interiors, arranged with a loving eye and hand. •* Did you ever see anything so perfectly characteristic ?" said Mrs. Follingsbee, looking around her as if she were going to faint. " This woman drives Charlie perfectly wild, because she has no Now, I sent her photographs of Michael ' Night and Morning / and I really wiF,h she hung them, — away in yonder dark comer." " I think myself they are enough to scare the owls," said Lillie, after a moment's contemplation. " But, my dear, you know they are the thing," said Mrs. Follings- bee : " people never like such things at first, and one must get used to high art before one forms a taste for it. The thing with her is, she has no docility. She does not try to enter into Charlie's tastes." The woman \vith " no docility " entered at this moment, — a little snow-drop of a creature, with a pale, pure Madonna face, and that sad air of hopeless firmness which is seen unhappily in the faces of so many women. " I had to bring baby down," she said. " I have no nurse to-day, and he has been threatened with croup." " The dear little fellow," said Mrs. Follingsbee, with officious graciousness. " So glad you brought him down ; come to his aunty?" she inquired lovingly, as the little fellow shrank away, and regarded her with round, astonished eyes. " Why will you not come to my next reception, Mrs. Ferrola ?" she added. You make yourself quite a stranger to us. You ought to give yourself some variety." " The fact is, Mrs. Follingsbee," said Mrs. Ferrola, " receptions in New York generally begin about my bed-time ; and, if I should spend the night out, I should have no strength to give my children the next day. " But, my dear, you ought to have some amusement." " My children amuse me, if you will believe it," said Mrs. Ferrola, with a remarkably (}uiet smile. Mrs. Follingsbee was not quite sure whether this was meant to be sarcastic or not. She answered, however, " Well ! your husband will come, at all events." " You may be quite sure of that," said Mrs. Ferrola, with the same quietness. " Well," said Mrs. Follingsbee, rising, with patronizing cheerful- ness, " delighted to see you doing so well ; and, if it is pleasant, I THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 129 \ the same will send the carriage round to take you a drive in the park this afternoon. Good morning." And, Hke a rustling cloud of silks and satins and perfumes, she bent down and kissed the baby, and swept from the apartment. Mrs. Ferrola, with a movement that seemed involuntary, wiped the baby's cheek with her handkerchief, and, folding it closer to her bosom, looked up as if asking patience where patience is to be found for the asking. " There ! didn't I tell you ?" said Mrs. Follingsbee when she came out ; " just one of those provoking, meek, obstinate, impracticable creatures, with no adaptation in her." ** Oh, gracious me !" said Lillie : " I can't imagine more dire des- pair than to sit all day tending baby." " Well, so you would think ; and Charlie has offered to hire com- petent nurses, and wants her to dress herself up and go into society ; and she just won't do it, and sticks right down to by the cradle there, and with her children running over her like so many squirrels." *' Oh ! I hope and trust I never shall have children," said Lillie, fervently, *' because, you see, there's an end of everything. No more fun, no more frolics, no more admiration or good times ; nothing but this frightful baby, that you can't get rid of." Yet, as Lillie spoke, she knew in her own slippery little heart, that the shadow of this awful cloud of maternity was resting over her ; though she laced and danced and bid defiance to every law of nature, with a blind and ignorant wilfulness, not caring what consequences she might draw down on herself, if only she might escape this. And was there, then, no soft spot in this woman's heart anywhere? Generally it is thought that the throb of the child's heart awakens a heart in the mother, and that the mother is born again with her child. It is so with unperverted nature, as God meant it to be; and you shall hear from the lips of an Irish washer-woman a genuine poetry of maternal feeling, for the little one who comes to make her toil more toilsome, that is wholly withered away out of luxurious circles, where there is everything to make life easy. Just as the Chinese have contrived fashionable monsters, where human beings are constrained to grow in the shape of flower-pots, so fashionable life contrives at last to grow a woman who hates babies, and will risk her life to get rid of the crowning glory of womanhood. There was a time in Lillie's life, when she was sixteen years of age, which was a turning-point with her, and decided that she should be the heartless woman she was. If at that age, and at that time, she had decided to marry the man she really loved, marriage might in- deed have proved to her a sacrament. It might have opened to her a door through which she could have passed out from a career of sel- fish worldliness into that gradual discipline of unselfishness which a true marriage brings. But she did not. The man was poor, and she was beautiful; her li • ''! ir' 1 ¥^ l}ii 1 1 ' :^ ■ ■ 1 ' ■■■■b.^ ^ . 1 130 riNK AND WHITE TYRANNY. beauty would buy wealth and worldly position, and so she cast him off. Yet partly to gratify her own lingering feeling, and partly be- cause she could not wholly renounce what had once been hers, she kept up for years with him just that illusive simulacrum which such women call friendship ; which, while constantly denying, constantly takes pains to attract, and drains the heart ot all possibility of loving another. Harry Endicott was a young man of fine capabilities, sensitive, in- teresting, handsome, full of generous impulses, whom a good woman might easily have led to a full completeness. He was not really Lillie's cousin, but the cousin of her mother ; yet, under the name of cousin, he had constant access and family intimacy. This winter Harry Endicott suddenly returned to the fashionable circles of New York, — returned from a successful career in India, with an ample fortune. He was handsomer than ever, took stylish bachelor lodgings, set up a most distracting turnout, and became a sort of Marquis of Farintosh in fashionable circles. Was ever any- thing so lucky, or so unlucky, for our LiUie ? — lucky, if life really does run on the basis of French novels, and if all that is needed is the sparkle and stimulus of new emotions ; unlucky, nay, even grave- ly terrible, if life really is established on a basis of moral responsibil- ity, and dogged by the fatal necessity that "whatsoever man or woman soweth, that shall he or she also reap." In the most critical hour of her youth, when love was sent to her heart like an angel, to beguile her from selfishness, and make self- denial easy, Lillie's pretty little right hand had sowed to the world and the flesh ; and of that sowing she was now to reap all the dis- quiets, the vexations, the tremors, that go to fill the pages of French novels, — records of women who marry where they cannot love, to -serve the purposes of selfishness and ambition, and then make up for it by loying where they cannot marry. If all the women in America who have practised, and are practising this species of moral agricul- ture should stand forth together, it would be seen that it is not for nothing that France has been called the society educator of the world. The apartments of the Follingsbee mansion, with their dreamy voluptuousness, were eminently adapted to be the background and scenery of a dramatic performance of this kind. There were vistas of drawing rooms, with delicious boudoirs, like side chapels in a tem- ple of Venus, with handsome Charlie Ferrola gliding in and out, or lecturing dreamily from the corner of some sofa on the last most im- portant crinkle of the artistic rose-leaf, demonstrating conclusively that beauty was the only true morality, and that there was no sin but bad taste ; and that nobody knew what good taste was but himself and his clique. There was the discussion, far from edifying, of modern improved theories of society, seen from an improved philo- sophic point of view ; of all the peculiar wants and needs of ethereal- ized beings, who have been refined and cultivated till it is the most THE CASTLK OF INDOLENCE. 131 e cast him partly be- n hers, she vhich such constantly y of loving jnsitive, in- lod woman not really • the name "ashionable in India, ook stylish became a 5 ever any- "life really 3 needed is even grave- responsibil- 1 or woman sent to her make self- the world all the dis- of French ot love, to lake up for n America ral agricul- is not for the world, ir dreamy round and kvere vistas s in a tem- nd out, or most im- nclusively no sin but >ut himself iifying, of ved philo- f ethereal- ; the most difficult problem in the world to keep them romfortablc, while there still remains the most imperative necessity that they should be made hapi)y, though the whole universe were to be torn down and made over to eftect it. The idea of not being happy, and in all respects as blissful as they could i)ossibly be made, was one always assumed by the I'ollingsbee clique as an injustice to be wrestled with. Anybody that did not afifect them agreeably, that jarred on their nerves, or interrupted the delicious reveries of existence with the sharp saw-setting of common- place realities, in their view ought to be got rid of summarily, whether that somebody were husband or wife, i)arent or child. Natures that affected each other pleasantly were to spring together like dew-drops, and sail off on rosy clouds with each other to the land of I)o-just-as-you-have-a-mind-to. The only thing never to be enough regretted, which prevented this immediate and blissful union of particles, was the impossibility of living on rosy clounds, and making them the means of conveyance to the desirable country before mentioned. iMany of the fair iilum- inatcB, who were quite willing to go off with a kindred spirit, were withheld by the necessity of infinite pairs of French kid gloves, and gallons of cologne water, and indispensable clouds of mechlin and point lace, which were necessary to keep around them the poetry of existence. Although it was well understood among them that the religion of the emotions is the only true religion, and that nothing is holy that you do not feel exactly like doing, and everything is holy that you do ; still these fair confessors lacked the pluck of primitive Christians, and could not think of taking joyfully the spoiling of their goods, even for the sake of a kindred spirit. Hence the necessity of living in deplored marriage-bonds w;th husbands who could pay rent and taxes, and stand responsible fcr unlimited bills at Stewart's and Tif- fany's. Hence the philosophy which allowed the possession of the body to one man, and of the soul to another, which one may see treated of at large in any writings of the day. As yet Lillie had been kept intact from all this sort of thing by the hard, brilliant enamel of selfishness. That little shrewd, gritty com- mon sense, which enabled her to see directly through other people's illusions, has, if we mistake not, by this time revealed itself to our readers as an element in her mind : but now there is to come a de- cided thrust at the heart of her womanhood ; and we shall see whether the paralysis is complete, or whether the woman is alive. If Lillie had loved Harry Endicott poor, had loved him so much that at one time she had seriously balanced the possibility of going to housekeeping in a little unfashionable house, and having only one girl, and hand in hand with him walking the paths of economy, self- denial, and prudence, — the reader will see that Harry Endicott rich, Harry Endicott enthroned in fashionable success, Harry Endicott t f 132 PINK AND WUITE TYRANNY. w:\ I M. : t I, I • • ijill plus Aist horses, splendid equipages, a fine city house, a country house on the Hudson, as something still more dangerous to her imagination. But more than this was the stimulu«! of Harry ICndicott out of her power, and beyond the sphere of her charms. She had a feverish desire to see him, but he never called. Forthwith she had a confi- dential conversation with her bosom friend, who entered into the situation with enthusiasm, and invited him to her receptions. But he didn't come. The fact was, that Harry Endicott hated Lillie now, with that kind of hatred which is love turned wrong side out. He hated her for the misery she had caused him, and was in some danger of feeling it in- cumbent on himself to go to the devil in a wholly unnecessary manner on tliat account. He had read the story of Monte Cristo, with its highly wrought plot of vengeance, and had determined to avenge himself on the woman who had so tortured him, and to make her feel, if possible, what he had felt. So, when he had discovered the hours of driving observed by Mrs. Follingsbee and Lillie in the park, he took pains, from time to time, to meet them face to face, and to pass Lillie with an unrecognizing stare. Then he dashed in among Mrs. Follingsbee's circle, making himself everywhere talked of, till they were beset on all hands by the inquiry, "Don't you know young Endicott ? why, I should think you would want to have him visit here." After this had been played far enough, he suddenly showed him- self one evening at Mrs. Follingsbee's, and apologized in an off-hand manner to Lillie, when reminded of passing her in the park, that really he wasn't thinking of meeting her, and didn't recognize her, she was so altered ; it had been so many years since they had met, &c. All in a tone of cool and heartless civility, every word of which was a dagger's thrust not only into her vanity, but into the poor little bit of a real heart which fashionable life had left to Lillie. Every evening after he had gone, came a long, confidential con- versation with Mrs. Follingsbee, in which every word and look was discussed and turned, and all possible or probable inferences there- from reported ; after which Lillie often laid a sleepless head on a hot and tumbled pillow, poor, miserable child ! suffering her punishment, without even the grace to know whence it came, or what it meant. Hitherto, Lillie had been walking only in the limits of that kind of permitted wickedness, which, although certainly the remotest thing possible from the Christianity of Christ, finds a great deal of tolerance and patronage among communicants of the altar. She had lived a gay, vain, self-pleasing life, with no object or purpose but the simple one to get each day as much pleasurable enjoyment out of existence as possible. Mental and physical indolence and inordinate vanity had been the key-notes of her life. She hated every thing that re- THE CASTLE OF INDOl.F.NCK. 133 a country ous to her out of her a feverish ad a confi- ;d into the lions. But h that kind her for the ieling it in- ary manner ly wrought self on the if possible, ed by Mrs. me to time, recognizing cle, making ands by the d think you lowed him- an off-hand park, that lize her, she d met, &c. which was )or little bit quired protracted thought, or that made trouble, and she longed for excitement. The passion for praise and admiration had become to her like the passion of the opium-eater for his drug, or of the brandy- drinker for his dram. Hut now she was heedlessly steering to what might prove a more palpable sin. Harry the serf, once half despised for his slavish devotion, now stood before her, proud and free, and tantalized her by the display he made of his indifference, and preference for others. .She i)ut forth every art and effort to recapture him. Hut the most dreadful stroke of fate of all was, that Rose Ferguson had come to New York to make a winter visit, and was much talked of in certain circles where Harry was cjuite intimate ; and he professed himself, indeed, an ardent admirer at her shrine. ential con- look was nces there- id on a hot )unishment, it meant, lat kind of lotest thing )f tolerance lad lived a the simple )f existence late vanity ing that re- 41 ' 1 ■ : j ! : ff, '■.' s- 'i i-:; i I ■ .