GIFT OF 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS, 
 
 BY 
 
 TRIFLE AND THE EDITOR 
 
 BOSTON: 
 WHITTEMORE, NILES, AND HALL. 
 
 MILWAUKEE: A. WHITTEMORE & CO. 
 M DCCC LYI. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 
 
 WHITTEMORE, NILES, AND HALL, 
 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 
 Tncnsxox AND TORRT, PRINTERS. 
 
TO 
 
 GEORGE STILLMAN HILLARD, 
 
 WHO HAS PROVED THAT THE PURSUITS OF LITERATURE ARE NOT 
 
 INCONSISTENT WITH THE DUTIES OF A PRACTICAL 
 
 AND PROFESSIONAL LIFE, 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS CORDIALLY INSCRIBED BY THE 
 
 AUTHORS. 
 
 248183 
 
PREFATORY. 
 
 ONE bright day in the summer of 55, when 
 the sun glared fiercely upon the bricks and 
 slates of the hard-baked city, and the fashion 
 able world had fled to Saratoga, or Newport, or 
 the sea-shore, the writers of the following papers 
 turned aside from the hot and dusty streets to 
 the green sward of the Common ; and under 
 the shadow of the old elms reclined for a sea 
 son, to indulge in fresher airs and in friendly 
 discourse. Trifle had recently migrated from 
 the town, and pitched his tent in the country, 
 where he could look upon wooded hills and 
 hear the music of the sea. The relief from the 
 oppression of city life, and the genial influences 
 of the country, expanded his generous heart, arid 
 with a kindly impulse he proposed to write a 
 letter from his new domicile for the Editor s pa 
 per. The offer was gladly accepted, together 
 with the condition that a reply should follow in 
 the same columns. 
 
 It was thus that the Trifleton Papers were 
 commenced, and there it was supposed they 
 
VI PREFATORY. 
 
 would end, nothing farther being contemplat 
 ed. But, once begun, the letters promised to 
 become a pleasant pastime, and were contin 
 ued from week to week suspended by no 
 sorrow or misfortune recording thoughts, im 
 pressions, emotions, and fancies, and, more than 
 all, ripening a friendship begun years before, and 
 opening new sources of enjoyment. 
 
 And the letters found generous readers. 
 " Who is Trifle ? " " Who writes the Trifleton 
 Papers ? " were not infrequent inquiries. Then 
 there were friends, perhaps too partial critics, 
 who expressed a warm interest in the successive 
 papers, and commended them as worthy of more 
 numerous readers, and a more enduring form. 
 Finally, there were those whose literary taste 
 and judgment may not be questioned, who 
 warmly urged the collection of the papers and 
 their publication within the covers of a book. 
 
 Therefore it is that the authors of the Trifle- 
 ton Papers have come to find their literary 
 pastime shaped into a volume under the au 
 spices of Messrs. WHITTEMORE, NILES, and 
 HALL, with the understanding that every copy 
 is to amuse, cheer, or disappoint somebody. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 In the Spring of 50. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 I. 
 
 TRIFLETON HOUSE, > 
 In July, A. D. 55. f 
 
 MR. EDITOR : We have done the deed. We have 
 left the town behind us. We have said " good-bye " 
 to the proud world. We have gone home, to our 
 selves, in a certain sense, to our interior nature, to 
 our God, it is to be hoped. At least, we are where we 
 are surrounded by the evidences of His greatness and 
 goodness and love. We are sandwiched betwixt the 
 ocean and the hills. We are or shall become amphi 
 bious, as I told my wife on the day we first examined 
 Trifleton House. 
 
 " Why ! look out of this window (our chamber win 
 dow), Trifle," said she. " D ye call this a house in 
 the country ? " There rolled, at our feet, God s great, 
 moaning, toiling sea. 
 
 " Why, look out of this window, Pat." (short for 
 Patience), said I, pulling her away to another, on the 
 opposite side of the room, and there, heaving away in 
 the distance, were God s eternal hills. 
 
 We came, we saw, we conquered our prejudices in 
 favor of the town, where we, at least, had daily con 
 tact with certain cultured and selectest spirits, such 
 
8 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 as your own, my Achates, and we became the 
 owners of Trifleton House. For no mere summer 
 residence, mark you, but " for better, for worse ; " 
 " for richer, for poorer," for " all the year round," 
 to use a most elegant and felicitous expression. Yes, 
 .sir, we are fixed ; we are become incorporated. 
 Henceforth, our chief distinguishing trait is that we 
 occupy and own Trifleton House. Do you hear that, 
 sir ? own. I have not wrangled " in business " so 
 long for nothing. I don t rush to town with a diurnal 
 rashness and fierceness, which is intensely American, 
 or Yankeeish, if you please, without making some 
 thing. I ve actually " laid up" in the last ten years, 
 quite a surprising number of dollars, which, with Pat. s 
 dowry, you remember, makes a considerable sum. 
 But we havn t paid a very great deal. All I know is, 
 we have paid, actually paid " something handsome " 
 on account of Trifleton House. The rest of the pur 
 chase-money, which is only some five or six thousand 
 dollars, Pat. s father kindly advanced for us, and we 
 gave him a mortgage, as the lawyers call it, which 
 makes it all right, you know. 
 
 I don t think I ought to write so much about our 
 property to an editor, for it might make you envious 
 or avaricious. If you want to be a man of property, 
 you must " study economy ; " yes, sir, " study econ 
 omy." Those words I ve heard my father utter for 
 years. They are his. They belong to him. Pie s 
 told me to " study economy, " from my earliest child 
 hood, and I ve done it. But he never told me to 
 <s practice economy," not he, and I ve never done 
 it. I hold to obeying one s parents. We are too self- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 9 
 
 reliant, not to siy self-sufficient, we of this genera 
 tion. We are too apt to think those who are more 
 ancient than ourselves " old fogies." But it won t do. 
 They know some things as well as we. Hence, let us 
 acknowledge their wisdom, and obey their admoni 
 tions. But, I digress, I wander. I always do, 
 when I think of owning Trifleton House. 
 
 I don t observe that it has affected Pat. much yet, 
 but then, you know, she s so simple. 
 
 " Trifle," said she, a few evenings since, u do you 
 feel proud, proud as you expected to, now that 
 we own Trifleton House ? " 
 
 " No, Pat.," said 1, " not as I expected to, but 
 I expect I shall." 
 
 u Well, Trifle," said she, now that Pa has repaired 
 it for us, I think it s a house good enough for anybody 
 to live in. I m sure it s a nicer house than Serene 
 Complacency s house in Boston, or Betty Dasherton s 
 house in Roxbury. If their fathers are rich, they 
 didn t either of them marry so well, such an active, 
 business, money-making man, as I did, Trifle. Still, 
 they have very good houses, very good, indeed, and 
 
 tolerable husbands. One would think, to hear 
 
 them talk, that they were all in the world ; but in my 
 opinion, we, though I m by no means proud about 
 it, or "stuck up," as Stubs says, we " 
 
 " Own Trifleton House, my dear! " 
 
 I wound my arms about her neck and saluted her 
 with a kiss, and lighting a cigar, I proceeded into the 
 garden to examine my beets, and Pat. s tomatoe plants. 
 We have both. We ve got a bed of the latter, and an 
 indefinite extra quantity scattered, one at a time, in all 
 
10 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 sorts of by-places in the garden. Pat. says she wants 
 tomatoes enough to last into the fall. If we get any. 
 I shall regard it as a prodigious triumph, for, to tell 
 you the truth, / have been raising them. Tm the in 
 dividual, " adsum qui fed" and I don t believe I m 
 u death " on gardening. I do it all my own way, you 
 see. I do it for amusement and exercise and profit. 
 Doubtless, though, it s the mission of men to dig and 
 grub and grovel since that shabby trick of Adam, and 
 that shabbier one of Eve. I never knew a woman 
 who did not like sour green apples. It s a trait they 
 inherit from Eve. 
 
 I hardly calculate much on the profit from my gar 
 den this year, because, at the very outset, I had to 
 bribe a gardenerto dig me, and plant me, and set me 
 starting, and he has imposed upon me, I verily believe. 
 Else, why do my potatoes grow so impetuously ? 
 They ve already beat the corn. They re up to your 
 chin. Zounds ! man, I ve been laughed at on account 
 of em. My lazy brother-in-law says I ve cultivated 
 them too much. But there s as much sense in his 
 opinion as there was in that of a friend of mine, who 
 advocated in my hearing the other day, the stupen 
 dous absurdity, that we educated our people too much 
 here in New England. Sons of the Pilgrims, hear 
 you that ? Are education and cultivation despicable, 
 in God s name ? No ! No ! forever and forever, 
 
 No ! Produce and cultivate ! but out with the 
 
 weeds! Don t lop em off, but dig them out, out by 
 the roots away with em ! the weeds and leave 
 the rest to Providence ! Certain others of my friends 
 are of opinion that their rankness, as they call it, will 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 11 
 
 result in "all vines and no potatoes." But this is 
 pure envy and the most malevolent scandal. I ll 
 have potatoes, I m determined on it, of my own 
 raising, and they won t cost me more than six times 
 as much as I could buy them for, neither. 
 
 But the radishes, Mr. Editor. I claim them as a 
 personal triumph. " Don t plant em," said my Nestor. 
 u They won t grow," exclaimed my Ulysses. " They ll 
 be all wormy," vouchsafed my Solomon. I planted 
 em indignantly ; and haven t they succeeded ? 
 Havn t we " had em," Pd like to know ? Soft, 
 delicate, touchey, impressible, facile, yielding as the 
 cheek of Pink. (We have a neighbor, and her name 
 is Pink, just as we have a neighbor whose name is 
 Stubs.) There are no worms or fibres about em ; 
 but they are radishes indeed. They are a compensa 
 tion. They are a satisfaction. They make amends 
 for the potatoes. (Isn t there a potatoe rot about?) 
 They redeem, they sustain, they establish Trifleton 
 House. Oh, crisp, brittle, delectable radish forever 
 and forever, hail ! 
 
 But, calmest and most placid of editors, it s time Pd 
 bequeathed my farewell. You are, even in your dual 
 or plural number, (notwithstanding your " you," or 
 your "ye," or your "we,") you are too inconse 
 quential and inconsiderable to occupy more of "our" 
 attention. Hence "farewell !" We give you a " vale" 
 and, not only a " vale," but a " longurn vale ! " 
 
 l Macte virtute /" Be wise and just and generous, 
 as men are, some of them, (who ever saw a generous 
 woman, except in a scene or hour of distress?) and 
 you will accomplish your mission ! Keats failed, and 
 
12 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Byron capitally failed (weak and ineligious fool) ; 
 but, with a sweet and delicious childlike trust, you can 
 succeed. Consider that you are travelling home ! You 
 are walking this dusty earth but for a season. If you 
 are not ripe, it is to be hoped you will be soon. Take 
 care that you do not fall green ! Good bye dear 
 Editor (to be affectionate, dearest Editor), good bye ! 
 appreciate and be grateful for this letter from Trifle 
 and farewell ! 
 
 Alas ! Did I forget the boy ? the new, the last, the 
 incipient boy. Suffice it to say, " he has come ! " 
 He has adventured into this world. He has come to 
 tempt its joys and essay its sorrows. But, chiefly, thus 
 far, he has screamed. He s a " stunner ;" he s a 
 in a word he s "a perfect screamer." Prig evi 
 dently likes him, and apologizes for him. Prig, you 
 remember, is approximating four years. Hence, is 
 he important 
 
 "What makes your little brother cry ? " say I. 
 
 " He s a little fellow. He don t know any better," 
 says Prig. 
 
 Ah ! Presently Prig himself is screaming outra 
 geously. 
 
 " Why does Prig scream ? " I say to him. 
 
 " Cause," is his reply. 
 
 What a facile, ready word is " cause." We con 
 demn, we excuse the faults of others, it may be, but 
 when we are asked why we do so and so, we answer, 
 " cause ! " Will it do, Mr. Editor will it do in the 
 great hereafter ? Can we sin along in this world, and 
 plead " cause" in the next? Ask yourself! Where 
 many are called and but few chosen, can we plead 
 successfully " cause ? " Think, think, oh think ! 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 13 
 
 But I will leave you thinking, and meantime re 
 member me sweetly and affectionately to Mrs. Editor. 
 Say to her that Trifle salutes her ; that Trifle says this 
 to her exactly this no more, no less. Trifle says, 
 " Mrs. Editor Hail ! and Farewell ! " 
 
14 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 II 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 Summer Time. 
 
 THE sangfroid with which you presume to address 
 an editor through his own columns, O ingenuous Trifle, 
 is deserving of notice truly, and we, the editor and the 
 arm chair regard our dual mightiness more reve 
 rently henceforth will even condescend or aspire, 
 just as you please, to send you greeting in a similar 
 manner, not forgetting to thank you for having your 
 wondrous chirography metamorphosed into plain print. 
 
 We congratulate you that you have at last chosen 
 the better part, and left the city, with its eternal deaf 
 ening din, its brick and mortar, its toil and traffic, its 
 folly and fashion, its poverty and penury, its vice and 
 crime, all behind you, and have gone " into the coun 
 try." The half-smothered aspirations of your soul 
 have at length found expression, and have been devel 
 oped into deeds rather should we say into the deed 
 which conveyed to you the broad domain of Trifleton 
 House. Broad domain, we say, most guileless friend, 
 for we measure not by Gunter s chain, and though 
 your estate of Trifleton comprises only a few rods, 
 evidently you are rich in the bounteous supply of satis 
 faction which it yields, more to be husbanded and gar- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 15 
 
 nered and valued than all your potatoes or radishes, 
 beets or tomatoes. Rich you are, Trifle, even in that 
 delightful disregard of mortgage deeds which makes 
 Trifleton House so emphatically yours. Rich and in 
 the country, what more can we desire for you, O 
 fortunate Trifle, when we remember that with these 
 blessings you have Pat. and sundry little trifles to add 
 to your happiness ? 
 
 But absolutely refreshing is it to hear you talk, or 
 rather to read your talk on rural matters. You have 
 gone to live in the country; pray, have you read, 
 and has Mrs. Trifle read, the experiences of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Sparrowgrass ? They lived in the country 
 thorough-bre d city folk, they wished to prove by expe 
 rience the delights of rural life ; and so they did. 
 You are doing likewise you and Mrs. Trifle and 
 is it with like success ? In the course of your life in 
 your daily walks to and fro in the stony streets of the 
 city (what potent influence in those stones petrifies 
 the hearts and souls of those who day after day tramp 
 over them to toil?) doubtless in these daily walks 
 you have seen a tree, and in your occasional excur 
 sions, during your brief vacation from the ledger, you 
 have found something in your soul expand as you 
 looked upon mountains, woods, and the never-ending, 
 varied beauty of nature. We admit, most genial friend, 
 that you have a soul, and that, with proper advanta 
 ges, you might be a lover of nature, yea, a poet ; but 
 the fates have spared us that, while the lurking sen 
 timent about you has almost spoiled a respectable 
 clerk, and quite ruined your prospects as a successful 
 merchant ; for all which we congratulate you, since 
 now you may become a man. 
 
16 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 But what do you know practically about things 
 rural and agricultural ? Can you tell the difference 
 between a turnip and a cabbage, when growing? be 
 tween a pear tree and an elm ? between an aster and 
 a dahlia ? We can speak ex cathedra. When we 
 were a boy, we used to roll in clover, climb apple 
 trees for birds nests, rest upon a pumpkin in a corn 
 field, or sleep on the new-mown hay. Vegetables 
 and fruit were known to us, not when transformed 
 into something else by some city cuisine, but in their 
 natural state ; for didn t we study agriculture practi 
 cally and experimentally by digging up seed to see if 
 it had sprouted, or by exploring into the mystery of 
 potatoe hills? and flowers were not mere leafless 
 bunches of fading blossoms, yclept bouquets, but robes 
 of living beauty, which clothed the garden. 
 
 We looked out upon hill and vale, dark woods and 
 waving fields ; we played and sported under the tall 
 old trees, and lay down on the soft green turf scented 
 with blossoms, to dream those golden dreams that 
 come to childhood and youth alone. Never, save for 
 a brief space, have brick walls hemmed us in, or the 
 fiery pavement scorched our feet. And though the 
 mighty humbug " improvement" comes gradually rob 
 bing us of the rural delights of old, we are still a 
 lover of nature s beauty and of rural pursuits, with an 
 affection which is the growth of our life-time, not the 
 half-conscious desire of a soul ignorant of what it de 
 sires ; and we still enjoy the rus in urbe with more 
 than the olden delight. Remember, therefore, most 
 confiding of correspondents, that we know something 
 about potatoes and radishes, not that we admire the 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 17 
 
 latter as you, with your simple and uncultivated taste, 
 profess to do, and we advise you to expect only 
 very " small potatoes, and few in a hill," or to make 
 up your mind that there is a rot quite prevalent among 
 these esculents. 
 
 But while potatoes are our theme, let us tell you 
 that our neighbor, Shrimp, has a small patch of potatoes 
 that would unceremoniously overshadow yours. They 
 were planted at the foot of a pear tree, but they have 
 completely overtopped it now, and Shrimp, who is as 
 simple as you are in all things rural and agricultural 
 his forte is Jishing has procured some poles for 
 them to grow on, he having heard that beans are 
 poled, and not fully appreciating the difference in the 
 plants. And then your bed of tomatoes but you 
 will learn in time, and your ignorance is a misfortune 
 for which, doubtless, your plants weep each night ; 
 pray do you not find them in tears each morning ? 
 
 But to pick up those radishes which we just now 
 dropped so unceremoniously, those radishes over 
 which you fall into ecstasies, and go off into such wild 
 exclamations, calling them " soft, delicate, touchey, 
 impressible, facile, yielding as the cheek of Pink." 
 De gustibus, etc. you may have heard the quotation. 
 But to call a radish soft, impressible, yielding ! Can 
 ignorance excuse that, or infatuation farther go ? Is 
 it not a crisp, curt, biting thing, like some tempers ? 
 Manifestly were you thinking of Pink s cheek, rather 
 than of this plant, whose growth is downward into the 
 earth, not upward towards heaven. 
 
 How is it that you are so prone to root-crops, 
 potatoes, beets, radishes, earthy things entirely ? You 
 2 
 
18 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 do not talk of trees and their delicious fruits, nor even 
 of peas, or beans, or vines, much less of flowers. Is 
 it because your theory of cultivation applies only to 
 such crops ? You will find (we have hopes of your 
 learning much now you are in the proper school) that 
 to " root out the weeds and leave the rest to Provi 
 dence," is not what Providence expects, either in the 
 material or the moral field. There are plants, beauti 
 ful and productive, to which you must give sustenance, 
 moisture to sustain them against the scorching heat of 
 the sun ; soil, lest on the stony ground they wither for 
 want of root ; you must train and nurse and support 
 their delicate branches, till they are strong and vigor 
 ous to bear their blossoms and their fruits ; ay, you 
 must even prune and lop off their limbs, that they 
 may not, by too great luxuriance, overshadow or inter 
 fere with other no less valuable plants. All this and 
 more must you do ; Providence is not to be your gar 
 dener. 
 
 One of the most lamentable exemplifications of your 
 want of rural culture, O townbred Trifle, is your most 
 ungenerous and unsupported assertion that all women 
 inherit from Eve a propensity to eat c sour green ap 
 ples." Pshaw ! man, you haven t lived in the country 
 long enough to know that it is ripe fruit only that 
 tempts the accustomed eye, doubtless all your apples 
 will be eaten before they are half ripe. But were not 
 Adam and Eve placed in Paradise at the outset ? in 
 that delightful garden where were 
 
 " Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm; 
 Others whose fruit burnished with golden rind, 
 Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, 
 If true, here only, and of delicious taste." 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 19 
 
 And could they be tempted by " sour green apples ? " 
 Besides, the forbidden fruit was one 
 
 " which to behold 
 
 Might tempt alone ; " 
 
 and it had a " smell so savoury," that you may be quite 
 sure that it was not " sour green apples." Eve was 
 not to be tempted by such "sour green apples" as 
 grow about Trifleton House, nor that mean, sleek, de 
 ceitful, insinuating serpent either; not they, so you 
 can as well retract your shabby assertion, and no 
 more, like a great shirk, try to put the burden of your 
 digging on Father Adam s back. 
 
 Akin to this shabby " sour green apple charge," is 
 another parenthetical inquiry. Such a parenthesis is 
 a most uncourteous intruder, doubtless a town-bred 
 fellow. " Whoever saw a generous woman, except in 
 a scene or hour of distress ? " A pregnant exception 
 truly, by which we may acknowledge the presence of 
 angels when manifested by transcendent goodness and 
 mercy. Do you realize, most condescending of men, 
 what heavenly qualities you allow to women even in 
 those half churlish words ? Yet how much do you 
 deny them ; else, if your implied proposition be true, 
 then is man s whole life a scene of distress. True, 
 women don t go to State street or Wall street to lend 
 money at twelve per cent., and go home and endow 
 colleges, or do other charitable deeds which are duly 
 chronicled in the journals ; these walks are fully occu 
 pied by generous man. But look at yourself, O honest 
 preacher, and out of your own experience evolve a 
 general and a generous truth. Can you look in your 
 
20 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 wife s face and utter that same parenthesis without a 
 blush ? Is she not hourly doing or contriving some 
 thing for your pleasure, or comfort, or good, even 
 while you sit writing such disloyal words ? Does she 
 not pray for you each night, and each morning shower 
 blessings on you ? Where is her dowry but in Trifleton 
 House for your benefit ? and has she not signed that 
 mortgage deed just to gratify you ? For the rest, ask 
 Prig ; ask the incipient boy. They shall teach you 
 lessons, they and the benign influences of rural 
 life. 
 
 But we must pause ; time is not to be wasted always. 
 Your suggestive letter, most genial Trifle, has led us 
 further than we intended. We find in it touches on 
 which we should stop to think, and so we will lay 
 aside the pen, without imparting that instruction which 
 we might vouchsafe to a neophyte in things rural. 
 Not, however, till we request (ought not "we" to 
 command?) that you send us another token yea, 
 repeated tokens of your remembrance. The delect 
 able Pink is unknown to us, save by that superlatively 
 inapt simile ; let us have a more pleasing glimpse. In 
 short, write us another letter, Trifle, write us letters; 
 we ll give them all to "the devil." Commend us 
 and our household to the household of Trifleton, and 
 so good-bye. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 21 
 
 III. 
 
 TRIFLETON HOUSE, > 
 
 In the incipient Dog Days, 55. $ 
 
 THE style in which you, a City Editor, press your 
 claims to be considered peculiarly " rural," rustic, or 
 green (to comprehend all in a word), is extremely en 
 gaging. Who ever disputed them ? The following sen 
 tence in your letter, however, troubles me exceedingly : 
 
 " In short, write us another letter, Trifleton, write 
 us letters ; we 11 give them all to the devil" 
 
 I can t decide which is the more admirable, its 
 profanity or its assurance. In a state of phrenzied 
 excitement, I rushed out among the corn, and stretch 
 ing forth my hand towards the cucumbers (in which 
 my interest has been so constantly growing of late that 
 I felt I could confide in them), I addressed them " sub 
 stantially as follows," as the newspapers said that 
 reported my first harangue in public. 
 
 " Is the man beside himself, that he expects me to 
 throw off these brilliant things at his bidding? Am 
 I to frequently furnish his readers with letters such as 
 Charles Lamb never would, never could (exclaimed 
 I, waxing warmer) have written ? " The cucumbers, 
 at this stage, maintained the most respectful silence 
 and attention, but when I said, 
 
22 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " And, moreover, (here I ground my teeth and curled 
 my lip with the most withering scorn and indignation,) 
 it is to be supposed, for a single moment, nay, nay 
 
 for a single (here I broke down slightly, till I 
 
 happened to think of the word " instant") if I might 
 be permitted to use such an expression instant (with 
 forcible, feeble emphasis), is it to be expected that I 
 am not only to send him letters, but that he is to give 
 them all to the devil ? What say you, my friends, 
 for a single moment, or instant, J pray to know ? " 
 When I uttered this, the agitation of the corn was ap 
 parent, and the cucumbers visibly crept and crawled 
 all over. 
 
 The meeting dissolved, however, (mercury above 
 90) without arriving at any fixed conclusion, it being 
 determined that the question was too momentous to be 
 settled without serious consideration. 
 
 Upon conferring with Pat., she recommended me to 
 sleep upon it. I accordingly tucked " The Editor s " 
 paper under my pillow (which seemed very soft that 
 night, doubtless because I was so tired), and awoke 
 with the firm conviction that I would better write again 
 in order to provoke a reply from you, for Pat. read 
 with the serenest complacency what you indited upon 
 the " heavenly qualities " of women. She says you 
 accurately understand and have evidently studied the 
 sex, and when I remarked upon the " masculine vigor" 
 of one of your periods, she hotly resented it, and said 
 it was more distinguished for its refinement and deli 
 cacy of sentiment and all such feminine traits, which 
 was probably true, for whoever yet knew a woman 
 to be mistaken ? 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 23 
 
 I shall write, then, my Pythias, with a sedulous zeal ; 
 but take care how you throw open your columns to me, 
 for I do not always write with a gold pen. I shall have 
 at you with a corroded steel one at times, or with a 
 blunt pointed quill. I shall often trouble your small 
 imps to decipher out my words, and, possibly, I shall 
 trouble and annoy your readers still more. 
 
 " What does this Trifle, with his Pat. and his Prig 
 and his Pink and his Stubs, amount to ? " I hear one 
 of your " srriart " subscribers say. " What does he 
 prove ? What is there practical or useful about him ? 
 Why should he write ? " 
 
 Sure enough, my crisp commentator ! Your in 
 terrogatories are apt, and so is your sagacity. You 
 are evidently too many guns for me, and so I will 
 quietly step out of your sunshine, and you may go to 
 the . 
 
 No ! I wasn t going to say that. It s not surprising 
 that you thought I was, because it s the language you 
 hear on the change, and which you are quite used to 
 in your wranglings in State street and Wall street, but 
 it is not the language of Trifleton House. 
 
 There is, sir, no good, valid and substantial reason 
 why I should write (to answer as curtly as you ask), 
 except except " for the fun of it." Do you un 
 derstand what that means, my fellow pilgrim ? (Come, 
 now, let us meet in a common humanity, and show 
 each other our hearts !) You knew what it meant 
 once, when you were a boy ; when your nature was 
 fresher, and you were not quite so " cultured " as you 
 are now, did you not ? What ! have got no heart to 
 show me ? 
 
24 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Why ! " how you talk ! " as Pat. would say. 
 
 You wouldn t have me understand that this splendid 
 career you are running is blunting and warping your 
 affections, certainly ? In accomplishing your mission 
 you don t find your heart is growing hard, do you ? 
 This " business " in which you are so merged and 
 absorbed, don t spoil you for everything else, does it ? 
 Don t you ever talk and laugh with your wife and play 
 with your babies, and thus try to exorcise the devils of 
 care and anxiety that consume you day and night ? 
 If not, make a beginning now, and after some sharp 
 bargain you may have consummated in the " shrewd 
 est " and " smartest " and most " practical " style, sit 
 down and amuse yourself with the harmless platitudes 
 and in-nocuous nonsense of Trifle of Trifleton House. 
 Compare yourself with him, and when he says a flat 
 thing here and there, chuckle over it ! See how much 
 better your teeth have been cut than his ; in a word, 
 see his weakness and your own strength, if you 
 choose, that is ! If not, you can pass on. I am touch 
 ing my hat as I say it. (Such are the polite manners 
 at Trifleton House.) But, my Christian friend, con 
 sider how and whither you are travelling ! You look 
 dusty and toil-worn ! You are already passed beyond 
 the noon of life, and, if I am a judge, you are by no 
 means happy. There s a great aching void in your 
 heart. You see I know you have a heart, after all, 
 however you try to conceal it from the world. Rumor 
 says you are rich ; I m afraid you are ! You look 
 like a rich man, and I pity you ! " It is easier 
 for a camel," &c., and, if I am correct in my reading, 
 " a certain rich man " wasn t so well off in the end as 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 25 
 
 poor hungry and despised Lazarus, who begged at his 
 gate, as he swept by him daily, in his " purple and 
 fine linen." 
 
 I trust we shall meet again. You will, doubtless, 
 continue to toil on for " a little more " money, and 
 will become more weary arrfl overburdened than you 
 are now, if you do not change. But I trust we shall 
 meet again. What you need is rest and retirement. 
 You don t wan t any more ships or houses. Take one 
 of your houses and live in it. Understand and appre 
 ciate the great mystery of life. Study and ponder 
 upon your mission. 
 
 Humanize and educate yourself, and your household, 
 and, once more I will say it, I trust we shall meet 
 again ; there, walking in the light of " the glory of 
 God;" there, reclining and resting on the banks of 
 the " rivers of water clear as crystal," with our bur 
 dens ended, our anxieties past, and our victory over 
 the world and ourselves accomplished. 
 
 And you, most fair and most exuberant Miss of 
 nineteen summers, who have sedulously rushed to 
 " the Rehearsals," and periodically exhausted your 
 appetite and your wit at Vinton s, who have gone into 
 raptures over that exquisite love of a singer, Mario, 
 (when he is in humor enough with his audience to 
 vouchsafe to sing, that is,) but have failed to see 
 his palpable inferiority to Salvi, Perelli even, and 
 perhaps Vietti (the best Edgardo, all things considered, 
 that we have had), nor have seen anything in Grisi 
 but u a mere actress," (whose prototype, however, 
 could have been nothing short of a Siddons,) you, 
 glibbest of talkers, with your bright eyes and your 
 
26 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 buoyant nature (a less polite person than Trifle would 
 say giddy), who have been to Saratoga, and are going 
 to Newport not to listen to the sad voices of the 
 sea, but to the Germanians, you, most impulsive 
 creature, who have shed .no tears, as yet, except for 
 the young man with the feeble and almost hopeless 
 moustache by moonlight, will you read the his 
 tory of Trifleton ? Possibly not ; but Pink is a hand 
 somer and far more brilliant woman than you will 
 ever be, and no such man as Stubs will ever regard 
 you, till you shall have been disciplined, with any 
 stronger feeling than that of curiosity and, shall I 
 venture the assertion? compassion. The world is 
 real, my child, and life is earnest, as you will dis 
 cover, if God spares your life. 
 
 But revenons a nos moutons ! For you, at least, I 
 will write, my placid Editor, and for you alone, if 
 need be, with such of your readers as can be enter 
 tained by simple and unsophisticated folk like those 
 who frequent Trifleton House. 
 