( : ' CHAPTER XX. THE VAN ASTRACHAl^S. THE Van Astrachans, a proud, rich old family, who took a cer- tain defined position in New York life on account of some ancestral passages in their family history, had invited Rose to spend a month or two with them ; and she was therefore moving as a star in a very high orbit. Now, these Van Astrachans were one of those cold, glittering, inaccessible pinnacles in Mrs. FoUingsbee's fashionable Alp-climbing which she would spare no expense to reach, if possible. It Avas one of the families for whose sake she had Mrs. John Seymour under her roof; and the advent of Rose, whom she was pleased to style one of Mrs. Seymour's most intimate friends, was an unhoped for stroke of good luck ; because there was the necessity of calling on Rose, of taking her out to drive in the park, and of making a party on her account, from which, of course, the Van Astrachans could not stay away. It will be seen here, that our friend, Mrs. Follingsbee, like all ladies whose watchword is " Excelsior," had a peculiar, difficult, and slip- pery path to climb. The Van Astrachans were good old Dutch-Reformed Christians, unquestioning believers in the Bible in general, and the Ten Com- mandments in particular, — persons whose moral constitutions had been nourished on the great stocky beefsteaks and sirloins of plain old truths which go to form English and Dutch nature. Theirs was a style of character which rendered them utterly hopeless of compre- hending the etherialized species of holiness which obtained in the innermost circles of Follingsbee Uluminati. Mr. Van Astrachan but- toned under liis coat not only many solid inches of what Carlyle calls *' good Christian fai," but also a pocket-book tlirough which millions of dollars were passing daily in an easy and comfortable flow, to the great advantage of many of his fellow-creatures no less than himself : and somehow or other, he was pig-headed in the idea that the Bible and Ten Commandments had something to do with that stability of things which made this necessary flow easy and secure. He was slow-moulded, accurate, and fond of security ; and was of THE VAN ASTRACHANS. 135 3ok a cer- X of some I to spend g as a star glittering, [p-climbing It was one ■ under her ityle one of )r stroke of n Rose, of rty on her d not stay :e all ladies :, and slip- I Christians, [Ten Com- Litions had |s of plain Theirs was |of compre- led in the lachan but- larlylc calls ^h miUions low, to the In himself: the Bible [stability of ind was of opinion that nineteen centuries of Christianity ought to have settled a few questions so that they could be taken for granted, and were not to be kept open for discussion. Moreover, Mr. Van Astrachan having read the accounts of the first French revolution, and having remarked all the subsequent his- tory of that country, was confirmed in his idea, that pitching every thing into pi once in fifty years was no way to get on in the affairs of this world. He had strong suspicions of everything French, and a mind very ill adapted to all those delicate reasonings and shadings and specula- tions of which Mr. Charlie Ferrola was particularly fond, which made everything in morals and religion an open question. He and his portly wife planted themselves, like two canons of the sanctuary, every Sunday, in the tip-top highest-priced pe\^ of the most orthodox old church in New York ; and if the worthy man sometimes indulged in gentle slumbers in the high-padded walls of his slip, it was because he was so well assured of the orthodoxy of his minister that he felt that no interests of society would suffer while he was off duty. But may heaven grant us, in these days of dissolv- ing views and general undulation, large armies of these solid-planted artillery on the walls of our Zion ! Blessed be the people whose strength is to sit still ! Much needed are they when the activity of free inquiry seems likely to chase us out of house and home, and leave us like the dove in the deluge, no rest for the sole of our foot. Let us thank God for those Dutch-Reformed churches : great solid breakwaters, that stand as the Dykes in their ancestral Holland to keep out the muddy waves of that sea whose waters cast up mire and dirt. But let us fancy with what quakings and shakings of heart Mrs. Follingsbee must have sought the alliance of these tremendously solid old Christians. They were precisely what she wanted to give an air of solidity to the cobweb glitter of her state. And we can also see how necessary it was that she should ostentatiously visit Charlie Ferrola's wife, and speak of her as a darliiig creature, her particular friend, whom she was doing her very best to keep out of an early grave. Charlie Ferrola said that the Van Astrachans were obtuse ; and so, to a certain degree, they were. In social matters they had a kind of confiding simplicity. They were so much accustomed to regard positive morals in tiie light of immutable laws of Nature, tliat it would not have been easy to have made them understand that sliding scale of estimates which is in use nowadays. They would probably have had but one word, and that a very disagreeable one, to designate a married woman who was in love with anybody but her husbana. Consequently, they Avere the very last people whom any gossip of this sort could ever reach, or to whose ears it could have been made intelligible. Mr. Van Astrachan considered Dick Follingsbee a swindler, whose 1.1 l!l H . '1 186 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. proper place was the State's prison, and whose morals could only be mentioned with those of Sodom and Gomorrah. Nevertheless, as Mrs. P'ollingsbee made it a point of rolling up her eyes and sighing deeply when his name was mentioned, — as she attended church on Sunday with conspicuous faithfulness, and sub- scribed to charitable societies and all manner of good works, — as she had got appointed directress on the board of an orphan asylum where Mrs. Van Astrachari figured in association with her, that good lady was led to look upon her with compassion, as a worthy woman who was making the best of her way to heaven, notwithstanding the opposition of a dissolute husband. As for Rose, she was as fresh and innocent and dewy, in the hot whirl and glitter and glare of New York, as a waving spray of sweet- brier, brought in Iresh with all the dew upon it. She really had for Lillie a great deal of that kind of artistic admi- ration which nice young girls sometimes have for very beautiful women older than themselves ; and was, like almost every one else, somewhat bejuggled and taken -in by that air of of infantine sweetness and simplicity which had survived all the hot glitter of her life, as if a rose, fresh with dew, should lie unwilted in the mouth of a furnace. Moreover, Lillie's face had a beauty this winter it had never worn ; the sottness of a real feeling, the pathos of real suffering, at times touched her face with something that was always wanting in it before. The bitter waters of sin that she would drink gave a strange feverish color to her cheek ; and the poisoned perfume she would inhale gave a strange new brightness to her eyes. Rose sometimes looked on her and wondered ; so innocent and healthy, and light-hearted in herself, she could not even dream of what was passing. She had been brought up to love John as a brother, and opened her heart at once to his wife with a sweet and loyal faithfulnes. When she told Mrs. Van Astrachan that Mrs. John Seymour was one of her friends from Springdale, married into a family with whic^i she had grown up with great intimacy, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to the good lady that Rose should want to visit her ; that she should drive with her, and call on her, and receive her at their house ; and with her of course must come Mrs. FoUingsbee. Mr. Van Astrachan made a dead halt at the idea of Dick FoUings- bee. He never would receive that man under his roof, he said, and he never would enter his house ; and when Mr. Van Astrachan once said a thing of this kind, as Mr. Hosea Biglow remarks, " a meeting- house wasn't sotter." But then Mrs. Follingsbee's situation was confidentially stated to Lillie, and by Lillie confidentially stated to Rose, and by Rose to Mrs. Van Astrachan ; and it was made to appear how Dick FoUings- bee had entirely abandoned his wife, going off in the ways of Balaam the son of Bosor, and all other bad ways mentioned in Scripture, THE VAN ASTRACHANS. 137 lid only be ■ rolling up id, — as she IS, and sub- rks, — as she han asylum r, that good rthy woman standing the , in the hot ay of sweet- irtistic admi- ;ry beautiful ery one else, ne sweetness her life, as if of a furnace. . never worn ; ring, at times I in it before, ange feverish :1 inhale gave innocent and en dream of 2 John as a a sweet and at Mrs. John into a family seemed the Rose should call on her, le must come habitually leaving poor Mrs. FoUingsbee to entertain company alone, so that he was never seen t her parties, and had nothing to do with her. " So much the better for them," remarked Mr. Van Astrachan. " In that case, my dear, I don't see that it would do any harm for you to go to Mrs. Follingsbee's party on Rose's account. I never go to parties, as you know ; and I certainly should not begin by going there. But still I see no objection to your taking Rose." If Mr. Van Astrachan had seen objections, you never would have caught Mrs Van Astrachan going ; for she was one of your full-blooded women, who never in her life engaged to do a thing she didn't mean to do : and having promised in the marriage service to obey her husband, she obeyed him plumb, with the air of a person who is fulfilling the prophecies ; though her chances in this way were very small, as Mr. Van Astrachan generally called her " ma," and obeyed all her orders with a stolid precision quite edifying to behold. He took her advice always, and was often heard naively to remark that Mrs. Van Astrachan and he were always ot the same opinion, — an expression happily defining that state in which a man does just what his wife tells him to. ■!;■; ; i W: )\ck Follings- , he said, and ttvachan once a meeting- lily stated to by Rose to ►ick Follings- [ys of Balaam (in Scripture, 11 CHAPTER XXI. MRS. FOLLINGSBEE'S PARTY', AND WHAT CAME OF IT. t'* ^?r I I '< It m OUR vulgar idea of a party is a week or fortnight of previous discomfort and chaotic tergiversation, and the mistress of it all distracted and worn out with endless cares. Such a party bursts in on a well-ordered family stale as a bomb bursts into a city, leaving confusion and disorder all around. But it would be a pity' if such a life-long devotion to the arts and graces as Mrs. FoUingsbee had given, backed by Dick FoUingsbee's fabulous fortune, and adminis- tered by the exquisite Charlie Ferrola, should not have brought forth some appreciable results. One was that the great Castle of Indo- lence was prepared for thtfete, with no more ripple of disturbance than if it had been a Nereid's power, far down beneath the reach of tempests, where the golden sand is never ruffled, and the crimson and blue sea flowers never even dream of commotion. Charlie Ferrola wore, it is true, a brow somewhat oppressed with care, and was kept tucked up on a rose-colored satin sofa, and served with lachrymoe Christi, and Montefiascone, and all other substitutes for the dews of Hybla, while he draughted designs for the floral arrangements, which were executed by obsequious attendants in felt slippers ; and the whole process of arrangement proceeded like a dream of the lotus-eaters' paradise. Madame de Tullegig was of course retained primarily for the adornment of Mrs. FoUingsbee's person. It was understood, however, on this occasion, that the composition of the costumes was to embrace both hers and Lillie's, that they might appear in a contrasted tableau, and bring out each other's points. It was a subject worthy a Parisian artiste, and drew so seriously on Madame de Tullegig's brain-power, that she assured Mrs. FoUingsbee afterwards that the effort of composition had sensibly exhausted her. Before we relate the events of that evening, as they occurred, we must give some little idea of the position in which the respective parties now stood. Harry Endicott, by his mother's side, was related to Mrs. Van Astrachan. Mr. Van Astrachan had been, in a certain way, guardian to him ; and his success in making his fortune was in consequence of capital advanced and friendly patronage thus accorded. In the family, therefore, he had the entree of a son, and had enjoyed the oi)portunity of seeing Rose with a freedom and frecjuency thai soon MRS. FOLLINGSBEE'S PARTY. 139 placed them on the footing of old ar.(iuaintance.ship. Rose was an easy person to become acijuainted with in an ordinary and superficial manner. She was like those pellucid waters whose great clearness deceives the eye as to their depth. Her manners had an easy and gracious frankness ; and she spoke right on, with an apparent simplicity and fearlessness that produced at first the impression that you knew all her heart. A longer acquaintance, however, developed depths of reserved thought and feeling far beyond what at first appeared. Harry, at first, had met her only on those superficial grounds of banter and badinage where a gay young gentleman and a gay young lady may reconnoitre, before either .side gives the other the smallest peep of the key of what Dr. Holmes calls the side-door of their hearts. Harry, to say the truth, was in a bad way when he first knew Rose; he was restless, reckless, bitter. Turned loose into society with an ample fortune and nothing to do, he was in danger, according to the homely couplet of Dr. Watts, of being provided with employment by that undescribable personage who makes it his business to look after idle hands. Rose had attracted him first by her beauty, all the more attracti\ <.- to him because in a style entirely different from that which hitherto had captivated his imagination. Rose was tall, well-knit and grace- ful, and bore herself with a sort of slender but majestic lightness, like a meadow-lily. Her well-shaped, classical head was set finely on her graceful neck, and she had a stag-like way of carrying it, that impressed a stranger sometimes as haughty ; but Rose could not help that, it was a trick of nature. Her hair was of the glossiest black, her skin fair as marble, her nose a little, nicely-turned aquiline affair, her eyes of a deep violet blue and shadowed by long dark lashes, her mouth a little larger than the classical proportion, but generous in smiles and laughs which revealed perfect teeth of dazzling whiteness. There, gentlemen and ladies, is Rose Ferguson's picture : and, if you add to all this the most attractive impulsiveness and self-unconsci»us- ness, you will not wonder that Harry Endicott at first found himself admiring her, and fancied driving out with her in the park ; and that when admiring eyes followed them both, as a handsome pair, Harry was well pleased. Rose, too, liked Harry Endicott. A young girl of tv/enty is not a severe judge of a handsome, lively young man, who knows far more of the world than she does ; and though Harry's conversation was a perfect Catherine-wheel of all sorts of wild talk, — sneering, bitter, and sceptical, and giving expression to the most heterodox sentiments, with the evident intention of shocking respectable authorities, — Rose rather liked him than otherwise ; though she now and then took the liberty to stand upon her dignity, and o[)ened her great blue eyes on him with a grave, in(juiring look of surprise, — ^a look that seemed to challenge him to stand and defend himself. From time to time, too, she let fall little bits of independent opinion, well poised and well 140 PINK AND WniTE TYRANNY |j I i--- ^liitef 1! U turned, that hit exactly where she meant they should; and Harry began to stand a little in awe of her. Harry had never known a woman like Rose ; a woman so poised and self-centred, so cultivated, so capable of deep and just reflections, and so religious. His experience with women had not been fortunate, as lias been seen in this narrative ; and, insensibly to himself, Rose was beginning to exercise an influence over him. The sphere around her was cool and bright and wholesome, as different from the hot atmosphere of passion and