 The tomatoes are doing wonders, and the cucumbers 
 and squashes making the most steady headway ; but 
 the most important announcement (you say I do not 
 talk of beans) I have to make (and this, as you will 
 perceive, is, from its nature, most strictly confidential), 
 is that, somehow, the beans where the poles are, refuse 
 to run ; and the poles a whole regiment of them 
 stand stiff and stark and disconsolate ; whereas the 
 beans, where the poles are not, are stretching their 
 fond arms about for something to embrace and lean 
 upon, in the most sweetly affectionate style. The 
 manner in which they evidently yearn for a support 
 
TRIFLETON TAPERS. 27 
 
 is extremely touching. But I encourage them all I 
 can with such admonitions as 
 
 " Creep along, creep along ! You are young yet, 
 and can t expect to walk very bravely ! But do your 
 best, without assistance ! Support yourselves, by 
 hook or by crook. Acquire, by degrees, a sure and 
 steady self-reliance, and you will in the end surpass 
 beans that started with you, petted and supported by 
 all the appliances of extraneous aid and comfort. 
 Climb, in a word, without poles, and indicate to the 
 world that, by the sheer force of your own worth and 
 dignity of character, you can and will conquer! Climb 
 alone, if need be ! Friends and sympathy are desir 
 able, but not indispensable. At all events, climb ! 
 Even if you should fall, you would be no worse off 
 than if you were lying, impotent, upon the ground, 
 longing and waiting and weeping for poles. Climb ! 
 steadily, calmly, surely ! It seems impossible, I am 
 aware, but it is not. Climb, climb, oh beans despond 
 ent, climb! Try! and despair not, and you will be 
 surprised to find how undoubtedly you will mature 
 and ripen. Be less impatient, but, keeping steadily 
 at work, be content to bide your- time, and, my word 
 for it, you will never disgrace Trifleton House." 
 
 By such simple, and, it may be, child-like talk, do 
 I encourage them. Doubtless it is very silly, but I 
 have observed, that just this sort of talk works won 
 ders, oftentimes, with the faint hearted. 
 
 Stubs is perfectly great at it. Why, an old woman 
 told me, not long since, "A kind, good man is Mr. 
 Stubs, sir. Folks call him proud, and so he is, like, 
 but he never forgets me in rny poverty ; and, when I 
 
28 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 was sick last winter, he was always coming to see me 
 to comfort me and encourage me. He s as good as a 
 minister, sir, and, then, how well he talks ! I m sorry. 
 Miss Pink is so hard upon him. She says he is too 
 stiff and uncompromising, or some such thing. But 
 she don t know everything, and besides, if she is so 
 beautiful, and her father is so rich, and her name was 
 in the newspapers about the grand ball, at Newport, 
 I believe they call it, she is not so kind-hearted as 
 she might be. Why, she never walked into my 
 house in her life. She sometimes stops and says a 
 word or two as she goes by my door. But she s 
 grand, and 1 hope it s a mistake what they say 
 that she is to marry Mr. Stubs. He s too good for 
 her, I think, and I ll stick to it." 
 
 I shall have to look into this thing a little, Mr. Edi 
 tor. I can t say how true it is, but I know that Stubs 
 and Pink have long been intimate, and strangely 
 enough, too, for their natures are inharmonious. His 
 mission is, evidently, to suffer; hers (don t mention 
 it, for she is very lovely and has many fine points), 
 just as evidently to make others suffer. She is too 
 thoughtless and, possibly, heartless. We shall see. 
 
 But I must have done and fare you well ! Mean 
 time, in these dog days, the sea, and the stars and the 
 sunsets are my companions, the sea chiefly. What 
 its voices utter, what the music of the stars reveals 
 to my soul, I cannot quite tell you as yet. Their 
 language is vague and indistinct, but none the less 
 appreciable. I seem to be oppressed, almost, with a 
 sense of beauty which would intoxicate if it did not 
 subdue ; exhilarating but chastening. Prig is evidently 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 29 
 
 conscious of it, and undertook, an evening or two 
 since, to tell me what the sea said. He has gotten to 
 be a fluent talker, and is beginning to exhibit traits. 
 
 The sight of a flower or a star will hush him to 
 peace, when he is most boisterous ; which is a good 
 sign. I asked him, some time since, who made a 
 flower he held in his hand. " Papa," was his reply. 
 "Who?" said I somewhat solemnly. "God," was 
 his answer, and, with those large, inquiring eyes of 
 his, he gazed into mine in a most interrogative and 
 searching manner, by which he meant " will you 
 please to explain ? " doubtless. Explain ! When can 
 I? When he is older and wiser? Oh, my friend, as 
 he grows older, and I plod on, will he grow wiser 
 from teachings such as mine, or will a still small voice, 
 in a moment, " in the twinkling of an eye," teach 
 him the mystery lifetimes of knowledge getting, 
 money getting, fame getting, and Progress, as we call 
 it, cannot comprehend ; " because He has hid these 
 things from the wise and prudent, and revealed them 
 unto babes." Bui, how I preach ! 
 
 Your comments upon the radishes as compared with 
 Pink s cheek, were excessively shabby. Why not 
 " soft, impressible, yielding ? " Take a young, tender 
 radish, and what can be more appropriate than to 
 apply all of these epithets to it with some few grains 
 of salt? 
 
 You allege that a cheek is " soft " and a radish 
 " hard " ; but don t we say " a stiff upper lip," " mar- 
 He forehead," " beautifully carved features, " chiselled 
 features," " a well cut nose," " a hard faced man or 
 woman," " an iron look," " a stony expression," and 
 
30 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 all such illegitimate and hard things, which are all 
 correct enough, and so why not " a soft, impressible 
 radish," with the " grains of salt," that is ? 
 
 Ask your "smart" subscriber if you are not cor 
 nered ? And bid him hail ! notwithstanding my serene 
 and excessively polite good-bye to him. He has his 
 good points after all, and when there is anything 
 argumentative or "practical" going on, we need him 
 to settle the question. 
 
 As to a woman s cheek being " yielding, soft and 
 impressible," or her nature, either, I have not much 
 to say to such a handsome man as you. Women, 
 puer carissime, are curious creatures. Beauty, like 
 yours, will not conquer them always. 
 
 "0 formose puer, nimium ne crede colori." 
 
 They are captivated by " a verie smooth and plea 
 sant wit," like that of Trifle. You can procure them 
 to like you, if you try, but it s such an effort to try. 
 You may say 4t oh vainest of Trifles," but what I say 
 is true, notwithstanding it be also true that the love of 
 a woman, excepting always that of Pat., is the vainest 
 of trifles. Pro ex, what said the Dane ? 
 
 " But two months dead ! Nay, not so much, not two ; " 
 and then again, 
 
 " Thrift, thrift, Horatio ; the funeral baked meats did coldly 
 furnish forth the marriage tables." 
 
 I think so, Hamlet, most decidedly ! You had a 
 right to be most stupendously indignant about it. 
 " What s to be done ? " " what s to be done ? " you 
 asked very naturally, but I never could make out that 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 31 
 
 you did much. The fact is, Hamlet, you were a 
 great talker, and that s about all. You ve made a 
 good many tragedians, though, in our day, but a little 
 of your advice wouldn t hurt em. " Great American 
 Tragedians" they are, most of em. 
 
 But, Mr. Editor, this letter is inconceivably long. 
 I bequeath to you the spirit and influence of Trifleton 
 House ! And, if you were a woman, I would kiss 
 your hands. 
 
 Item. I sat last evening reading the newspaper, 
 and throwing it down, said, " Let us thank God for 
 the crops and the harvest." 
 
 "Amen," said Stubs, solemnly. 
 
 " Let us thank God for Robert Burns, Lake George, 
 4 Saratoga, and Newport, " ejaculated Pink. 
 
 "It is well," said I, platitudinizing in reply, "to be 
 thankful for the sources of our amusement, but we 
 ought first to be grateful for our health, food, raiment, 
 and reason, however limited they be." 
 
 " So I think," said Stubs. 
 
 " You do ? " inquired Pink, apparently somewhat 
 pointedly. 
 
 " Yes ! and I not only think so, but I feel so." 
 
 " Feel ! What preaching ! What do I know of feel- 
 ing?" (A cloud passed over his face; passed, I 
 say.) 
 
 " (Jr care," said I. 
 
 Her eye flashed, kindled rather, and she turned its 
 full blaze upon me. 
 
 "He means," exclaimed Pat., instantly, " that you 
 know nothing of care, because you ve never had 
 any." 
 
32 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Perhaps I did. She " chucked " my elegant edition of 
 Burns, which cost me eight dollars and a half, down 
 upon the sofa, in a most sprawling condition, and 
 rushing up to Pat., hugged her and kissed her (they 
 are old friends intimate before we owned Trifleton 
 House) in the most ridiculous and passionate manner, 
 and screaming out " Good-bye " " Come," was off 
 in a moment. 
 
 Stubs followed, looking very foolish, as I thought. 
 
 Said I, " Pat., if I had the training of her, I d " 
 
 "You d what?" 
 
 " Pd curb her and conquer her, or " 
 
 " Get conquered yourself ! I ve no doubt of it. 
 Pink is much spoiled, but I by no means despair of 
 her." 
 
 The man with the morose moustache, and the corn- 
 colored gloves has not yet arrived, but is expected. 
 Pink met him last summer at Catskill, and, as I am told, 
 he brings letters to her father. His income is " ten 
 thousand a year." 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 33 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 Sirius Ascendant. 
 
 WE suppose we are in duty bound to acknowledge 
 the receipt of your favor, we were about to say 
 but we mean your obedience to our commands in 
 writing us another letter, most docile Trifle. After 
 the manner of Trifleton House we thank you, and take 
 off our hat to you that is, we should do the latter 
 thing, but our arm chair tolerates no " tile " in its 
 presence, not even our broad-brim straw, under the 
 shadow of which we watch the changes of nature r 
 and sometimes muse on what you would term the 
 " glories " of Trifleton House, but what to us seems 
 to be its mirth-provoking ridiculousness, to wit, its- 
 garden and its gardener. We thank you, notwith 
 standing the supreme conceit which almost forbade 
 your compliance with our command, thou " vainest of 
 Trifles," truly. 
 *But thank ye for what ? For two and a half mortal 
 
 columns of ? (We won t say the word that 
 
 comes pat in that place.) Let us see what you have 
 done, what you say. First an address to the cucum 
 bers ! There s an audience for you ! Prone to ad- 
 rnire and communicate with grovelling, procumbent, 
 3 
 
34 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 creeping things, still, are you, Trifle ? After such an 
 address to such an audience, it is very delightful to 
 ! hear you admonish the beans. It seems you can 
 aspire to the top of a bean-pole but alas ! for the 
 practical results of your aspirations in the garden of 
 Trifleton House. Verily, you are a reformer, Trifle ; 
 not quite so fiercely philanthropic as some of your 
 class, since you do not yet take the world for your 
 field, but eon-fine yourself to your you call it " a 
 garden," don t you ? Pray, why didn t you fix your 
 poles for those creeping and crawling cucumbers to 
 climb upon ? Or better, why have you not chopped 
 them up into kindling wood ? You are not yet so 
 ethereal, though you have lived six weeks in the 
 country, as not to need a fire under the pot ; pray 
 put the poles to some use, and let them not stand for 
 ever like so many weird and giant fingers pointing at 
 your disgraceful ignorance. Having burnt your poles, 
 apply yourself to reform. The task you assume is 
 not half so herculean as those which some of your co- 
 reformers attempt. Talk to your beans, bid them 
 climb ; they or we shall delight in your elo 
 quence, at least. By-and-by, when Stubs tells you 
 of his detectable " Limas," run you out to see the 
 fruits of your preaching, you will look in vain for 
 the fruits of your " despondent beans." 
 
 Another year, if your life is spared, possibly you 
 may remember that mere admonitions are not very 
 good bean-poles. There are plants, as there are hu 
 man souls, which will surely climb heavenward, if 
 you give them a steady staff. They must grow ; their 
 tender shoots, their yearning tendrils will reach out 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 35 
 
 and clutch at weeds, if nothing better offer, frail 
 and transient supports which must be prostrated by 
 the first storm. Shall they be left thus to be cast 
 down, fruitless, lost forever ? Not thus has the good 
 Gardener left us, O fellow-mortal. Firm, steady, 
 heaven-high staves has he placed all about us ; and if 
 we will stretch out our hands, and wind about those 
 unfailing supports with never-untwining tendrils, we 
 shall grow upward into the pure air and the glorious 
 sunlight. 
 
 We have some hopes of you, most fickle Trifle, in 
 another way. Rural life is evidently exerting a hu 
 manizing influence on you, and you have arrived at 
 that stage when you can at times, by fits and starts, 
 acknowledge some good in woman, only in sucli 
 cases you can t look beyond the amiable Pat- She 
 didn t have any such narrow notions. Evidently her 
 generous nature is a compensation (don t you believe 
 in compensations?) for Trifle s conceit. We have a 
 higher regard for her opinion than for yours ; for 
 didn t she approve of what we said ? But you are 
 not altogether hopeless and crusted over with imper 
 vious self-conceit, since you can now ask "who ever 
 yet knew a woman to be mistaken ? " There you 
 are on the other extreme, the golden mean seems 
 impossible with you. Doubtless you were thinking, 
 all the while, of Pat., and how many times she had 
 proved you to be mistaken ; and you forgot all about 
 that one great mistake of her life, her choice of a 
 husband. 
 
 But see how you spoil even that tribute to woman 
 by the sorry commonplace of all vain preachers like 
 
36 TRIFLE-TON PAPERS. 
 
 yourself, that " the love of a woman is the vainest of 
 trifles." To be sure a sort of instinctive dread of con 
 sequences led you to except Pat. ; otherwise the slan 
 der is general. And you quote that crazy fellow, 
 Hamlet, in support of your lunatic conceit. What did 
 he know about it ? He was indeed a great talker, as 
 you say, but he didn t therefore know much about it. 
 The great question with him was 
 
 " To be or not to be." 
 
 A very serious question, truly ; but if he had been a 
 sane, practical man, he need not have made such a 
 fuss about it, exclaiming 
 
 " What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and 
 heaven ! " 
 
 He might have settled it all " with a bare bodkin." 
 Moreover, he behaved very shabbily towards Ophelia, 
 who also went mad, for love of him, and showing more 
 " pluck" than he could muster with all his u stale, flat 
 and unprofitable " talk, went and drowned herself. 
 Was her love " the vainest of trifles ? " How was it, 
 too, with Imogen and Juliet, Portia and Rosalind ? 
 not to go any farther in the records of that true reader 
 of human life. 
 
 Turning again to your letter, we know not which 
 most to admire, the audacity with which you presume 
 to lecture our " smart subscriber " and the " exuberant 
 Miss of nineteen summers," or the verdancy with 
 which you seem to suppose that they will read what 
 you say. Possibly we may have such a " smart sub 
 scriber " as you assume, but the genial influences of 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 37 
 
 our journal preclude the possibility of there being such 
 an individual among our readers. If there were, think 
 you he would read your lucubrations ? He must read 
 the price of stocks, look over the arrivals, study the 
 importations, run through the advertisements, to find 
 out where and how money can be made. For amuse 
 ment he will look at the reports of the crops, read the 
 details of the last defalcation, or glance at the accounts 
 of carnage before Sebastopol, all which may directly 
 or indirectly affect the figures on his ledger. He read 
 your unpractical, thriftless, useless stuff! Not he, 
 least of all when you talk to him, and at him, and all 
 about him, individually. You think you find a "great 
 aching void " in his heart, but when you tell him so 
 he covers it all over with the hard crust of money- 
 making worldliness, so that there is no crack or 
 crevice through which your soft words, your goodly 
 counsels or your sharp admonitions can penetrate 
 into the mysterious chambers which he so sedulously 
 closes and locks up, as he is wont to lock up his gold 
 or his bills receivable. And so you waste your long 
 paragraphs on him, until he shall seek that rest and 
 retirement which you prescribe for him, and that 
 will be, when no more money is to be made, when 
 bowed down with disease, or the weight of his money 
 bags, he totters down to the grave. So plod on the 
 class of which he is the type ; let us hope for some at 
 least, an earlier and a better rest. 
 
 And the " exuberant Miss," will she read your plati 
 tudes ? She looks at the catalogue of marriages 
 still sighing for that morose moustache which totters 
 about on spindle shanks, or she reads perhaps a gos- 
 
38 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 siping letter about the " hops " at Nahant, or the pros 
 pective fancy ball at Newport, or the brilliant company 
 at Saratoga. Possibly her eye might be caught by 
 some of the words in that long paragraph addressed to 
 her, but fairly into it, she ll toss her pretty head one 
 way and your letter the other, Trifleton may sink, 
 and Stubs be hanged, for all she cares, she has 
 more congenial pursuits. But as you say, Trifle, she 
 will in time discover the reality of life ; love, care, 
 sorrow, shall teach her better lessons than you can. 
 
 But do not despair, O simple and verdant friend, for 
 there are those who will read even what you and we 
 may say, in our simple way, about very simple things. 
 They are few, perhaps, the more unfortunate the 
 world, therefore, but pleasant, intelligent, genial 
 men and women do exist somewhere, and it is, of 
 course, your mission to find them out. 
 
 How excessively full of conceit is this last letter of 
 yours ! We thought we had disposed of it all, but lo, 
 here you ask if we are not " cornered " on that radish 
 business. Appeal not to our " smart subscriber; " ask 
 rather the brilliant Pink, if a cold, crisp, watery rad 
 ish is the type of her warm, soft, impressible cheek, 
 and the flash of her eye will doubtless render your 
 comparison odious, even to yourself which, we be 
 lieve, is already the case, since you are so anxious to 
 have it taken cum grano. And then again you boast 
 of that " verie smooth and pleasant wit," with which 
 you can captivate women ! Your assurance must be 
 really charming to Pat. and Pink, and all the other 
 feminine friends who know you so well. This leads 
 you quite naturally to woman s love, which we have 
 already noted. And so let us end our comments. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 39 
 
 Did you note with a white mark on the Calendar, 
 Friday the 3d of August, in this blessed year of 55, 
 that bright, effulgent day, the crowning glory of these 
 summer months ? Did not Trifleton assume a new 
 beauty in that clear air and golden sunlight ? Did not 
 the foliage wave with a brighter green, and the corn, 
 the squashes, the cucumbers even, give visible tokens 
 of delight? Had your boyhood been passed amid 
 rural beauties instead of in the hard, dry, stony town, 
 you would have found much in such a day to recall 
 the far off joys of those careless and unweary days. 
 You might have sprawled your manly length upon the 
 grass, and gazed up into those measureless depths of 
 blue, anon driving the fleecy clouds like chariots over 
 the trackless way, or closing your eye to listen to the 
 mysterious music which the winds and the leaves sing 
 together, dreaming dreams of wild ambition, yet 
 full of the dole e far niente spirit (or want of spirit), so 
 congenial to your feelings, all as you would have 
 done when a boy, on some such resplendent day, had 
 you then been a rustic. But, poor unfortunate, all this 
 is lost to you, as well as the deeper, sweeter joys of 
 maturer thought with such antecedents. Ay, you are 
 lost, yourself, in the mysteries of many-voiced nature ; 
 bewildered with her beauty and her music, you 
 wander about almost unhappy under the oppression of 
 vague, indistinct, unappreciated ideas. Is it not so, O 
 Trifle? or have you crossed the threshold into the 
 calm, holy light of a close communion with nature ? 
 
 It was on the eve of that superlative day that we 
 watched from the hill-side the brilliant sunset, gor 
 geous with crimson and golden clouds, and saw the 
 
40 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 purple twilight steal over the landscape as if to bathe 
 it in beauty more complete, while the little stream 
 winding far below in the valley, awhile so bright under 
 the shining clouds, gradually disappeared beneath the 
 mist which (mysteriously) gathered over it. From the 
 dark sea the shadow of the horizon stole slowly up 
 the Eastern sky, as shadows at the close of life steal 
 over the scenes and memories of youth. Ah ! what a 
 time and scene for impressions and thoughts; and we 
 were launching out upon the limitless ocean, when 
 Madame Hard and her son came by. 
 
 Madame Hard is a widow, wealthy, cold, practical 
 and commonplace ; her son is a mystery to most 
 people. Once and now at times ardent, enthu 
 siastic, poetical, he becomes more and more cold, 
 gloomy, misanthropic even. Some three or four years 
 out of college, talented, rich and good-looking, (all 
 but his moody expression,) why should such a fellow 
 get into such state ? We shall try and fathom it, by- 
 and-by, Trifle, if you and Mrs. Trifle would like to 
 hear the gossip. 
 
 " A fine sunset," said Madame Hard. 
 
 We expatiated on the beauties of the scene earth, 
 sea and air. 
 
 " Very red clouds," remarked Madame, in reply ; 
 " we shall probably have rain again to-morrow, and 
 we must go to Newport." 
 
 Our words had all passed for nothing ; beauty, 
 glory, splendor, loveliness, peace, serene, holy, the 
 whole vocabulary had been wasted, and we should 
 probably have rain again to-morrow ! That is the 
 way to look upon clouds and sunsets. None of your 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 41 
 
 poetry, none of your artist-talk ; what is that to the 
 weather ? or to Mrs. Hard ? 
 
 Young Hard his name is Abel, after his father 
 was all the while absorbed in the beauties of the even 
 ing, but said nothing. At the sound of " Newport," 
 he incontinently started, and passed on with a half- 
 haughty bow, saying to his mother, " Tt is very damp," 
 which was all-sufficient to hurry her home. Damp ? 
 ay, it is damp, and Mrs. Hard gathers her shawl about 
 her ; but there seems to be a greater dampness about 
 the heart of Abel ; and so they leave the twilight to 
 us. 
 
 But more of this anon. Setting a proper example 
 to correspondents, it becomes us to cut short our let 
 ters. And so, with all blessings to Trifleton House, 
 vale. 
 
 P. S. Shrimp s premium potatoes are prostrated 
 by the wind and rain (he glories in the tops, you 
 know, not the tubers), while he is absent, studying 
 ichthyology. 
 
42 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 V. 
 
 TRIFLETON HOUSE, 
 Still in the Dog Days. 
 
 A CALAMITY has befallen us; sharp, sudden and 
 severe. It touches Prig more nearly than the rest of 
 us, but still we are all in tears. 
 
 Little Buff-y is dead ! Do you hear ? dead ! He 
 was quite unwell yesterday. His vivacity seemed to 
 be gone, and he drooped palpably. He leaned his 
 head against my hand, when I went to bid him good 
 morning, in a manner that impressed and touched me ; 
 for what being, human or brute, ever indicated any 
 interest in me, ever yearned for my sympathy, and 
 appealed to my affection, without a response ? I sym 
 pathized with him, and gave him some water and 
 clover and catnip. But he drank and ate but little. 
 He seemed grateful, however, and repeatedly kissed 
 my hand, (which you remember Pat. says is a good 
 looking one.) Prig was much concerned about him, 
 but I consoled him with, " He ll be better to-morrow." 
 
 So this morning, after breakfast, which consisted of 
 the richest coffee you ever tasted, with cream, fried 
 potatoes, cucumbers (sliced in pieces of ice) of my 
 own raising, rough, unbolted wheat bread, with Ver 
 mont butter, corn bread (Pat. s weakness from the 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 43 
 
 South the only " cliivdlric " notion I have n t talked 
 her out of since she crossed Mason and Dixon s line, 
 for Yankee land and a life with me), and various other 
 small trifles, too numerous to mention, I rushed into 
 the garden, and looking into his pen, or cage, or what 
 not, I saw BufF-y lying down, his eyes wide open and 
 his head resting upon the floor ! and looking very 
 weary and very sick. I sallied instantly towards the 
 cellar for some dry straw. It was from a basket of 
 silver tops that I obtained it. Returning with it, and 
 putting my hand gently, and oh! how tenderly, into 
 the cage, past White-y upon BufF-y, a little, to raise 
 him, in order to put the nice, clean straw under him, 
 a cold chill ran over me. He was stark ! With 
 the tears streaming from my eyes, I ran up to Prig, 
 who was not yet out of his new trundle bed, but was 
 waiting for his " Mary." 
 
 " Prig," said I, " poor little Buff-y is dead ! ! ! ! " 
 
 Prig was dumb. He was stupefied. He was like 
 Lot s wife. 
 
 I will not wring your heart, by recounting the 
 details of our mourning. It is enough that we are 
 miserable. 
 
 An early hour was appointed for his burial. I 
 will strive of course vainly to describe it to you. 
 The place was under the great apple tree, in the 
 northwest corner of the garden ; the time, towards 
 eleven o clock, which, for once, caused me to take 
 an excessively light glass of claret and water, as a 
 tonic, as a medicine, you will understand, to my 
 grief. 
 
 The great staring sun looked down upon the pro- 
 
44 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 cession with a sort of knowing look, which seemed to 
 say, I ve seen a good many things in my day, and I ve 
 been looking pretty sharply for a few thousand years, 
 but by Jupiter and Saturn, and several signs of the 
 zodiac, I never did see anything quite so dire and 
 awful as this. There s Prig ! he s chief mourner, 
 probably, for he heads the ranks, and his tears are 
 genuine. I ll not dry them up. I ll go into a cloud 
 as he passes, for a child s grief is a sacred thing in its 
 way, and is to be respected. Let his tears flow ! 
 Next comes Trifle. He indicates that he has suffered, 
 but he looks better and wiser and happier for it. I ll 
 shine on him, for he needs sunshine and warmth. All 
 bright things please and encourage him. His nature is 
 already too melancholy. Hence his tears would better 
 not flow. (I stopped crying at this point.) Last comes 
 Pat., the most faithful and constant of all. For, even 
 as the wife of the lamented Rogers, she comes " with 
 one at the breast," following hard upon the footsteps 
 of Trifle, like a dutiful and affectionate wife. So walk 
 through life together, united by a common tie of love ; 
 close together, in joy and in grief, in despondency 
 and hope. Father, mother, child ! O family relation 
 ship, sympathy, love ! In all I have seen these 
 thousands of years, 1 have gazed upon nothing more 
 beautiful. It is pure and unselfish, and likest that 
 which subsists in Heaven. 
 
 We came to the grave, we (it s too painful) we 
 buried Buff-y. I pronounced a succinct eulogy. I 
 did as the tombstones do, and the orators when a great 
 man dies I paraded his virtues most skilfully and 
 artfully concealed his faults. I did it in the most adroit 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 45 
 
 manner. I made everybody think he was a perfect 
 pink of a rabbit. Not a word said I of his shabby 
 thieving in my beet bed, not I. Oh, it was most 
 cunningly done ! 
 
 But, no doubt, you are bursting to hear whether 
 the man with the corn-colored gloves has come. I 
 judge so from the fact that you said nothing about 
 him in your letter, for I have always observed that in 
 the imperfect life we illustrate in this slight world, that 
 people say the least in regard to what they think of 
 most. Humanity is secretive, and candor is a rare 
 trait. 
 
 " When will man learn to bear 
 His heart nailed on his breast? " 
 
 Sure enough, most lamented, most tender, plaintive 
 Motherwell ! As Pink says, the world should be 
 grateful for thy life, though it was indeed a life of suf 
 fering. Except for it, we should never have had 
 " Jeanie Morrison." 
 
 It is undoubtedly true, however, that " he has 
 come." The last three words you perceive are in 
 quotation marks. T seek to indicate, thereby, that they 
 are not original, but are borrowed. They belong to 
 Pink. She uttered them in a most bewildered and 
 excited manner to Pat., and the latter reiterated them 
 to me several times, so that they are, in fact, become 
 rather old, and deserve the quotation marks. I trust 
 you will receive them calmly, and with a becoming 
 degree of moderation. 
 
 The distinguished individual went on a sailing excur 
 sion with us, for you must know that, of late, we have 
 
46 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 been much addicted to the ocean in one way or 
 another. We bathe, and sail, and even fish in the 
 most human fashion. 
 
 Upon the occasion I have referred to, the day came 
 in with a glory unsurpassable. Astounding as the fact 
 may seem, I saw the sun rise. A dark, purple line 
 marked the eastern horizon, above which I saw him 
 slowly rising, and looking stealthily around. He was 
 so cautious, on the start, that I thought he lacked 
 pluck. But as he gazed over the water, and looked 
 upwards upon the mountains of frowning maroon 
 clouds, piled like Ossa upon Pelion over his head, as 
 if to break him down, a ray of peculiar satisfaction, as 
 it seemed to me, which gradually developed into a 
 look of proud defiance, almost, indicated that he was 
 ready for the conflict. He came out of it triumphantly. 
 For he made the sea leap and sparkle before him ; 
 and he dissipated the frowns of the angry clouds, and 
 converted them into smiles. Blessed be the sunshine 
 forever, and all warm and sunny natures in a world like 
 this ! They make our pulses leap and our hearts beat ; 
 they kindle our courage, and dry our tears. We can 
 struggle with obstacles; we can possibly conquer diffi 
 culties, and fight against all dark and gloomy things 
 valiantly. But gentle, warm, affectionate natures sub 
 due us, and soften and harmonize us all. God knows, 
 however, that they are rare. 
 
 The day, I said, was beautiful and bright ; and so 
 was Pink. Pat., in her simplicity, of course admired 
 everything. None but " cultivated " people find 
 fault. 
 
 I cannot quite say I was as much bedazzled by 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 47 
 
 u him " as I expected to be. Coming from New York 
 city, you perceive, with the prestige of having been 
 pronounced " a great match," having summered at 
 Newport and wintered at Paris so long, I was prepared 
 for great things ; but, between you and me, he was of 
 the same race we have seen so many of. He talked a 
 great deal, but really said nothing, Stubs evidently 
 thought. Repeatedly, a few quiet and polite words 
 from Stubs exposed the shallowness of many of his 
 opinions, which he vouchsafed in a decidedly " trav 
 elled " style. The clever wit of Pink, however, made 
 him shine by a reflected light occasionally. He was 
 her father s guest, and she probably felt bound to 
 pick him up when he stumbled. He had never read 
 " Evangeline," and (incredible as it may seem) was 
 perfectly innocent of Motherwell. He could n t see 
 the force of the " Potiphar Papers," any more than 
 he could see the peculiar expression in Pink s eye, or 
 on Stubs face. One thing I must tell you. He said 
 he thought it extremely funny that I, myself, worked 
 in my own garden, and asked if it were true ; at 
 which Stubs very groutily remarked, in my behalf 
 entirely, for he would not have been so impolite 
 himself, 
 
 " The true occupation of man is to till the soil, 
 doubtless. Nothing can be more gratifying than to 
 see before our eyes that which has been produced 
 from the earth by the labor of our own hands, with 
 the accession of the rain and the sunshine, which are 
 God s gifts. It is an occupation which is dignified 
 and purifying, and one calculated to draw out and 
 develope the resources, generally, of our country. 
 