sentiment and flirtation to which he had been accustomed, as a New-England summer morning from a sultry night in the tropics. Her power over him was in the appeal to a wholly different part in his nature, — intellect, conscience, and religious sensibility ; and once or twice he found himself speaking to her (juietly, seriously, and rationally, not for the purpose of pleasing her, but because she had aroused such a strain of thought in his own mind. There was a certain class of brilliant sayings of his, of a cleverly irreligious and sceptical nature, at which Rose never laughed : when this sort of firework was let off in her presence, she opened her eyes u}jon him, wide and blue, with a calm surprise intermixed with pity, but said nothing ; and, after trying the experiment several times, he gradually felt this silent kind of look a restraint upon him. At the same time, it must not be conjectured that, at present, Harry Endicott was thinking of falling in love with Rose. In fact, he scoffed at the idea of love, and professed to disbelieve in its existence. And, beside all this, he was gratifying an idle vanity, and the wicked love of revenge, in visiting Lillie ; sometimes professing for days an exclusive devotion to her, in which there was a little too much reality on both sides to be at all safe or innocent ; and then, when he had wound her up to the point where even her involuntar}' looks and words and actions towards him must nave compromised her in the eyes of others, he would suddenly recede for days, and devote himself exclusively to Rose ; driving ostentatiously with her in the park, where he would meet Lillie face to face, and bow triumph- antly to her in passing. All these proceedings, talked over with Mrs. Follingsbee, seemed to give promise of the most impassioned French romance possible. Rose walked through all her part in this little drama, wrapped in a veil of sacred ignorance. Had she known the whole, the probability is that she would have refused Harry's acquaintance ; but, like many another nice girl, she tripped gayly near to pitfalls and chasms of which she had not the remotest conception. Lillie's want of self-control and imprudent conduct, had laid her open to reports in certain circles where such reports find easy credence ; but these were circles with which the Van Astrachans never mingled. The only accidental point of contact was the intimacy of Rose with the Seymour family ; and Rose was the last person to understand an allusion if she heard it. The reading of Rose had been carefully MHS. FOLUNGSBEE'S rAHTY. 141 selected by her father, and had not embraced any novels of the French romantic school ; neither had she, like some modern young ladies, made her mind a highway for the trampling of every kind of possible fictitious character which a novelist might choose to draw, nor taken an interest in the dissections of morbid anatomy. In fact, she was old-fashioned enough to like Scott's novels ; and though she was just the kind of girl Thackeray would have loved, she never could bring her fresh young heart to enjoy his pictures of world-worn and decaying natures. The idea of sentimental flirtations and love-making on the part of a married woman was one so beyond her concej)tion of possibilities that it would have been very difficult to make her understand or believe it. On the occasion of the Follingsbee party, therefore. Rose accepted Harry as an escort in simple good faith. She was by no means so wise as not to have a deal of curiosity about it, and not a little of dazed and dazzled sense of enjoyment in prospect of the perfect labyrinth offairy-land which the Follingsbee mansion opened before her. On the eventful evening, Mrs. Foil: igsbee and Lillie stood togetht. to receive their guests, — the former in gold color, with magnificent point lace and diamond tiara ; while Lillie, in heavenly blue, with wreaths of misty tulle and pearl ornaments, seemed like a filmy cloud by the setting sun. Rose, entering on Harry Endicott's arm, in the full bravery of a well-chosen toilet, caused a buzz of admiration which followed them through the rooms ; but Rose was nothing to the illuminated eyes of Mrs. Follingsbee compared with the portly form of Mrs. Van Astrachan entering beside her, and spreading over her the wings of motherly protection. That much desired matron, serene in her point lace and diamonds, beamed around her with an innocent kind- liness, shedding respectability wherever she moved, as a certain Russian prince was said to shed diamonds. " Why, that is Mrs. Van Astrachan !" *• You don't tell me so ! Is it possible ?" ^ "Which?'" " Where is she ?" "How in the world did she gef^ here ?" were the whispered remarks that followed her wherever she moved ; and Mr. Follingsbee, looking after her, could hardly suppress an exulting Te Deum. It was done, and couldn't be undone. Mrs. Van Astrachan might not appear again at a salon of hers for a year ; but that could not do away the patent fact, witnessed by so many eyes, that she had been there once. Just as a modern news- paper or magazine wants only one article of a celebrated author to announce him as among their stated contributors for all time, and to flavor every subsequent issue of the journal with expectancy, so Mrs. Follingsbee exulted in tlie idea that this one evening would flavor all her receptions for the winter, whether the good lady's diamonds ever appeared there again or not. In her secret heart, she always had the perception, when striving to climb up on this kind of a ladder ; hat the time might come when she should be found out ; and she 142 I'INK AND WHITE TYRANNY. I' \\ ?f I? \\ mm well I' new the absolute and uncomprehending horror with which that good lady would regard the I'rench i)rinciples and French i)ractice of. which Charlie Ferrola and Co., were the expositors and exemplars. This was what Charlie Ferrola meant when he said that the Van Astrachans were obtuse. They never could be brought to the nice- ties of moral perspective which show one exactly where to find the vanishing point for every duty. Be that as it may, there, at any rate, she was, safe and sound : surrounded by people whom she had never met before, and receiving introductions to the right and left with the utmost graciousness. The arrangements for the evening had been made at the tea-table of the Van Astrachans with an innocent and trustful simplicity. " You know, dear," said Mrs. Van Astrachan to Rose,'' " that I never like to stay long away from papa " (so the worthy lady called her husband) ; " and so, if it's just the same to you, you shall let me have the carriage come for me early, and then you and Harry shall be left free to see it out. I know young folks must be young," she said, with a comfortable laugh. " There was a time, dear, when my waist was not bigger than yours, that I used to dance all night with the best of them ; but I've got bravely over that now." " Yes, Rose," said Mr. Van Astrachan, " you mayn't believe it, but ma there was the spryest dancer of any of the girls. You are pretty nice to look at, but you don't quite come up to what she wa5 in those days. I tell you, I wish you could have seen her," said the good man, warming on the subject. "Why, I've seen the time when every fellow on the floor was after her." " Papa," says Mrs. Van Astrachan, reprovingly, *' I wouldn't .say such things if I were you." " Yes, I would," said Rose. " Do tell us, Mr. Van Astrachan." " Well, I'll tell you," said Mr. Van Astrachan : " you ought to have seen her in a red dress she used to wear." " Oh, come, papa ! what nonsense I Rose, I never wore a red dress in my life ; it was a pink silk ; but you know men never do know the names for colors." " Well, at any rate," said Mr. Van Astrachan, hardily, " pink or red, no matter ; but I'll tell you, she took all before her that evening. There were Stuyvesants and Van Rennselaers and Livingstons, and all sors of grand fellows in her train ; but, somehow, I cut 'em out. There is no such dancing nowadays as there was when wife and I were young. I've been caught once or twice in one of their parties ; and I don't call it dancing. I call it draggle-tailing. They don't take any steps, and there is no spirit in it." " Well," said Rose, " I know we moderns are very much to be pitied. Papa always tells me the same story about mamma, and the days when he was young. But, dear Mrs. Van Astrachan, I hope you won't stay a moment, on my account, after you get tired. I sup- pose if you are just seen with me there in the beginning of the evening, i t will matronize me enough ; and then I have engaged to dance the- MliS. FOLLLVaSIiE/rS PART)'. \4i ouldn't sav • (ierman ' with Mr. Kndicott, and I believe they keep that up till nobody knows when. Hut I am determined to see the whole through." " Yes, yes I see it all through,'' said Mr. Van Astrachan. " Young people must be young. It's all right enough, and you won't niis.s my Polly after you get fairly into it near so much as 1 shall. I'll sit up for her till twelve o'clock, and read my paper." Rose was at first, to say the truth, bewildered and surprised by the perfect labyrinth of fairy-land which Charlie Ferrola's artistic imagination had created in the Follingsbee mansion. Initiated people, who had travelled in Europe, said it i)ut them in mind of the " Jardin Mabille;" and those who had not were re- minded of some of the wonders of " The Black Crook." There were apartments turned into bowers and grottoes, where the gas- light shimmered behind veils of falling water, and through pendant leaves of all sorts of strange water-plants of tropical regions. There were all those wonderful leaf-plants of every weird device of color, which have been conjured up by tricks of modern gardening, as Rappacini is said to have created his strange garden in Padua. There were beds of hyacinths and crocuses and tulips, made to appear like living gems by the jets of gas-light which came up among them in glass flowers of the same form. Far away in recesses were sofas of soft green velvet turf, overshadowed by trailing vines, and illuminated with moonlight softness by hidden alabaster lamps. The air was heavy with the perfume of flowers, and the sound of music and dan- cing from the ball-room came to these recesses softened by distance. The Follingsbee mansion occupied a whole square of the city ; and these enchanted bowers were created by temporary enlargements of the conservatory covering the ground of the garden. With money and the Croton Water-works, and all the New York green-houses at disposal, nothing was impossible. There was in this reception no vulgar rush or crush or jam. The apartments opened were so extensive, and the attractions in so many different directions, that there did not appear to be a crowd anywhere. There was no general table set, with the usual liabilities of rush and crush ; but four or five well kept rooms, fragrant with flowers, and sparkling with silver and crystal, were ready at any hour to minister to the guest whatever delicacy or dainty he or she might demand ; and light-footed waiters circulated wfth noiseless obse- quiousness through all the rooms, proffering dainties on silver trays. Mrs. Van Astrachan and Rose at first found themselves walking everywhere with a fresh and lively interest. It was something quite out of the Une of the good lady's previous experience, and so dif- ferent from anything she had ever seen before, as to keep her in a state of placid astonishment. Rose, on the other hand, was delighted and excited ; the more so that she could not help perceiving that she herself, amid all these objects of beauty, was followed by the ad- miring glances of many eyes. It is not to be supposed that a girl so handsome as Rose comes i 144 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. M J ■' I" i' ]' \. 4 to her twentieth year without having the pretty secret made known to her in more ways than one, or that thus made known it is any- thing but agreeable ; but, on the present occasion, there was a buzz of inquiry and a crowd of applicants about her ; and her dancing- list seemed in a fair way to be soon filled up for the evening, Harry telling her laughingly that he would let her oft" from everything but the *' German ;" but that she might consider her engagement with him as a standing one whenever troubled with an application which for any reason she did not wish to accept. Harry assumed towards Rose that air of brotherly guardianship which a young man who piques himself on having seen a good deal of the world likes to take with a pretty girl who knows less of it. Besides, he rather valued himself on having brought to the reception the most brilliant girl of the evening. Our friend Lillie, however, was in her own way as entrancingly beautiful this evening as the most perfect mortal flesh and blood could be made ; and Harry went back to her when Rose went off with her partners as a moth flies to a candle, not with any express intention of burning his wings, but simply because he likes to be dazzled, and likes the bitter excitement. He felt now that he had p wer over her, — a bad, a dangerous power he knew, with what of conscience was left in him ; but he thought, " Let her take her own risk." And so, many busy gossips saw the handsome young man, his great dark eyes kindled with an evil light, whirling in dizzy mazes with this cloud of flossy mist ; out of which looked up to him an im- passioned woman's face, and eyes that said what those eyes had no right to say. There are times, in such scenes of bewilderment, when women are as truly out of their own control by nervous excitement as if they were intoxicated ; and I -illie's looks and words and actions towards Harry were as open a declaration of her feelings as if she had spoken them aloud to everyone present. The scandals about them were confirmed in the eyes of everyone that looked on ; for tliere were plenty of people present in whose view of things the worst possible interi)retation was the most probable one. Rose was in the way, during the course of the evening, of hearing remarks of the most disagreeable and startling nature with regard to the relations of Harry and Lillie to each other. They filled her with a sort of horror, as if she had come to an unwholesome place ; while she indignantly repelled them from her thoughts, as every un- contaminated woman will the first suspicion of the purity of a sister woman. In Rose's view, it was monstrous and impossible. Yet when she stood at one time in a group to see them waltzing, she started, and felt a cold shudder, as a certain instinctive conviction of something not right forced itself on her. She closed her eyes, and wished herself away ; wished that she had not let Mrs. Van Astra- chan go home without her ; wished that somebody would speak to Lillie and caution her ; felt an indignant rising of her heart against .V/?.9. FOLUXGSnEE'S PARTY. 145 Harry, and was provoked at licrself that she was engaged to him for the "(ierman." She turned away ; and taking the arm of a gentleman with her, complained of the heat as oppressive, and they sauntered off to- gether into the bowery region beyond. " Oh, now ! where can I have left my fan ?" she said, suddenly stopping. •' Let me go back and get it for you," said he of the whiskers who attended her. It was one of the dancing men of New York, and it is no particular matter what his name was. •* Thank you," said Rose ; *' I believe I left it on the sofa in the yellow drawing-room." He was gone in a moment. Rose wandered on a litde way, through the labyrinth of flowers and shadowy trees and fountains, and sat down on an artificial rock where she fell into a deep reverie. Rising to go back, she missed her way, and became (juite lost, and went on uneasily, conscious that she had committed a rudeness in not waiting for her attendant. At this moment she looked through a distant alcove of shrubbery, and saw Harry and Lillie standing together, — she, with both hands laid on his arm, looking up to him and speaking rapidly with an im- ploring accent. She saw him, with an angry frown, push Lillie from him so rudely that she almost fell backward, and sat down with her handkerchief to her eyes ; he came forward hurriedly, and met the eyes of Rose fixed upon him. " Mr. Endicott," she said, " I have to ask a favour of you. Will you be so good as to excuse me from the ' German ' to-night, and order my carriage ?" " Why, Miss Ferguson what is the matter ?" he said : " what has come over you ? I hope I have not had the misfortune to do any thing to displease you ?" Without replying to this. Rose answered, '* I feel very unwell. My head is aching violently, and I cannot go through the rest of the evening. I must go home at once." She spoke it in a decided tone that admitted of no question. Without answer, Harry Endicott gave her his arm, accompanied her through the final leave-takings, went with her to the carriage, put her in, and sprang in after her. Rose sank back on her seat, and remained perfectly silent ; and Harry, after a few remarks of his had failed to elicit a reply, rode by her side equally silent through the streets homeward. He had Mr. Van Astrachan's latch-key ; and when the carriage stopped, he helped Rose to alight, and went up the steps of the house. " Miss Ferguson," he said abrupdy, " I have something I want to say to you." *' Not now, not to-night," said Rose hurriedly. " I am too tired ; and it is too late." " To-morrow, then," he said : " I shall call when you will have had time to be rested. Good night." : I H CHAPTKK XXII. rni-: tiriDhui-WEB drokex. HARRY did not go back to lead the " (iernian,'" as he had been engaged to do. In fact, in his last apologies to Mrs. Fol lingsbee, he had excused himself on account of his partner's sudden indisposition,-— a thing which occasioned no small bu/z and commo- tion ; though the missing gap, like all gaps great and little in human society, soon found somebody to step into it, and the dance went on just as gaily as if they had been there. Meanwhile, there were in this good City of New York a couple of sleepless individuals, revolving many things uneasily during the night-watches, or at least that portion of the night-watches that re- mained after they reached home,- — to wit, Mr. Harry Endicott and Miss Rose Ferguson. What had taken place in that little scene between Lillie and Harry, the termination of which was seen by Rose ? We are not going to give a minute description. The public has already been circunv stantially instructed by such edifying books ,as " Cometh up as a Flower,' and others of a like turn, in what manner and in what terms married women can abdicate the dignity of their sex, and degrade themselves so far as to offer their whole life, and their whole selves, to some reluctant man, with too much remaining conscience or pru- dence to accept the sacrifice. It was from such wild, passionate utterances of Lillie that Harry felt a recoil of mingled conscience, fear, and that disgust which man feels when she, whom God made to be sought, degrades herself to seek. There is no edification and no propriety in highly colored and minute drawing of such scenes of temptation and degradation, though they are the stock and staple of some French novels, and more dis- gusting English ones made on their model. Harry felt in his own conscience that he had been acting a most unworthy part, that no advances on the part of Lillie could excuse his conduct ; and his thoughts went back somewhat regretfully to the days long ago, when she was a fair, pretty innocent girl, and he had loved her honestly and truly. Unperceived by himself, the character of Rose was exert- ing a powerful influence over him ; and, when he met that look of Till-: srii)i:ii-\yi:ii hhokkn. i4r ct ; and his pain and astonishment wliii h he had seen in her larj^a- bhie eyes the night before, it seemed to awaken many things within him. It is astonishing how hhndly peojjle sometimes go on to the character ot their own conduct, till suddenly, like a torch in a dark place, the light of another person's opinion is thrown in upon (hem, ;ind they begin to judge themselves under tile (piickcning influence of another ])ers()n's moral magnetism. Then, indeed, it often happens that tiie graves give up their dead, and that there is a sort of interior resurrec- tion and judgment. Harry did not seem to be consciously thinking of Rose, and yet the undertone of all that night's uneasiness was a something that had been roused and (piickened in him by his ac(|uaintance with her. How he loathed himself for the last two weeks of his life I How he loathed that hot, lurid, musky atmosj)here of flirtation and passion and French sentimentality in which he had been living I — atmosphere as hard to draw healthy breath in as the odor of wilting tube-roses the day after the party. Harry valued Rose's good opinion as he had never valued it be- fore ; and, as he thought of her in his restless tossings, she seemed to him something as i)ure, as wholesome, and strong as the air of his na- tive New-Kngland hills, as the sweet-brier and sweet-fern he used to iove to gather when he was a boy. She seemed of a piece with all the good old ways of New Kngland, - -its household virtues, its con- scientious sense of right, its exact moral boundaries ; and he felt some- how as if she belonged to that healthy [jortion of his life which he now looked backed back upon with something of regret. Then, what would she think of him ? 'I'hey had been friends, he said to himself; they had passed over those boundaries of teasing un- reahty where most young gentlemen and young ladies are content to hold converse with each other, and had talked together reasonably and seriously, .saying in some hours what they really thought and felt. And Rose had impressed him at times by her silence and re- ticence in certain connections, and on certain subjects, with a sense of something hidden and veiled, — a reserved force that he longed still further to penetrate. But now, he said to himself, he must have fallen in her opinion. Why was she so cold, so almost haughty, in her treatment of him the night before ? He felt in the atmosphere around her, in the touch of her hand, that she was quivering like a galvanic battery with the suppressed force of some power- ful emotion ; and his own conscience dimly interpreted to him what it might be. To say the truth, Rose was terribly aroused. And there was a great deal in her to be aroused, for she had a strong nature, and the whole force of a woman-hood in her had never received such a shock. Whatever may be scoffingly said of the readiness of women to pull one another down, it is certain that the highest class of them 148 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. m iM,; I '11'. have the feminine esprit de corps immensely strong. The humiliation of another woman seems to them their own humiliation ; and man's lordly contempt for another woman seems like contempt of them- selves. The deepest feeling roused in Rose by the scenes which she saw last night was concern for the honor of womanhood ; and her indig- nation at first did not strike where we are told woman's indignation does, on the woman, but not on the man. Loving John Seymour as a brother from her childhood, feeling in the intimacy in which they had grown up as if their families had been one, the thoughts that had been forced upon her of his wife the night before had struck to heart with the weight of a terrible affliction. .She judged Lillie as a pure woman generally judges another, — out of herself, — and could not and would not believe that the gross and base construction which had been put upon her conduct was the true one. She looked upon her as led astray by inordinate vanity, and the hopeless levity of an undeveloj)ed, unreflecting habit of mind. She was indignant with Harry for the part that he had taken in the affair, and indignant and vexed with herself for the degree of freedom and intimacy which she had been suffering to grow up between him and herself. Her first impulse was to break it off altogether, and have no more to say to or do with him. She felt as if she would like to take the short course which young girls sometimes take out of the first serious mortification or trouble in their life, and run away from it altogether. She would have liked to have packed her trunk, taken her seat on board the cars, and gone home to Springdale the next day, and forgotten all about the whole of it ; but then, what should she say to Mrs. Van Astrachan ? what account could she give for the sudden breaking up of her visit ? Then, there was Harry going to call on her the next day ! What ought she say to him ? On the whole, it was a delicate matter for a young girl of twenty to manage alone. How she longed to have the counsel of her sister or her mother I She thought of Mrs. Van Astrachan ; but then, again, she did not wish to disturb the good lady's pleasant, confidential relations with Harry, and tell tales of him out of school : so, on the whole, she had a restless and uncom- fortable night of it. Mrs. Van Astrachan ex))ressed her surprise at seeing Rose take her place at the breakflist-table the next morning. " Dear me I" .she said, " I was just telling Jane to have some breakfast kept for you. I had no idea of seeing you down at this time." " But,'' said Rose, " I gave out entirely, and came away only an hour after you did. The fact is. we country girls can't stand this sort of thing. 1 liad such a terrible headache, and felt so tired and exhausted, that I got Mr. Kndicott to bring me away before the '(ierman.'" '• Bless me 1" said Mr. Van Astrachan ; " why, you're not at all up THE SPIDER- WEB BROKEN. 149 to snufif I Why, Polly, you and I used to stick it out till daylight ! didn't we ?" " Well, you see, Mr. Van Astrachan, I hadn't anybody like you to stick it out with," said Rose. " Perhaps that made the difference." " Oh, well, now, I am sure there's our Harry ! I am sure a girl must be difficult if he does not suit her for a beau," said the good gendeman. " Oh, Mr. Endicott is all well enough 1'' said Rose ; " only, you observe, not precisely to me what you were to the lady vou call Polly —that's all." " Ha, ha 1" laughed Mr. Van Astrachan. " Well, to be sure, that makes a difference ; but Harry's a nice fellow, nice fellow, Miss Rose : not many fellows like him, as I think." "Yes, indeed," chimed in Mrs. Van Astrachan. "I haven't a son in the world that I think more of than I do of Harry ; he has such a good heart." Now, the fact was, this eulogistic strain that the worthy couple were very prone to fall into speaking of Harry to Rose was this morn- ing most especially annoying to her ; and she turned the subject at once, by chattering so fluently, and with such minute details of des- cription, apout the arrangements of the rooms and the flowers and the lamps and the fountains and the cascades, and all the fairy-land \ronders of the FoUingsbee party, that the good pair found them- selves constrained to be listeners during the rest of the time devoted to the morning meal. It will be found that good young ladies, while of course they have all the innocence of the dove, do display upon emergencies a con- siderable share of the wisdom of the serpent. And on this same mother wit and wisdom, Rose called internally, when that day, i bout eleven o'clock, she was summoned to the library to give Harry his audience. Truth to say, she was in a state of excited womanhood vastly be- coming to her general appearance, and entered the library with flushed cheeks and head erect, like one prepared to stand for herself and for her sex. Harry, however, wore a mortified, semi-penitential air, that, on the first glance, rather mollified her. Still, however, she was not suffi- ciently clement to give him the least assistance in opening the con- versation, by the .suggestions of any of those nice little oily nothings with which ladies, when in a gracious mood, can smooth the i)ath for a difficult confession. She sat very quiedy, with her hands before her, while Harry walk- ed tumultuously up and down the room. " Miss Ferguson," he said at last, abruptly, "I know you are think- ing ill of me." , Miss Ferguson did not reply. " I had hoped," he said, "that there had been a little something 150 PINK ANJ^ WHITE TYRAXNY \l'A' I H more than mere accjuaintance between us. I had hoped you looked upon me as a friend." " I did, Mr. Endicott, .said Rose. " And you do not now ?" " I cannot say that," she said, after a pause ; "but, Mr. Endicott, if we are friends, you must give me the liberty to speak plainly." " That's e.xactly what 1 want you to do I" he said, impetuously, " that is just what I wish." " Allow me to ask, then, if you are an early friend and family con- nection of Mrs. John Seymour?" *' I was an early friend, and am somewhat of a family connec- tion." "• That is, 1 understand there has been a ground in your past his- tory for you to be on a footing of a certain family intimacy with Mrs. Seymour ; in that case, Mr. Endicott, I think you ought to have con- sidered yourself the guardian of her honor and reputation, and not allowed her to be compromised on your account." The blood rushed into Harry's face ; and he stood aba'^hed and silent. Rose went on, — " I was shocked, I was astonished, last night, because I could not help overhearing the most disagreeable, the most painful remarks on you and her,— remarks most unjust, I am quite sure, but for which I fear you have given too much reason !" " Miss Ferguson," said Harry, stopping as he walked up anddown, '* I confess I have been wrong and done wrong; but, if you knew all, you might see how I have been led into it. That woman has been the evil fate of my life. Years ago, when we were both young, I loved her as honestly as man could love a woman ; and she professed to love me in return. But I was poor, and she would not marry me. She sent me oft", yet she would not let me forget her. She would al- ways write to me just enough to keep up hope and interest ; and she knew for years that all my object in striving for fortune was to win her. At last, when a lucky stroke made me suddenly rich, and I came home to seek her, I found her married, — married, as she owns, without love, — married for wealth and ambition. I don't justify my- self, — I don't pretend to ; but when she met me with her old smiles and her old charms, and told me she loved me still, it roused the very devil in me. 1 wanted revenge. I wanted to humble her, and make her suffer all she had made me ; and I didn't care what came of it." Harry spoke, trembling with emotion, and Rose felt almost terrifi- ed with the storm she had raised. " C) Mr. ]Midicott !'' she said, " was this worthy of you ? was there nothing better, higher, more manly than this poor revenge ? You men are stronger than we : you have the world in your hands ; you have a thousand resources where we have only one. And you ought to be stronger and nobler according to your advantages ; you ought THE SPIDER-WEB BROKEN. 