4 TRIFLETON PAPEKS. 
 
 look forward to the day when we shall be known and 
 distinguished as an agricultural people, almost exclu 
 sively." 
 
 He relapsed into silence, and Pink s eye kindled. 
 She thought him too real, too good, too open, per 
 haps. But this may be merely my fancy. I have 
 observed often enough, however, that the thoughts of 
 a true man, feelingly expressed, are quite wasted, or, 
 at least, are inopportune, in the society of what are 
 called i; young people " of our dav particularly of 
 the feminine gender. Indeed, feeling, away from home, 
 is rather a practical absurdity than otherwise. In any 
 sense, it s a commodity of somewhat questionable value. 
 
 \Ve left our vessel about noon, and landed on an 
 island beautifully situated in mid ocean. I wan 
 dered away from our party, and stretched myself at 
 full length upon the grass. I shall never forget the 
 sensations of that hour. On every side around me 
 was the broad Atlantic ; above me the cloudless sky ; 
 and stealing over me, the delicious summer air, 
 bewildering my senses, and addressing the better part 
 of my nature. I mused, and then I slept. I dreamed 
 I was in a sort of fairy land. Paradise was unfolded 
 before me. There were pure sunlights, without 
 clouds: gorgeous birds; singing fountains; peaceful 
 and serene hill-sides and valleys ; all that was 
 beautiful, nothing that was sad. I said to my soul, 
 " Is this heaven ? " My soul answered palpably (as 
 I dreamed) and somewhat reproachfully, " Heaven 
 is of the spirit, and addresses not the senses. Heaven 
 is home ; is with Christ who has suffered and con 
 quered ; is a cessation of yearning and longing; is 
 rest!" 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 49 
 
 Presently the cry that the chowder was ready 
 brought me back to this practical and bread and but 
 ter eating world. I was rallied upon being a sleepy 
 head. Perhaps I was. I said nothing, but quietly 
 laughed in my sleeve. 1 felt purified and refreshed 
 by my thoughts and my dreams, but I ate chowder, 
 and said nothing. One of the objects in life is to eat 
 chowder, doubtless. 
 
 I have to record this item. Most of the time, Pink 
 was generous, sincere, and extremely clever, as 
 why should she not be with her talents ? She be 
 haved, mostly, extremely well. Stubs was openly 
 and palpably proud of her, for he reflected, as I rather 
 think, that she had often told him that she loved him, 
 but, as we landed from our boat, the same wagon, with 
 the yellow-colored wheels, which we thought so ridic 
 ulous at Newport, you remember, (we didn t know it 
 was " his " then,) appeared at the landing, and to rny 
 utter astonishment and disgust, (to say nothing of 
 Stubs,) Pink, with a real look of gratification, entered 
 it with him and rode home, tossing a kiss from her 
 glove to Stubs. It was not so much the incident as 
 the manner of it that startled me. I saw a cloud 
 come over his face. He was evidently hurt ; ex 
 tremely hurt. He never seemed so near to me as 
 then. I could have hugged him to rny heart, 
 have clasped him to my soul. A noble nature, 
 wounded by the thoughtlessness or caprice of a 
 woman, always provokes my sympathy. However, 
 I should never thopght of daring to sympathize, un 
 asked, with Stubs. He is too proud for such a fami 
 liarity. But enough of this. 
 4 
 
50 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Let me see. It is thus you write to me : 
 " Did you note with a white mark on the Calendar, Friday, 
 the 3d of August, in this blessed year of 55, that bright, efful 
 gent day ? " 
 
 Of course I did ; for upon that day, as my mother 
 
 says, I was (yes, you are right,) years old. 
 
 To consider that I have lived so long, and accom 
 plished so little, is anything but flattering to myself. 
 Arid yet, serenest of editors, I have no desire to go 
 back. I m not a day or an hour too old, nor should I 
 be if I were ninety. I cannot quite appreciate this 
 common dread of growing old. While we are grow 
 ing on, are we not ripening, I would like to know, 
 maturing, culminating? Else, are we in the 
 wrong path ! Won t you please to inform me why 
 we should live here. the object of it, that is, unless 
 it be to become pure, and raise beans and cucumbers, 
 and potatoes and corn, as we do at Trifleton House? 
 Except to do this sort of thing, and educate ourselves, 
 life is quite a farce. 
 
 If so be we can only reach heaven, and wear white 
 robes, and walk those streets with harps in our hands, 
 what matter how old we grow. Growing old is coming 
 to the test ; is not flinching from the judgment; 
 is tempting eternity ; is looking (or ought to be) to the 
 time when we shall be burdened by no sorrows, per 
 plexed by no anxieties, worried by no hunger for 
 bread, and wealth, and power ; and distressed by no 
 thirst for human love for fame for victory over 
 ourselves. It is a loooking forward to a true social 
 ism, where the small frettings we are subjected to, in 
 what we call society, shall be forever done away. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 51 
 
 Hail ! hail to such a Thule ! No, serenest and most 
 dear friend, as well as editor, not a Thule ! It is near; 
 but a few years of toil away at best. Let us thank 
 God, take courage, and hasten on ! Let us cheerfully, 
 and trustfully, and with a good degree of humility, 
 grow old. 
 
 Most kindred and genial of friends, and placidest 
 of all editors, unless you wish to be preached to, 
 don t stir up my birth-day again. Let us hear more 
 of Hard. Pat. is curious on his account, which is 
 remarkable, as you know women are seldom curious. 
 
 Trifle s continuous remembrance to Mrs. Editor, 
 and the incipients. 
 
52 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 As the Summer Wanes. 
 
 TRULY, O fickle Trifle, in spite of your idiosyncracy, 
 you are like the rest of the world. You are loud .in 
 your lamentation over a deceased rabbit, but even in 
 the midst of your grief, lo ! that vanity, which extends 
 even to the tip of your fingers, must find a parentheti 
 cal expression. Your sorrow is minutely described, 
 and so is your breakfast. The last sickness of BufF-y 
 is affecting to your wonderfully tender heart, but you 
 don t forget the silver-tops- in your cellar ; and as you 
 go out to perform the last rites, you cannot omit the 
 indulgence of that " eleven o clock" habit which you 
 acquired in your city life. 
 
 And behold how quickly your grief is forgotten in 
 that all-important announcement that u he has come," 
 he, the wearer of the " corn-colored gloves," and the 
 owner of the wagon with " yellow wheels." Thus 
 are old friends forgotten in the novelties of the world. 
 But we had hoped better things of you under the influ 
 ence of rural life. In the busy din of the city, where 
 things come and go, and are forgotten ere they are 
 fairly gone ; where men die and their places are 
 so quickly occupied that they are not missed ; where 
 change comes so closely following change that man 
 
TR1FLETON PAPERS. 53 
 
 knows not the past ; the heart may become a mere 
 kaleidoscope, or at best a camera, reflecting the pres 
 ent only. But in the country, amid the everlasting 
 hills, or by the ocean s ceaseless roar ; where nature 
 passes through her changes only to return us each in 
 its immutable succession ; where the oak attains its 
 growth in a century, and generations repose under its 
 shade ; where man s works are accessory only to the 
 works of God ; where the benign sun shines ever the 
 same on foliage, blossom and fruil, and the same mys 
 terious voices are whispering ver ; the heart may, 
 should, must become more steady and unchanging, 
 faithful still to the memories of the lost, which are not 
 chased away by hasty and inane successors. Live on, 
 and nature shall in time conquer you, and adopt you 
 as her child. 
 
 But to return to that breakfast table, you can have 
 no objection to that, since it is a pleasure to you even 
 to enumerate the edibles. Behold what a breakfast for 
 a countryman ! " The richest coffee you ever tasted, 
 with cream." How know you that ? Haven t we in 
 dulged in the fragrant Mocha ? Not often, to be sure, 
 for it is one of the luxuries that come not to the frugal 
 table, but then we have " dined out." As for the 
 cream, you seem to think that a novelty, and doubtless 
 it is to city folk like you. But why do you drink cof 
 fee ? Is there no crystal spring, no well, at Trifleton ? 
 The pure element which God has given you, why 
 do you not drink that, the clear, refreshing, invigorat 
 ing beverage of nature ? Will you not cast away 
 your Mocha and your Java, your silver-tops and your 
 claret, and follow the example of the hermit of Wai- 
 den Pond ? 
 
54 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " Fried potatoes." Well, that sounds rural, but 
 you get your idea of fried potatoes at Young s or Par 
 ker s ; they are not country fried potatoes. " Cucum 
 bers (sliced in pieces of ice) of my own raising." 
 That seems a little like living in the country, eating 
 the fruit of your own (cucumber) vine. But then such 
 fruit, bah! couldn t you put the ice to better use? 
 " Rough, unbolted wheat bread, with Vermont butter." 
 The bread is good for you, and we approve your taste 
 there, but do you go to Vermont for butter ? Are there 
 no Ayreshire or Devonshire kine in your vicinity, who 
 fill the foaming pail and eke the churn ? Are there 
 no rosy-faced dairymaids whose plump hands can 
 form those tempting lumps of sweet, fresh butter, 
 stamped with roses ? 
 
 " Corn bread." That you would like to dispense 
 with, and you would fain persuade the sensible Pat. 
 to give up her taste for yours, selfish fellow ! (By 
 the way, have you any green corn soft, tender, 
 delicious sweet corn in your garden ?) But she is 
 right. Corn bread beautiful in its golden color, 
 light, sweet, nutritious that is a dish to grace a rural 
 breakfast table, to satisfy a rural appetite and please a 
 rural palate. A cliivalric notion, indeed ! A chivalric 
 regard for your Pat. s most excellent taste would not 
 be amiss at Trifleton House. In addition to these 
 things, you had " various small trifles too numerous to 
 mention ! " Ah, miserable gourmand ! is it thus that 
 you enjoy the country? And all the while you were 
 discussing those things, Prig was abed, and BufF-y was 
 dying. Don t attribute our strictures on that breakfast 
 to envy ; for you ought to know we don t stoop to that 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 55 
 
 kind but between us (tell it not in Trifleton) we 
 should like to see one of those breakfasts. 
 
 And so, for once in the course of your can it be so 
 long! pilgrimage, you have seen the sun rise. Evi 
 dently it has made an impression on you as it ought ; 
 for what more glorious sight can meet the unaccus 
 tomed vision ? But you have not yet learned to see 
 all the glories and beauties of the time and the scene. 
 You saw in the sun a Titan, who would climb over the 
 mountain clouds up to high heaven, with proud, satis 
 fied, defiant look. The sparkling splendor of the 
 ocean did not escape you, for it glared into your eyes 
 with blinding power. But far away on the purple hills 
 that smiled a welcome to the jocund day, or where the 
 valleys sleeping still in misty shadows lay ; where the 
 light of violet and gold over the heavens spread, and 
 glistening gleams of beauty into the dew drops shed, 
 on white webs spotting every field ; where matin cho 
 rals rung, as the bright winged worshippers on leafy 
 branches swung, thitherward your eye turned not, 
 and your soul saw not the serene and quiet beauty 
 of the morn. But not everything is to be seen at a 
 glance, nor all the glory and beauty and goodness 
 manifested in God s works to be appreciated by the 
 soul just awaking from the stupor of worldliness. Up 
 from the drowsy pillow, arise early, each morning, 
 expanding Trifle, and you shall behold and enjoy 
 splendor and loveliness hitherto hidden from your im 
 perfect vision. 
 
 At Trifleton you even " fish in the most human 
 fashion." Did you ever reflect on that picture of a 
 line with a hook at one end and a fool at the other ? 
 
56 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 That was Dr. Johnson s idea of a disciple of old Izaak 
 Walton, was it not ? Shrimp doesn t look on pisca 
 tory sport in such a light, not he. Even when he went 
 a mile or two on a dark and gusty night so dark 
 that one could scarcely feel distinctly, and so gusty 
 that there was danger of being blown away into the 
 darkness such an idea didn t cross his mind. He 
 carried a lantern, which he hung over the dark and 
 chafing waters that the fish might see to bite, but he 
 never thought of Dr. Johnson s description. He didn t 
 get a bite not a nibble ; yet the wise saw of the old 
 bear never occurred to him. Nor was he discouraged 
 late, cold, fishless, his gear in a snarl, he was just 
 as ready as ever to go the next day with no better 
 prospects. Can you boast of such a steadfast purpose 
 in realizing the saying of the old lexicographer ? or 
 in doing anything else? Such zeal and earnestness 
 we commend to you in other things, such as cultiva 
 tion of the garden at Trifleton House, the affections, 
 the virtues, and all else that shall yield good fruits. 
 
 We are glad to hear more of Pink and Stubs and 
 " him ; " only we should not care how you dropped the 
 latter subject in mid ocean. Is it possible that even on 
 the top of all his money bags he can be tall enough to 
 overtop Stubs ? If so, Pink shall be the delectable Pink 
 no longer, and we will not quarrel with your radish 
 comparison. 
 
 To satisfy Pat. s curiosity intercede with her 
 for " a thousand pardons " to our familiarity ! we 
 would gladly say a word of Hard ; but he is out of 
 our sight now, gone to Newport and misery. Only 
 your allusion to the " plaintive Motherwell," recalls a 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 57 
 
 scene which may throw a gleam of light on the shadow 
 which surrounds him. He was in our library, where 
 the cherry tree shadows the northern window, and sat 
 there long, reading and dreaming, dreaming and 
 reading Motherwell. We let him have his way, for 
 we were engaged in the delightful occupation of 
 " paragraphs." At length he threw down the book, 
 and in a tone as plaintive as Motherwell s he said, 
 not to us, for when he talks thus- he speaks to the winds, 
 the trees, the stars, anything that is not human, 
 
 "Oh! Dream of Life s early day, farewell forever." 
 
 We looked up in wonder to hear a youth talk thus. 
 Yet was he in earnest, it was all real to him. Si 
 lently, with a look, we inquired his meaning, and for 
 a moment the ice was thawed, that ice that had 
 gathered about his warm, sensitive heart, under the 
 chilling influence of circumstances, and cold, worldly 
 natures about him, These latter were with him still 
 when he made a European tour, chilling him even in 
 sunny Italy and amid the warm airs of southern France. 
 Florence he had seen and felt a sunbeam ; he had 
 met 
 
 " one of those forms that pass us by 
 In the world s crowd, too lovely to remain, 
 Creatures of light we never see again." 
 
 So he expressed it. If you knew Hard and you 
 have seen his counterpart, doubtless you might im 
 agine how the ray that shot through the icy crust 
 lighted a fire within. Since that time the crust has 
 been growing colder and harder and thicker, and the 
 fire is more compressed and concentrated. And so 
 
58 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 he lives, without aims or hopes ; without occupation, 
 for his family are ahove it they think ; without dis 
 play and fashionable folly, for he is too sensible for 
 that. 
 
 Gently we dropped a few wise words for his benefit 
 words such as he might feel the worth of, if he 
 chose, to plant a little seed of purpose in his soul. 
 Most likely it fell not on good ground but let us 
 hope. Nature has wondrous balms for such wounds 
 as his ; and good works, deeds of charity, a little 
 self-sacrifice, shall be an occupation in spite of the 
 foolish pride of others. Yes we have some hopes 
 of him. 
 
 Shall this be enough for you, this time ? for it is 
 you who would fain ask questions and ascribe your 
 curiosity to the innocent Pat. 
 
 Let us not be forgotten in the circle of Trifleton 
 House, and so till we meet at that breakfast 
 table, or hear from you, good bye. 
 
TRIFLETON TAPERS. 59 
 
 VII. 
 
 TRIFLETON HOUSE, 
 "While the Crickets sing. 
 
 1 TURN, calm friend, from the crickets to you ; for 
 by the crack cricket club of the class of 44, I shall 
 run mad at this rate. 
 
 Oh ! crackey ! crickey ! my sweet little crickey, 
 do stop a little while, for don t you perceive the Editor 
 must be written to, and how do you suppose Trifle can 
 think with your ubiquitous and eternal " wh-re-w," 
 "her-rh," " her-h ? " 
 
 Ah, thank you ! you are becoming polite. I should 
 know you frequented Trifleton House. Your tones are 
 softer, more polished, and natural than before. You 
 will be quite a Trifleton cricket, soon ! 
 
 But sir ! sir Editor ! what you mean by " the 
 indulgence of that eleven o clock habit which you 
 acquired in your city life," is beyond us all. Pat. says 
 she knows nothing of any habits of mine except 
 your remark be intended as a poor fling at the thread 
 bare coat in which I used to march to my seat at that 
 hour, when you and I were in the great and General 
 Court together. 
 
 It is quite true I had that identical coat on at 
 BufF-y s grave. It is also true that I " acquired " it in 
 Boston, and have, of necessity, " indulged * it, because 
 
60 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Trifle must treat his clothes tenderly; otherwise, Pat. 
 and Prig would be restricted in bread and butter, and 
 corn cake. 
 
 I told Pat. that I didn t think you meant any such 
 thing as she suggested ; for, although you were guilty 
 sometimes of a feeble joke, I had never convicted you 
 of anything so jejune and barren as that. You must 
 refer to some habit you city men are familiar with, 
 but which is as a sealed book to such as we are. No 
 doubt. 
 
 Fried potatoes " at " Young s," too, or " Parker s ! " 
 Stubs thinks that these men must sell fried pota 
 toes. How extremely comical ! Said I, " Do they sell 
 1 nothin else ? " He replied, " I don t know ! " After 
 a little reflection, however, we called to mind that this 
 Parker might, perhaps, be the same man who used to 
 furnish us " woodcock," &c., in a sepulchral cellar, 
 some years ago, when we were boys at Harvard. He 
 had fried potatoes, then ; but we saw the folly of this 
 supposition, because that clement Parker, and also 
 another continent man, named Taft, used to give us 
 certain kindly drinks with our " woodcock," and " fried 
 potatoes," and it has been ascertained in our Courts of 
 Justice, of late, that nothing of the kind is furnished 
 in Boston now, and that none but Temperance men of 
 many years standing (fourteen years say, for instance) 
 
 frequent those places where they sell liq " fried 
 
 potatoes," I would say. 
 
 So, who these individuals are, this Parker and this 
 Young, is still a pleasant mystery to us. Let it be 
 conceded, however, that their occupation (if it be such) 
 of selling fried potatoes is an honorable one, and goes 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 61 
 
 far towards sustaining and conserving their community. 
 1 have heard aldermen say so, and aldermen are as 
 oracular, often, and impress me as forcibly as do " in 
 tellectual," and " polished," and " strong-minded " 
 women. Both are indispensable conditions of our 
 serene system of society, doubtless, and 1 try to be 
 adequately grateful when an alderman vouchsafes to 
 speak to me, or a " brilliant " woman condescends an 
 opinion in my presence. A great many such women 
 have imparted to me the benefit of their opinions on 
 matters of taste, manners, habits, &c., and an alderman 
 had the assurance once, I mean did me the honor, un 
 asked, to take my arm in the street. 
 
 But, it having been resolved, by juries of their peers, 
 that those mythical individuals, like Parker and Young, 
 (efid omne genus) attract young men no longer to their 
 " woodcock," and " fried potatoes," by the vivacious 
 and exhilarating persuasiveness of Schreider, and Heid- 
 sieck, and sparkling Hock, how extremely grateful we 
 ought to be all ! Oh, beneficent results of the Maine 
 Law ! Except for such a God-send, who knows but 
 college boys would still be drinking Champagne, and 
 anxious Governors, or those anxious to be Governors, 
 be resolving, from policy, to commit themselves openly 
 to abstemious and carefully guarded habits, forever. 
 Let us be sufficiently grateful that nobody sells " in 
 toxicating drink " in Boston. Could we have foreseen 
 that such would have been the effect of the Maine Law, 
 should we have voted against it, as we did when we 
 were legislators ? Alas, no ! Incontestably, no ! It is 
 clear we shall never become statesmen. We have no 
 prophetic glance, my Editor. We can forsee nothing. 
 
62 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 I consider, therefore, that you are bound to own up to 
 the world, as I do now, and hereby, as the lawyers 
 say, that you approve of the Maine Law, and regard 
 Neal Dow as a projector whose results and conse 
 quences are not to be murdered (to borrow a word) 
 by so indifferent a nobody as Trifle. Let us hear 
 from you upon this subject. 
 
 But enough of" woodcock" and " champagne," and 
 no ! not of " fried potatoes." They are harmless, 
 to a degree ; but I wish you would persuade u Mary " 
 not to cut and fry the pork in such thick slices. She 
 is absolutely incorrigible upon this point. When you 
 come to " see " that breakfast, don t, please, fall in 
 love with her, pretty as she is; for "Robert" has 
 undoubtedly worked upon her sensibilities. Do you 
 consider, delectablest of editors, that cooks are huiTian 
 and have hearts like as we have, and are capable of 
 affection ? I know it to be a fact ; and even you 
 could stand no chance against " Robert." Please ap 
 prise Mrs. Editor of that. 
 
 Yes, sir ! It is quite time we were, done with the 
 small frivolities of " woodcock " eating (and oysters 
 Prince s Bay s fried in crumbs), and the drinking 
 of slender drinks. If we must ever drink, let it be 
 only " occasionally " of such .things as intoxicate 
 some, or give the headache to all ; but let us rather 
 drink deeply of those things that give the headache 
 to none, and intoxicate all with a most delicious sense. 
 Deeply, O deeply let us drink at the fountains of 
 purity, virtue and love ; at the springs of hope and 
 the wells of faith. When we are worn by the toil of 
 life are desponding, and well nigh discouraged 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 63 
 
 are become faint and sick in our pilgrimage are 
 breaking up, and yearning for the grave, let us drink, 
 into our very souls, the beauty and harmony of God s 
 works, the serenity of the stars, the eloquence of the 
 sea, the eternal silence of the hills, and, chiefest of 
 all, the unutterable tenderness of His mercy and His 
 love. 
 
 We thirst for power, position, wealth, fame, 
 which is very well. Let us also thirst for an edu 
 cated nature, a purified life, a victory over ourselves 
 which shall be the earnest of a mightier and more 
 glorious victory in the coming eternity. 
 
 You were extremely felicitous, fastidious Editor, in 
 rapping my knuckles for attempting to describe a sun 
 rise. However, I thought, and still think, it was 
 tolerably well done for a man who has only seen this 
 phenomenon twice, once at Trifleton and once at 
 Catskill. Since I wrote you, however, I have seen 
 him set. One evening, in particular, I watched his 
 decline. He went with a march down behind some 
 thunder-clouds that were full of rain ; clouds that 
 lacked expression, in a word, till he came along. He 
 made a golden diamond of every rain-drop, and fitted 
 it, for a moment, to show me the force of beauty 
 heightened by power. He then proceeded to burn his 
 diamonds all up; and, shedding the lustre of his 
 parting smiles upon the bewildered clouds, which by 
 this time were making off somewhat hastily, down he 
 went first marking out, however, a sharp and well- 
 defined line of crimson upon the edge of the southern 
 and western horizon, far as the eye could reach, 
 which lingered, until calm, twilight over the hills 
 
64 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 came stealing, and the moon rose up from the sea, 
 and group after group of stars, revealing God s power, 
 love, mystery, shone forth ; while over the waves 
 came pealing the musical sound of hells, addressing 
 my innermost soul of feeling, and opening memory s 
 cells. 
 
 I saw, O how clearly ! the past before me. I trem 
 bled, 1 shuddered with fears ; my life, from the time 
 my mother bore me, I looked on through burning 
 tears. I cried with all the passion that tore me, " O 
 life, to unfaithfulness given!" when, hark! the 
 sweet stars that were shining o er me, out- whispered, 
 " Hence live for heaven ! " 
 
 A glorious figure, with wings, and bearing a scroll 
 in his hand, flew by ; in letters of fire 1 read, in my 
 daring : " Thy life, as recorded on high ! " Yes, 
 there stood the story ; my sins were all glaring ; I 
 read, while my courage died fast, O God ! to the end I 
 these golden words bearing: "Accepted through 
 Jesus at last." 
 
 And the bells, once again, in their music hushing 
 the murmuring voice of the sea, pealed forth, with 
 an almost passionate gushing, in their exquisite har 
 mony ; and the moon, with a flood of brilliancy flush 
 ing, hill, sea and plain, saw the thoughts that came, 
 all tranquilly rushing, thrice purified, through my 
 brain. 
 
 Have we " any green corn, soft, tender, delicious 
 sweet corn " in our garden ? Well, I should suppose 
 we had. I should rather think we had, I m pretty 
 confident we have ; for I have some faint recollec 
 tions of having had to pluck it for dinner for about 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 65 
 
 three weeks past every day. But we are about done 
 with it. We consider that to be corned for three 
 weeks is quite as much as we can reasonably stagger 
 under. However, I agree with Stubs, that your in 
 quiry, after all I have said upon the subject of my 
 farming, is a very queer one. It seems to convey a 
 doubt, or at least a suspicion, that Trifleton farming is 
 not much. Come and see, sir ! I say it, and I say it 
 boldly ; for Pat. and 1 have concluded upon the most 
 critical examination of this remark of yours " we 
 should like to see one of those breakfasts," that you ve 
 rather caught us, and that we can t very well " dodge " 
 saying " Come ! " But I trust you will consider what 
 it is you ve invited yourself to, sir ! You ve read of 
 Charles Lamb s suppers, I suppose, and Rogers break 
 fasts. Possibly you might have got along with either 
 by slily keeping dumb while others talked looking 
 very wise, as Lamb s alderman did ; but, at Trifleton 
 House, you can t do any such thing. We have a way 
 of drawing people out, and if you are not sufficiently 
 brilliant, you won t shine in Pat. s eyes, for the fact is, 
 my dear friend, I ve rather set you up to Pat. Pve 
 said this sort of thing " He is very much of a 
 scholar. He is ornate and cultured ; has correct tastes, 
 is appreciative, genial, natural, &c. I told her you 
 could " cut me all out," so that if you wish to maintain 
 your reputation with her, I rather think you would 
 better not come. Not that I think you would laugh at 
 my garden not that I m afraid you could talk me 
 down. But you see how it is. 
 
 "I d like to have him come," said Pat. " If he 
 5 
 
66 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 can talk better than you I d like to have him do it, 
 that s all." 
 
 I really want you to come; but, but if, by any 
 possibility, or mere accident, you know, you should 
 happen just for one morning, to appear " smarter " 
 than Trifle, why see how Pat. would feel. You per 
 ceive I don t think of myself at all ; I m only a little 
 anxious on your account and Pat. s. But if you choose 
 to come and " see " my breakfasts, and criticize my 
 garden and my cigars, and my (I tell you plainly 
 there are only three or four bottles left,) if you 
 choose to do it, why, do it ! Yes, sir, I say as Pat. 
 says : I d like to see you do it I dare you to do it ; 
 and, what s more, I ll call in Stubs, though he s rather 
 abstracted of late. Pink is at Newport, and " he " is 
 in her party and has been much devoted to her. 
 Stubs concluded not to go ; I don t know why. We 
 are talking a little of Niagara. Pat. stands some 
 what in her own light about it ; but we will manage it, 
 and Stubs will go with us ; as where wouldn t he go 
 with me ? 
 
 We have been engaged lately in reading " Maud, 
 and other Poems." If you have read " Maud " but once, 
 my advice is, read it again ; study it, in fact, and you 
 may then see something worthy of Tennyson in it, 
 though Tennyson, in my judgment, is by no means an 
 admirable poet. He is extremely infertile in incident, 
 and all that he creates is vague, impalpable and in 
 distinct. He deals in shadows pertinaciously, and is 
 never real except when he is unreal. He was evi 
 dently off his guard when he wrote the May Queen, 
 and he has amply atoned for the sweet naturalness of 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 67 
 
 that delicious little poem, by the strained bitterness 
 and acidulated sourness, not to say affectation, cant 
 and occasional nonsense of" Maud." 
 
 Won t you please to inform me why the Poet Lau 
 reate of England should write, much less print, such 
 stuff as this ? 
 
 " I keep but a man and a maid, ever ready to slander and 
 steal," 
 
 Is that any reason for him to hate everybody, and 
 " smile a hard set smile," when it is notorious that 
 " help" honest withal, can be hired for a reasonable 
 compensation ? And again : 
 
 " We whisper, and hint, and chuckle, and grin at a brother s 
 shame." 
 
 Do we, in point of fact ? and, if we do, my Christian 
 friend, where s the need of prating it all over creation, 
 to disgust men with themselves and each other ? They 
 will never become better by being told such things, 
 and the poet s mission is, or should be, to make men 
 better. And again : 
 
 " I have not made the world, and He that made it will guide." 
 
 This would be a noble utterance, and sound philoso 
 phy, if it were warmed by, and were a consequence 
 of, or even accompanied by Faith; but it is not, 
 but is, in the connection, equivalent to saying among 
 these " long neck d geese of the world," and this 
 " clamor of liars," and this cloud of " poisonous flies " 
 " I m not responsible for the world ; I didn t make it. 
 Let him that did, take care of it." 
 
 What a fine sentiment this is, to be sure ! 
 
68 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " Thanks, for the fiend best knows whether woman or man be 
 
 the worse. 
 
 I will bury myself in my books, and the devil may pipe to his 
 own." 
 
 Again : 
 
 " Ah, what shall I be at fifty 
 
 Should Nature keep me alive, 
 If I find the world so bitter, 
 When I am but twenty-five ? " 
 
 Whom does Nature keep alive, and where is that 
 Heavenly Father, in whose sight the hairs of our heads 
 are numbered ? 
 Again : 
 
 " Till a morbid hate and horror have grown 
 Of a world in which I have hardly mixt." 
 
 It is to be conceded that it is not Mr. Alfred Tenny 
 son who speaks, but a very foolish, weak, jealous, 
 crazy young man, whose occupation seems to have 
 been to manufacture all the misery he could for him 
 self. 
 
 Nor was it Lord Byron, but Chibde Harold who 
 spoke, when he retailed off, with much noble poetry, 
 an indefinite mass of misery, made to order, with 
 which to provoke the tears of sentimental misses and 
 impracticable men, till doomsday. I have no sympathy 
 with any such nonsense. If a man has griefs, let him 
 go and expose them to his God, and ask for submission 
 under them. 
 
 But when it is considered what the cause of this 
 extremely interesting young man s grief or madness 
 was, it is really quite ludicrous. Love it was, to start 
 with, of course ; next, it was covetousness of his neigh- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 69 
 
 bor s good fortune. It went against his grain that his 
 neighbor was rich, and he himself was poor. The 
 father of the one broke in a speculation and killed him 
 self, and the father of the other " made money," as 
 near as I can make out, for the story part isn t told in 
 very English English. It is so very poetical that it is 
 hard to understand. What though the one family 
 was " gorged" and the other " flaccid and drained ? " 
 What then ? Isn t it so everywhere ; in the same 
 families even ? Should a brother hate his brother for 
 his successes in trade, and a sister a sister because she 
 has married a wealthy man ? 
 
 Our interesting hero was "nameless and poor" 
 the old whine, you see. Then why not make himself 
 a name and wealth ? That s what men do, to a rea 
 sonable extent, everywhere. As the story proceeds, 
 the interest increases by his meeting Maud and her 
 brother " abroad." He cut the one, and the other cut 
 him. 
 
 If this be not thrilling, what is ? 
 
 " I met her abroad with her brother, but not to her brother I 
 bowed." 
 
 This is a flatter line, though, than can be found else 
 where in the poem. In fact, if there were more com 
 monplace in it, there would be more light and shade, 
 which it lacks. After a while, very much to the 
 reader s relief, they " make up." 
 
 A lord comes in as a suitor, but our hero engages 
 the affection of Maud and becomes happy, and, like a 
 sensible man, kisses her with a " long lover s kiss," 
 gets into a quarrel with her brother, kills him in a duel, 
 
70 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 becomes crazy, suffers real grief and agony, and after 
 some very fine talk, as nearly as can be ascertained, 
 goes out to the Crimea to take a part in the taking of 
 Sebastopol. When that interesting event occurs, we 
 shall, doubtless, hear from him again. 
 
 To be serious, I like not this poem, though it contains 
 many exquisite passages, and some though not many 
 very natural ones. How fine is this : 
 
 " Ah, Christ, that it were 
 
 For one short hour to see 
 The souls we loved, that they might tell us 
 What and where they be." 
 
 And this : 
 
 "And a million horrible bellowing echoes broke 
 From the red-ribbed hollow behind the wood, 
 And thundered up into Heaven the Christless code, 
 That must have life for a blow." 
 
 And this : 
 
 " Not die ; but live a life of truest breath, 
 And teach true life to fight with mortal wrongs." 
 
 How natural is this : 
 
 11 Who shall call me ungentle, unfair, 
 I longed so earnestly then and there 
 To give the grasp of fellowship." 
 
 The vigor and force of this is terrific : 
 
 " Gorgonized me from head to foot 
 With a stony British stare. 1 " 
 
 How eloquent and grand is this the noblest and 
 most pregnant passage in the poem : 
 
 ** Ah, God, for a man with heart, head, hand, 
 Like some of the simple great ones gone 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 71 
 
 Forever and ever by, 
 One still strong man in a blatant land, 
 Whatever they call him, what care I, 
 Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat one 
 Who can rule and dare not lie." 
 
 There spoke a man ! 
 And how beautiful is this : 
 
 * And she touched my hand with a smile so sweet, 
 She made me divine amends 
 For a courtesy not returned." 
 
 How exquisitely beautiful and natural is this, after a 
 solitary and passionate denunciation of her brother : 
 
 " Peace, angry spirit, and let him be ! 
 Has not his sister smiled on me ? " 
 
 It half redeems such nonsense as 
 
 " the scream of a maddened beach)" 
 
 And 
 
 " the heart of the citizen hissing in war on Lis own hearth 
 stone ; " 
 
 And many other things quite as far fetched and un 
 natural. 
 
 There is no lack of force, or iron compactness in 
 this poem. It is strong enough, but it has no breadth. 
 It is inharmonious in its details, and though it be com 
 pact, as I have said, it is not from the result of elements 
 blending and flowing, and being naturally cemented 
 together ; but it is gold and brass, and iron and steel, 
 and lead and dross (not to speak of old nails, without 
 heads) all fused together by a terrific and quasi in 
 fernal heat. There is nothing for you to stand upon, 
 
72 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 and if it make you feel, at all, it will make you shudder 
 and weep. It will not fill your eyes with sweet, ten 
 der, and purifying tears, as will " In Memoriam," 
 and make you happier ; but, if it start your tears, they 
 will burn and scald you. It is no advance upon 
 " Locksley Hall," in power of thought, and is far 
 inferior to it in true, real, earnest manhood. It will 
 never address the universal human heart, which is the 
 test of genuine poetry, and will make few happier and 
 none wiser. There is nothing spontaneous and gush 
 ing about it, and hereafter, when I feel inclined towards 
 Tennyson, I shall read his " In Memoriam," and skip 
 his " Maud." 
 
 The piece entitled " The Letters," is quite natural 
 and beautiful ; and the " Ode on the Death of Wel 
 lington," is noble beyond account. The spirit of 
 Nelson being agitated by the advent of Wellington s 
 spirit, is a fine fancy, and indicates the genius of a real 
 poet. But what Trifle thinks of Tennyson is of small 
 consequence, you will say, no doubt. However, fare 
 well, and forgive the infliction ! You, and all of you, 
 are held in continual remembrance. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 73 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 In Autumn. 
 
 i 
 
 AUTUMN do you mark that, mellowing Trifle ? 
 golden Autumn, with its yellow sheaves and its luscious 
 fruits, has come, and the year is travelling onward to 
 its close ; onward through the gorgeous forests to 
 the bleak, crisp fields beyond, where in the wail of the 
 wintry wind it shall expire. Ah, friend, in its soft 
 springtime and its leafy summer how have we grown ? 
 What flowers and fruits have we borne ? what precious 
 harvests have we garnered, that in the dark and win 
 try days we may sit us down and rejoice ? What 
 store have ye gathered, ye plodders in the dusty streets 
 of trade what besides your gold, hoarded to rust 
 beneath the sweat of your anxiety, or thriftlessly lav 
 ished in that cold display which crushes into the dust 
 the hearts of the poor and unfortunate ? Or ye who 
 have yawned out your ennui in the interregnum of 
 " the seasons," sighing for those weeks of social mock 
 ery, that came at last, at the watering places what 
 have ye reaped for your exhausted bodies and collaps 
 ing minds, except weariness and bitter regrets ? Price 
 less fruits in inexhaustible fields are all about us 
 but alas ! for the dearth of reapers. The summer of 
 
74 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 life, too, is passing, senescent Trifle, and its autumn 
 steals on steals on so gently that we heed it not, till 
 the sere leaf shall be already upon us. God grant 
 that those soft, golden days may be ours, those days 
 when the splendor of ripened leaves and fruits glows 
 in the rich, hazy sunlight of an Indian Summer, and 
 all is peace and beauty. 
 
 " Behold a wonder ! " we exclaimed, most miracu 
 lous Trifle, as we finished your last plethoric epistle. 
 Often have we marvelled how the little seed cast into 
 the ground should become a spreading plant, a bloom 
 ing shrub, a lofty, fruit-bearing tree, and how the 
 substance and fluids of this solid earth should be so 
 transformed into beauty. But we are amazed now, 
 finding you, the city-bred drudge among figures and 
 the hard facts of trade, when set down in the garden 
 of Trifleton House, where you can smell the fresh 
 earth, feel the warm sunlight and inspire the pure air, 
 suddenly transformed into a humorist, poet, and critic ! 
 Verily, that garden has produced something not 
 under your cultivation, presumptuous husbandman, 
 but under the genial influences of nature better 
 than down-growing radishes or procumbent vines. 
 
 We should not have believed it. It is quite true 
 that from time to time, you have dropped some sayings 
 unpremeditated, of course which seemed quite 
 smart, palpable hits, funny resemblances of wit; 
 but then they were manifestly to be set down as the 
 accidents of verdancy. Else were they the uncon 
 scious buds of this new product of Trifleton, which 
 has so suddenly blossomed. Beware lest the frost, 
 which Wolsey says comes " the third day," shall 
 nip its root. 
 
TR1FLETON PAPERS. 75 
 
 But, look you, oblivious Trifle ! if in the transmuta 
 tions which you have undergone, Young and Parker 
 are as myths to you, it becomes us to recall the past, 
 that among your other unpardonable sins you may not 
 count ingratitude, -ingratitude to those who (for a 
 consideration) have so often fed you and made your 
 heart glad with delectable purified Cochituate. Do 
 you not remember that it was you who led us thither, 
 to resorts until then unknown to us? Let one memo 
 rable instance recount a score. With what familiar 
 steps you ascended the stairs and proceeded to a quiet 
 room, where we found a table spread for four ! With 
 what a conscious air you played the host, in anticipa 
 tion of Trifleton House ! And then the courses, 
 from oysters and soup to dessert, were they not after 
 your own taste, with all the accompaniments, fried 
 potatoes and all ? Was not your tongue fluent (not 
 with words) while we were liquidating the affairs of 
 Schreider and Johannisberger ? And did that last 
 fragrant weed genuine Cuban render you so ob 
 livious that you remember not the pleasant-faced man, 
 whom governors and other great men familiarly call 
 u George," when he came to receive the quid pro 
 fried potatoes ? Was it so Lethean as to last to this 
 day ? What a pity that Orestes had not discovered it, 
 not Brownson, for though he has sighed for " rest " 
 often enough, he is probably sufficiently oblivious of 
 his antecedents. 
 
 And after this you want us to " own up " that we 
 approve of the Maine Law. Possibly we might, but 
 then it is rather awkward to follow Dogberry s com 
 mand in public. Still, its beneficent results are 
 
76 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 not to be overlooked, and we cannot but " smile," 
 when we think how the simple writing of that, " per 
 fection of human reason," has brought it about that no 
 u spirituous and intoxicating liquors " are sold in Bos 
 ton. Are not these liquors the " fruitful source " of 
 all the crime, vice and misery in the world ? Lo, 
 then, this Boston, which you so incontinently deserted, 
 has become a serpentless Eden, calling you back to 
 its unpolluted streets, its peaceful, unpolluted streets, 
 where only virtue dwells and poverty is not. Then 
 paeans to the Maine Law ! the law that " executes" 
 itself, and never is violated. Henceforth " cobblers " 
 shall stick to the last, and if Hamlet lived now and 
 here, he would have no occasion to complain of 
 
 * The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." 
 
 Ay, then, sing lo Bacche ! tut, tut ! we should 
 say, paeans to the Maine Law ! 
 
 Sunsets are glorious sights. But of all the beauti 
 ful, inspiring sunsets that one " in particular " must 
 have been superlative which made a new poet at 
 Trifleton House. A poet, but no verse maker. Know 
 you not where your lines begin, O wondrously stupid 
 poet ? Perceive you not the jingle of your rhymes, 
 that you should thus write on as if in plain prose, 
 stupefying the printer and putting your reader at 
 fault ? Yet it is evident you do not count out your 
 lines upon your fingers, and so you give promise that 
 the world is not to be afflicted with your effusions. As 
 we read this part of your letter, however, we began to 
 fear that we were in haste when we said, formerly, 
 that the fates had spared us the infliction of your play- 
 
TR1FLETON PAPERS. 77 
 
 ing the poet. Happily the symptoms are favorable, as 
 above noted ; and the matter you have given us, ah ! 
 that is the utterance of the soul, deep-toned and sweet, 
 the utterance of a soul wherein faith dwelleth. We 
 shall show this to Hard ; he is appreciative and it may 
 do him good. 
 
 And now, sir most courteous Trifle, your state 
 ment that you can t very well dodge saying " Come," 
 is somewhat of the coolest. We invite ourself to 
 Trifleton House ! that is marvellous. And all be 
 cause we expressed our wonder at your breakfast 
 and such a breakfast in the homely way that we 
 should like to see one such. Well, we should like to 
 see the sea-serpent, but it don t follow that we expect 
 that retiring individual to invite us to such a sight. 
 But you say " Come " in an exceedingly shabby man 
 ner, and then you try to buy us off, lest, in our light, 
 Pat. should be able to see those deficiencies which you 
 flatter yourself are now hidden from her. But we are 
 not to be begged off, nor frightened by any bug-bears. 
 If we come to one of these breakfasts, what is it to us 
 if it surpass those of Rogers in the cultivation or 
 genius of the company ? We shall not come to shine 
 we shall come to eat ; and we warn you that, living in 
 the country, (don t call us a city man again ! ) we are 
 blessed with a good appetite ; and fried potatoes and 
 corn-cake, unbolted-wheat bread and the et ceteras 
 we abominate cucumbers, though will disappear be 
 fore us like Sweaborg before the allies. 
 
 Nor shall we condescend to meddle with your culi 
 nary department, or show the " incorrigible Mary " 
 how to slice pork. When we go out to breakfast we 
 
78 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 expect other folks to cook it and to fall in love with 
 their cooks, too, if they choose, for we shan t ; we 
 come to eat. With this warning that you may 
 provide accordingly we accept your challenge to 
 come. Yet, after what you say about being " sufficient 
 ly brilliant " and saying smart things, we have some 
 misgivings lest your delectable breakfast may consist of 
 talk, of poetry, of moonshine and other "unsubstantial 
 phantoms " which we set down as pretty poor eat 
 ing. Eating is a good thing a necessary work, a 
 pleasant process. It is a work to be frequently done, 
 well done, and done gratefully, especially is it to be 
 done gratefully, that " good digestion " may " wait on 
 appetite." Yes, sir we ll come, with doubts, but 
 with gratitude even though the last "three or four 
 bottles " be already gone. 
 
 " But what Trifle thinks of Tennyson is of small 
 consequence." A wonderful conclusion to arrive at, 
 truly, after a column of criticism. Had you any mis 
 givings that your " slashing " criticism was not quite 
 sound, most pungent critic ? We have. Notwithstand 
 ing we might agree with some of your notions a little 
 smoothed about the jagged corners, we don t subscribe 
 to all your crudities, and have no idea of being your 
 accomplice in despatching the Poet Laureate with blunt 
 knives and bludgeons. 
 
 And in the first place we don t think it necessary 
 to study " Maud " in order to see something worthy 
 of Tennyson in it. We found out almost numberless 
 beauties in it at the first running (or riding) perusal. 
 Hardly is there a page in it but contains lines of beauty 
 or thoughts worthy of the poet. Such things meet our 
 eye first, and unlike you, O carping Trifle, we find the 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 79 
 
 defects when we study, as you recommend. We don t 
 propose to point out these fine things, even to your de 
 fective vision, lest our paragraphs might emulate yours 
 in number. You have, indeed, found something to 
 approve ; and possibly by a little more study, you 
 might discern more to admire. 
 
 But the one grand error of your estimate of " Maud " 
 is, that you find in it a " strained bitterness," an " acid 
 ulated sourness," (what is that ? ) and all that sort of 
 thing, which you opine should be avoided by the poet. 
 But are not all the expressions which call forth these 
 strictures the natural utterance of one situated as the 
 hero of " Maud " ? And is not this a legitimate way for 
 the poet to utter his earnest cry against the sins and 
 follies and corruptions of society ? He tells hard truths 
 must he wink them out of sight ? Must the poet 
 sing ever, in melodious numbers, of beings and things 
 always good and beautiful, just as they are not in this 
 world ? Must he leave it always for the prosy essay 
 or the stupid ftovel to deal blows at social wrongs and 
 decay ? Trifle thinks so, but Tennyson does not, and so 
 he (the poet, not the critic) writes in the spirit of earn 
 est sadness, not " strained bitterness," painting things 
 as they are, and calling them by their right names, 
 that the world may know them and abhor them. Is it 
 not so ? 
 
 As for the story which you consider so shadowy and 
 not " very English English," that is simply a thread on 
 which to string his pearls. It is suggested rather than 
 told, just as a poet ought to convey his story to the 
 reader s mind, if he has got anything else to say. And 
 if you will study " Maud " a little more, you may see 
 
80 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 with what consummate art the story is suggested ; not 
 merely the incident, but the soul-life of the hero, the 
 rise, the flow, the swell of the passionate current in his 
 heart, and the dark tide of horror and despair which 
 flooded it after the ringing of that 
 
 " passionate cry, 
 
 A cry for a brother s blood." 
 
 But let us talk no more of Tennyson, now, except 
 to commend your inclination for u In Memoriam." 
 Happily you may yet think better of " Maud, 1 or we 
 think less than we now appear to. In either case the 
 Laureate s fame will scarcely suffer. 
 
 May joys cluster about Trifleton House. 
 
TRIFLE-TON PAPERS. 81 
 
 IX. 
 
 TRIFLETOX HOUSE, 
 In time of the fading leaf. 
 
 YES ! the leaf is fading. The days are become 
 shortened. The sun goes earlier to his rest. The 
 flowers have quite passed. The golden summer of 
 55, like the Paradise of Adam, has gotten to be but a 
 reminder. For better or worse, it is over; and, 
 farewell to it. It will never return ; but who cares 
 for that ? The lapse of time is nothing to a soul that 
 is buoyed by Faith. Time, like opportunity, is 
 but a means. Ends have nothing to do with it. Their 
 dealing is with Eternity. Confessedly, though, it is 
 somewhat sad at Trifleton House. 
 
 Our friends have come and gone. It is well. 
 What has been uttered and thought and felt, (for, pos 
 sibly, among the many who have been at Trifleton 
 House there has been some genuine feeling,) is record 
 ed and can never be altered. It is fixed and irrevoca 
 ble. It is past. Our friends have come and gone, 
 and our best wishes and prayers are with them. Will 
 they forget Trifleton House ? We shall see, and we 
 shall also see who are our friends. Real affection is 
 demonstrative and sincere attachment cannot but be 
 evidenced. 
 
 6 
 
82 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 We have had friends of both sexes, and some very 
 near and dear ones. But they are gone. Will they 
 ever return ? or will they change ? Better never return 
 than change. Absence is comparatively nothing. Death 
 even is of small consequence, for we look to a meeting 
 with all who are worthy and lovely in the great here 
 after; but change is in some sense formidable and 
 terrible because it goes to prove what we claim not 
 to believe at Trifleton House that human nature is 
 rotten and selfish ; that feeling is a valueless commo 
 dity, and that what is called, in these latter days, 
 society, blights and warps and poisons all that is sim 
 ple and natural ; for show me a change of genuine 
 affection that cannot be traced directly or indirectly to 
 the thousand and one conventionalisms of the day, and 
 I will show you a miracle. 
 
 We kiss our hands, then, to those who shall change. 
 We bid them good bye in advance. If they prefer to 
 pass, they can. We can quite afford to do without 
 them. We are simple and unsophisticated folk, and 
 have no feeling to waste. We have lived long enough 
 to have had experience with all sorts of people and 
 forms and notions, and we are quite sick of affectation 
 and insincerity. We are done with it forever. We 
 profess to love only those who are natural and genuine, 
 and real. So, all of you in the world (it is presumed 
 the whole world will read and devour this letter) who 
 have been at Trifleton House, take warning ! 
 
 Doubtless it is a little dull, at present, at Trifleton 
 House ! But I have no intention of moping. Stubs 
 continues faithful, and I have Pat. still. You see her 
 once, and you know her, as you know the sun or the 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 83 
 
 stars after having once seen them. You don t require 
 to be constantly asking yourself, " Is this the person I 
 thought I knew and understood ? " She is a. fact, 
 a fixed fact ; and I rather like facts. Fictions are well 
 enough in their place, but they only illustrate. They 
 really prove nothing. 
 
 In plain terms, the story about the tomatoes is just 
 this. We expected enough in our garden, but (confi 
 dentially) they didn t come. So, I said to the express 
 man, " Won t you please to go to Mr. Forestaller and 
 Treble Profit in the Quincy Market, and get the 
 tomatoes. I don t know how many, but get quite a 
 number of bushels, an indefinite quantity, if you please, 
 and fetch them to Trifleton House, because Pat. wishes 
 to c put em up for the winter ! " 
 
 Such were my orders ; but the expressman didn t go. 
 And when he did go, he didn t get the tomatoes, and I 
 had to go myself; and when he did get em, they 
 were in a process of decay incipient, but progres 
 sive. The expressman (as he told it to me) remons* 
 trated with the marketman, and confided the fact to me 
 that that functionary was a " devilish fool ! " I give you 
 his exact words, and I can t help it, how expressmen 
 talk ; but the indignant marketman hotly exclaimed : 
 " What do I care for this Trifle ? Tomatoes is to 
 matoes, and if a man buys em to-day, I doesn t guar 
 antee nothin bout their keepin forever." 
 
 This severe but accurate reasoning, no expressman 
 could have the stamina or the authority to gainsay. 
 Hence we had the tomatoes, and I had what I should 
 be inclined to call in English to you, privately, a 
 minute upbraiding from Pat. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " Trifle," said she, " here I have been tucked up 
 these two days (she said c this two days ), slighting 
 that baby, and making blackberry jam, and preserves, 
 and pickles, and waiting for those tomatoes, neglecting 
 to return several calls which I owe, not to mention the 
 buttons on your shirts and strings on your drawers, 
 and you go to town and forget all about the tomatoes. 
 But next winter you ll be saying, Why didn t we 
 have some tomatoes put up ? That s just like 
 men ! " 
 
 When it is considered what a difficulty I had with 
 the expressman ; that I paid several dollars for the 
 caws ; that I lost ten dollars by being away from my 
 business in order to traffic with the marketman ; 
 that I lost my tomatoes, and came slightly near losing 
 my equanimity, you must say that I am by no means 
 weak when I ask for your sympathy. But what did 
 I do ? Do ! Why, I took my big trunk to town, 
 bought a fresh lot of tomatoes, had them checked as 
 baggage, rode from the depot to Trifleton House in a 
 carriage, and set Pat. to crying under the hallucination 
 that her mother was coming to pay her a visit. And 
 instead of being tenderly embraced, I was saluted 
 with " How disappointed I am. I thought you were 
 mother ! " But it is to be always borne in mind that 
 Pat. is so exquisitely simple. 
 
 Our Niagara notion has exploded, and Stubs and I 
 have been busy with our guns. We have exhausted 
 considerable ammunition, and with about the same de 
 gree of success as has distinguished the allied forces 
 before Sebastopol. Please write me when you hear 
 of the " taking " of that interesting place. I take it, it 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 85 
 
 is expected " very soon," and I assure you we expect 
 considerable game " soon." 
 
 The gaming ground is many miles from Trifleton 
 House. It s a most remarkable fact that, go where 
 you will, the birds are always several miles further on. 
 If I were to go to the other side of the Rocky Moun 
 tains for them, I should expect to be told by the oldest 
 inhabitant that there \vere " plenty out there on the 
 flats of the Pacific ! They go there to feed ! " 
 
 Not many days since, on one of our gunning excur 
 sions, Stubs and I had a conversation which 1 think 
 ought to be communicated. We had just set our 
 decoys, which pleasant occupation carried us both 
 knee deep in mud and water, of which a real gunner 
 should never be afraid. How the accomplished Trifle 
 looked, I cannot tell. I know, though, that Stubs looked 
 very much like an Irish laborer just from digging in a 
 canal. We lighted our cigars and " lay low " for 
 " black breasters " and " yellow legs." 
 
 We puffed in silence. I was gazing at the decoys, 
 thinking what fools the birds were to be deceived by 
 them (I afterwards discovered, though, that they were 
 not such fools as I took them for), when Stubs in 
 quired 
 
 " Trifle, how is it to be ascertained if a woman 
 really loves you ? Which are most reliable, her words 
 or her actions ? How much is a man to believe, and 
 how much to doubt ? Can you ever doubt the woman 
 that truly loves you ? Is not affection so involuntarily 
 demonstrative as to disarm doubt and convert suspicion 
 even into trust ? Is a woman justified " 
 
 " Down, Stubs, down ! There they come black 
 
86 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 breasters ! " (Here followed a tremendous duet of 
 whistling for the birds, which I can t very well -put on 
 paper.) " They see the decoys. Now! now!" 
 
 Bang ! bang ! bang ! ba a 
 
 " Well, by Jupiter, if that isn t great shooting. Four 
 barrels, and not a bird ! " 
 
 " Why, they were not within two gun shots, Trifle ! 
 
 What should you say ? Is a woman Confound 
 
 my gun ; one barrel didn t go. I don t see what s the 
 matter with her ! She must be foul. Ought a woman 
 Pshaw ! " 
 
 " Set a new cap, man, and let her go. Off with 
 her ! Don t bother forever. When you have a 
 
 good chance, she ll interfere Hark ! a couple of 
 
 4 yellow legs. They answer my call. If I can get 
 loaded." 
 
 Ram, ram a moment and my caps are on click, 
 click go my hammers. They come like the wind. 
 They dart down towards the decoys swoop off. 
 Whack ! whack ! this side and that. 
 
 " I took em one with each barrel ! What do you 
 think of that ? " 
 
 "Capital, Trifle. Now load up, and then sit down 
 and keep a little cool, if you can." 
 
 I did so. Stubs discharged his recreant barrel, re 
 loaded, and, if I remember correctly, we both exam 
 ined our pistols at this point, to see what condition 
 they were in. The examination proved satisfactory, 
 and Stubs continued : 
 
 " Ought a woman to act so from impulse, as to make 
 a man, who acts from reason, unhappy ? " 
 
 " Impulse is generous, but not safe. I like judg- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 87 
 
 ment better. But then I m an old married man, you 
 know." 
 
 " Money ! is that anything ? " said he. (Here let 
 me say, to satisfy curiosity on that point, that Stubs 
 is not only rich, as you have seen, but he has plenty 
 of money ; which is remarkable, for few rich men 
 have much money. It is chiefly sterile, barren indi 
 viduals who abound in that article.) 
 
 " Nothing more than a means, and a slight one at 
 that, with sensible people. A real man is superior to 
 money ; and all circumstances yield to him, or ought 
 to. Else is he not a man. A man will always have 
 money enough. Money is much with women, though. 
 It turns their heads " 
 
 "Suppose a woman, by language caresses 
 warmth fire, indicated that she was yours ; and 
 
 then should be foolish, cold, irresolute, and almost 
 
 despicable. How then ? " 
 
 " I think I should let her go. But, Stubs, you have 
 never told me. How is it ? are you really engaged to 
 Pink ? " 
 
 No." 
 
 " Rumor says so." 
 
 " Rumor lies, then." 
 
 " Have you ever been ? " 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Do you expect to be ? " 
 
 A cloud passed over his face ; passed, you will 
 observe. For he has educated himself, and has nearly 
 conquered. He is quite under his own control. 
 
 " Let s go home, Trifle. There are no birds. A 
 profitless pursuit is enervating." 
 
88 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Both of us grew silent and abstracted, and before 
 long we went home. Stubs came with me to tea. As 
 we entered the hall, the musical voice of Pat. was 
 heard crying, " Tri-fle ! " " Tri-fle ! " 
 
 " Well, Pat. ? " 
 
 " I ve got a letter from Pink. She is coming home 
 soon." 
 
 Almost unconsciously I turned to Stubs. He was 
 pale/and shivering. His game-bag had dropped from 
 his hand, he stood like a statue. 
 
 I read, most critically, this letter from Pink. It in 
 dicated intellectual capacity nay, more, absolute 
 talent. It was pungent, pointed, at times satirical. It 
 hit off the frivolities of Hotel life at Newport. It was 
 sufficiently piquant and racy, and real in one sense, 
 but it was not womanly. I read on and on, till my 
 eyes were clouded looking, O, how eagerly ! for 
 Pink s heart. It was not there. In silence and in 
 grief I folded the letter, and threw it back to Pat., 
 saying to myself, " Alas, for Stubs ! How he must 
 suffer and struggle, to have mistaken such a character 
 as this for his ideal. His discipline is fearful ; but he 
 will conquer. He will bend, but he will never break." 
 The concluding paragraph of the letter was in these 
 words : 
 
 " Love to Trifle and to Stubs. Is the latter as sober 
 as usual not to say forlorn? How different he and 
 Stubs are. He finds something to laugh at in every 
 body and everything, and converts everything into 
 ridicule. He is too funny. He is the exact opposite 
 of Stubs. What a figure Stubs would cut down here ! 
 Are we never to laugh ? My diamonds have evidently 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 89 
 
 attracted attention, and I think provoked remark. It s 
 rather inconvenient, though, this appearing in them at 
 breakfast. But no more. 
 
 " N. B. I have much to tell you when I return." 
 
90 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 X. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 As shines the harvest moon. 
 
 RoMPY-DoMPY, the pet of the house, has gone to 
 pleasant slumbers. As she said " good night," her 
 large blue eyes gazed up at the full orbed moon, just 
 rising over the hill, and wondered how it could look so 
 bright, and just get up when she, tired of play, was 
 ready to go to bed. She loved the moon and wished 
 it would shine in the day time. Alas ! so inopportune 
 seem many pleasures as we journey on. Happy we, 
 if, like the sweet child, we are content that they should 
 come to others though we enjoy them not. She has 
 gone to the land of pleasant dreams, and may angels 
 guard her pillow. 
 
 While her sweet accents and merry laugh still linger 
 on our ear, we turn to you, most rare Trifle, for a 
 short space, cutting even the delightful moonlight, 
 which with mystic art enhances beauty, and conceals 
 defects, in the scenery. Isn t love or friendship like 
 the moonlight, softening and adorning the character of 
 those we prize, throwing a shadowy veil over the de 
 pressions and inequalities, and beautifying with a silver 
 light the prominent and striking traits ? Few are the 
 clear sighted friends or lovers who can penetrate the 
 veil into the recesses where hide, sometimes unprized 
 loveliness, and sometimes hideous deformity. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 91 
 
 / 
 
 Speaking of friendship, recalls the melancholy in 
 troduction of your last epistle. We should rather 
 think that you had a little suspicion of the friendship 
 of some of the visitors at Trifleton House. Else 
 why those lamentations in advance, over the loss 
 of friends ? To be sure you try to keep " a stiff 
 upper lip," and to be a man about it, and profess that 
 Stubs and the ever faithful Pat. (our choicest wishes to 
 her) are enough for you. But you don t feel quite so 
 well about it, after all; there s a little swelling of 
 the heart, a little regret little ? nay, we cannot meas 
 ure it, because you fear that change, in some one, 
 which is worse than absence or death. And you are 
 right your heart, not your professions for Pat. and 
 Stubs, faithful and firm though they be, are not enough 
 in the long run, and even the self-reliant Trifle cannot 
 afford to lose friends. 
 