151 to rise superior to the temptations that beset a poor, weak, ill-eckicat- cd woman, whom everybody has been flattering from her cradle, and whom you, I dare say, have helped to flatter, turning her head with compliments, like all the rest of them. Come, now, is not there something in that ?" " Well, I suppose," said Harry, " that when Lillie and I were girl and boy together, I did flatter her, sincerely that is. Her beauty made a fool of me : and I helped to make a fool of her." " And I dare say," said Rose, " you told her that all she was made for was to be charming, and encouraged her to live the life of a butterfly or canary-bird. Did you ever try to strengthen her prin- ciples, to educate her mind, to make her strong? On the contrary, haven't you been bowing down and adoring her for being weak ? It seems to me that Lillie is exactly the kind of woman that you men educate, by the way you look on women, and the way you treat them." Harry sat in silence, ruminating. " Now," said Rose, " it seems to mc it's the most cowardly and unmanly thing in the world for men, with every advantage in their hands, with all the strength that their kind of education gives them, with all their opportunities, — a thousand to our one, — to hunt down these poor little silly women, whom society keeps stunted and dwarfed for their special amusement."' " Miss Ferguson, you are very severe," said Harry, his face flushing. " Well,'' said Rose, " you have this advantage, Mr. Endicott : you know, if I am, the world will not be. Everybody will take your part, everybody will nmile on you, and condemn her. This is gen- erous, is it not? I think, after all, Noah Claypole isn't so very uncommon a picture of the way that your lordly sex turn round and cast all the blame on ours. You will never make me believe in a protracted flirtation between a gentleman and a lady, where at least half the blame does not lie on his lordship's side. I always said that a woman had no need to have oft'ers made her by a man she could not love, if she conducted herself properly ; and I think the same is true in regard to men. But then, as I said before, yov: have the world on your side ; nine persons out of ten see no possible harm in a man's taking every advantage of a woman, if she will let him.'' " But I care more for the opinion of the tenth person than of the nine," said Harry ; " I care more for what you think than ot them. Your words are severe ; but 1 think they are just. "() Mr. Endicott?" said Rose, "live for something higher than for what 1 think, — than for what any one thinks. Think how many glorious chances there are for a noble career for a young man with your fortune, with your leisure, with your influence ! is it for you to waste life in this unworthy way ? If 1 had your chances, I would py to do something worth doing.'' Rose's heart kindled with enthusiasm ; and Harry looked at her with admiration. I I t'l :;« H fw4r [ I li"'^' ;i imi fi" I ' « ■ In 162 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. *' Tell me what I ought to do !" he said. " I cannot tell you," said Rose ; " but where there is a will there is a way : and, if you have the will, you will find the way. But, first, you must try and repair the mischief you have done to Lillie. By your own account of the matter, you have been encouraging and keeping up a sort of silly, romantic excitement in her. It is worse than silly ; it is sinful. It is trifling with her best interests in this life and the life to come. And I think you must know that, if you had treated her like an honest, plain-spoken brother or cousin, with- out any trumpery of gallantry or sentiment, things would have never got to be as they are. You could have prevented all this ; and you can put an end to it now." " Honestly, I will try," said Harry. " I will begin, by confessing my faults like a good boy, and take the blame on myself where it belongs, and try to make Lillie see things like a good girl. But she is in bad surroundings ; and if I were her husband, I wouldn't let her stay there another day. There are no morals in that circle ; it's all a perfect crush of decaying garbage." " I think," .said Rose, that, if this thing goes on further, it will gradually die out even in that circle ; and, in the better circles of New York, I tnist it will not be heard of. Mrs. Van Astrachan and I will appear publicly with Lillie ; and and if she is seen with us, and at this house, it will be sufficient to contradict a dozen slanders. She has the noblest, kindest husband, — one of the best men and truest gentlemen I ever knew." " I pity him then," said Harry. " He is to be pitied," said Rose ; " but his word is before him. This woman, such as she is, with all her faults, he has taken for bet- ter or for worse ; and all true friends and good people, both his and hers, should help both sides to make the best of it." '* I should say," said Harry, " that there is in this no best side." " I think you do Lillie injustice," said Rose. " There is, and must be, good in every one ; and gradually the good in him will overcome the evil in her." " Let us hope so," said Harry. " And now, Miss Ferguson, may I hope that you won't quite cross my name out of your good book ? You'll be friends with me, won't you ?" " Oh, certainly !" said Rose, with a frank smile. " Well, let's shake hands on that," said Harry, rising to go. Rose gave him her hand, and the two parted in all amity. there is ut, first, lie. By ;ing and is worse 1 in this , if you ;in, with- ild have all this ; onfessing where it But she wouldn't it circle ; r, it will 2S of New m and I us, and at ers. She nd truest "ore him. for bet- his and ist side." ; is, him and will son, may d book? ro. CHAPTER XXII 1. COMMOX-SENSK ARGUMENTS. HARRY went straightway from the interview to call upon Ivillic, and had a conversation with her ; in which he conducted him- self like a sober, discreet, and rational man. It was one of those daylight, matter-of-fact kinds of talk, with no nonsense about them, in which things are called by their right names. He confessed his own sins, and took upon his own shoulders the blame that properly be- longed there ; and, having thus cleared his conscience, took occasion to give Lillie a deal of grandfatherly advice, of a very sedative tendency. They had both been very silly, he said ; and the next step to being silly very often was to be wicked. For his part, he thought she ought to be thankful for so good a husband ; and, for his own part, he should lose no time in trying to find a good wife, who should help him to be a good man, and do something worth doing in the world. He had given people occasion to say ill-natured things about her ; and he was very sorry for it. But, if they stopped being imprudent, the world would in time stop talking. He hoped, some of these days to bring his wife down to see her, and to make the actjuaintance of her husband, whom he knew to be a capital fellow, and one that she ought to be proud of Thus, by the intervention of good angels, the little paper-nautilus bark of Lillie's fortunes was prevented from going down in the great ugly maelstrom, on the verge of wliich it had been so heedlessly sailing. Harry was not slow in pushing the adv.intage of his treaty of friendship with Rose to its utmost limits ; and, being a young gentle- man of parts and proficiency, he made rapid progress. The interview of course immediately bred the necessity for at least a dozen more ; for he had to explain this thing, and qualify that, and on reflection, would find by the next day that the explanation and qualification recjuired a still further elucidation. Rose also, after the first conversation was over, was troubled at her own boldness, and at the things that she in her state ot excitement had said ; and so was only too glad to accord interviews and explanations as often as sought, and, on the whole, was in the most favourable state towards her penitent. TIence came many calls, and many confererences with Rose in the library, to Mrs. Van Astrachan's great satisfaction, and concerning which Mr. Van Astrachan had many suppressed chuckles and know- ing winks at Polly. " Now, Pa, don't you say a word,"' said Mrs. Van Astrachan. " Oh, no, Polly ! catch me ! I see a great deal, but I say nothing," said the good gentleman, with a jocular quiver of his portly person. " I don't say anything, — oh no ! by no manner of means." Neither at present did Harry ; neithei do we. lO > ffl : ' 1] w ill' I T CHAPTER XXIV. SENTIMENT v. SENSIBILITY. HE poet has feelingly sung the condition of " Tliu bftnquct hall deserted, '' Whose liglits are fled, and garlands dead, &c. and so we need not cast the daylight of minute description on the FoUingsbee mansion. Charlie Ferrola, however, was summoned away at early daylight, just as the last of the revellers were dispersing, by a hurried messen- ger from his wife ; and, a few moments after he entered his house, he was standing beside his dying baby, — the little fellow whom we have seen brought down on Mrs. Ferrola's arm, to greet the call of Mrs. FoUingsbee. It is an awful thing for people of the flimsy, vain, pain-shunning, pleasure-seeking character of Charlie Ferrola, to be taken at times, as such people will be, in the grip of an inexorable power, and held face to face with the sternest, the most awful, the most frightful reali- ties of life. (Jharlie Ferrola was one of those whose softnes and pitifulness, like that of sentimentalists generally, was only one form of intense selfishness. The sight of sufifering pained him ; and his first impulse was to get out of the way of it. Suffering that he did not see was nothing to him ; and if his wife or his children were in any trouble, he would have liked very well to have known nothing about it. But here he was, by the bedside of this little creature, dying in the agonies of slow suffocation, rolling up its dark, imploring eyes, and lifting its poor little helpless hands ; and Charlie F'errola broke out into the most violent and extravagant demonstrations of grief. The pale, firm, little woman, who had watched all night, and in whose tranquil face, a light as if from heaven was beammg, had to assume the care of him, in addition to that of her dying child. He was another helpless burden on her hands. There came a day when the house was filled with white fiowers, and people came and went, and holy words were spoken ; and the fairest flower of all was carried out, to return to the house no more. " That woman is a most unnatural and peculiar woman ! " said Mrs. FoUingsbee, who had been most active and patronizing in send- ing flowers, and attending to the scenic arrangements of the funeral. "It is just what I always said : she is a perfect statue ; she's no kind of feeling. There was Charlie, poor fellow ! so sick that he had to go to bed, perfectly overcome, and have somebody to sit with him ; and there was that woman never shed a tear, — went round attending to everything just like clock-work. Well, I suppose people are hap- pier for being made so ; people that have no sensibility are better fitted to go through the world. But, gracious me ! I can't understand such people. There she stood at the grave looking so calm, when SENTIMENT v. SENSIBILITY. 155 Charlie was sobbing so that he could hardly hold himself up. Well, it really wasn't respectable. I think, at least, 1 would keep my veil down, and keejj my handkerchief up. Poor Charlie I he came to me at last ; and I gave way. I was completely broken down, I must confess. Poor fellow ! he told me there was no conceiving his mis- ery. That baby was the very idol of his soul ; all his hopes of life were centered in it. He really felt tempted to rebel at Providence. He said that he really could not talk with his wife on the subject. He could not enter into her submission at all ; it seemed to him like a want of feeling. He said of course it wasn't her fiiult that she was made one way and he another." In fact, Mr. Charlie Ferrola took to the pink satin boudoir with a more languishing persistency than ever, retjuiring to be stayed with Hagons, and comforted with apples, and receiving sentimental calls of condolence from fair admirers, made aware of the intense poig- nancy of his grief A lovely poem, called '• My Withered IJlossom," which appeared in a fashionable magazine shortly after, was the out- come of this experience, and increased the fashionable sympathy to the highest degree. Honest Mrs. Van Astrachan, however, though not accjuainted with Mrs. Ferrola, went to the funeral with Rose ; and the next day Ik r carriage was seen at Mrs. Ferrola's door. " You j)oor little darling !"' she said, as she came up and took M-s. Ferrola in her arms. "You must let me come and not mind nu' . for I know all about it. I lost the dearest little baby once ; and 1 have never forgotten it. There! there, darling!" she said as the woman broke into sobs in her arms. " Yes, yes; do cry ! it will do your little heart good." There are people who, wherever they move, freeze the hearts of those they touch, and chill all demonstration of feeling ; and there are warm natures, that unlock every fountain, and bid every feeling gush forth. The reader has seen these two types in this story. " Wife," .said Mr. Van Astrachan, coming to Mrs. V. confidentially, a day or two after, " I wonder if you remember any of your French. What is a liaison ? " " Really, dear," said Mrs. Van Astrachan, whose reatling of late years had been mostly confined to such memoirs as that of Mrs. Isa- bella Craham, Doddridge's ' Rise and Progress' and Baxter's 'Saint's Rest,' " it's a great while since I read any French. What do you want to know for ?" " Well, there's Ben Stuyvesant was saying this morning, in Wall Street, that there's a great talk about Mrs. FoUingsbee and that young fellow whose baby's funeral you went to. 1 didn't ask him what it was; but it's something or other with a French name that makes talk, and I don't think its respectable ! I'm sorry that you and Rose went to her party ; but then that can't be helped now. I'm afraid this Mrs. FoUingsbee is no sort of a woman, after all." " But, pa, I've been to call on Mrs. Ferrola, poor little afflicted 156 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. thing :" said Mrs. Van Astrachan. *' I couldn't help it I You know how we felt when little Willie died." " Oh, certainly, Polly ! call on the poor woman by all means, and do all you can to comfort her ; but from all I can find out, that hand- some jackanapes of a husband of hers is just the poorest trash going. They say this FoUingsbee woman half supports him. The time was in New York when such doings wouldn't be allowed ; and I don't think calling things by French names makes them a bit better. So you just be careful, and steer as clear of her as you can. '• I will, pa, just as clear as I can ; but you know Rose is a friend of Mrs. John Seymour, and Mrs. John Seymour is visiting at Mrs. Follingsbee's." "Her husband oughtn't to let her stay there another day," said Mr. Van Astrachan. " It's as much as any woman's reputation is worth to be staying with her. To think of that fellow being dancing and capering at that Jezebel's house the night his baby was dying !" " Oh, but, pa, he didn't know it." " Know it? he ought to have known it ! What business has a man to get a woman with a lotof babiesround her, and then go off? 