 So, pray you, keep a warm welcome at Trifleton 
 House for those you prize, and they shall not change. 
 Entertain them well, flatter them, please them at any 
 cost, and they shall cling to you as long as the 
 chains of hospitality, flattery and pleasure shall endure. 
 Is it possible that the sagacious Trifle, with all his 
 world wisdom, with all the delights of Trifleton, its 
 productive garden and its wondrous breakfasts, has 
 made the sad mistake, the egregious blunder of not 
 so entertaining his company that they may wish to 
 renew the pleasure ! Rural influences, again. But 
 courage, man ; we ll count you one more friend, so 
 long as you write letters, tell the truth, don t dis 
 parage woman, and earnestly cultivate virtuous plants 
 in the garden of Trifleton House. 
 
92 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 It is just as we expected about the tomatoes, when 
 you played the braggart over your garden. We knew 
 they wouldn t come, and you confess, at last, a little 
 ashamed, that they " didn t come," neither from the 
 bed, nor from the scattered single plants. But why 
 didn t you come to us in your dilemma ? We could 
 have shown you tomatoes, " a number of bushels," 
 awaiting a summons to usefulness. We could have 
 slioivn them to you, but are you fond of picking 
 them ? 
 
 To tell the truth, fellow-sufferer, we sometimes have 
 a grief of this sort, ourself. Didn t we expect to have 
 such a varied and startling display of fruit, this year, 
 that we should throw the veterans in horticulture, 
 Wilder, Hovey, Walker, and other men of culture, 
 utterly into the shade ? Didn t we ! Hadn t the " gold 
 medal," " the society s plate," the " first premium," 
 been constantly in our vision, so that in dreams our 
 very back was broken by the mingled weight of great 
 prizes and mammoth apples ? Didn t we fancy the 
 commotion among presidents and committee men, the 
 envious look of distanced competitors, as we came 
 along, the conquerer on this field of peaceful strife ? 
 
 Didn t we ? O, didn t we expect great things and 
 
 get confoundedly disappointed ! Well we are pretty 
 sure we did. 
 
 Just think of it ; hear our woes and pity them. In 
 the first place some envious fellow (we don t call 
 names, mind you) stole our best and biggest Harrietts ; 
 we trust they stuck in his throat with all their obe 
 sity. In the next place a mischievous devil in the 
 wind plucked our largest and most rotund Flemish 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 93 
 
 Beauties, that would have been a delight to the art 
 ists of Flanders. Then our Van Mons Leon le Clerc 
 what bad spirit got into the sap of that tree to pre 
 vent its nourishing the pears ? Perhaps you can tell, 
 philosophical Trifle. And our Duchesse, why that 
 promising tree became insolvent and only yielded us 
 a dividend on the magnificence which we expected, 
 is more than we can tell. As for our Belle Lucra 
 tive and Seckle, by some means Shrimp contrived 
 to find all the best ones on the ground, among his 
 potatoes. The Golden Beurre of Bilboa, a thrifty 
 dwarf, didn t grow tall enough to keep its fruit out 
 
 of the reach of our neighbor s hens. Our but 
 
 enough ; the Doyennes and the Beurres, the autumn 
 pears and the winter pears, the melting and the but 
 tery, the whole tribe seemed determined that we 
 shouldn t have the prize. They wouldn t grow, or 
 if they did they would fall or be eaten. And so, 
 here we are, no more distinguished for our pears than 
 you for your tomatoes. 
 
 The fact is, this is a terrible disappointment to hopes 
 and expectations cherished and growing (much faster 
 than the pears) ever since blossom time. We were 
 as confident of success as the allies before Sebasto 
 pol,* and we ve got it in about the same proportion. 
 
 * Sebastopol ! There we are with our heels tripped up again. 
 The Allies ought not to have spoiled our comparison in such an 
 uncivil, blustering and sanguinary manner. Sebastopol is taken! 
 Do you hear ? You asked us to inform you when that " inter 
 esting event takes place," and so we do now. Sebastopol has 
 fallen, and you can condole with the Russian bear, if you choose. 
 Sebastopol is down, and so are our hopes of the first prize. 
 
94 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Isn t this an affliction to grow melancholy under ? 
 Perhaps Stubs can afford some sympathy. Shrimp 
 only laughs at us, but we shall see who laughs last 
 when he digs his potatoes. 
 
 The Hards have returned from Newport, Madame a 
 little more worldly than ever, and Miss Bel wretched 
 ly languid, terribly disappointed perhaps, because 
 mamma s manoeuvres and her charms did not succeed 
 in detaching him of the " corn-colored " gloves from 
 your friend, the brilliant Pink. Madame thinks that 
 Pink is altogether too forward, free and dashing, too 
 bold to be pretty and too pert to please. Bel wonders 
 why she will persist in that outre style of head dress, 
 and thinks her wit too keen and unlady like. They 
 are agreed that she can t be a good match for him. 
 But what s to be done about it now that " Newport is 
 over," they can t quite settle. 
 
 As for young Hard, Abel, he would have been in a 
 state of despair, had he remained a week longer at 
 Newport. But now he is a new man. He has actual 
 ly accomplished something, done some good that is, 
 probable good having saved the life of a poor wo 
 man s child. The little fellow had fallen from the 
 wharf, and Hard, who was aboard the steamer just on 
 the eve of departure, plunged in and manfully saved 
 him, while others looked on to see the poor boy drown 
 if he might. The dandies shrugged their shoulders, 
 the young ladies were in ecstasies over " the hero," 
 the matrons were terribly shocked about their nerves, 
 Madame Hard, herself, was supposed to faint, though 
 she looked ruddier than ever, and Miss Bel was in a 
 pet that her brother should get himself into such a 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 95 
 
 horrid plight. But there were two, besides the little boy, 
 who were really happy, the mother and Abel Hard. 
 The former came rushing down the wharf just as the 
 two were drawn up, almost beside herself with fear 
 and joy ; and when she at last found her boy was liv 
 ing, she divided her caresses between him and his de 
 liverer, upon whom with all the fervency of a mother s 
 heart she called down the blessings of Heaven. 
 
 It was " a scene " for the worldlings on the boat, 
 and Hard tells me he could perceive the different emo 
 tions which it produced. Some ay, the many, were 
 disposed heartlessly to laugh and joke over the matter, 
 but here and there was one in whose eyes were tears, 
 bright witnesses to the existence of their hearts. These 
 Hard would, at the time, have embraced as friends ; 
 and between him and the others the gulf grew wider. 
 But it could not last long ; the steamer must depart in 
 spite of foolish, drowning little boys, or rash young 
 men; and Hard, who had no idea of becoming a lion, 
 merman, or other wonderful animal in that company, 
 insisted upon remaining. And so the steamer with its 
 freight of fashionables departed, and Madame Hard 
 and Bel much to their chagrin, for they had reck 
 oned on a last chance of attaching the " corn-colored 
 gloves" to Miss Bel s suite went ashore with their 
 luggage and returned to the Ocean House. 
 
 One generous action leads to another. Hard, find 
 ing that the boy s mother was poor, took measures to 
 relieve her wants before leaving Newport, the day 
 after his adventure. And not content with that, he has 
 just taken a sudden start back to the place which he so 
 recently detested, intending to do something more for 
 
96 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 the boy, who, he says, is a bright little fellow and is 
 destined to better things than his circumstances now 
 promise. And this is Abel Hard ; a month ago a sad, 
 unhappy fellow, who looked through a veil of gloom 
 on everything. He has at last discovered that a life 
 of idleness is a curse to one like him, and that he must 
 break through his u surroundings " that his generous 
 impulses and real worth may vindicate themselves. 
 
 Two pretty " peeps" you and Stubs must have been, 
 lying in wait for " yellow-legs " and " black-breast- 
 ers," with foul guns fowling pieces you call them, 
 do you not ? and pistols. Did the pistols bring down 
 any game ? Fine sportsmen, truly, to be there, out on 
 the marshes, discussing female character and thinking 
 about Pink ! Your game it seems was far away, at 
 tracted by such a decoy as you did not set though 
 scarcely better, if all accounts be true. As for Stubs, 
 we can hardly pity him ; for why should a man of his 
 sense, a man of sober, quiet thought, noble and gener 
 ous withal, suffer himself to be enslaved by a selfish 
 and heartless creature, be she ever so beautiful ? He 
 is a man for a gentle and loving nature to cling to and 
 make happy ; an oak which affords a sturdy support 
 whereon the tender vine may grow, making the rugged 
 trunk beautiful with its foliage and flowers. 
 
 The days shorten, Trifle, have you noted it ? The 
 sun has grown chary of his hours, the twilight quickly 
 fades and the night comes on. Long evenings are in 
 store for you and pray what shall you do, you who 
 have so long revelled by gas light in city amusements ? 
 Is it not a dismal prospect for you, these long evenings 
 when the clouds hang heavily over the earth, and the 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 97 
 
 sere leaves are damp and still, and the crickets have 
 ceased their song, and the wind howls and moans 
 through the naked trees ? Ah, let not the darkness 
 and gloom of the outward world then settle on your 
 heart. But may the warm light of domestic joy shine 
 round the hearth of Trifleton House, and through the 
 clouds gleam ever a star, to guide you onward and 
 upward. 
 
98 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XI. 
 
 TRIFLETON HOUSE, 
 In time of the " Equinoctial." 
 
 THE Equinoctial is, indeed, upon us. The rain is 
 pouring in floods, and the wind screams piteously 
 among the trees. My peach trees have yielded to 
 the violence of the storm and are quite prostrate, and 
 the elm by the south parlor window reels to and fro 
 like a drunken man. The pattering of the rain on 
 the windows, the rattling and " snapping " of the 
 blinds, the mournful voices of the night wind, all 
 together, conspire to make it gloomy enough at Trifle- 
 ton House. 
 
 My soul is sad to-night, and the mysteries and re 
 sponsibilities of life, the associations of my Past, and 
 the uncertainties of my Future, press heavily upon me. 
 I am talking with myself, and I discover in myself 
 much that is vague, unreal, and difficult to understand. 
 Sometimes I am consoled by myself, but, oftentimes, 
 much disheartened. In this particular, doubtless, I 
 illustrate my kind. 
 
 But enough of this. My duty is to recount incidents. 
 Listen ! 
 
 The sea has been so fierce as to have carried away 
 our bathing houses. The oldest inhabitant remem 
 bers nothing like it. It heaves, and toils, and screams, 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 99 
 
 and rages, and does all sorts of tragic and mournful 
 things. 
 
 A brave thing, a fine thing, an all glorious thing is 
 God s mighty sea ! It never grows old. It has con 
 stantly new beauties, grandeurs, terrors ! It tranquil* 
 izes, alarms, excites, soothes, plays and fights for 
 ever, and forever, and forever. Through the lapse of 
 Time, quite to the verge of Eternity, up to the 
 Judgment, it will be thus. For God s powers diminish 
 not, and the sea is one of His chiefest. Possibly it is 
 His right arm. Men pass over it, and the products 
 of their toil. Hence is commerce ; and commerce 
 influences, and largely controls the world. The sea 
 separates, and ties the nations. 
 
 Again. Pestilence walks on the land, as, for ex 
 ample, in case of Egypt in Pharaoh s time ; as in 
 Norfolk (oh, pity, pity, Father !) or Portsmouth in our 
 own. But death is quite at home on the sea ; to 
 wit, case of Arctic, case of President, and the like. 
 There is a locus selected for me in Mount Auburn ; 
 but don t bury me there ! Oh no ! Ye future gener 
 ations, I give you notice, and I request you ! If prac 
 ticable, and perfectly convenient and agreeable to you, 
 let Trifle s coffin be the sea ! The sea likes him, and 
 he likes the sea. 
 
 Stubs and I were smoking in the south parlor. It 
 was a howly night. The chaste harvest moon was 
 sailing calmly along ; but the winds were abroad and 
 were angry, to say nothing of clouds and rain. But 
 from our south-east window the lighthouse was palpa 
 ble. Its revolving light gleamed like a suggestive and 
 oft-recurring hope. 
 
100 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Pat. was " up stairs " with Prig. He was breathing 
 heavily, and I didn t like the look about his eyes. 
 They glared, in a word. I said to Pat., " The Doctor 
 should come ! " But she said, " No ! it s nothing. It 
 will pass." So I was comforted and went down to 
 smoke with Stubs. 
 
 " Trifle," said Stubs (most confidentially and rather 
 demurely), " I have been writing verses ! " 
 
 Parenthetically for aught I know he had been 
 writing poetry, though Pd never heard of his capacity 
 in that line. The capacity of a talented man is not 
 perceptible at once; it is ascertained, and by de 
 grees. Fools and " brilliant " women alone show all 
 they know in an hour or in less time. 
 
 " Subject ? " said I. 
 
 " Look ! " he replied. 
 
 I looked. But all I saw was the passionate sea. 
 Away in the distance, however, stood the lighthouse. 
 It touched me so tenderly, that I said, 
 
 " I see nothing but the lighthouse. How sugges 
 tive it is of hope or expectation. Its light gleams, 
 kindles, burns. It goes out, though, or seems to, peri 
 odically. It is like Faith. It fades and droops and 
 comes near dying, if you please, but it never dies. It 
 shines, shines eternally. Brighter, or dimmer, now 
 and forever it shines, and shines, and shines ! But 
 read, Stubs." 
 
 He read as follows : 
 
 I. 
 
 Lo ! where the Lighthouse lifts its piercing eye, 
 
 And gazes on the horrors of the storm, 
 Calm and unmoved, while winds rush screaming by, 
 
 And lightnings flash around its stately form. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 II. 
 
 So noble spirits look upon the strife 
 
 Of human kind by angry passions riven ; 
 
 And, unconcerned amid the storms of life, 
 Serenely wait for perfect rest in Heaven. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, grandest Lighthouse, founded on a rock ! 
 Oh, largest souls, upheld by Faith divine ! 
 
 Superior to trial and to shock, 
 You educate weak natures likest mine. 
 
 I made no comment, but the verses subdued me. 
 Had they been written by some one else than Stubs, 
 some well-known poet, for instance, I should 
 have said they were very natural and fine, and all that. 
 Indeed, the way to judge of poetry is not from the ef 
 fect it has on your feelings, but from the fact of its 
 having been written by this or that poet of established 
 reputation. If the well-known A. B. wrote it, it must 
 be good, as a matter of course. If C. D., it should be 
 unquestionably very fine. 
 
 This valuable idea was one I acquired when I lived 
 in town, in society ; and I have no notion of losing 
 alt the useful acquirements I made there. Hence I 
 smoked on in silence, without a word of praise or 
 criticism, while Stubs proceeded to say that he had 
 another piece, in a somewhat different vein, and read as 
 follows : 
 
 How bitterly I ve strove 
 
 To justify my fate ! 
 Oh Heaven, that I should ever love 
 
 The woman that I hate ! 
 
102 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Down, devilish spirit, down ! 
 I ll conquer, or I ll die ; 
 
 Far nobler souls, who ve won their crown, 
 Have suffered here than I. 
 
 Here! this is not my home, 
 
 This place of rotten lies ; 
 The world is but a Styx of gloom, 
 
 This side of paradise. 
 
 Nor ferryman, nor boat 
 
 I need. I ll go alone ; 
 With but myself, Suspicion, Doubt, 
 
 I ll, sorrowing, press on. 
 
 Forbear, rash fool ! thy God, 
 With Faith, can bear thee up : 
 
 Christ drooped, but kissed the rod, 
 Drank, drained the fearful cup. 
 
 Temptation rends thy soul, 
 
 But discipline is sure ; 
 "While calm Religion s sweet control 
 
 Alone can make thee pure. 
 
 Down on thy knees to prayer, 
 
 Bid earthly hopes farewell ! 
 And cling to Heaven, whose blessings are 
 
 Dearer than tongue can tell. 
 
 The rich tones of his voice, as he read, fell on my 
 ear with a sort of fascination, and made me feel as I 
 have sometimes felt when I have heard a voluntary 
 played on an organ in an empty church. One listens, 
 but with a feeling of sadness and desolation. The 
 deep-toned cadences seem half unreal, and you ap 
 preciate them only from the lasting effect they pro- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 103 
 
 duce. They sound too sad to be pleasant in the actual 
 hearing. 
 
 He ceased reading, and we smoked on in silence 
 again. Cigars are extremely useful in such cases. 
 
 " How is Pink ? " said I, at length, and very abrupt 
 ly. " Have you heard from her or written to her re 
 cently ? " 
 
 " Both ; but I shall discontinue any further corres 
 pondence or connection with her," he replied, and then 
 got up and walked about the room nervously. 
 
 I scrutinized him carefully, and saw that he looked 
 haggard and wan. I felt very uneasy, but said noth 
 ing. I ask you, what could I say ? 
 
 " I will read you an extract from her last letter, and 
 you can judge for yourself," he said, in a few mo 
 ments. 
 
 His hand trembled as he held the letter, and his 
 voice trembled as he read it. 
 
 It ran as follows : " It is quite uncertain when we 
 shall return. There is time enough, and I am not 
 over anxious. We shall come via New York city, 
 where we intend stopping a week or two. The Ts. 
 insist on our coming, and besides, Pa is desirous that I 
 should see Rachel, who is just about to appear. We 
 are told she must be seen several times to be appre 
 ciated. Your lecture was quite thrown away upon me. 
 We can never agree. Our natures are too dissimilar, 
 and you regard life in too dingy a sort. With your 
 permission, I shall continue what you call the pursuit 
 of pleasure, within moderate bounds. My hair has 
 riot yet begun to turn gray, and I have no intention, 
 just at present, of going into a convent, or on a mis- 
 
104 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 sion. So, Mr. Stubs ! How intimate I am with 
 
 him, is a question. Would you really like to know ? 
 Are we growing a little jealous, I wonder ? The tone 
 of* your letter does not please me. If it be not dic 
 tatorial^ it s pokish, or old man-ish, or patriarchal, or 
 some such thing. I should suppose it was my grand 
 father talking to me. Good bye and don t mope ! 
 
 N. B. I am knitting a purse, which you shall have, 
 perhaps, if you behave, that is." 
 
 He folded the letter and put it in his pocket. A 
 
 long pause. The silence was becoming painful, 
 
 and I ventured to remark, finally, 
 
 " There can be no doubt that Pink is sincerely at 
 tached to you. She is frivolous, but she will improve. 
 She is generous at heart, and her nature is, after all, a 
 deep one. She is too impressible, though, arid " 
 
 He interrupted me, furiously, notwithstanding my 
 words evidently carried some balm to his hurt spirit, 
 with 
 
 " Her generosity ! Her heart ! " with a most bitter 
 emphasis on the last word. " She was born without a 
 heart. I have wasted my nature on her long enough, 
 and now she may go forever ! " 
 
 I had never known him so excited before, and it was 
 terrible to see this strong man thus stricken with pas 
 sion. 
 
 " I have suffered in silence," he continued, " and 
 without a murmur, the " 
 
 When hark ! Pat. called loudly and sharply, 
 
 Come up here, Trifle ! quick ! " 
 
 I rushed up stairs, and it was as I had all along ap 
 prehended. Prig was in convulsions. He tossed his 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 105 
 
 little arms wildly about and moaned most piteously. 
 I did what I could. Pat. and Mary hastened to get him 
 into a warm bath, and I started for the Doctor. I 
 looked in at the parlor for Stubs. His head was buried 
 in his hands. He had forgotten me and mine. One 
 thought was driving him mad. 
 
 1 told him what had happened. What an instanta 
 neous change ! he lived out of himself again, and thus 
 became himself again. 
 
 " Stay," said he, and do what you can. I will go. 
 Bob can harness Kate in a few minutes. It s but a 
 mile, and I will have the Doctor here in a half hour or 
 less." 
 
 He pressed my hand, and through the wind and the 
 rain departed. No strongest Hercules or Goliath could 
 have stopped him, and I let him go ; and I thought to 
 myself as I had thought often before, how eagerly and 
 how gratefully I loved him. 
 
 The Doctor came and said the trouble was in the 
 brain. It was too large, &c. . . . 
 
 We shuddered. 
 
 The next day it was the same, and worse. And the 
 next. Dear, poor little Prig ! We had ice about his 
 head and temples constantly, and that was all, princi 
 pally. Said I, " Give him something or he will die ! " 
 The answer was, " It would kill him." 
 
 I rushed to Boston for a consulting physician. He 
 came and went. 
 
 There was no hope. This I gathered from myste 
 rious looks, anxious expressions, &c. No such thing 
 was said. It was plainly hinted, though. 
 
 " The result is in His hands, then," I reflected ; and 
 
106 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 I thought I would fall back upon my Faith, but I had 
 none. 1 was neither hopeful nor submissive. 
 
 I went out into the garden. The dead leaves were 
 all around, and I said to myself, " What a miserable 
 world this is ! " 
 
 Some inward voice appeared to reply, and this con 
 versation ensued : 
 
 " The world is better than you think." 
 
 " I deny it. There is my best . friend, who has 
 talents, and virtues, and character, and station, and 
 wealth, and what are they all ? He is perfectly 
 
 wretched, and I am to lose my boy. But I will 
 
 not. I will keep him. I want him. He is my chief 
 hope. If he dies, my heart will break. Oh, it s a 
 splendid world ! " 
 
 " Your friend s character is not complete, nor is 
 yours. You are proud and rebellious, and it may be 
 you are to be sifted like wheat. Who are you that 
 you should not suffer ? Your boy ! He is not yours, 
 and never was. Take care. He is passing rapidly. 
 Go and save him, if you can. You are simply a weak, 
 feeble fool, and have regarded your boy, as you call 
 him, with too much complacency. You have built too 
 many castles about developing his mind, moulding 
 him, impressing on him your own imperfect nature, 
 and habitudes of thought, feeling and action, and re 
 producing yourself in him. One such as you is quite 
 sufficient. It is probable he will die, and you would 
 better be humble and penitent, and ask God to forgive 
 your sins, and surrender him and yourself into His 
 keeping. You will find it very hard and very useless 
 to kick against the pricks ! " 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 107 
 
 I could bear this no longer, and I returned to the 
 house. As I went in, little White-y came skipping 
 towards me, and tenderly kissed my hand. He seemed 
 to indicate that he missed Prig from the garden, and 
 wished to sympathize with me. It made my heart 
 ache to see him. 
 
 I went to Prig s chamber. I had left Pat. there, 
 and Stubs, for a moment, bathing the dear boy s tem 
 ples. Nobody else. 
 
 There was another person just flying into the room 
 before me, unannounced. It was Pink. With her 
 usual precipitancy, she rushed into Pat. s arms, and 
 with a passionate burst of tears, exclaimed, 
 
 " My poor, darling Pat., how my heart bleeds for 
 you. Can you forgive me ? I hate and despise my 
 self for being away at such a time ! Why did you 
 not send for me ? It was because you considered me 
 too unworthy." 
 
 And she wept Utterly. 
 
 Pat. soothed and comforted her, and they mingled 
 their tears together. 
 
 Prig lay perfectly senseless. 
 
 Stubs stood speechless. 
 
 Again I said to myself, " What a world this is ! " 
 
108 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE ARM-CHAIR, 
 In the Indian Summer. 
 
 OUR hearty sympathies are with you, afflicted Trifle, 
 in the sorrows which shadow your dwelling. Happy, 
 indeed, are you, that through the clouds shines so 
 brightly the sun of Friendship, that you have the 
 large-hearted, firm and generous Stubs ready, \vith 
 something more than words to aid you. Ah, Heaven 
 be with you through the long, anxious hours that come 
 and go, with solemn steps and slow, in the dark, silent 
 room. God be with you and your cherished hopes ! 
 
 Your letter recalls a time, when one to us as dear 
 as Prig to you, struggled through the dark cloud of 
 sickness. The night came on black with thick vapors ; 
 but darker was the gloom of doubt and dread within 
 the dim, still chamber, where the little sufferer gasped. 
 Hope sunk, and flickered rose and sunk again, till 
 it became fear and dread. Oh ! we remember well 
 how, as the gloom fell like a pall upon that vanishing 
 hope, we drew aside the curtain to look out upon the 
 night, and what a thrill the ray of a star, beaming 
 through a broken cloud, shot to our heart. It was like 
 a messenger from Heaven in answer to the prayerful 
 agony of the hour, and it brought peace and hope and 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 109 
 
 gratitude. The morning came at last. Night fled 
 before the approaching day, and with it fled the clouds, 
 and the fears that were darker clouds upon the heart. 
 The morning came ; morning upon the hill-tops and 
 in the golden sky, morning in our hearts and over 
 the dear child, morning and thanksgiving. 
 
 And so Trifle would be buried in the sea. Have 
 you calculated that it is any better to become " food 
 for fishes " than " food for worms " ? Do you like 
 the picture which Clarence painted ? 
 
 " a thousand fearful wrecks ; 
 
 A thousand men, that fishes gnawed upon ; 
 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 
 Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
 
 All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 
 
 Some lay in dead men s skulls; and, in those holes 
 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
 
 (As twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, 
 
 That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 
 And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by." 
 
 Have the treasures of the deep such a hold upon your 
 fancy, or upon your habits of trade, that you would 
 fain sleep the last sleep in that slimy bed where such 
 things are ? And then the Ocean s mighty, restless 
 currents, look you ! would you have them swinging 
 and tossing your worn body to and fro forever ? The 
 surface of the sea hath many voices as its waves 
 break and roar ; a solemn, grand, majestic music along 
 its beaches and its hollow rocks. But in those depths 
 the echoes come not, nor near or distant harmonies, 
 but silence and motion forever. 
 
 Let us say rather " Dust to dust," far in the green 
 retreat of the wooded sanctuary, where the sun s rays 
 
110 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 may sometimes softly linger on the grassy slope, and 
 where the deep-toned forest organ sounds its soft or 
 grand and ever-changing symphonies, and solemn 
 requiems swell and die forever. But what matters it 
 whether your decaying body rot in the " slimy bot 
 tom " of the deep sea, or ours crumble at the roots of 
 the giant oak, if our souls shall have passed the dark 
 portal, with heavenward hope and faith, into the bright 
 fields beyond ? 
 
 Stubs well, we pity him ; but let him not know it, 
 lest he scorn our sympathy. How deeply must run 
 the current of his love ; else such a nature as his 
 could scarcely have been moved to verse-writing, and 
 poetry had found no expression through him. But as 
 it is, the secret depths of his heart have been brought 
 to the surface, in the earthquake struggle which rends 
 it, and feelings which were scarcely acknowledged to 
 himself have become active, demonstrative. With the 
 feelings is aroused the talent to express them; 
 how well, let those fine lines on the lighthouse tes 
 tify. 
 
 The stately Autumn marches slowly on with his 
 rich burden of sheaves and fruits, and the forests have 
 put on their gorgeous robes flung out their banners 
 of crimson and gold, to gleam in the clear sunlight 
 of the year s holidays. O, ho\v rich in beauty and 
 how rich in thought is the bright seuson of the ripened 
 leaf! 
 
 Behold the varied tints of the woods, the ruddy 
 brown of the oak, the scarlet of the maple beside the 
 deep green of the pine, the deeper crimson of the 
 sumach contrasting with the emerald sward, the yellow 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. Ill 
 
 of the elm and birch and the light brown of the walnut, 
 all mingled in rich masses, such as the painter in vain 
 may attempt to imitate. And over all is the soft sun 
 light of a mild, clear day of the Indian summer. Such 
 beauty ever tempts us forth to gaze, and to receive the 
 gentle influences that steal through eye and ear into 
 the heart. 
 
 But let us narrate. It was such a day, just gone by, 
 that we visited a spot whose beauty has lingered in 
 our memory from childhood. On the one side, the 
 many-tinted woods half circled a quiet retreat where 
 the turf lay partly in sunlight, partly in shadow ; and 
 on the other were groups of noble trees in brilliant 
 array, standing on little knolls whose sides sloped down 
 to the still water s edge. Beneath one of these groups 
 were cattle standing, or reclining in picturesque po 
 sitions. Ah, it was such a scene as Poussin would 
 have loved, and such as you might wish for a com 
 panion to that " still life " of Durand. 
 
 We were delighting in these untiring beauties, as 
 you delight in the sea. But an indistinct murmur of 
 voices, swelling once into a musical laugh, told us we 
 were not alone, and must therefore indulge in no mad 
 transports. So we watched to see the excitement of 
 others, whoever they might be, who evidently enjoyed 
 the same delicious scene. And there they were, in a 
 lovely spot, leaning upon the rustic fence that kept 
 those cattle subjects from straying out of the land 
 scape. They were a man and a woman a lady and 
 a gentleman, if you please. Her broad-brim summer 
 hat shaded a face whose half seen profile appeared 
 sufficiently beautiful for the elegant form which sup- 
 
112 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 ported it. v He was like a hirsute foreigner, a little 
 outre in dress, but with an eye and brow that never 
 belonged to the dandy, nor to assuming mediocrity. 
 He was an artist, and with sketch-book and pencil he 
 was rapidly transferring this " study from nature," 
 while she watched with interest the work, and listened 
 to words which were evidently eloquent. 
 
 Incontinently we left the objects of our recent admi 
 ration the trees and the cattle to the artist, and 
 made the twain our study. We ll even confess that 
 we approached them stole nearer to them unseen 
 to obtain the same point of view, of course. Passing 
 around those sumach trees and birches, we came to a 
 nearer and full view of them. And lo ! we found the 
 artist was none other than Umber, born hereabouts ; a 
 strange boy, who would make pictures instead of 
 money, who went but little better than penniless to 
 Italy some years ago, for the purpose of studying art 
 instead of buying macaroni, and who has of late re 
 turned with just about as much money as he carried, 
 but with a rich store of knowledge, high ideas, skill 
 and great resolutions, returned in truth a man and a 
 true artist. 
 
 We could hear him now. We had some misgivings at 
 playing the listener, but never mind. He was gaily 
 discoursing of artist life in Rome and Florence, now 
 and then recalling a picture suggested by the scene he 
 was sketching. His tones were rich and his words and 
 manner fascinating as we saw clearly by the atten 
 tion of his companion. He was painting in glowing 
 colors his sojourn in the land of art, when he was inter 
 rupted by an abrupt and hasty question. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 113 
 
 " Had you no regrets for home ? " 
 
 " Home ! ha, ha ! my home was where my pack 
 or easel was, some time in Rome, once on Mont 
 Blanc, in the crater of Vesuvius, anywhere." 
 