'Twasn't the v/ay 1 did, Polly, you know, when our babies were young. I was always on the spot there, ready to take the baby, and walk up and down with it nights, so that you might get your sleep ; and I always had it my side of the bed half the night. I'd like to have seen myself out at a ball, and you sitting up with a sick baby ! I tell you, that if I caught any of my boys up to such tricks, I'd cut them out of my will, and settle the money on their wives ; — that's what I would !" "Well, pa, I shall try and do all in my power for poor Mrs. Fer- rola," said Mrs. Van Astrachan ; " and you may be quite sure I won't take another step towards Mrs. Follingsbee's acquaintance." " It's a pity," said Mr. Van Astrachan, "that somebody couldn't put it into Mr. John Seymour's head to send for his wife home." " I don't see, for my part, what respectable women want galli- vanting and high-flying on their own separate account for, away from their husbands ! Goods that are sold shouldn't go back to the shop-windows," said the good gentleman, all whose views of life were of the most oldfashioned, domestic kind. " Well, dear, we don't want to talk to Rose about any of this scandal," said his wife. " No, no ; it would be a pity to put anything bad into a nice girl's head," said Mr. Van Astrachan. " You might caution- her in a general way, you know ; tell her, for instance, that I've heard of things that make me feel you ought to draw off. Why can't some bird of the air tell that little Seymour woman's husband to get her home?" The little Seymour woman's husband, though not warned by any particular bird of the air, was not backward in taking steps for the recall of his wife, as shall hereafter appear. CHAPTER XXV. WEDDING BELLS Q10ME weeks had passed in Springdale while these aftairs had been lO going on in New York. The time for the marriage of (irace had been set ; and she had gone to Boston to attend to that i)repara- tory shopping which even the most sensible of the sex discover to be indispensable on such occasions. (^race inclined, in the centre of her soul, to liostoninn rather than New- York preferences. She had the innocent impression that a classical severity and a rigid reticence of taste pervaded even the rebellious department of feminine milinery in the city of the Pil- grims, — an idea which we rather think young Boston would laugh down as an exploded superstition, young Boston's leading idea at the present hour being apparently to outdo New York in New York's imitation of Paris. In fact, Cirace found it very difficult to find a milliner who, if left to her own devices, would not befeather and beflower her past all self- recognition, giving to her that generally betousled and fly-away air which comes straight from the demi-monde of Paris. We apprehend that the different storms of tribulation which have beat upon those fairy islands of fashion may scatter this frail and fan- ciful population, and send them by shiploads on missions of civiliza- tion to our shores ; in which case, the bustle of animation and the brilliant display on the old turnpike, spoken of familiarly as the " broad road," will be somewhat increased. Grace, however, managed, by the exercise of a good individual taste, to come out of these shopping conflicts in good order, — a hand- some, well-dressed, charming woman, with everyl.)ody's best wishes for, and sympathy in. her hai)i>iness. I -illie was summoned home by urgent messages from her husband, caliing her back to take her share in wedding festivities. She left willingly ; for the fact is that her last conversation with her cousin Harry had made the situation as uncomfortable to her as if he had unceremoniously deluged her with a pailful of cold water. There is a chilly, disagreeable kind of article, called common sense, which is of all things most repulsive and antipathetical to all petted creatures whose life has consisted in flattery. It is the kind of talk which sisters are very a])t to hear from brothers, and daughters from fathers and mothers, when fathers and mothers do their duty by them ; which sets the world before them as it is, and not as it is painted by flatterers. Those women who prefer the society of gen- 158 PINK ANtt WHITE rVRANXY < fi'l ■ { mm'' I I* tlemeii, and who have the faculty oi bewitching their senses, never are in the way of hearing from this cold niattet-of-fact region ; for them it really does not exist. Kvery i)hrase that meets their ear is polished and softened, guarded and delicately turned, till there is not a i)article of homely truth in it. They pass their time in a world of illusions ; they demand these illusions of all who approach them, as the sole condition of jjcace and favor. All gentlemen, by a sort of instinct recognize the woman who lives by flattery, and give lu-r her portion of meat in due season ; and thus some poor women are hope- lessly buried, as suicides used to be in Scotland, under a mountain of rubbish, to which each ))asser-by adds one stone. It is only by some extraordinary power of circumstances that a man can be found to invatle the sovereignty of a pretty woman with any disagreeable tidings ; or, as Junius says, "to instruct the throne in the language of truth." Harry was brought up to this point only by such a con- currence of circumstances. He was in love with another woman,— a ready cause for disenchantment. He was in some sort a family connection ; and he saw Lillie's conduct at last, therefore, through the plain, unvarnished medium of common sense. Moreover, he felt a little pinched in his own conscience by the view which Rose seemed to take of his part in the matter, and, manlike, was strengthened in doing his duty by being a little galled and annoyed at the woman whose charms had temi)ted him into this dilemma. So he talked to Lillie like a brother ; or, in other words, made himself di.s- agreeably explicit, — showed her her sins, and told her her duties as a married woman. The charming fair ones who sentimentally desire gentlemen to regard them as sisters do not bargain for any of this sort of brotherly plainness ; and yet they might do it with great advantage. A brother, who is not a brother, stationed near the ear of a fair friend, is commonly very careful not to compromise his posi- tion by telling unpleasant truths ; but, on the present occasion, Harrv made a literal use of the brevet of brotherhood which Lillie had bestowed on him, and talked to her as the generality of real brotiiers talk to their sisters, using great plainness of speech. He witliered all her poor little trumpery array of hothouse flowers of sen- timent, by treating them as so much garbage, as all men know they are. He set before her the gravity and dignity of marriage, and her duties to her husband. Last, and most unkind of all, he professed his admiration of Rose Ferguson, his unworthiness of her, and his determination to win her .by a nobler and a better life ; and then showed himself a stupid blunderer by exhorting Lillie to make Rose her model, and seek to imitate her virtues. Poor Lillie ! the world looked dismal and dreary enough to her. She shrunk within herself. Everything was withered and disen- chanted. A'i her poor little stock of romance seemed to her as dis- gusting as the withered flowers and crumbled finery and half-melted ice-cream the morning after a ball. WKDDiyr, npj.LS. ir.o In this state, when slic got a warm true letter from John, who always i^rew tender and affectionate when she was long away, couched in those terms of admiration anil affection that were soothing to her ear, she really longed to go back to him. She shrunk from tlu- dreary plainness of truth, and longed for llattery and petting and ca- resses once more and she wrote to John an overtlowingly tender letter, full of longings, which brought him at once to her side, the most de- lighted of men. When I.illie cried in his arms, and told him that she found New \'ork perfectly hateful; when she declaimed on the heart- lessness of fashioiiable life, and lf)nged to go with him to their (|uiet home,-she was tolerably in earnest ; and John was j)erfectly enchanted. Poor John ! ^^'as he a mufi". a spot)n ? \Wc think not. \V^e un- derstand well that there is not a loonuvi among our readers who has the slightest patience with Lillie, and that the most of them are half out of patience with John for his enduring tenderness towards her. But men were born and organized by nature to be the protectors of women ; and, generally speaking, the stronger and more thoroughly manly a man is, the more he has of what phrenologists call the "i)et organ,"— -the disposition which makes him the charmed servant of what is weak and dependent. John had a great share of this (piality. He was made to be a protector. He loved to j>rotect ; he loved everything that was hel})less and weak,- -young animals, young chil- dren, and delicate women. He was a romantic adorer of womanhood, as a sort of divine mys- tery, — a never-ending poem ; and when his wife was long enough awa) from him to give scope for imagination to work, when she no longer annoyed him with the friction of the sharp little edges of her cold and selfish nature, he was able to see her once more in the ideal light of first love. After all, she was his wife ; and in that one word, to a good man, is everything holy and sacred. He longed to believe in her and trust her wholly and now that (irace was going from him. to belong to another, lallie was more than ever his dependence. On the whole, if we must admit that John was weak, he was weak where strong and noble natures may most gracefully be so,- -weak through disinterestedness, faith, and the disposition to make the best of the wife he had chosen. And so Lillie came home; and there was festivity and rejoicing. Grace found herself floated into matrimony on a tide bringing gifts and tokens of remembrance from everybody that had ever known her ; for all were delighted with this opportunity of testifying a sense of her worth, and every hand was ready to help ring her wedding bells. CHAPTER XXVI. !■,. MOTUKRllOOD. IT is supposed by some that to become a mother is of itself a heal- ing and saving dispensation ; that of course the reign of selfish- ness ends, and the reign of better things begins, with the commence- ment of maternity. But old things do not pass away and all things become new by any such rapid progress of conversation. A whole life spent in self- seeking and self-pleasing is no preparation for the most august and austere of woman's sufferings and duties ; and it is not to be won- dered at if the untrained, untaught and self-indulgent shrink from this ordeal, as Lillie did. The next spring, while the gables of the new cottage on Elm Street were looking picturesquely through the blossoming cherry-trees, and the smoke was curling up from the chimneys where (irace and her husband were cosily settled down together, there came to John's house another little Lillie. The little creature came in terror and trembling. For the mother had trifled fearfully with the great laws of her being before its birth ; and the very shadow of death hung over her at the time the little new life began. I-illie's mother, now a widow, was sent for, and by this event in- stalled as a fixture in her daughter's dwelling ; and for weeks the symphathies of all the neighborhood were concentrated upon the suf- ferer. Flowers and fruits were left daily at the door. Everybody was interested for her. She was little and pretty and suffering ; and people even forgot to blame her for the levities that had made her present trial more severe. As to John, he watched over her day and night with anxious assiduity, forgetting every fault and foible. She was now more than the wife of his youth ; she was the mother of his child, enthroned and glorified in his eyes by the wonderful and mys- terious experiences which had given this new little treasure to their dwelling. To say the truth, Lillie was too sick and suffering for sentiment. It requires a certain amount of bodily strength and soundness to feel emotions of love ; and, for a long time, the little Lillie had to be banished from the moth'^r's apartment, as she lay weary in her dark- ened room, with only a consciousness of a varied succession of dis- agreeables and discomforts. Her general impression about herself was, that she was a much abused and most unfortunate woman ; and MOTHElillOOl). 161 that all that rould ever be done hy the utmost devotion of everybody in the house was insufticient to make up lor such trials as had <:ome upon her. A nursing mother was found for the little Lillie in the person of a goodly Irish woman, fair, fat, and loving ; and the real mother had none of those awakening intUiences, from the resting of the little head in her bosom, and the i)ressure of the little helpless fingers, which magneti/e into existence the blessed ])ower of love. She had wasted in years of fashionable folly, and in a life led only for excitement and self-gratification, all the womanly power, all the capability of motherly giving and motherly loving that are the glory of womanhood. Kathleen, the white-armed, the gentle- bosomed, had all the simple pleasures, the tendernesses, the poetry of motherhood ; while poor, faded, fretful l,illie had all the prose — the sad, hard, weary prose — of sickness and pain, unglorified by love. John did not know what to do with himself in Lillie's darkened room ; where it seemed to him he was always in the way, always doing something wrong ; where his feet always seemed too large and heavy, and his voice too loud ; and where he was sure, in his anxious desire to be still and gentle, to upset something, or bring about some general catastrophe, and to go out feeling more like a criminal than ever. The mother and the nurse, stationed there like a i)air of chief mourners, spoke in tones which experienced feminine experts seem to keep for occasions like these, and which, as Hawthorne has .said, give an affect as if the voice had been dyed black. It was a comfort and relief to pass from the funeral gloom to the little pink-ruffled chamber among the cherry-trees, where the birds were singing and the summer breezes blowing, and the pretty Kathleen was crooning her Irish songs, and invoking the holy virgin and all the .saints to bless the "darlin"' baby. *' An ' it's a blessin' they brings wid.em to a house, sir ; the angels comes down wid'eni. We cant see em, sir ; but, bless the darlin ', she can. And she smiles in her sleep when she sees 'em." Rose and (Irace came often to this bower with kisses and gifts and offerings, like a pair of nice fairy god-mothers. They hung over the pretty little waxen miracle as she opened her great blue eyes with a silent, mysterious wonder ; but, alas I all these de- licious moments, this artless love of the new baby life, was not for the mother. She was not strong enough to enjoy it. Its cries made her nervous ; and so she kept the uncheered stjlitude of her room, without the blessing of the little angel. People may mourn in lugubrious phrase about the Irish blood in our country. For our own part, we think the rich, tender, motherly nature of the Irish girl an element a thousand times more hopeful in our population than the faded, wasted-out indifferentism of fashionable women, who have danced and flirted away all their womanly attributes, till there is neither warmth nor richness nor Hf JG2 7V.\7r AND WHITE TYRANNY If I i K\\ maternal fuliicss left in them, — mere paper-dolls, without milk in their bosoms or blood in their veins, (iive us rich, tender, Avarm- hearted Bridgets and Kathleens, whose instincts teach them the real l)oetry of motherhood ; who can love unto death, and bear trials and pains c heerfully for the joy that is set before them. We are not afraid for the rei)ublican citizens that such mothers will bear to us. 'J'hey are the ones that will come to high places in our land, and that will j)ossess the earth by right of the strongest. Motherhood, to the woman who has lived only to be petted, and to be herself the centre of all things, is a virtual dethronement. Something weaker, fairer, more delicate than herself comes, — something for her to serve, and to care for more than herself It would sometimes seem as if motherhood were a lovely artifice of t!ie great Father, to wean the heart from selfishness by a peaceful and gradual process, 'i'he babe is .self in another form. It is so interwoven and identified with the mother's life, that she passes by almost insensible gradations from herself to it ; and day by day the distinctive love of self wanes as the child-love waxes, filling the heart with a thousand new springs of tenderness. But that this benignant transformation of nature may be per- fected, it must be wrought out in Nature's own way. Any arti- ficial arrangement that takes the child away from the mother interrupts that wonderful system of contrivances wherel)y the mothers nature and being shade off into that of the child, and her heart enlarges to a new and heavenly power of loving. When Lillie was sufficiently recovered to be fond of any thing, she found in her lovely baby only a new toy, — a source of pride and pleasure, and a charming occasion for the display of new de- vices of millinery. But she found Newport indispensable that summer to the re-establishment of her strength. " And really," she said, " the baby would be so much better off quietly at home with mamma and Kathleen. The fact is," she said, " she c[uite di.sre- gards me. She cries after Kathleen if I take her ; so that it's quite provoking." And so Lillie, free and unencumbered, had her gay season at Newport with the FoUingsbees, and the Simpkinses, and the Tompkinses, and all the rest of the nice people, who have nothing to do but enjoy themselves ; and everybody flattered her by being incredulous that one so young and charming could possibly be a mother. f CHAPTER \XVII. CHECKMATE. S r season at IF ever our readers have observed two (;hess-j)layers, hotli ardent, skilful, determined, who have been carrying on noiselessly the moves of a game, they will understand the full significance of this decisive term. Up to this point, there is hope, there is energy, there is en- thusiasm ; the i)ieces are marshalled and managed with good courage. At last, perhaps in an unex])ected moment, one, two, three adverse moves follow each other, and the decisive words, check-mate, are uttered. This is a symbol of what often goes on in the game of life. Here is a man going on indefinitely, conscious in his own heart that he is not happy in his domestic relations. There is a want of union between him and his wife. She is not the woman that meets his wants