 " But friends ? " 
 
 "I did make friends with two, from whom I re 
 gretted to part, as I don t know that I have another 
 friend in the world. One was a sorrowful sculptor 
 from Germany, the other a pretty flower-girl in 
 Rome." 
 
 " A flower-girl ! " 
 
 " Beautiful as Hebe." 
 
 " O, doubtless ! and as fit to be waiting maid." 
 
 There was a little tremulous scorn in the words, and 
 the speaker turned hastily away from the artist so as 
 to bring her face fully before us. Was it possible ! 
 It was, in truth, Bel Hard, and her cheek was suffused, 
 and there was just the springing of a tear in her eye, 
 that really flashed. Yes, it was the languid, fashion 
 able Bel Hard. We shall have plenty of larks now, 
 for the skies are about to fall ! 
 
 With a hasty step she passed on, leaving us unno 
 ticed. Umber had started as she spoke, looked up, 
 and as she went away, arose from his seat and gazed 
 after her as if doubtful whether to follow or not. 
 Then he seated himself again and went to work. But 
 he did not look at the landscape. We approached him 
 cautiously, and looking on his work beheld a lively 
 sketch of Bel Hard. So her face lingers long in 
 your memory, Sir Artist. 
 
 Umber and Bel had been playmates years ago, 
 though he was a poor woman s son. But in her teens 
 
114 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Bel must aquire " accomplishments," in order that 
 Madame might accomplish her ends ; and Umber by 
 hook or by crook, went to Italy. A man of genius 
 and of travel, he is not to be passed by now, for wealth 
 can patronize art, and not degrade itself. Besides, 
 Abel, who is utterly regardless of propriety, esteemed 
 his old friend. So Umber, fresh from Italy, is a wel 
 come visitor at the Hard mansion, Umber, the poor 
 artist, is simply patronized. 
 
 " A beautiful scene this, Umber." 
 
 He started, and looked at us askance, and then a 
 slight smile curled his moustache 
 
 " Nature is always beautiful." 
 
 " But hereabouts nature is too often hidden by tawdry 
 and senseless ornament." 
 
 " Still, nature is underlying." 
 
 " Remove the ornament, and you have but a barren 
 soil." 
 
 " Perhaps, and haply one wherein may grow the 
 loveliest flowers." 
 
 He put up his book and pencils abstractedly, and 
 mused awhile as we turned homewards. His thoughts 
 were not of art. But he soon broke the spell, and 
 turning again towards the scene he had been sketching, 
 exclaimed with artist warmth 
 
 " Italy can boast of nothing equal to this, either in 
 nature or art." 
 
 And then he discoursed on, till we wondered not 
 that under the influence of such talk even the languor 
 of Bel Hard was dispersed. Bel Hard, perhaps we 
 have done her injustice. What should she do with a 
 heart, though ? Have not fashion and her practical 
 mother trained her to do without one ? 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 115 
 
 But Abel Hard. He has been to Newport to look 
 after his protege, and returned in a more sad and ner 
 vous mood than ever. He had made a discovery 
 which threw him entirely off his balance, if his mind 
 could ever be said to possess such a blessing. The 
 mother of the unfortunate little diver had been a ser 
 vant in the family of her father. Misfortune had over 
 taken him, and he had come to America. For a few 
 days Hard was in miserable doubt, but at last he set 
 out for the prairies in search of what he expects 
 may prove his happiness. An almost hopeless search ; 
 but we shall see. Madame is excessively annoyed, 
 possibly she may yet find more cause. 
 
 As evening set in, Umber made his appearance in 
 our library a little abstracted at first, but he soon 
 took us to the Vatican. They talk of the Vatican at 
 the mansion now ; and Madame has hunted up Mur 
 ray s Guide-book, which Abel had brought home. 
 When one patronizes an artist from Rome, one must 
 not be a fool. Bel has been reading Hillard s " Six 
 Months in Italy." She borrowed ours, when Umber 
 first made his appearance, and she still keeps it. 
 
 But, most patient Trifle, we weary you. Silence is 
 in the house, silence and sleep. Darkness is over the 
 earth, darkness and rest. Here and there through 
 the broken clouds gleams a star. May it watch 
 over the rest and peace of the dwellers in Trifleton 
 House. 
 
116 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 TRIFLETOX HOUSE, > 
 
 As the Indian Summer advances. } 
 
 THE storms, for a season, have ceased, and the 
 serene and beautiful days pass on. Let those who 
 will, talk of the Spring, the balmy Spring I believe 
 it is called, (are there any East winds in Spring 
 time ?) but Trifle is content with the Fall. It is quite 
 in keeping with his nature. It is a season of decay, 
 and sadness, if you please, but with what a glory it is 
 crowned ! Sunlight shines upon the hills a token of 
 promise. Now suggests Hereafter. The nights are 
 longer and the winds are chiller, but the days are 
 clothed with a beauty that is persuasive and sugges 
 tive. It is touching as the grace and tenderness of a 
 farewell, and seems to say, " I am lingering while I 
 may, because I know I must pass. But it will be 
 but for a season. The bright days will come again. 
 There is a Death, but there is also a Resurrection." 
 
 But of Prig! It is all over with him. Yes, my 
 Editor, it is over. Tell every body you meet, " it is 
 over ! " Inform the world. Wherever your paper is 
 read, through the length and breadth of our country 
 
 on. the change and at the hearthstone by the land 
 and over the seas by mail and by telegraph by 
 words written and spoken, convey the intelligence, the 
 
 glad intelligence, " it is over " with Prig. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 117 
 
 He lives ! ! 
 
 He rallied as rapidly as he declined. 
 
 Politics are to be forgotten. Who shall be elected 
 Governor, is of small consequence. A more important 
 thing is to rejoice with Pat. 
 
 If you could see her, you would forget everything 
 else and every body ; even Mrs. Editor, and all the 
 embryo Editors, for a season. Why should you not ? 
 She is excellent among women. She is, in fact a 
 woman. 
 
 She loves Prig more than ever. Why ? He has 
 made her suffer. 
 
 Hark ! and hold your breath. Water was form 
 ing on his brain. They said so the Doctors. He 
 was to die. They said so. 
 
 Pink was sitting by him in despondency. She was 
 touched to the quick, and I detected her heart. It 
 seems she has one. I was, somehow, cool and ex 
 perimental. Prig lay with his eyes wide open. I 
 waved my hand before them. He made no sign. 
 1 lifted his arm, and dropped it. It felt like lead. I 
 turned his head this side. He did not move. That. 
 The result was the same. There was no sign of life. 
 I gave him up almost. 
 
 It was then that Pat. came to me. With moist eyes 
 and a trembling voice, and, withal, very incoherently, 
 she asked me if I had " any objections " to sending 
 for a minister and having him " baptized" I had op 
 posed it previously because I don t like squalling babies 
 in church. I wished to wait till he was a boy. She 
 had known me six years, and yet she asked this ques 
 tion. You have known me four. Are you not sur 
 prised ? 
 
118 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 The minister came. My mother and my sister hur 
 ried from town ; my sister s husband and my brother s 
 wife. The last mentioned, indeed, has been full of 
 kindness and sympathy from the first moment of Prig s 
 illness, and has insured, forever, Pat. s gratitude and 
 mine. 
 
 She could quite appreciate our feelings, for she has 
 lost a boy of her own, her first born. 
 
 Friends came and neighbors. How and why, I 
 know not. But they stole in like shadows, and as I 
 looked on them, and they on me, I noticed that their 
 eyes fell. The women among them turned away their 
 faces, and I could hear their sob s. 
 
 Stubs stood like a guardian angel at the door, and 
 Pink sat by the bedside holding the hand of Pat. in her 
 own. He would scarcely have known her. She looked 
 like one who had been chastened and subdued who 
 had struggled with herself, and, at least for the time, 
 conquered. A little sick child that she loved had done 
 more for her than Stubs and all the rest of the world. 
 He had made her think, and feel. 
 
 Last of all came in the servants our own, and 
 those of our neighbors who had played with the boy at 
 intervals, and had become interested in him and at 
 tached to him. It was current that he was to die in 
 a few brief hours, and they came, partially from curi 
 osity I presume. They were, most of them, strangers 
 to us, but they were, all of them, in tears. 
 
 Prig lay with his eyes wide open, but he could not 
 see, nor hear, nor speak, nor feel. He was like one 
 dead, except for the feeblest and faintest beating of his 
 pulse. He didn t move, and he couldn t. 
 
 " Let us pray ! " said the minister. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 119 
 
 He prayed. 
 
 1 stood erect, with my eyes fixed on my child. I 
 looked upon him as long as I could see. The minister 
 prayed, but I was talking all the time, with some one 
 who was not there, and yet was there. 
 
 " The offering is a poor one ; such a mere fragment 
 of his life. It is too late." 
 
 " He will die, then, you think ? " 
 
 "He will." 
 
 " Are you willing ? " 
 
 " I believe I am." 
 
 " You are changed then. You were disposed to 
 rebel not many hours since." 
 
 " It is true. But I have been able to see that 
 4 whomsoever the Lord loveth He chasteneth. It 
 makes me happy to think the Lord loves me." 
 
 " How have you been brought to this way of think 
 ing ? You evidently did not seek it yourself; besides, 
 you love your boy." 
 
 " I know it ; and my heart is bleeding even now ; 
 still I defer to His will. He knows best what is for my 
 happiness and good." 
 
 " This is no answer to the inquiry, 4 why do you 
 think and feel thus ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell. If I did not, my heart would break. 
 I want to feel so and try to." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Oh ! how I am perplexed and tried ! Because it 
 is my duty." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because God created all things ; me and mine 
 with the rest ; and all things are inferior to Him and 
 dependent on Him." 
 
120 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " Is duty, then, so important ? " 
 
 44 Yes ! Duty perfectly accomplished makes perfect 
 happiness ; and exactly in the proportion of duty ac 
 complished is the happiness of man, be it less or 
 more." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " By experience." 
 
 " Your child may rally." 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 " Still he may." 
 
 " I see no reason for expecting it." 
 
 " But God may. You saw no reason for his becom 
 ing sick. You are, you perceive, far more weak and 
 insignificant than you supposed. Very little has oc 
 curred as you would have it. But God knows better 
 than you what is for your good, as you have admitted. 
 He disciplines His children, but He loves them also. 
 He has brought your boy to the edge of the grave, but 
 He can return him to you. Yet remember ! Never 
 consider him yours again. You have given him up 
 in every sense, given him up." 
 
 The prayer was over. I had heard every word, and 
 felt it even while I was carrying on the conversation 
 above recorded. 
 
 The holy rite was then administered, and as the 
 words, "I baptize this child," &c.j were uttered " in 
 the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy 
 Ghost " you could have heard a pin drop. 
 
 Palpably to all, there was a presence in that room, 
 unseen, but none the less appreciable. 
 
 And we gave him up forever and forever. 
 
 The ceremony was over. Those who had come to 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 121 
 
 witness it, gradually departed, as noiselessly as they 
 came. I said, I believe, that they stole in like shad 
 ows. They went out like beams and rays; with 
 a glow on their faces. 
 
 It was but a little sick boy, after all. 
 
 True, but he had an immortal spirit, and he was 
 about to depart with the angels. The angels had come 
 to meet him, and, evidently, all believed they were 
 there. They bore him not away. 
 
 The hours passed on. I took no note of them. All 
 was quiet and peaceful at Trifleton House. I looked 
 out upon the sea. Its great heart was beating regu 
 larly and slowly and calmly. There was peace on 
 the sea. 
 
 I looked forth upon the hills. They were robed in 
 the same attire, nearly, as was so beautifully described 
 by you, my dear friend, in your last letter. Not a leaf 
 stirred upon the trees. The afternoon sunshine lin 
 gered ant! played amid their branches. There was 
 peace on the hills. 
 
 I looked in upon my heart. The sharpness of my 
 grief was over. I had met it face to face, measured 
 it, drooped under it well nigh broken ; but now 
 
 There was peace in my heart. 
 
 From the sheer force of habit, I went to Prig s bed 
 side, and, leaning down close to him, I said, as I had 
 said a hundred times during his sickness, and got no 
 answer, " Do you love your Papa ? " 
 
 I listened, but expected no reply from those chill, 
 clammy lips. Faintly, faintly, but oh ! how softly and 
 sweetly, he whispered 
 
 " Ye-e-es." 
 
122 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 I have heard birds sing, and Jenny Lind warble. I 
 have listened to the accents of friendship and the 
 promises of love ; but I never heard music like the 
 music of that one little word, " Yes." It thrilled 
 through and through me, and made my heart leap, 
 and my pulses quiver. He could speak, and had his 
 reason ! And the angels of Hope and Gratitude 
 came and "supped" with me, and Hook up their 
 abode " with me. 
 
 From that moment he began to mend. As is always 
 the case with children, he came up as fast as he went 
 down, and, at this present writing, he is quite well, 
 quite himself, except that he is a little thin. 
 
 The doctors say it is almost a miracle, and that we 
 must be extremely careful of him. All of which is 
 very well, but, he is in better hands. 
 
 Let us live more humbly, my Editor. Let us have 
 done with pride and haughtiness, and all such things ! 
 Let us be simple-minded, sincere and earnest in all 
 good thoughts, words and actions. Let us think better 
 of humanity, and reflect that there are many in all 
 ranks and stations of life who love us, but are too 
 timid or artificial to be demonstrative except when 
 their sympathies are provoked by seeing us in afflic 
 tion ! 
 
 Most of all, let us believe, and act, hereafter, upon 
 the principle that people of low degree even our 
 servants are not to be despised ; but that they feel 
 as keenly and tenderly and as affectionately as we, 
 whom adventitious circumstances have placed above 
 them ; as we, who have been better cultured ; as 
 we, who have more blessings without, oftentimes, ap- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 123 
 
 predating their source, as we, who must respond in 
 proportion as we are endowed ; as we, who think 
 and talk of " society," and " our set," and spend much 
 of our time in " growling" because we are not "better 
 off;" as we, who are apt to think we are burdened 
 by cares and anxieties beyond account, and that our 
 case is peculiarly a hard one ! 
 
 Could we but run our brief career without so many 
 murmurs, how much more nearly should we approach 
 him who suffered as never man suffered spake as 
 " never man spake." 
 
 Think of it ! Think of it ! 
 
124 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE ARM-CHAIR, } 
 Under the Clouds. 
 
 WE rejoice with you, happy Trifle, that your boy is 
 spared to you, that the hour of darkness and doubt, 
 of dread and despair, is past, and that the sunlight of 
 hope and joy has come to you, ay, that the rebellious 
 spirit is become meek, and rejoices humbly in the 
 sunlight. 
 
 Clouds are over the earth. Dampness is in the val 
 leys, and over the hill-tops the rnist hangs heavily. 
 The wind with fitful breath rustles the fading leaves, 
 and one by one they slowly fall into their damp, cold 
 grave. The autumnal flowers look sad under the 
 shadows and amid the decay of summer s beauties. 
 The harvest is gathered, and the fields look desolate. 
 Gloom gathers over all, and darkness comes on early, 
 the starless, murky night. Happy we, if the hearth 
 stone is bright, and cheerfulness beams out from sunny 
 hearts. Alas ! how many hearts are shadowed by 
 heavier clouds and murkier gloom than that which 
 darkens the earth. Those whom we met this day, 
 how many were free from the clouds of sorrow, sin, or 
 remorse ? He who went bustling by to drive a thriv 
 ing trade, was not care and anxious throught in his 
 brain ? She who smiled sweetly as she displayed the 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 125 
 
 costly fabric from Hovey s or Stewart s, wrought into 
 fashion s latest conception, was there not an uneasiness 
 about her heart, a fear, a regret ? envy, and bitter 
 hate, perhaps ? He, the man of reputed piety and 
 worth, were there no misgivings in his heart ? May 
 there not have been there the deep shadow of unknown 
 sin ? And they whose goodness none may doubt, in their 
 true humility, were there no inward struggles and sor 
 rowful regrets for them ? But not for us is it to read 
 our fellow-mortals hearts. 
 
 Clouds are over the heart of Bel Hard. A few years 
 ago she was a light-hearted gjrl, in whom nature was 
 ever expressive. But education smothered nature, 
 chilled the warm springs of generous affection, and 
 made her the creature of pride and fashion. Ductile 
 in the hands of her managing mother, she has been a 
 mere machine for the display of wealth and the per 
 formance of folly s masquerade. The return of an 
 old playmate, the remembrance of those sweeter joys 
 of unfrozen youth, the influence of his noble nature, 
 had softened the ice. The sunlight shone in upon her 
 heart, forgotten dreams returned, hope began to beam, 
 and love, scarce recognized, found a secret dwelling- 
 place there. The change was sudden, and the heart, 
 thus bursting from chains and frosts, was all undisci 
 plined. A few words had raised there a dark and angry 
 spirit, and there are clouds of doubt, and fear, and 
 jealous dread, over her heart. She seeks relief in her 
 old routine of hollow pleasure, but it is not there. She 
 may seek to resume the apathy of her recent life, or 
 even its ennui, but it is too late ; for the time being, 
 at least, the discontented spirit rules, and the clouds 
 will not depart. 
 
126 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Over the heart of Umber, too, are clouds. In his 
 long sojourn abroad, the remembrance of his old play 
 mate never yielded to more recent impressions. He 
 had returned to find her changed ; but underneath the 
 acquired habits and coldness and follies of fashion, he 
 had discerned the existence faint and struggling 
 of a heart, and natural, generous sympathies. But ere 
 he dared attempt to cherish these into stronger life, 
 ere he dared hope what most he desired to hope, a 
 word had separated them. And now he felt the differ 
 ence of their positions. She was wealthy, and he was 
 penniless ; and here, in the land of democracy and 
 equality, to be penniless was to be worthless, friend 
 less, hopeless. Clouds might well overhang his heart 
 for a time, but in his art he shall find sunshine to dis 
 pel them, and riches in his mind which gold and silver 
 and bank-notes, stocks and real estate, can never buy, 
 or borrow, or rival, except in the estimation of 
 nearly the whole world. Well, if the world will think 
 so, that dollars and cents and treasures that rust and 
 corrupt are better than the treasures, rich, but immate 
 rial and unvalued, which last and grow forever and 
 ever, why, let it ; Umber, possibly Trifle, shall not 
 care, save now and then when the world is insolent in 
 its opinion. 
 
 There has been, of late, a new guest at the Hard 
 mansion, the Hon. Mr. Weed from the South, a man 
 of money and nothing else, save some vices, per 
 haps. Not having his history and pedigree, we cannot 
 say how he acquired his title. But mysterious orders 
 have suddenly made great men out of even less mate 
 rial ; and men who delight in the vocabulary of Bil- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 127 
 
 lingsgate, to say nothing of jockey parsons and other 
 rogues, have the term Hon. prefixed to their names. 
 So, why not the Hon. Mr. Weed ? He saw Bel at 
 Newport, and he concluded that she should be the 
 future Mrs. Weed ; but among the "matches" at the 
 fashionable watering-place, he was not so prominent as 
 to stand foremost in Madame Hard s list. He had that 
 however, on which he could rely for ultimate success 
 somewhere, even if his pride should be mortified by 
 one refusal. But Bel would best grace his establish 
 ment, and Bel at home might find no greater attraction 
 than himself or his wealth. So he spends a month 
 and much money in Boston, going daily to the Man 
 sion, riding with Bet and ingratiating himself with 
 Madame Hard. And so Umber daily feels that he is 
 poor, and of no account in the world. 
 
 Yet is he not forgotten at the Mansion. 0, no ! 
 Bel but no matter. Madame Hard mentions a young 
 artist, just from Rome, whom she would recommend to 
 her friends. We were present when he was named to 
 the Hon. Mr. Weed. The Hon. Mr. Weed thinks he 
 " must patronize him." He even desires that this 
 artist may be permitted to paint Bel s portrait, " if he 
 is competent." Bel s portrait for the Hon. Mr. Weed ! 
 Madame thinks that very promising. What an excel 
 lent man, too, to patronize so willingly the poor artist. 
 It must be done. 
 
 But Bel objects. In her heart she feels she cannot 
 trust herself near that easel, yet she desires it. Madame 
 intercedes. The Hon. Mr. Weed " begs this great favor, 
 which will be most highly prized." He intimates some 
 thing about possessing the original, in a rather con- 
 
128 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 fused sentence, but perfectly intelligible to Madame, 
 and startling to the heart of Bel gratifying to her 
 pride. And Bel consents to the portrait, for she feels 
 that a crisis is coming. She consents and goes to 
 weep. Umber goes not to the Mansion now, and 
 so Madame invites us to introduce the Hon. Mr. 
 Weed, who offers the commission with the air of a 
 patron. 
 
 The artist hesitates, an icy hand seems laid upon his 
 brow, and the blood presses at his heart. Has it come 
 to this ? Well, well. It will be a solace to paint that 
 face, though the sittings will be painful. So the Hon. 
 Mr. Weed is informed that Umber is not a portrait 
 painter, but that he will consent to paint this picture 
 " for the future husband of his old playmate." The 
 Hon. Mr. Weed is a little staggered at the artist s man 
 ner and his language, but he takes refuge in his money 
 and consequent superiority to " such folks." And so, 
 Bel is to sit, after the Rachel season. 
 
 Rachel has come, and the beau monde is in ecstasies 
 the beau monde and Frenchmen. The latter natur 
 ally and properly, the former fashionably and foolish 
 ly. Snobs and parvenues with their white kids turn 
 the leaves of Rachel s plays, and are of course able to 
 appreciate and criticize ! They may know as much 
 about French as they do Choctaw, but it is all the 
 same ; truly, " tis all the same to them. You and we 
 have read Racine, Trifle, but we should find those 
 stately lines and troublesome rhymes quite a new thing 
 as recited by Rachel. But the books, (such books !) 
 like the librettos of operas, may they not make it all 
 easy and intelligible ? Of course they do, for do not 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 129 
 
 even the snobs and dandies applaud ? They can follow 
 the text, blunders and all, appreciate the intonation and 
 expression, and smile approval. The great tragedienne 
 has a fearful ordeai. Paris has grown cold, but if the 
 Yankees approve, what need she care ? As for the 
 French classical drama, that will be delightful to those 
 who " can t bear Shakspeare." 
 
 Of course the Hards and the Hon. Mr. Weed have 
 taken seats for the season. He displayed his magnifi 
 cence and presence on the first night, as he waited 
 upon the ladies into the balcony. Very deferential was 
 he to Madame, quite kindly familiar towards Bel, ex 
 plaining what she knew better than he. He applauded 
 when others did, and Madame smiled approval and 
 looked appreciation. But Bel was silent, undemonstra 
 tive, sad. Her eye often wandered from the passion 
 ate face and classical poses of the tragedienne to an 
 unobtrusive seat, where Umber, the artist, a perfect 
 French scholar, was renewing the pleasure he had 
 felt in Paris. Did she think how, under his instruc 
 tion, she might have enjoyed the performance ? Her 
 thoughts wandered, too, manifestly. Was it to the 
 artist s studio, the meetings that must take place, the 
 conversation, the feelings which must come? Or 
 were they with the lump of humanity by her side, 
 whose gold is so much weightier than the artist s 
 worth ? And then she smiled a bitter smile, as if 
 
 she thought how the latter would be punished if 
 
 Ah ! the smile vanished as if the thought were hope 
 less. Verily, we found a better study in this living 
 scene, than in Rachel s impersonation of Corneille s 
 heroine. 
 
 9 
 
130 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 A letter from Abel Hard tells us that he is prosecuting 
 his search beyond the Lakes, for Lily so he calls 
 her and her father. The place whither he was 
 directed by his poor Newport friend contained them 
 not, and he gets no trace of them ; but among English 
 emigrants and at land offices, he makes ceaseless in 
 quiries, anxious and troubled ever. The activity of 
 his life alone preserves the health of mind and body. 
 But when will this mad search end ? 
 
 But even so do we all wandering away in search 
 of happiness, or what we foolishly deem such, regard 
 less of what lies close about us, in our daily paths, 
 the sympathies and affections, which we may discover 
 or awaken and cultivate, and which will yield a hun 
 dred-fold of joys. So we wander away to perform 
 imagined duties, forgetful of those humbler ones at 
 home, and ever present, which, if well performed, 
 will bring a richer and surer reward. Ah ! Trifle, 
 when shall we learn to live the true life, cultivating 
 our own gardens, rooting out the weeds, cherishing 
 the flowers, and reaping the fruits, grateful for dews 
 and life-giving airs, rejoicing in the clear heavens, and 
 knowing that above the darkest clouds shineth God s 
 Sun forevermore ! 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 131 
 
 XV. 
 
 TRIFLETON HOUSE, > 
 
 In time of Buckwheat Cakes. } 
 
 YES, sir! Buckwheats have come, and Pat. may 
 have the " chivalric " corn cake all to herself now. 
 I have been trying to learn to like it, it is so eternally 
 on our breakfast table. Every morning no matter 
 how much or how little of any thing else we may 
 have there looms the everlasting corn cake. But 
 I find I can t quite " go it." Pm not enough like a 
 hen, not sufficiently hen pecked, 1 suppose, to appreciate 
 it. But buckwheats ! Well, I m of the opinion that 
 they are pretty good for breakfast. Pm certain, in 
 fact, that I " like em ; " and you know when Trifle 
 likes anybody or anything, there s no half way about 
 it. He likes or he don t like. It s out and out. There s 
 no " tolerably," or " comparatively well," or " so, so," 
 respecting the matter. It s " yes," or " no." And so 
 it should be with everybody. Diamonds are better than 
 rubies, but the greatest of jewels is sincerity ; unly- 
 ing, undeceiving sincerity. Commend me to people 
 who ve got brains enough to know for themselves what 
 they like, and what they don t, and courage enough to 
 say so. 
 
 I tell you, man, I know I like buckwheats, if you 
 must be told. Don t begin your breakfast on em. 
 
132 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Don t spoil em by eating em with your beef steak 
 and fried potatoes, or what not. But wait awhile, and 
 when you re about three-quarters through your break 
 fast, ring Mary in and give her the word. Now then ! 
 Commencing, as it were, de novo, but actually fin 
 ishing, in point of fact, forget what you have pre 
 viously eaten, and surrender yourself to buckwheats. 
 Two at a time, small, thick, spongy, light, hot, with 
 plenty of Vermont butter, and the least bit of syrup 
 or refined molasses, with a fresh cup of coffee, (very 
 much sweetened to atone for the molasses,) attack 
 them in a quiet, serene, gentlemanlike way, and tell 
 your Pat., or your Mrs. Editor, or your Mrs. " smart 
 subscriber," that you ve read all that Charles Lamb 
 says about " roast pig," a hundred times, but it is not 
 to be believed. It s all fancy, madam ! " Roast pig " 
 is nothing, madam, absolutely nothing to buckwheats ! 
 
 If, then, oh Editor, in spite of all previous warnings, 
 you will come and " see " one of our breakfasts, come 
 and criticize our buckwheats, and discuss Rachel. 
 
 We ve seen her once, which is quite enough to 
 satisfy us. 
 
 When I say we ve seen her, I mean Stubs and 
 myself. We went Saturday afternoon, like honest 
 country folks, who can go at no other time. We at 
 tracted considerable attention, doubtless, on account of 
 our costume. Mine, I suppose, looked as you might 
 imagine such a shabby, unpolished person as Trifle 
 would naturally wear, and Stubs about ditto. Why, 
 we got over corn-colored gloves and " genteel " coats 
 some years ago, before we left town even. 
 
 Several young ladies of extremely engaging man- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 133 
 
 ners and pleasant little ways, which can only be ac 
 quired in town, who were probably French, as they 
 talked that exquisitely euphonious tongue exclusively, 
 turned up their "turn up" noses which, mirabile 
 dictu, they all had, excepting one " snub " and another 
 proboscis at my thick boots and Stubs long-waisted 
 coat with short tails, as I thought, but this may have 
 been imagination. I ought to remark, perhaps, that 
 we had had the audacity to purchase seats in the same 
 box with them ; and it is clear that young ladies of 
 " style " and " breeding," who can talk French, are 
 entitled in public to do as they please. What astounds 
 me now, is our assurance in supposing that we had a 
 right to sit in the same theatre, much less the same 
 box. 
 
 I do admire young ladies, particularly in public, 
 they are so winning, so undisguised ; they show so 
 readily what they are ; they have so little reserve, 
 which is but a poor, weak, maidenly thing after all. 
 
 This coterie of lovely creatures, as I said, talked 
 French, which was evidently intended as a " crusher " 
 to us. We were considerably overwhelmed, as you 
 may conceive. We have had but the slim facilities 
 of Cambridge, under Longfellow, in that delicious lan 
 guage; have merely read the best French authors, 
 in a word. 
 
 It is quite true Stubs resided a year in Paris, and I 
 have been an indifferent traveller ; but we don t pre 
 tend to talk French. We consider it quite a feat to 
 speak good English, and indeed we hear very little of 
 that. These fascinating creatures of the feminine gen 
 der, who know French, seldom use good English. 
 Why, I could never tell, and it puzzles Stubs, too. 
 
134 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 The young ladies who sat near us, I have no doubt, 
 were French ; but their language bore little resem 
 blance to the kind one hears in Paris, considered in 
 regard either to its elegance, pronunciation, or even 
 grammar. Still, it was very charming, and I don t 
 know when I have been so much enraptured as 
 tonished I think I may say as I was in listening 
 to it. I had to listen, you see, Because they didn t 
 talk in whispers. I think when Trifle has some 
 daughters, it will be of small consequence whether 
 they learn English or Latin. No, sir; they shall be 
 taught French, and sent to concerts, operas, theatres, 
 and so on. For why should they know it, if they 
 are never to exhibit it, I pray to know. 
 
 One thing I could not help observing. These sweet 
 young ladies astonishingly resembled certain men we 
 know in town. In fact, I could almost swear that I 
 knew their Pas worthy tradesmen in the great city. 
 Possibly I could asseverate that I had seen them in 
 company with their Pas, in the street and elsewhere ; 
 but in this I am probably mistaken. They were in- 
 contestably French. Their excessive politeness and 
 " style " proved that. 
 
 Amid the conversation of these stupendously accom 
 plished creatures, (French is the greatest of achieve 
 ments ! ) we caught, occasionally, a little of Rachel. 
 I wouldn t have you suppose, for a moment, that we 
 caught much. How could we, bewildered thus by 
 beauty and accomplishment, in the closest proximity ; 
 crowded by it, and overwhelmed by it, I might 
 say? 
 