or his desires ; and in the intercourse of life they constantly cross and annoy each other. Hut still he does not allow himself to look the matter fully in the face. He goes on and on, hoping that to-morrow will bring something better than to-day, — hoping that this thing or that thing, or the other thing will bring a change, and that in some indefinite future all will round and fashion itself to his desires. It is very slowly that a man awakens from the illusions of his first love. It is very un- willingly that he ever comes to the final conclusion that he has made there the mistake of a whole life-time, and that the woman to whom he gave his whole heart not only is not the woman that he supposed her to be, but never in any future time, nor by any change of circumstances, will become that woman ; for then the difficulty seems radical and final and hopeless. In " The Pilgrim's Progress," we read that the ))Oor man, Christian, tried to persuade his wife to go with him on the pil- grimage to the celestial city ; but that finally he had to make up his mind to go alone without her. Such is the lot of the man who is brought to the conclusion, positively and definitely, that his •wife is always to l)e a hindrance, and never a help to him, in any upward aspiration ; that whatever he does that is needful and right and true must be done, not by her influence, but in spite of 164 PINK AND WHITE TYRANNY. li '»■!' it ; that, if he has to swim against the hard, upward current of the river of Hfe, he must do so with her hanging on ' s arm, and hold- ing him back, and that he cannot influence and cannot control her. Such hours of disclosure to a man are among the terrible hidden tragedies of life, — tragedies such as are never acted on the stage. Such a time of disclosure came to John the year ...ter Grace's marriage ; and it came in this way :— The Si)indlewood property had long been critically situated. Sundry financial changes which were going on in t.'ie country had depreciated its profits, and afifected it uhfavorable. All now de- pended upon the permanency of one commercial house. John had been ])assing through an interval of great an.xiety. He could not tell T.illie his trouble. He had been for months past nervously watching all the in-comings and out-goings of his family, arranged on a scale ot reckless expenditure, which he felt entisely powerless to control. Lillie's wi.shes were importunate. She was nervovs and hysterical, wholly incapable of listening to reason ; and the least attempt to bring to change any of her arrangements, or to restrict any of her pleasures, brought tears and faintings and distresses and scenes of domestic confusion which he shrank from. He often tried to set aefore her the possibility that they might be obliged, for a time at least, to live in a different manner ; but she always resisted every such supposition as so frightful, so dreadful, that he was utterly discouraged, and put off and off, hoping that the evil day never might arrive. Rut it did come at last. One morning, when he received by mail the tidings of the failure of the great house of Clapham & Co., he knew that she time had come when the thing could be no longer staved off. He was an indorser to a large amount on the paper of this house ; and the crisis was inevitable. It was inevitable also that he must actjuaint Lillie with the state of his circiunstances ; for she was going on with large ar- rangements and calculations for a Newport campaign, and send- ing the usual orders to New York, to her milliner and dress- maker for her svunmer outfit. It was a cruel thing for him to be obliged to interrupt all this ; for she seemed perfectly cheerful and ha])py in it, as she always was when preparing to go on a plea- sure-seeking expedition. Hut it could not be. All this luxury and indulgence must be cut off at a stroke. He must tell her that she could not go to Newport ; that there was no money for new dresses or new gnery ; that they should probably be obliged to move out of their elegant house, and take a smaller one, and practise for some time a rigid economy. John came tnlo Lillies elegant ai)artments, which glittered like a tulip-bed with many colored sashes and ribbons, with sheeny silks and misty laces, laid out in order to be surveyed before packing. " Clracious me, John 1 what on earth is the matter with you to-day? How perfectly awful and solemn you look !" CHECKMATE. i«r> " 1 have had bad news, this morning, LiUie, which 1 must tell you." "Oh, dear me, John ! what is the matter? Nobody is dead, i hope :" " No, Lillie ; but I am afraid you will have to give up your Newport journey." " (iracious, goodness, John I what for?" "To say the truth, I.illie, I cant aftbrd it.' *' Can't afford it ? Why not ? V ly, John, what is the matter?" " Well, Lillie, just read this letter:" • Lillie took it, and read it with her hands trembling". " Well, dear me, John I 1 dont see any thing in this letter. If they have failed I don't see what that is to you 1" *' But, 1-illie, I am an indorser for them." "How very silly of you, John ! What made you indorse for them? Now that is too bad ; it just makes me perfectly miserable to think of such things. I know / should not have done so. Hut I don't see why you need pay it. It is their business anyhow." " But, Lillie, I shall have lO pay it. It is a matter of honor and honesty to do it ; because 1 engaged to do it." " Well, 1 don't see why that should be I It isn't your debt ; it is their debt : and why need you do it? 1 am sure Dick Follingsbee said that there were ways in which people could jjut their property out of their hands when they got caught in such scrapes as this. Dick knows just how to manage. He told me of plenty of people that had done that, who are living splendidly, and who were received everywhere; and peo])le thought just as much of them." "Oh, Lillie, Lillie! my child," said John; "you don't know any thing of what you are talking about I That would be dishonorable and wholly out of the (juestion. No, Lillie, dear, the fact is," he said with a gulp, and a deep sigh, — " the fact is 1 have failed ; but I am going to fail honestly. If I have nothing else left, 1 will have my honor and my conscience. But we shall have to give up this house, and move into a smaller one. Everything will have to be given uj) to the creditors to settle the business. Anrl then, when all is arranged, we must try to live economically some way ;and perhaps we can make it up again. But you see, dear, there can be no more of this kind of expenses at present," he said, pointing to the dresses and jewelr)' on the bed." "Well, John, I am sure I had rather die 1" said Lillie, gathering herself into a little white heap, and tumbling into the middle of the bed. " I am sure if we have got to rub and scrub and starve so, I had rather die and be done with it ; and I hope I shall." John crossed his arms, and looked gloomily out of the window. " Perhaps you had better," he .said, " I am sure I sht)uld be glad to." " Yes, I dare say !" .said Lillie ; " that is all you care for me. Now there is Dick Follingsbee, he would be taking car* of his wife. Why r h ■r- ':!? i^ 166 PINK AND WHITE TYKANNY, -^ ': *; he has failed three or four times, and ahvays comes out richer than he was before I" " He is a swindler and a rascal !" said John ; " that is what he is." " I don't care if he is," said F-illie, sobbing. " His wife has good times, and goes into the very first society in New York. People don't care, so long as you are rich, what you do. Well, 1 am sure I can't do any thing about it. I don't know how to live without money, — that's a fact I and 1 cant learn. I suppose you would be glad to set; me rubbing around in old calico dresses, wouldn't you ? and keeping only one girl, and going into the kitchen, like Miss Dotty Peabody.? I think 1 see myself! And all just fbr one of your Quixotic notions, when you might just as well keep all your money as not. 'I'hat is what it is to marry a Reformer ! I never had any peace of my life on account of your conscience, always some- thing or other turning up that you can't act like anybody else. 1 should think, at least, you might have contrived to settle this place on me and poor little Lillie, that we mght have a house to put our heads in"" " IJllie, Lillie," .said John, "this is too much I Don't you think that I suffer at all ?" " I don't see that you do," said Lillie, sobbing. " I dare say you are glad of it ; it is just like you. ( )h, dear, I wish 1 had never been married !" "I certainly do," .said John, fervently. " I suppose so. You see it is nothing to you men ; you don't care any thing about these things. If you can get a musty old corner and your books, you are perfectly satisfied ; and you don't know when things are jjretty, and when they are not ; and you can talk grand about your honor and your conscience, and all that. I suppose the carriages and ho' ses have got to be sold too ?" "Certainly, Lillie," said John, hardening his heart and his tone. " Well, well," she said, "' i wish you would go now and send ma to me. I don't want to talk about it any more. My head aches as if it would split. Poor ma ! She little thought when I married you that it was going to come to this." John walked out of the room gloomily enough. He had received this morning his check-mate. .\n illusion was at an end. The woman that he had loved and idolized and caressed and petted and indulged, in whom he had been daily and hourly disappointed since he was married, but of whom he still hoped and hoped, he now felt was of a nature not only unlike, but opposed to his own. He felt that he could neither love nor respect her further. And yet she was his wife and the mother of his daughter, and the only tpieen of his house- hold ; and he had solemnly promised at God's altar that " forsaking all others, he would keep only unto her, so long as they both should live, for betier, for worse," John muttered to himself, — "for worse. This is the worse ; afid oh. it is dreadful 1 " CIII'X'KMATE. 187 richer than or worse. In all John's hours of sorrow and trouble, the instinctive feeling of his heart was to no back to the meniorv of his mother : and the nearest to his mother was his sister (Irace. In this hour of his blind sorrow, he walked direc'tly over to the little cottage on VXm Street, which (irace and her husband had made a perfectly ideal home. When he came into the parlor, (irace and Kose were sitting to- gether with an oj)en letter lying between them. It was evident that some crisis of tender confidence had i)assed between them ; for the tears were hardly dry on Rose's cheeks. Yet it was not i)ainful, whatever it was ; for her face was radiant with smiles, and John thought he had never seen her look so lovely. At this moment the truth of her beautiful and lovely womanhood, her sweetness and nobleness of nature, came over him, in bitter contrast with the scene he had just j>assed through, and the woman he had left. " What do you think, John ?' said (irace, " we have some congrat- ulations here to give 1 Rose is engaged to Harry Kndicott." " Indeed," said John, " I wish her joy." •' But what is the matter, John ?"' said both women, looking up, *and seeing something unusual in his face. " Oh, trouble I" said John, — " trouble upon us all. Gracie and Rose, the Spindlewood Mills have failed." '* Is it possible?" was the exclamation of both. "Yes, indeed I" said John ; "you see, the thing has been running very close for the last si.v months ; and the manufacturing business has been looking darker and darker. But still we could have stood it if the house of Clapham Ci: Co. had stood ; but they have gone to smash, Gracie. I had a letter this morning telling me of it." Both women stood a moment as if aghast ; for the Ferguson pro- perty was ecjually involved. " Poor Papa !" said Rose ; " this will come hard on him." " I know it," said John, bitterly. "It is more for others that I feel than for myself, — for all that are involved must suffer with me." " But, after all, John dear," said Rose, " don't feel so about us at any rate. We shall do very well. People that fail honorably al- ways come right side up at last ; and, John, how good it is to think, whatever you lose, you cannot lose your best treasure, — your true noble heart, and your true friends. I feel this minute that we shall all know each other better, and be more precious to each other for this very trouble." John looked at her through his tears. " Dear Rose, ' he said, " you are an angel ; and from my soul 1 congratulate the man that has got you. He that has you would be rich, if he lost the whole world." " You are too good to me, all of you," said Rose. " But now, John, about that bad news— let me break it to [jflq^a and mamma ; I '!i %f 168 PJAK AND WHITE TYRANNY i>. i ■■''«■ think I can do it best. I know when they feel l)rightest in the day ; and I don't want it to come on them suddenly : hut I can put it in the very best way. How fortunate I am just engaged to Harry ! Harry is a perfect prince in generosity. You don't know what a good heart he has ; and it happens so fortunately that we have him to lean on just now. Oh, I'm sure we shall find a way out of these troubles, never fear." And Rose took the letter and left John and Grace together. " O (jracie, Gracie !" said John, throwing himself down on the old chintz sofa, and burying his face in his hands, " what a woman there is ! i) Gracie I I wish 1 was dead ! life is played out with me. 1 haven't the least desire to live. I can't get a step farther." " O John, John ! don't talk so I" said Grace, stooping over him. " Why, you will recover from this ! You are young and strong. It will be settled, and you can work your way up again." " It is not the money, (irace ; I could let that go. It is that 1 have nothing to live for, — nobody and nothing. My wife, Gracie ! she is worse than nothing, worse, oh 1 infinitely worse than nothing ! She is a chain and a shackle. She is my obstacle. She tortures me and hinders me every way and everywhere. There will never be a home for me where she is ; and because she is there, no other woman can make a home for me. Oh, I wish she would go away, and stay away ! I would not care if 1 never saw her face again." There was something shocking and terrible to Cirace about this outpouring. It was dreadful to her to be the recipient of such a con- fidence, to hear these words spoken, and to more than suspect their truth. She was (juite silent for a few moments, as he still lay with his face down, buried in the sofa-pillow. Then she went to her writing-desk, took out a little ivory minia- ture of their mother, came and sat down by him, and laid her hand on his head. " John," she .said, " look at this." He raised his head, took it from her hand, and looked at it. Soon she saw the tears dropping over it. "John," she .said, " let me say to you now what I think our mo- ther would have said. The great object of life is not happiness ; and, when we have lost our own personal happiness, we ha /e not lost all that life is worth living for. No, John, the very best of life often lies beyond that. When we have learned to let ourselves go, then we may find that there is a better, a nobler, and a truer life for us." '' I /ia7'e given up," said John, in a husky voice. " I have lost etter. You know that you think it nobler to be an honest man than a rich man ; and I am sure that you will think it better to be a good man than to be a happy one. Now, Dear John, it is not I that say these things, I think ; but it seems to me it is what our mother would say, if she should speak to you from where she is. And then, dear bro- ther, it will all be over soon, this life-battle ; and the only thing is, to come out victorious." " Gracie, you are right," said John, rising up : " I see it myself I will brace up to my duty. Couldn't you try and pacify Lillie a little, poor girl ? I suppose I have been rough with her." " Oh, ye.s, John, I will go up and talk with Lillie, and condole with her ; and perhaps we shall bring her round. And then when my husband comes home next week, we'll have a family palaver, and he will tind some ways and means of setting this business straight, that it won't be so bad as it looks now. There may be arrangements made