 The play was Adrienne Lecouvreur. We were, 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 135 
 
 in plain English, disappointed. We were constantly 
 waiting for something which did not come. We are 
 told, however, that this play doesn t call into requisition 
 Rachel s distinguishing traits to any extent ; that it 
 is only in the fourth and fifth acts that she indicates 
 her power. 
 
 It is very possible ; but we are satisfied that a capi 
 tal prerequisite to appreciating her is an entire famil 
 iarity with the language. Hence the ecstasy of the 
 French ladies who sat with us. They thought it was 
 " splendid." It seems they could talk a little Eng 
 lish. 
 
 We should wish to see Rachel in a different play 
 before passing our judgment upon her, though we 
 remember how fascinated we were with even Miss 
 Davenport in the translation of the same play 
 from beginning to end. 
 
 Pink was considerably indignant at our being 
 disappointed, and with a sweet serenity remarked 
 that it was what might be expected from two such 
 " old fogies," for we neither of us were judges of 
 good acting. Perhaps not. But we have seen, often, 
 Booth s Lear which we call acting; and his Sir 
 Giles and his lago. But we shall never see any 
 such acting again. We have seen, next, Brooke s 
 Othello, and that we call acting. We have seen 
 Macready again and again, and after Booth and 
 Brooke we call him an actor. His Virginius is by 
 no means despicable, and his Hamlet will quite do. 
 We call the elder Vandenhoff in Coriolanus and Bru 
 tus, too, " some pumpkins." Forrest, indeed, though 
 not to our taste generally, is an actor in his William 
 
136 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Tell and his Richelieu. We will say nothing of 
 such players as Anderson, Charles Kean, and so on. 
 True, we know very little of acting, but we have 
 seen among women, Grisi, Mrs. Charles Kean, Miss 
 Vandenhoff and Miss Cushman, and heard " Mrs. 
 Butler " read. We have also seen Biscaccianti in 
 Lucia, and Miss Davenport and Miss Logan in their 
 respective roles, with once or twice Mrs. Barrow. 
 We might mention Mrs. Barrett, " Miss Dean," and 
 " Mrs, Mowatt," but enough is as good as a feast. 
 We have wasted more time at theatres, and money 
 and patience than we shall again, although it is true, 
 as Pink said, that we know nothing of acting. Our 
 only means of knowing about it has been in witness 
 ing it and studying it to a moderate extent but we 
 are quite done with it. It amounts to very little, after 
 all. What is it compared with oratory, that first of 
 powers, that not only influences men for the time 
 being, but controls them for coming time ; touches 
 their springs of action, and, by a quasi magic, con 
 verts them into whatever the orator wishes to have 
 them. A great orator is the greatest of human im 
 pulses. He indicates, and creates, and impels, and 
 subdues, and conquers. He is likest Divinity, intel 
 lectually. He is a marvel to his kind, and an 
 enigma to himself. He cannot quite understand 
 how he moves the massed. It is from a fusion of 
 two principles incoherent and dissimilar, but still 
 coalescive human sympathy and human weakness, 
 which are more nearly allied than you think. They 
 feel with him so far as he feels as they feel, and yield 
 to him insomuch as he is 3 or as they think he is supe- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 137 
 
 rior to them. Men, in some respects, the masses, 
 i. e. are extremely weak; that is, are impressible, 
 whether they will or no; that is, have no individ 
 uality ; that is, exhaust themselves in a hurrah. 
 
 Speaking of orators, we have been reading the Me 
 moir lately of S. S. Prentiss of Mississippi, the great 
 orator of the Southwest. We thought u Christie John 
 son " was interesting extremely so, deliciously so ; 
 we have been plunging with some curiosity into Amos 
 Lawrence s Diary, &c. We have cut the leaves of 
 " Bayne s Christian Life," which we understand is one 
 of the best books of the age, but we have been intoxi 
 cated, held our breath, wondered, laughed, almost 
 cried over the " Memoir of S. S. Prentiss." 
 
 You have read often, no doubt, Macaulay s descrip 
 tion of the Trial of Warren Hastings, and been be 
 wildered. You have read, probably, March s account 
 of Webster s Speech in reply to Col. Hayne and 
 like a true son of Massachusetts been touched to the 
 quick ; but if you wish your pulses to quiver, and your 
 heart to beat tumultuously, read the" account .of Pren- 
 tiss s first speech in Congress, when he was only 
 twenty-nine years old. The galleries were thronged 
 to overflowing. John Quincy Adams and all the great 
 men of the house drew round his chair, and Webster 
 and Clay and Crittenden and Preston, the four greatest 
 orators of America, marched in from the Senate to 
 hear him. 
 
 With eagerness and avidity (for the book, edited by 
 his brother, indicates that marvellous eloquence was a 
 family trait,) devour the history of his career. See 
 him at thirty, with a national fame as a lawyer and a 
 
138 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 statesman, and as a stump orator, influencing and con 
 trolling at his command the feelings and opinions of 
 thousands and thousands and thousands of his country 
 men. See Webster, and Crittenden, and Clay loving 
 and idolizing him, and the masses of the people abso 
 lutely worshipping him, blocking his path as he trav 
 elled through the country, and pushing him up higher 
 and higher towards the pinnacle of fame, and so on 
 through the whole of the first volume and most of the 
 second. And during all this brilliant career, see him 
 writing the tenderest, and sweetest, and most affection 
 ate letters constantly to his mother and sisters at the 
 North, where he was born and whence he emigrated 
 when a boy, indicating that he was in nowise intoxi 
 cated, or shaken from his balance, but that his nature 
 was still simple, childlike, generous and incorrupt. 
 
 You might suppose my tone and the tone of the 
 book extravagant, and adulatory almost. But it is not. 
 There is ample evidence to substantiate all that is said 
 in regard to him. He was in very truth a great man, 
 one of the greatest men, in a word, that America 
 has produced ; and in character and heart the noblest 
 of the noble. But alas ! he died young, but a little 
 over forty. 
 
 If you can, or your " smart subscriber " can read 
 this second volume through without moist eyes, you 
 are very different from Trifle. 
 
 In many ways his career was marvellous beyond 
 account, beyond imagination almost. One of Nature s 
 noblemen, he loved everybody better than himself, and 
 towards the latter part of his life his fortune slipped 
 through his fingers, and his health, but not his energies 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 139 
 
 faded rapidly away. He would not yield. He died, 
 as it were, " with harness on." He tried an impor 
 tant law-case while he had one foot in the grave, and 
 with Ijis soul full of love to his poor heart-broken 
 wife and children and to his mother and sisters, 
 whose idol he was he passed away from this relent 
 less world. 
 
 Oh, it is a story full of interest and tears. All 
 beautiful tilings fade, all garnered hopes are lost, all 
 delights perish here. 
 
 I never knew Mr. Prentiss, never heard him speak, 
 never saw him. I have been influenced in writing thus 
 about him, simply from reading the book of Memoirs. 
 I call it one of the most intensely interesting books I 
 ever read. 
 
140 TRIFLE-TON PAPERS. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE ARM-CHAIR, > 
 In November. $ 
 
 FROM doubtful satisfaction with Rachel, uncultivated 
 Trifle, you turn to loud praises of Sergeant S. Pren- 
 tiss. Well, perhaps you may be right. But a year 
 ago, before you essayed rural life, would you not have 
 followed the fashionable column into the theatre with 
 plaudits for the great tragedienne ? Now, forsooth, 
 because you have lived six months in the country, and 
 have there taken up your abode for just so long as 
 you shall be contented you assume to be like Stubs 
 and other country folk, and go to the theatre when 
 Rachel is here, with thick boots and unfashionable 
 clothes. How could you expect not to disgust and 
 annoy young ladies of haul ton 1 Is it not a serious 
 offence to thrust yourselves, as you and Stubs did, into 
 such company, in such garb ? How could you expect, 
 when so dressed and entirely devoid of fashionable 
 airs, to appreciate and admire the great French ar 
 tiste ? 
 
 The annoyance of such highly educated and culti 
 vated young ladies, whom in your ignorance you took 
 to be French, it seems was well repaid by the sense of 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 141 
 
 inferiority which they produced in you. If it be any 
 consolation to you, be assured that you and Stubs are 
 not the only persons who have been so impressed by 
 the presence and high breeding of charmingly dressed 
 young ladies, delighted with Rachel. Many sufferers 
 can condole with you. 
 
 But you dismiss Rachel quite too cavalierly. Not 
 withstanding all the draw-backs and disadvantages, 
 notwithstanding the farce played to perfection in the 
 auditorium, you might have seen a little of the tragedy 
 on the stage, and acknowledged something of Rachel s 
 merits as the greatest tragedienne of the age, as the 
 consummate artiste, who can give the most touching 
 and the most terrible expression to passion and all the 
 emotions of the human heart. You might have felt 
 her power, or at least seen her look, her bearing, and 
 her " making up " which the French ladies, and the 
 shallow-pated dandies, even, so warmly applaud. But 
 alas ! for Trifle, he has buried his taste and his 
 fashion in the garden of Trifleton House, to fertilize 
 the soil for his tomatoes. 
 
 You extol oratory as " the first of powers," and the 
 orator as " likest divinity, intellectually." Were it 
 worth while to dispute about the matter, and were we 
 able, as doubtless Stubs is, we might join issue with 
 you on that proposition. But the praises which you 
 chant to oratory, and the enthusiastic encomiums which 
 you bestow upon Prentiss the justice of which we 
 neither admit nor deny come with such fervency, 
 that manifestly you are to be convinced only against 
 your will. We have no desire to make Trifle dissatis 
 fied with himself, but we can t quite agree with him, 
 
142 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 even in the matter of " corn bread " and " buck 
 wheats," nor of oratory. 
 
 What is oratory except a mode of expression ? It 
 is not an intellectual power, but a power derived or 
 resulting from an adaptation of the physical powers 
 to the intellectual. Eloquence is not simply and 
 merely oratory, for the man who has none of the 
 physical gifts of the orator may write words of the 
 most touching and stirring eloquence. Moreover the 
 power of oratory is transitory and limited. It moves, 
 impels, excites, thrills and astonishes those brought 
 directly under its influence ; and this for a time only, 
 for it is soon like a mere echo to those who have lis 
 tened, and its influence diminishes and dies out as the 
 echo recedes. The eloquence of the thought and lan 
 guage, however, may remain, entirely distinct from 
 the oratory. 
 
 If you mean by oratory that comprehensive union of 
 intellect, utterance and action, language, cultivation 
 and grace, you understand something more much 
 more than oratory literally or really is. The utter 
 ance, action and grace together with the power a 
 sort of magnetic telegraph by which these are con 
 nected with and controlled by the intellect, are all 
 that belong peculiarly to the orator; the other and 
 greater powers or gifts are held in common by orator, 
 poet and philosopher. 
 
 The orator s only lasting and real power, therefore, 
 is in that which he possesses in common with other 
 men of genius or talent, the intellect. But the powers 
 of intellect manifested by oratory, all powerful and 
 exciting though they may be on those brought directly 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 143 
 
 under its influence, by the senses of hearing and sight, 
 produce not so lasting or so general impressions as 
 they may when expressed in other modes. The ora 
 tory of Demosthenes is a mere tradition. His elo 
 quence, which, as we have said, is more than oratory, 
 is not felt now. But the tragedies of Sophocles or 
 Euripides are still potent in their influences, exciting 
 the same emotions, nearly, that they did in the minds 
 of the Greeks, astounding by their power, and delight 
 ing by their beauty. So the still more ancient epics 
 of Homer live, and influence, and affect the reader 
 beyond all the oratory or eloquence of Demosthenes, or 
 ^Eschines, or Pericles. 
 
 What orator, in the time of Shakspeare, before or 
 after, has so influenced the minds and feelings of men 
 as the great bard ? has excited such deep emotions, 
 has produced such lasting impressions on the human 
 mind, has so led the heart captive ? or will live so long 
 as a great master over human passions ? Sheridan, a 
 splendid orator, is better known now as a dramatist than* 
 as an orator, though by no means in fact so extraor 
 dinary in his dramas as in his oratory. 
 
 No, the poet in his closet may send forth words 
 more potent and more enduring in their power than 
 the greatest orator. The power of the orator seems 
 greater because it is exerted on numbers simultaneous 
 ly, and the effect of his influence is manifested to a 
 certain extent by a sympathy in his audience, whereby 
 they act upon each other, or by which he intensifies 
 his influence for the time being. The poet, through 
 his written eloquence, touches, arouses, moves, one at 
 a time, separately, a wider circle. Were there any 
 
144 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 other means, besides the voice, of reaching the hearts 
 of men simultaneously, of conveying the same ideas 
 and producing the same emotions at the same time, 
 the power of the great poet would be even more mani 
 fest by the enthusiasm, the excitement, the tears of 
 those brought into the magic circle, than that of the 
 orator. 
 
 Moreover, the powers of the orator are generally 
 addressed to transitory subjects. State policy, politi 
 cal events, topics of temporary or local interest, for 
 the most part, are subjects which call forth the powers 
 of the best orators of any nation or age. Even pul 
 pit oratory, which has the advantage that it may dwell 
 upon the immortal truths of religion, often makes its 
 greatest and most striking displays on subjects of 
 minor consequence, but haply of more exciting pres 
 ent interest. So we may see that, after all, oratory 
 owes not a little of its power and influence to the 
 interest of the subject-matter and the excitement of 
 the auditory. The speeches of Kossuth, for instance, 
 owed their enthusiastic response to sympathy with 
 his cause, felt by the delighted and deeply moved 
 audiences. 
 
 Of Prentiss, whom you so highly perhaps justly 
 extol, we cannot presume to speak. We know 
 how his eloquence thrilled, and moved, and influenced 
 those who were brought under its magic spell, 
 that he was, in truth, an orator gifted in some respects 
 beyond most other men. But is it not true that even 
 his eloquence has died away into a faint echo in the 
 memories of those who heard him ? And now its in 
 fluence on you, is it not as much through the eloquent 
 
TRIFLE-TON PAPERS. 145 
 
 affection of a brother who describes the triumphs of the 
 orator. 
 
 But enough of this. Thank yourself, most provoking 
 Trifle, for thus leading us off into an essay on oratory, 
 which after all is only the result of " kissing the Blar 
 ney stone." Who knows that we, or Trifle or Stubs 
 might not become orators, gifted as we are, had we 
 but the good fortune to salute that wondrous geological 
 specimen. 
 
 You are an admirer of the genius of De Quincey, 
 and have doubtless delighted often over the pages of 
 the Opium Eater. But have you read " Klosterheim," 
 recently republished ? It is said that the author con 
 siders it a juvenile effort, but it was written some ten 
 years after the " Confessions," and in the full maturity 
 of his powers. It is not altogether such a book as one 
 might expect from De Quincey in an extended work 
 of fiction, and belongs to the class of novels now out 
 of date. It is a work of passion, mystery and terror, 
 of secret passages and mysterious assassinations, the 
 whole machinery of which impressed with superstitious 
 awe the minds of the actors in the story, although it is 
 all explained and unravelled in a very natural and rea 
 sonable way. The author delights in the appearance 
 of the supernatural by a mysterious development of 
 the real and actual, and while the reader feels the force 
 of the circumstances which to a superstitious people 
 might seem something more than human and natural, 
 yet he is assured that the line of probability is not 
 overstepped. 
 
 The scene selected for the story is in Germany, 
 and the period during the Thirty Years War ; time 
 10 
 
146 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 and place, you will admit, affording ample opportunity 
 for the novelist, and especially for one disposed to 
 write in this particular vein. The characters are such 
 as would be likely to be thrown upon the stage during 
 the continuance of such a war, men and women 
 who could act in a terrible drama. Some of them are 
 developed with striking personality, but others are 
 like shadows stalking across the scene. The book 
 is written for the most part in the clear, rich and capti 
 vating style of the author, who is called the best mas 
 ter of the English language. It is, indeed, free from 
 some of the defects of most of his narrative writings, 
 and the reader is not often led off into digressions from 
 the story, which, however agreeable in an essay or 
 simple narrative, would be a serious drawback in a 
 novel. It is a story of great dramatic power, and 
 abounds in " scenes " of a striking character. 
 
 " Klosterheim" is not a book to be written at this day; 
 and if now first published by an author of less emi 
 nence than De Quincey, would find readers only 
 among that class who delight in the supernatural and 
 extravagant ; notwithstanding its literary and artistic 
 merits. But it is a book which will be re-read be 
 cause De Quincey wrote it. And so we will place it 
 beside the Opium Eater s other works, that it may 
 complete that varied, and in some respects wonderful 
 collection of writings, and show what he could do 
 rather what he did, in his only attempt at an extended 
 story. Pray you, read " Klosterheim." 
 
 November ! Look you, Trifle, how time goes apace. 
 It is in November, and the year is getting into its 
 dotage, sinking into a lethargy, and waking up only 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 147 
 
 from its long naps to short and cloudy clays. The 
 short days may be an excuse to Umber for the slow 
 progress of Bel Hard s picture. After Rachel s first 
 week it was begun that is, the canvas was put 
 upon the easel, and Bel had a sitting. The Hon. Mr. 
 Weed was there, so it was a chilly, November day, 
 and it was all over for that time. But they met 
 again. 
 
 Yes, it is November, the month of fogs and 
 suicides by the Thames and the Seine thank Hea 
 ven, not very generally, here. Why should the mists 
 that fill the valleys and shroud the hills create fogs 
 in men s brains, and so darken their way that they 
 must needs step over the brink into the ocean of 
 eternity ? Can the philosophic Trifle solve us that ? 
 November in the heart is more dismal than the 
 November of the year. Alas, that there should be a 
 perpetual November in some hearts ! Yet can we 
 wonder that from a perpetual November aching human 
 hearts should sometimes seek relief? Thank God, 
 Trifle, that the dismal fogs hang not about your life 
 and your heart. 
 
 We don t mind November. That is, we don t 
 always " knock under " to it, and feel grouty, and 
 have the blues. We didn t when, some years ago, 
 we scribbled the following lines, and unlike the 
 politicians, we subscribe to the same sentiments 
 still. 
 
 There s pleasure in the rainy night, 
 
 The dark November night, 
 As the drops come pattering on the pane 
 
 "With footsteps quick and light 
 
148 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 And I sit musing quietly 
 
 By my hearthstone warm and bright. 
 
 The leaves are withered, crisp and dead, 
 On the yellow ground they lie, 
 
 The clouds are stooping down to weep 
 Their loss right grievously, 
 
 And the night wind o er the robeless bough 
 Heaveth a mournful sigh. 
 
 But though tis starless gloom without, 
 Tis bright and warm within, 
 
 And my heart is light as if it knew 
 No sorrow, doubt or sin, 
 
 Or as if the watcher, conscience, 
 Could not come peering in. 
 
 A night for fond remembrances ! 
 
 My friends, I greet you here ; 
 I see you sitting by my side, 
 
 Each face well known and dear ; 
 A smile is wreathed round every lip, 
 
 Bedims no eye a tear. 
 
 Our days have lightly flown since last 
 
 We parted years ago ; 
 We ve culled full many a blossom. 
 
 In its beauty s brightest glow, 
 And we ve quaffed from many a fountain 
 
 Where sparkling pleasures flow. 
 
 Then let us all be merry now, 
 
 Though the clouds without do weep, 
 
 And o er the leafless boughs the winds 
 Sigh mournfully and deep, 
 
 Our thoughts are amaranthine leaves, 
 That know not death s cold sleep. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 149 
 
 We ll gather them about us now, 
 
 To tell of days gone by, 
 And twining wreaths we ll bid the hours 
 
 Fly as they erst did fly, 
 While we heed not the sad cloud s tears, 
 
 Nor the sorrowing wind s low sigh. 
 
150 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 TRIFLETON HOUSE, > 
 
 In November. 
 
 PRIG is in town, with his grandma and grandpa, 
 (of whom more anon,) and we are in November. 
 There s no doubt about it. It s the genuine and the 
 veritable there s no mistaking it ; it s the month, of 
 November ; and Tom Hood will tell you all about 
 November, if you don t know already. I ve no doubt 
 the sunshine would seem very pleasant once more. 
 Have you faith to believe it will come ? What do 
 you think now, with this leaden sky this drizzle, 
 fog, mud ? Do you discover any promise in these 
 dingy mornings and starless nights ? If it s a fair 
 question, do you consider it likely the sun will ever 
 shine again ? 
 
 Don t despair, my Editor ! It s dubious enough, but 
 
 " Some days must be dark and dreary." 
 
 We ve had an arrival and a departure. Ellen has 
 come with the best of recommendations ; and Mary 
 has gone with our best wishes for her happiness. 
 It was not an abrupt departure. It was a thing under 
 stood and inevitable. She has no objection to serving 
 at Trifleton House, but she is looking forward to reign- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 151 
 
 ing in her own. She would be queen where Robert is 
 king. 
 
 She was one of Prig s earliest friends, and has been, 
 ever, one of his most faithful. Many a weary night 
 has she watched over him, with Pat., when he has 
 been sick, in times past. When we have had sorrows 
 she has grieved for us and with us ; and when we 
 have had joys she has cordially rejoiced. And you 
 are requested to inform the world through the columns 
 of your valuable paper, that Pat. has promised to at 
 tend her wedding, and that I have serious thoughts of 
 bewildering her with some spoons. 
 
 It s very natural, I m willing to admit, that you 
 should be anxious to hear more about our baby. But 
 then there s no occasion for your so bursting with 
 curiosity in regard to it. You re very deep, very deep 
 indeed, to say nothing upon the subject. But I under 
 stand it. It s a sly game to draw me out, sir, and I 
 would resent it I would foil you at your own wea 
 pons, and be u mum," were it not that " there never 
 was such a baby ! " Quotation marks, you perceive. 
 The words are Pat. s. Unless I m mistaken, she has 
 thus remarked to me more than once. I ve done what 
 I could for you. I have said repeatedly, " Mr. and 
 Mrs. Editor have got a baby as well as we, and they 
 think " there never was such a baby " as theirs. Pat. s 
 exact words have always been in reply if, as a ve 
 racious historian, I must recount facts " Well, Trifle, 
 let them think so. It can do no harm. All I can say 
 is, I know i there never was such a baby as ours." 
 And, in addition to this, she is of the opinion that he 
 is " a lamb." She says, a hundred times a day to him, 
 
152 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " you sweet lamb ; you pet lamb, you ! " She has 
 had no means of knowing whether I concurred in this 
 opinion, and so she asked me a few days since, in 
 rather a sheepish way : 
 
 " Don t you think he s a perfect lamb, Trifle ? " 
 
 " Yes, Pat., I think he is. I m reminded of his lamb 
 like qualities about a dozen times every night, when 
 he cries so sweetly that the idea of one s going to 
 sleep is quite out of the question." 
 
 " Well," said she, with a fling of her head, " I like 
 to see a wide awake boy. " 
 
 " Oh, you do," I observed, astonished at this brilliant 
 remark from Pat., as you may readily conceive. " Has 
 Pink been here to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes, Trifle, and she said, too, that there was noth 
 ing like having " a wide awake boy." 
 
 u Why, how queer ! " 
 
 " So I think ; but I was telling her, you know, that 
 we thought the baby cried, considerably, nights." 
 
 " Oh ! and so she thinks just as you do about it. 
 Well, that s clever." 
 
 I think, my hungry Editor, that you would better 
 come and try the preserves, for who is (or are) to eat 
 them, unless it be the coming generations, I m at a loss 
 to know. Why, sir, Pat. has the morbidest passion 
 for preserving. There s nothing she hasn t preserved, 
 and nothing she won t preserve. She intends to pre 
 serve this correspondence, even. 
 
 I think I informed you in regard to the tomatoes. 
 Well, sir, it was the same with the grapes. The in 
 different bunches Pat. bribed a small boy to pluck for 
 our table ; but upon one vine, in particular, hung high 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 153 
 
 and tempting a peck or two, as I should " reckon," 
 (to use one of Pat. s elegant words,) of as fine, large, 
 handsome grapes as you ever saw. I said to myself, 
 " I will let these ripen well, and then I will send them 
 to the Editor. He and Mrs. Editor will be pleased, 
 and (you perceive my cunning) he will write most 
 gorgeous accounts of them in his paper, and thus the 
 fame of the Trifleton grapes will extend throughout 
 the world. 
 
 Day after day I watched them eagerly, proudly 
 watched them, till, on a certain occasion, I found the 
 vine entirely stripped. It was as naked of grapes as 
 young ladies past twenty-five are of hopes of conquest 
 and marriage. It turned out that the small boy had 
 earned another quarter, and Pat. had been all day en 
 gaged in preserving. 
 
 And so with the quinces. I aimed at drawing a 
 prize at some horticultural fair with them. But they 
 shared the same fate. I was permitted to gaze at them 
 after they were " done." But only for a moment. 
 They are now buried in relentless jars, and hid away 
 in our cellar, to grow hard and mouldy for the coming 
 generations. 
 
 Not only did our fall pears go the same way, but 
 Pat. said they were " too few/ Hence we purchased 
 more in order to have " enough." And we ve got 
 enough, I assure you. 
 
 I m aware that there is a necessity for your paper s 
 going all over the world ; but I think it would be well 
 to withhold the issue which shall contain this letter 
 from the Crimea. I want no Russian army at my 
 doors in search of supplies. It is pleasant for me to 
 
154 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 reflect that posterity will pass judgment on Pat. s pre 
 serves. 
 
 It would be entirely useless to attempt to tell you of 
 the pickles. From minutest cucumbers up, and im 
 mense mangoes down to 1 can t tell what, we 
 
 have " enough " for a host ; and therefore I will let 
 them pass. 
 
 It seems Pink has informed Pat. of a conversation 
 she has recently had with Stubs, which is of such a 
 character that, as a chronicler of important events, I 
 feel bound to communicate it. Pink narrated it to 
 Pat. under the injunction of strict secrecy, which is, 
 doubtless, her reason for having imparted it to me ; 
 for they do say, (or used to, in town,) that a secret 
 burns in a woman s keeping, as much as a shilling 
 burns in a boy s pocket. 
 
 Pink was in the act of reading a letter from Mm. 
 It was an interesting letter, inasmuch as it was an offer 
 of his hand corn-colored gloves and all. It descant 
 ed upon her attractions, and hinted at an establishment 
 in the Fifth Avenue, with an equipage, livery, etc. in 
 the winter, and a cottage at Newport in the summer. 
 It abounded in the common-places of devotion and 
 what not, and wound up with an extract from some 
 unknown poet, which, being interpreted, signified that 
 somebody was very wretched, and would continue to 
 be so unless somebody came to the rescue. In a word, 
 the letter was touching to a degree, except that there 
 was no heart in it, as Pink readily observed. Like a 
 true woman she felt hurt and insulted. Stubs entered 
 the room, and found her flushed and excited. He was 
 himself pale, fidgetty, and evidently off his guard. He 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 155 
 
 didn t perceive that his visit was inopportune. He 
 began, abruptly, as he always does 
 
 " Pink, I am going away from home soon, as you 
 know, and I want to talk with you seriously." 
 
 " You are always talking seriously. What do you 
 wish to say ? Has any thing new occurred ? " 
 
 " No, but I am about to leave you for some time. 
 I am perplexed and anxious. I need your sympathy, 
 affection love." 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 " Upon certain conditions, that is." 
 
 " Such as " 
 
 " That you will meet me with your real nature, and 
 promise me " 
 
 What ? " 
 
 " Nothing if you choose to adopt this tone." 
 
 " You are critical to-day, as, indeed, when are you 
 not ? But I am not bound to please you." 
 
 He was hurt at this remark, but continued, 
 
 " You can please me when you try to." 
 
 " I can please many without trying." (Proudly.) 
 
 " True. Everybody admires you that sees you, 
 but they do not see your faults. I admire everything 
 about you but your faults." 
 
 " Indeed ! You are quick to perceive faults. 
 Have you none of your own ? " 
 
 " Many, but I strive to conquer them. When I fail, 
 nobody deplores it more bitterly than myself. Life is 
 a discipline, and character a struggle. Paul and David 
 were true men, but they accomplished a great victory 
 by conflict with themselves." 
 
 " What is the point of this preaching ? " 
 
156 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " The point is simply this. You know how tenderly 
 I love you when you are yourself. Will you promise 
 me to be yourself to have done with all that is not 
 simple and natural to be, as you are capable of be 
 ing, a true and genuine woman ? For my sake, will 
 you do this ? I have asked you often before. I have 
 told you my views of life again and again. You have 
 conformed to them, and then acted in opposition to 
 them ; made me happy and made me wretched. I 
 believe you love me, and I am ready to devote my 
 whole existence to you : but I must tell you once 
 more, and I hope for the last time, that I love you 
 more for what I think you are capable of being, rather 
 than for what you are now. During Prig s illness you 
 seemed lovely beyond account, and I wore you in my 
 heart of hearts. Why can you not be always thus ? 
 Why persist in causing those who love you best to 
 make your life and your opinions the subject of con 
 tinued criticism ? Why unsay to-day what you said 
 yesterday : appear to-day full of feeling, generosity, 
 and nobleness of nature, and to-morrow giddy, frivo 
 lous, heartless almost ! Why contradict yourself con 
 stantly and forever ? " 
 
 She heard him through. As I have said, she was in 
 no mood to be talked to in such a manner ; and com 
 pletely losing her self-control, she rose from her seat, 
 and, with a flashing eye, said, 
 
 " When I need your instructions, I will ask for 
 them. When you need my sympathy, you can ask 
 fbr it in fit terms. My affection you never had, and 
 never can have. It is already engaged. Your affec 
 tion you can bestow where it will be appreciated ; 
 
TRIFLE-TON PAPERS. 157 
 
 but when you find the woman who attaches the same 
 value to it that your own conceit does, you will find a 
 person whom you are authorized to address in such a 
 manner, and in such language, as you cannot afford to 
 address to me ; " and then swept out of the room. 
 
 Thus it was they parted. 
 
 So she told it to Pat., and so Pat. told it to me. And 
 said Pat., moreover, 
 
 " After she told me, poor girl, she cried as if her 
 heart would break, which I can t quite understand, as, 
 true it is, that immediately after leaving Stubs, (which I 
 forgot to mention before, ) she rushed to her room, and 
 dashed off a letter accepting the offer of the house in 
 the Fifth Avenue and the cottage at Newport." 
 
 I have always supposed before that an engagement 
 was a subject for congratulation and rejoicing not 
 tears. However, I have been directed to say never a 
 word about it to Pink, and therefore I do not. But if a 
 house in the Fifth Avenue, and a cottage at Newport, 
 and a husband with corn-colored gloves be not enough 
 to make a woman happy, for goodness sake what 
 is? 
 