when the creditors come together. My impression is that, whenever people find a man really determined to arrange a matter of this kind honorably, they are all dispored to help him ; so don't be cast down al)0ut the business. As for Lillie's discontent, treat it as you would the crying of your little (laughter tor its sugar-plums, and do not expect anything more of her just now than there is.' We have brought our story up to this point. We informed our readers in the beginning that it was not a novel, but a story w^ith a moral ; and as people pick all sorts of strange morals out of stories, we intend to put conspicuously into our story exactly what the moral of it is. Well, then, it has been very surprising to us to see in these our times that some people, who really at heart have the interest of wo- men upon their minds, have been so short-sighted and reckless as to CIli:CK.MA TK. 171 clamor fur an easy dissolution of the marriage-contract, as a means of righting their wrongs. Is it possible that they do not see that this is a liberty which, once granted, would always tell against the weaker sex? If the woman who finds that she has made a mistake, and married a man unkind or uncongenial, may, on the discovery of it, leave him and seek her fortune with another, so also may a man. And what will become of women like Lillie, when the first gilding begins to wear off, if the man who has taken one of them shall be at liberty to cast her off and seek another? Have we not enough now of miserable, broken-winged butterflies, that sink down, down, down into the mud of the street? But are women-reformers going to clamor for having every woman turned out helpless, when the man who has married her, and made her a mother, discovers that she has not the power to interest him, and to help his higher spiritual devel- opment? It was because woma;. is helpless and weak, and because Christ was her great Protector, that he made the law of marriage irre- vocable. " Whosoever putteth away his wife causeth her to commit adultery." If the sacredness of the marriage-contract did not hold, if the church and all good men and all good women did not uphold it with their might and main, it is easy to see where the career of many women like Lillie would end. Men have power to reflect be- fore the choice is made ; and that is the only proper time for reflec- tion. But, when once marriage is made and consummated, it should be as fixed a fact as the laws of nature. And they who suffer under this stringency should suffer as those who endure for the public good . " He that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not, he shall enter into the tabernacle of the Lord." * I * ■ I ; CHAPTKk X.VVIII. AFT Eli rilE STOIIM. " m Mi f 1 THl"' |KiiiifuI and unfortunate (risis of life often arise and darken like a thunder-storm, and seem for the moment perfectly terri- fic and overwhelming; hut wait a little, and the cloud sweeps by, and the earth, which seemed al)out to he torn to pieces and destroyed, comes out as good as new. Not a bird is dead ; not a llower killed : and the sun shines just as it did before. So it was with John's finan- cial trouble. When it came to l)e investigated and looked into, it proved much less terrible than had been feared. It was not utter ruin. The high character which John bore for honor and j)rohity, the general respect which was felt for him by all to whom he stood indebted, led to an arrangement by which the whole business was put into his hands, and time given him to work it through, His bro- ther-in-law came to his aid, advancing money, and entering into the business with him. Our friend, Harry Kndicott, was only too happy to prove his devotion to Rose by otTers of financial assistance. In short, there seemed every reason to h»>pe that, after a period of some- what close .sailing, the projjcrty miglu he brought into clear water again, and go on even better than before. To say the truth, too, John was really relie\ed by that terrible burst of confidence to his sister. It is a curious fa* t, that giving full expression to bitterness of feeling or indignation against one we love seems to he such a relief, that it always brings a revulsion o( kindli- ness. John never loved his sister so much as when he heard her plead his wife's cause with him ; for, though, in some bitter, impatient hour a man may feel, whicii John did, as if he would l)e glad to sun- der all ties, and tear himself away from an uncongenial wife, yet a good man never can forget the woman that once he loved, and who is the mother of his children. Those sweet, sacred \isions and illu- sions of first love will return again and again, even after disenchant- ment ; and the better and the purer the man is, the more sacred is the appeal to him of w(jman's weakness. Hecau.se he is strong, and she is weak, he feels that it would be immanly to desert her ; and, if there ever was any thing for which John thanked his sister, it was when she went over and spent hours with his wife, patiently listening to her complainings, and soothing her as if she had been a i)etted child. All the circle of friends, in a like manner, bore with her for his .sake. Thanks to the intervention of (Irace's husband and of Harry, John was not put to the trial and humiliation of being obliged to sell the AFTKli Till-: STOllM. 73 family place, although constraint'd to live in it under a system of more rigid economy. I.illii''s mother, ;dthough (piite a conunonijlace woman as a companion, had been an economist in her day ; she IkuI known how to make the most of straitened circumstances, and, being put to it, could do it again. To he sure there was an end of \ewport gayeties ; for l.illie vowed and declared tiiat she would not go to Newport cuul take < he.ip hoard, and live without a carriage. She didn't want the l-'olliiigshees and the Tomjjkinses and tlie Simjikinses talking about her, and saying that they had failed. Her mother worked like ;) servant for her in smartening her up, and tidying her old dresses, of which one would think she had a stock to last for many years. And thus, with every- body sympnthi/ing with her, and everybody helping her, i.illie sul)- sided into enacting the i)art of a p;itient. perset uted saint. She was touchingly resigned, and wore an air of pleasing nu'lan( holy. |ohn had asked her pardon for all the hasty words he said to her in the terrible interview ; antl she had forgiven him with edifying meekness. " Of course," she remarked to her mother, "she ktiew he would be sorry for the way he had spoken to her; and she was \ery glad he had the grace to confess it.' So life went on and on with John. He rie\er forgot his sister's words ; but received them into his heart as a message from his mother in heaven. l''rom that time, no one could have judged In any word, look or action of his, that his wife was not what she had alwavs been to him. Meanwhile Rose was happily married, and settled down in the Ferguson Place, where her husband and she formed one family with her parents. It was a pleasant, cosey, social, friendly neighborhood. .\fter all, John found that his cross was not so heavy to carry, when once he had made up his mind that it must be borne. \\\ never expecting much, he was never disap]jointed. Having made up his mind that he was to serve, and so give without receiving, he did it, and began to find pleasure in it. \\y and by, the little I.illie, grow- ing up by her mother's side, began to be a compensation for all he had suffered, 'i'he little creature inherited all her mother's beauty, the daz/ling delicacy of her complexion, the abundance of her golden hair; but there had been given to her also her father's magnanunous and generous nature. Lillie was a selfish, exacting mother ; and such women often succeed in teaching to their children patience and self- denial. As soon as the little creature could walk, she was her father's constant play-fellow and companion. He took her with him everywhere. He was never weary of talking with her and ])laying with her ; and gradually he relieved the mother of all care of her early training. When, in time, two others were added to the nursery troop, Lillie became a perfect model of a gracious, motherly, little older sister. Did all this patience and de\otion in the husl)and at last awaken 174 pixK Ax/> wiiiTh: rrtfAiVxr. any thing likf loNo in the wife? I.illic was not naturally rich in emotion. Under the best education and ilevcloijnient, slie would have been rather wanting in the loving power ; and the whole course of her education Juul been directed to suppress what little she h.ui. and to concentrate all her feelings upf)n herself. The factitious and unnatural life she had lived so many years had .seriously undermined the stamina of her constitution ; and. after the birth of her third cliild, her health failed altogether. I,illie thus became in time a chronic invalid, exacting, (|ueruIous, full of troubles and wants which tasked the jjatience of all around her. During all these trying years, her husband's faithfulness never faltered. As he gradually retrie\ed his circumstances, she was first in every calcula- tion. Because he knew that here lay his greatest temptation, here he most rigidly performed his duty. Nothing that money could give to soften the weariness of sickness was withheld ; and John was for hours and hours, whenever he coidd spare the time, himself a personal, a.ssiduous, unwearied attendant in the sick-room. CHAFTKR XXIX. THE XEW LILLIE. WE have but one scene more before our story closes. It is night now in Lillie's sick-room ; and her mother is anxiously arranging the drapery, to keep the firelight from her eyes, stepping noiselessly about the room. She lies there behind the curtains, on her pillow, — the wreck and remnant only of what was once so beautiful. During all these years, when the interests and pleasures of life have been slowly dropping, leaf by leaf, and passing away like fading flowers, Lillie has learned to do much thinking. It sometimes seems to take a stab, a thrust, a wound, to open in some hearts the capacity of deep feeling and deep thought. There are things taught by suffering that can be taught in no other way. By suffering some- times is wrought out in a person the power of loving, and of appreciat- ing love. During the first year, Lillie had often seemed to herself in a sort of wild, chaotic state. The coming in of a strange new spiritual life was something so inexplicable to her that it agitated and distressed her ; and sometimes, when she appeared more petulant and fretful than usual, it was only the stir and vibration on her weak nerves of new feelings, which she wanted the power to express. These emotions at first were painful to her. She felt weak, miserable, Tin: m:\v i.u.i.n:. 175 and g(V)(i for nothing. It seemed to her that her wholi' iifc liad been a wretched cheat, and that she hail ill repaid the devotion ol her husband. At first these thoughts only made her bitter and angry ; and she contended against them. lUit, as she sank from day to day. and grew weaker and weaker, she grew more gentle ; and a better s|)irit seemed to enter into her. On this evening that we speak of, she had made up her mind that he would try and tell her husband some of the things that were pass- ing in her mind. "Tell John 1 want to see him," she said to her mother. " I wish he would come and sit with me." This was a summons for which John invariably left every thing. He laid down his book as the word was brought to him, and soon was treading noiselessly at her bedside. " Well, l.illie, dear," he said, ', how are you ?'' .She put out her little wasted hand ; "John, dear," she .said, "sit down ; 1 have something that 1 want to say to you. I have been thinking, John, that this can't last much longer." " What can't last, Lillie ?" said John, trying to speak cheerfully. " I mean. John, that I am going to leave you soon, for good and all ; and I should not think you would be sorry either." "Oh, coiiie, come, my girl, it won't do to talk sol" said John, patting her hand. "You must not be blue." " .\nd so, John," said 1-illie, going on without noticing this inter- ruption, " I wanted just to tell you, before I got any weaker, that I know and feel just how patient and noble and good you have always been to me." "O I.illie darling !" said John, "why shouldn't I be? Poor little girl, how much you have suffered ! ' "Well, now, John, I know perfectly well that I have never been the wife that I ought to be to you. Vou know it too ; so don't try to .say anything al)out it, I was never the woman to have made you happy ; and it was not fair in me to marry you. I have lived a dreadfully worldly, selfish life. And now, John, I have come to the end. You dear good man, your trials with me are almost over ; but I want you to know that you really have succeeded. John, I do love you now with all my heart, though I did not love you when J married you. And, John, I do feel that (iod will take pity on me, poor and good for nothing as I am, just because 1 see how i)atient and kind you have always been to me when I have been so very provoking. You see it has made me think how good (Iod must be, — because, dear, we know that he is better than the best of us." " O Lillie, Lillie I" said John, leaning over her, and taking her in his arms, "do live, I want you to live. Don't leave me now, now that you really love me !" "Oh, no, John! it is best as it is,- I think I should not have strength to be very good, if I were to get well ; and you would still 17«; PL\I< AXl> WHITE TYIiANXy i have your little eross to carry. No, dear, it is all right. And, John, you will ha\'e the best of me in our I.illie. .She looks like me : hut, John, she has your good heart ; and she will he more to you than i could be. .She is just as sweet and unselfish .is I ioas selfish. I don't think I am i|uite so bad now : and J think, if 1 lived, 1 should try to be a great deal better.'' '• ( ) Lillie I 1 cannot bear to i)art with you ! I never have ceased to love you; and I never have loved an) other w(jman.'' " I know that, John. Oh ! how much truer and better you are than 1 have been ! liut I like to think that you love me,— 1 like to think that you will be sorry when I am gone, bad as I am, or was; for I insist on it that I am now a little better than I was. V'ou remember that story of Undine you read me one day? It seems as if most of my life I have been like Undine before her soul came into her. Hut this last year I have felt the coming in of a soul. It has troubled me ; it has some with a strange kind of pain, i have never suffered so much. But it ha.s done me good— it has made me feel that I have an immortal soul, and that you and I, John, shall meet in some better place hereafter. — And there you will be rewarded for all your goodness to me." As John sat there, and held the little frail hand, his thoughts went back to the time when the wild impulse of his heart had been to br'^ak away from this woman, and never see her face again ; and he gave thanks to (lod, who had led him in a better way. And so, at last, passed away the little story of Lillie's l^fe. Hut in the home which she has left now grows another Lillie, fairer and .sweeter than she, — the tender confidant, the trusted friend of her father. Ana often, when he lays his hand on her golden head, he says, " Dear child, how like your mother you look !" Of all that was painful in that experience, nothing now remains. John thinks of her only as he thought of her in the fair illusion of first love, — the dearest and most sacred of all illusions. The Lillie who guides his household, and is so motherly to the younger children ; who sha.'es every thought of his heart ; who enters into every ieeling and sympathy, ^ — she is the pure reward of his faithfulness and constancy. She is a sacred and saintly Lillie, spring- ing out of the sod where he laid her mother, forgetting all her faults for ev,,'r. -•^ntl, John, ke me: but, you than I •»■ selfish. J -'(1, I should liave ceased tor you are — 1 Hke to or 7ms; for I remember ' \i most of t; into her. It has liave never Ic me feel shall meet rewarded ights went n to hitak I he gave • But in hirer and id of her head, he remains, llusion of y to the rt ; who rd of his -, spring- ier faults