 " I will teach him who I am. I will sweep by him 
 in a carriage such as his whole fortune cannot buy. 
 I m glad his property is involved in a lawsuit. I hope 
 he will lose it all. I detest him, and hate- him-." 
 
 All this she said, as Pat. informs me, and she told 
 her also that Stubs would be humbled to the dust, and 
 she would be elevated herself to the front rank in York 
 society. 
 
 Stubs has left us, and will probably spend most of 
 the winter in Washington City. He left abruptly. 
 
158 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 I have been reading Longfellow s new poem, "The 
 Song of Hiawatha." I read it at one sitting every 
 word of it. But I don t think it will ever be a popular 
 poem, in the ordinary acceptation of that word. It 
 hasn t the scope and completeness of his "Evangeline." 
 It is rather a string of Indian legends, which hang well 
 enough together, but which, several of them, would be 
 quite as good and as perfect by themselves. The story 
 underlying them is well told, but not so skilfully as 
 it might be. The fragments of " Hiawatha s " life are 
 somewhat too detached. In a word it don t travel so 
 continuously from its beginning to its close as it might. 
 Its growth is not steady enough. It jumps by fits and 
 starts. However, this is of small consequence, and a 
 more careful reading might satisfy me that my criti 
 cism would not apply. 
 
 There s a freshness, and gush, and tenderness about 
 this poem that there is in all Longfellow writes. It 
 may not make you wiser to read it, but it will make 
 you better, if you read it through, that is. There s 
 the same story of life that is everywhere apparent in 
 this sad world ; the same toil and struggle, the same 
 sunshine and shade, the same grief and pleasure, the 
 same hope and disappointment, the same death and 
 tears ; beautifully depicted in this Indian tale. 
 
 To be fully appreciated it should be read out in the 
 woods, of a hot summer s day, under the branches of 
 the forest trees, by the banks of gushing streams, and 
 amid the murmuring of brooks and fountains. As you 
 read it in your study, even, you seem to be listening to 
 the sighing of the pine trees, the voice of falling water, 
 and the music of singing birds the " Owaisa," 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 159 
 
 the blue bird, and the " Opechee," the robin and 
 almost fancy you hear the chattering of the squirrel 
 (Adjidaumo), and see the rabbit (Wabasso) leaping and 
 scampering before you. 
 
 The rhythm of the poem is very quaint, musical and 
 sweet. In fact, I think, as Pink once said, " Longfel 
 low is painfully sweet and more than sufficiently ten 
 der. A little of Tennyson s sourness and snappishness 
 would do him good." But he is always chaste, pure 
 and religious. You will never become worse by read 
 ing what he writes, but if you are affected at all, 
 you will be made better. He is not, thank God, 
 of the miserable and detestable school of " Childe 
 Harold " and " Maud." 
 
 I wish I had time and room to say more of this 
 poern, and to make some extracts, but I have not. It 
 seems to me, though, to indicate a thorough study and 
 appreciation of Ossian. In " Chibiabos " (the musi 
 cian), we arc reminded of Ovid s " Orpheus ; " and 
 in the story of " Osseo " and " Oweenee," we have 
 Ovid s exquisite " Philemon and Baucis " in some 
 sense reproduced. 
 
 I shall put this poem where you cannot find "Maud " 
 in my library ; and some of these days, under 
 the Trifleton trees, I shall take my afternoon cigar 
 when the summer comes again and read or rather 
 sing, its gushing and oftentimes plaintive measures to 
 Prig, whose ear is full of music, and whose soul is full 
 of poetry. I can tell by him whether it be simple and 
 natural. I know he will drink in every word of Hia 
 watha s first hunting expedition, will be absorbed in 
 the story of his wedding tour, and stand dumb with 
 
160 TRIFLETON PAPEES. 
 
 grief at the last words of his beautiful bride, " the 
 dying Minnehaha." 
 
 On the whole, I should say the poem is musical and 
 beautiful "nothing shorter" and, of its kind, 
 admirable. But it is not of a high order. There have 
 been three poets in the world, Shakspeare Milton 
 Motherwell." 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 161 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 As Thanksgiving approaches. 
 
 WE are not quite sure, most sapient Trifle, that we 
 shall be able to digest all your remarkable sayings in 
 season for our Thanksgiving dinner. We hardly know 
 which to dispose of first, but the serious and weighty 
 observation that "there have been three poets in the 
 world," has troubled us most, being much like the 
 incubus resulting from a hearty supper. 
 
 But " three poets in the world ! " Shades of Homer 
 and Virgil ! of Dante, Petrarch, and Tasso ! of Chaucer 
 and Spenser ! of Wordsworth and Campbell ! of Shelley, 
 and Keats, and Byron ! is this to be forgiven ! And if 
 you forgive it, will the unnamed poets not few nor 
 nameless will they all forgive a judgment like that ? 
 "Three poets in the world! " Ah, ye living aspirants 
 for a crown on the summit of Parnassus, what shall 
 you do ? Three poets in the world, and Motherwell 
 the third. Oh ! we assent. There have been three 
 poets, Shakspeare, Milton and Motherwell and seve 
 ral others. 
 
 But of the Song of Hiawatha. Pray, are you afraid 
 lest you commend too freely? Some there are who 
 think criticism is fault-finding, and value an opinion on 
 11 
 
162 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 a book only as it dissects it and throws it to the dogs. 
 Was it for such reason that you commend with quali 
 fications in your commendations ? As you go on, you 
 turn the leaves of the poem, and its beauties beam 
 forth so that you forget your allowances, and speak as 
 the heart feels. 
 
 You say it lacks the scope and completeness of 
 Evangeline, which is all true enough, from the very 
 nature of the subject. But because it is " a string of 
 Indian legends," some of which would be as perfect 
 by themselves, does not detract from the merit of the 
 poem as a whole. Its purpose was to collate and ideal 
 ize a series of such legends, and we think that the poet 
 has given us, in truth, a string of gems. It would not 
 have been difficult for him to have told the story of 
 Hiawatha s life more skillfully that is, a more con 
 tinuous, detailed story, which should run on from 
 beginning to end smoothly and connectedly. But it 
 would have been necessary to have supplied from the 
 imagination what is wanting in the legends, so that the 
 story would have lost half its interest and its beauty. 
 It was the poet s purpose simply to give us those old 
 legends of the aborigines, in the language of poetry, 
 which is so well adapted to them. Idealizing as the 
 poet should, adorning with his fancy, adapting lan 
 guage to the thought, but making no new story, it 
 seems to us that Mr. Longfellow has admirably ac 
 complished his purpose, and has given us a poem of 
 rare and peculiar beauty. Not without its faults is it ; 
 but when we have a feast of good things let us not 
 single out some spice, or sauce, or mode of dressing, 
 which does not exactly suit our taste ; let us rather 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 163 
 
 delight in and be thankful for so much that is pleasant 
 to us. 
 
 Now is not the whole of Hiawatha s childhood beau 
 tiful ? Well may you read it to Prig, for if he is what 
 you say he is, and parents are never deceived, you 
 know, he will tell you how the rhythm, and the choice 
 and quaint yet simple language, convey to him the 
 story of the wondrous boy of the Indian legend. He 
 will feel the spirit of the time and place the wilder 
 ness in the age of the hunter as he hears how sang 
 the Owaissa and the Opechee, " Hiawatha s chickens," 
 and how gamboled the squirrel, rabbit, beaver and 
 deer, u Hiawatha s brothers." 
 
 Still more beautiful is " Hiawatha s wooing," wherein 
 he seeks 
 
 " Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
 Loveliest of Dacotah women." 
 
 And having wooed as the red man wooed, and won the 
 ancient arrow-maker s daughter, how 
 
 " Pleasant was the journey homeward 
 Through interminable forests," 
 
 where everything in nature seemed to smile upon and 
 bless them. 
 
 The story of Mondamin the origin of maize 
 has been told in verse by Bayard Taylor, but not in a 
 style so adapted to the legend, or so beautiful as this 
 by Longfellow. It is one of the most pleasing of 
 Indian legends, and loses none of its grace in these 
 lines. 
 
 One of the most touching portions of the poem is 
 
164 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " The Famine," in which there is a sound of forebod 
 ing, of sadness, of sorrowful tenderness even in the 
 music of the words. We see Hiawatha, heavy-hearted, 
 in the desolate forest seeking hopelessly for food for 
 Minnehaha, and we hear the echoes answering his cry 
 of agony, " Minnehaha, Minnehaha ! " And in the 
 desolate wigwam we almost feel the presence of the 
 weird shadows, that in his absence had crossed the 
 darkened threshold, sitting by the dying Minnehaha. 
 Solemn and sad and low come to us her words, as 
 she passes away 
 
 " To the Islands of the Blessed, 
 To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
 To the Land of the Hereafter." 
 
 Doubtless, to enjoy this song of Hiawatha, you must 
 yield yourself to the spirit of the legend, and suffer 
 the poet, using the quaint language which the theme 
 suggests to him, to carry you far back into the shadowy 
 Past. Critics who sit themselves down in the present, 
 who measure lines and weigh words by modern stan 
 dard weights and measures, can no more appreciate 
 the real beauties of Hiawatha, than they could were 
 it chanted in the language of the Dacotahs. It was 
 not written for such, and the music, the spirit, the 
 thought of the song are wasted on them. 
 
 It is all very well for you, vainglorious Trifle, to 
 talk about that baby, now that your garden at Trifleton 
 House is desolate, and you have no more tomatoes to 
 praise. But after all, your thoughts seem to dwell as 
 much with those jars of preserves, hid away in the 
 recesses of your cellar beside those silver-tops, doubt- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 165 
 
 less as with the little Trifle that disturbs your slum 
 bers. And your praises of this young scion on your 
 family tree, why, they are absolutely nothing to those 
 which neighbor Timmins s wife bestows on her child, 
 the very homeliest of plain babies, who was offered for 
 a prize at the baby show. We are not to be scared by 
 such glorification but it is quite pardonable in you to 
 think we should be. No, sir we don t believe all 
 you say. 
 
 Pickles, preserves and babies ! Well, Trifle, we 
 should think you might be prepared for Thanksgiv 
 ing. Thanksgiving, the Pilgrim " institution," the fes 
 tival of the fireside, around which cluster so many 
 hopes and joys in the tmfashionable world of New 
 England, is coming. The trees are leafless, the 
 gardens are desolate, the snowflakes, avant-couriers 
 of old winter, are falling lightly on the dry leaves. 
 The out-door pleasures of summer and early autumn 
 are gone, but around the hearth-stone there are new 
 and more genial pleasures, bright, warm, lasting. The 
 harvests are gathered, and are plentiful, notwithstand 
 ing high prices deny it ; peace is here albeit the 
 London Times attempted to break it ; pestilential airs 
 have not blown hitherwards. For all which, and for 
 the blessings innumerable that have fallen like gentle 
 showers, let there be thanksgivings, thanksgivings in 
 the highways and by-ways, in unbroken circles from 
 rich to poor. Even in the desolate chamber of pinched 
 poverty, let there be thanksgiving, O, thou fortunate 
 neighbor of the suffering ! that there may be truer 
 thanksgiving around thine own hearth. And more 
 than all, let there be thanksgiving in the heart, for 
 
166 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 bounties an3 blessings, for mercies and joys, 
 thanksgiving that shall crown the past, garland the 
 passing hours, and bring serenest slumbers to the 
 pillow. Such be Thanksgiving at Trifleton House. 
 
 If your expect us you and the inquisitive Mrs. 
 Trifle to " tell all about " the Hards, you must 
 send us a supply of stationery. In the meantime 
 we have only an item or two to mention. And in 
 the first place, Abel Hard has, at last, ended his search. 
 Umber has received a letter from him in which he 
 relates how, by chance, he found that those whom he 
 sought, Lily and her father, had left the land of the 
 prairie to dwell on English soil. Republican airs did 
 not suit the old, but broken down and disheartened 
 aristocrat, so well as the more accustomed fogs of 
 monarchy ; so they had gone to Canada West, and on 
 the borders of Lake Erie they had found a home, 
 where he hoped to hide riot to forget his sor 
 rows, and she hoped nothing, save to devote herself 
 to the comfort of the parent whom she followed from 
 friends and luxuries and joys, to the hardships of the 
 wilderness. Thus Hard writes : 
 
 " I have found her, the dream of years, at last. You 
 remember her beauty at Florence, that beauty beam 
 ing with the light of a pure soul, which entered my 
 heart and dwelt there ever after ; it still is hers, only 
 it is moro spiritual now, and softened by sadness. 
 That musical voice you heard it once which 
 charmed rny ear in Italy, with all its well remem 
 bered sweetness, but with a tone more touching for 
 the sorrows she has known, greeted me welcomed 
 me to her humble home on the shores of Erie. Wei- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 167 
 
 corned me ; tones utter more than words, and there 
 was something it might be gratitude which gave 
 a tenderness to her salutation. 
 
 "Not to have forgotten me was something, but 
 to remember with emotion was more than I had dared 
 to hope. Nay, more than this have I learned, even in 
 so brief an intercourse. My love for her had been to 
 me so old a thing that I forgot twas new to her, and 
 abrubtly hinted it confessed explained I know 
 not what. Was it altogether gratitude that received 
 the story with such gentleness and maiden modesty 
 such looks, such tears ? On a beautiful spot, overlook 
 ing the blue waters of Lake Erie, hope beamed upon 
 a love born on the banks of the Arno. But alas ! 
 clouds are even here, and disappointment may tread 
 roughly on the heels of hope. Her father s will 
 more imperious under his misfortunes is uncertain. 
 The hold which her delicate health, under new scenes 
 and hardships, has upon life, is yet more uncer 
 tain." 
 
 Thus much we read of Abel Hard s letter in Um 
 ber s Studio. On the easel before us was a portrait, 
 not yet finished, but beautiful. It was the face of 
 Eel Hard not clouded with a look of languor or 
 of discontent or of sorrow, nor cold with the heart- 
 lessness of fashion but her beautiful features lit up 
 with the light of youthful happiness, the expression 
 of her girlhood, long since departed. In short, it 
 was her face idealized by the memory of Umber, 
 to whom her girlhood is an ever present thought? 
 and who had painted her as she was, or as she 
 might have been. Urnber was slowly and thought- 
 
168 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 fully putting a few touches to the picture. He was 
 silent and sad, and as he was manifestly in no mood 
 for conversation, we involuntarily passed off into a 
 reverie on the picture before us. From this we were 
 suddenly startled by the entrance of Madame Hard, 
 Bel, and the Hon. Mr. Weed. What followed we 
 may tell another time. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 169 
 
 XIX. 
 
 IN TOWN, 
 
 Thanksgiving week. 
 
 " BAG and baggage, Trifle and Pat., and baby and 
 Kate, with all but Ellen, who is indigenous to the 
 Trifleton House whereabouts, and hates to leave (and 
 whom we have therefore left in charge of the Trifleton 
 forks and spoons), we have come up to town for the 
 Thanksgiving Jubilee. Prig has been here these two 
 weeks, and has become quite " city-fied." I am getting 
 on, myself. ! have already visited " the club," and 
 played a few match games of billiards by way of re 
 calling old times, and because we " country folks " 
 have a very natural desire to " look around a little," 
 when we visit the great city. I was warmly welcomed 
 with " Trifle, how are you?" and " Why, bless me, 
 Trifle, what a stranger ! " and " Glad to see you back 
 my boy ! " dec., dec., dz;c. 
 
 I was immediately pressed into a match with three 
 of the best players in the club, and there was a most 
 piquant curiosity to see how I would play. You re 
 member, probably, that I used to play what was con 
 sidered rather a " strong game," and asked no points 
 from anybody. 
 
 As I seized my cue, I confess I shared somewhat 
 
170 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 the anxiety of my partner, who paid me the com 
 pliment of demanding odds from our opponents, on 
 the ground of my being " out of play," which I 
 refused in the most dignified manner. However, the 
 first time my hand was in, I made a run of thirty-one, 
 " round the table " and " without scratching." I should 
 have made more if the balls hadn t " kissed," (what 
 nuisances these kisses are), and my partner began to 
 feel easier. I will " only add," as the young ladies 
 say in their postscript, that the side Trifle was on beat 
 " the rubber." 
 
 On going home, I informed Pat. of this instance of 
 tremendous dissipation, and expected a huge " curtain 
 lecture," but was let off without one. As a compensa 
 tion, I am to take her and Prig to the Museum some 
 Saturday P. M., to witness one of those " Spectacles " 
 Kimbal! is constantly getting up for such simple and 
 untutored " country folks " as we are. Mr. Kimball is 
 a very kind man. 
 
 1 received this morning the following missive : 
 
 " RESPECTED SIR, 
 
 Having been apprized of your arrival in Boston, we are de 
 sirous of extending to you the freedom of the city. We would, 
 therefore, take the liberty to ask you, at your earliest conven 
 ience, to indicate to us the hour and place most acceptable to you 
 for meeting your fellow-citizens. 
 
 Most obsequiously yours, 
 
 SEVERAL WIRE PULLERS, AND 
 
 SOLID MEN OF BOSTON." 
 
 In the absence of Stubs, I asked Pat. what this 
 
 meant. She said, " Why, that s the way they always 
 
 do, when distinguished men travel. The wire pullers 
 
TR1FLETON PAPERS. 171 
 
 and the noodles invite them to public dinners, &c., for 
 the sake of extorting a letter out of them, and glorify 
 ing themselves. So Mr. Clay used to tell us, long 
 before I knew you. You must write a letter declining 
 the invitation, which will indicate, you know, that, 
 though possibly you may be half crazy about it, you 
 consider it a small matter for a person of your con 
 sideration. Make it as pompous and ridiculous as 
 possible, or it will not be apropos and in keeping 
 with what the great men usually do in such cir 
 cumstances. 
 
 The fact is, Mr. Editor, Pat. lived in the atmosphere 
 of Washington too long, and saw too many " great 
 men," not to find them out. Hence her sharpness 
 upon them, I suppose. 
 
 With her assistance, I drafted the following letter, 
 which I am about to despatch at once : 
 
 " SOLID MEN OP BOSTON : 
 
 GENTLEMKN : Impressed as I am with the conviction that you 
 are solid as solid can be, from head to foot, (if I may use the 
 expression,) I hasten to reply to your favor, offering to me the 
 freedom of your city. I remember how cordially you threw 
 open the doors of Faneuil Hall to the late lamented statesman of 
 the North, on a certain occasion ; and how unwilling you were 
 men, women and children to take any notice of to look 
 at, even the distinguished Mr. Charles Dickens, on his ar 
 rival in your midst, so that he was obliged to write a book in 
 order to depict your extreme reserve. 
 
 These capital instances, with many others I might mention, 
 show you to be a people capable of great self-respect, simple in 
 your tastes, not likely to run after foreigners, and disposed to 
 appreciate the men in your midst. 
 
 The freedom of a city like yours, I need not tell you, I regard 
 
172 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 as invaluable ; but I regret to say that I shall not have time to 
 attend to the receiving it from your hands. 
 
 Pat. wishes me to suggest, that public honors are, doubtless, 
 far preferable to domestic quiet and enjoyment, or you would 
 not have extended to me this unmerited invitation, and that we 
 shall, therefore, try to fitly appreciate your invitation and 
 yourselves. 
 
 I remain, Gentlemen, 
 
 With the most distinguished consideration, 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 TRIFLE, of Trifleton House." 
 
 In order that you may know how we, distinguished 
 men, do these things, I will inform you that I wrote 
 the above, and asked and accepted Pat s criticism upon 
 my draft. She said she thought it was silly enough, 
 and therefore would do. That she didn t imbue it 
 with her own cleverness, to some extent, I will not 
 attempt to maintain. 
 
 There s nothing like consulting your wife. I have 
 the best authority for knowing that the lamented Chan 
 cellor Kent got puzzled in deciding his first equity 
 cause, and went home and asked u ma am " what she 
 thought, and decided as she said was right. If she was 
 as " smart " as Pat., she was a good wife. Most of my 
 consequence I owe to Pat. 
 
 We have had invitations to several parties, but 
 intend to decline them all. We are told that it is 
 considered indispensable, now, for the men at parties 
 to walk on their toes, and " wriggle " about in the 
 most absurd manner, and for the women to " b wad- 
 dle " in huge hoops, which, even if Pat. approved 
 them, I should be tempted, almost, to flatly inter 
 dict. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 173 
 
 Are you informed whether or not there is a degree 
 of absurdity which women are incapable of approach 
 ing, in matters of dress? This is no inquiry of mine, 
 but of a cynical old bachelor I was talking with yes 
 terday. With huge profanity, he said " these hoops 
 look like the d 1 ! " Are you not shocked ? 
 
 But, chiefly and mostly, rny present duty is to speak 
 of our having come " home " for Thanksgiving. 
 
 This is a great gathering with us, for the Trifles 
 are as distinguished for their numbers as for other 
 things, and we all come " home " and dine with 
 " father and mother " on Thanksgiving day. 
 The boys and the girls, (for such we are still to each 
 other, though several of us are past forty,) with their 
 Prigs, babies and servants, all come home and live 
 the past over again on that festive occasion. For 
 many years, we met with unbroken ranks, and num 
 bers constantly increasing. But in this sad world 
 there must be deaths as well as births, and if you 
 
 walk down Avenue, in Mount Auburn, you will 
 
 find where "Stella" is buried. She was the first to 
 leave us, and our hearts are now more in Heaven, 
 for did not the Master affirm " where your treasures 
 are, there will your hearts be also," and she is now 
 there, as we trust. Our youngest brother, too, is 
 away in a land beyond the seas. Our prayers are 
 with him, and we know his are with us. We shall 
 miss his pleasant face at the table, to-morrow, and 
 listen to his cheerful laugh in fancy only. May God 
 bless him, and after a brief season, bring him home in 
 safety to our midst ! 
 
 Stella s children will be with us. They love no- 
 
174 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 body better than " grandma " and l Aunt Louise," 
 which is scarcely saying much, for I never saw any 
 body who didn t love them. The heart of the latter 
 has been the repository of all her brother s secrets, 
 anxieties and yearnings for years, (she is capable of 
 keeping a secret, in spite of her sex,) and the heart of 
 the former is large enough to comprehend a host. In 
 fact, " mother" is a wonderful peacemaker and union 
 preserver. She has managed to keep us all united in 
 affection and interest thus far in life, and the Union of 
 these States would never be in danger if she were in 
 the President s Cabinet. Her mission is, indeed, a no 
 ble one, but, as diplomatists shine best when treating 
 the most difficult and hazardous questions, so is she 
 most herself when family cares and perplexities thicken. 
 When she has nothing to trouble her, she appears to 
 be least happy. 
 
 If you wish to be informed in regard to my father, 
 you must ask. Prig. He knows him best. I find noth 
 ing in my daily walks, more grateful to me, (and to 
 Pat., too, for that matter,) than the affection subsisting 
 between Prig and his u Grandpa." 
 
 There are some pleasant features in this life, af 
 ter all. I like to see them " take a walk " together. 
 After tea, the Journal and Transcript having been 
 despatched, advertisements and all, my father takes a 
 couple of canes from the entry, and handing one to 
 Prig says, " Come, Prig, let s walk down about as far 
 as the " Old South," or " the Insurance Office," or 
 " Mr. Pardy s ! " 
 
 Prig s fancy is addressed, and off they start. They 
 talk a little at first, but, after a while, they grow silent, 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 175 
 
 and my father becomes abstracted and lost. I under 
 stand it all. His early associations come back, as he 
 passes, in imagination*, this spot and that. The shadows 
 of the past hover about him, and the companions of 
 his boyhood and early manhood they who have 
 one after another gone before him, seem to surround 
 him, and accompany him. But soon he clasps, in 
 voluntarily, the hand of my boy more tightly, and as I 
 look at him with a carefully guarded scrutiny, which 
 he don t observe, I can see that his eyes are swimming, 
 and he is thinking within himself, as Charles Lamb so 
 exquisitely says, 
 
 " All, all are gone, the old familiar faces." 
 
 And then, some remark of Prig s, such as, for in 
 stance, " Why, Grandpa, you hurt my hand so ! " puts 
 an end to his reflections and the walk. 
 
 And yet he is a cheerful man. All the young girls 
 like him, "he is," they say "so funny." When 
 we are all together at our family gatherings, he finds 
 it difficult to keep quite cool. He rubs his left elbow 
 with his right hand which we all know is a sure 
 sign of his feeling very happy, informs us usually 
 which way the wind is, and if any one happens to 
 ring the door bell, we expect instantly (and we are 
 seldom disappointed) to hear him cry, " Come in ! " 
 notwithstanding two or three servants are rushing 
 precipitately to the door. My mother, on such occa 
 sions, gently seizes him by the arm and says, "Don t 
 alarm the neighbors ; " at which he replies very vigor 
 ously, " Who cares for the neighbors ? It s a free 
 country." 
 
 One thing we can truly say. He is, has always 
 
176 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 been, a conscientious, sincere and single-hearted man, 
 and with some eccentricities of character, the kind 
 est and best of fathers. Our prayer is, that he may 
 live to see and rejoice in the successes and respect 
 ability of his children. All his best thoughts are ab 
 sorbed in them, just as all his life has been devoted to 
 them. 
 
 We look forward to a happy Thanksgiving. Com 
 mend me to Mrs. Editor, and tell her I shall think of 
 you all on that day. 
 
 Item. Before we left Trifleton House, as Pat. 
 tells me, Pink informed her that he was expected at 
 her father s house, to spend Thanksgiving and make a 
 visit, and she was full of regret that Pat. couldn t stay 
 and help entertain him. Entertain him, indeed ! If 
 Pink, with all her powers of fascinating, finds it diffi 
 cult to entertain him before they marry, how will it be 
 after ? 
 
 N. B. Just as I was folding this letter, the follow 
 ing telegraphic despatch came from Stubs : 
 
 BALTIMORE, Nov. 28th, 55. 
 
 Please -provide fat Thanksgiving turkey for Goody Green, 
 to-day, without fail. " 
 
 This is the poor old woman of whom I wrote you 
 in the early part of this correspondence, who said 
 Stubs was " as good as a minister," you recollect, 
 and also that he was " too good for her," referring to 
 Pink. 
 
 Privately, though, which please don t mention, 
 there was no occasion for the despatch, for I ordered 
 the turkey myself before I left for Boston, for I sup 
 posed Stubs might have forgotten it in the hurry of his 
 departure. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 177 
 
 Said Bol to me (Stubs man) " Pm afraid he is 
 troubled in his mind, sir. He seemed very sad when 
 he left, and as he shook hands with me and said, 
 1 Good-bye, Bob ; God bless you ! which were jest 
 (just) his words, sir, I could hardly help crying. He s 
 always been very kind to me, sir, and I shall be glad 
 when his troubles is (are) over." 
 
 12 
 
178 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, > 
 In Winter. $ 
 
 How many lucky stars were in the ascendant when 
 you were born, Trifle ? We verily believe that the 
 stars didn t shine at that important epoch of our life. 
 Or if they did, they must have been far down towards 
 the western horizon, so that they couldn t see us. We 
 must write from the arm-chair still. We can t " pack 
 up our duds " and be off, like you, bag, baggage 
 and babies, to town or anywhere else. If we stroll 
 away for half a day, the passing hours bring us back 
 again to the arm-chair, by the window under the cher 
 ry tree. The cherry tree is disrobed now, and is like 
 any other tree. We can only see its old gray limbs, 
 which stand out stiff and stark against the cold sky, 
 defying the storms and the howling winds. Under 
 neath we look out upon cheerless fields, which but a 
 short time since were " with verdure clad." But it is 
 the same window and the same arm-chair, where we 
 write. Possibly we may go to see the double murder 
 of Duncan and Macbeth, or to delight in the wondrous 
 powers of Lagrange and the rich tones of Didiee, but 
 before the long chimes of the night have sounded, here 
 we are back again ; the chair extends its arms to embrace 
 us, and the shadows on the wall tremble a welcome. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. J 79 
 
 As for the Hegira from Trifleton House, why don t 
 you " own up " to its real cause ? You talk about 
 going to town for the " Thanksgiving Jubilee," 
 which may be accepted by the verdant and such as 
 don t know you ; but we put no faith in such a story, 
 it is all sham. " Go to town to " spend Thanksgiv 
 ing ! " Why, sir, everybody who goes to spend 
 Thanksgiving, goes into the country. The truth is, 
 your departure from Trifleton House was a cowardly 
 retreat, notwithstanding, like GortschakofT or Menschi- 
 koff, you call it something else. You looked out from 
 the windows and saw blue devils call them goblins 
 or spirits, if you choose playing about your garden, 
 dancing over the frozen clods or the dead plants, and 
 scowling and mocking at you from the grim old trees. 
 You heard them howl and laugh as the blast came off 
 the sea. You shuddered and were vanquished. You 
 packed up and hurried away to the railroad station. You 
 besought the engineer to put on all steam, and hardly 
 ventured to look from the car-window, lest some goblin 
 might have tracked you, and be sitting there, grinning 
 horribly, even at your elbow. You did not feel safe 
 till you found yourself rattling over the pavement of 
 the great city, where noise and gas-light might affright 
 even the bluest goblin of them all. Then you began 
 to be relieved, to talk, to laugh even, and to glorify the 
 comforts of town. Thanksgiving ! doubtless you 
 were thankful at your escape, but the "jubilee" 
 was only a very convenient cover for your inglorious 
 retreat. 
 
 You needn t deny it, and in truth you have shown 
 more pluck than many city folk. We have neighbors, 
 
180 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 for three months in the year who leave the city 
 when all the beauties of spring are past, and who think 
 of returning when the swallows disappear, (which is 
 about the twenty-fifth of August, mark you, Trifle ) 
 and are not to be caught out of town, when the first 
 ripened leaf falls. You have done better than they, 
 and kept the enemy at bay until winter brought up the 
 reserve ; then you fled. But do not despair ; a cam 
 paign or two will strengthen you, and in time you will 
 conquer. 
 
 But behold the rural Trifle in town again ! We said 
 something about habits once, and you took offence at 
 our allusion to your old coat. But as easily as the old 
 coat the city habits are slipped on, it seems, and sit as 
 comfortably. The first thing you do is to go to the 
 club and play billards, asking no odds of anybody and 
 bragging of the game you play. The game at bil 
 liards finished, you sit down to other " game," doubtless, 
 and your old fondness for discussing " canvas-backs," 
 " grouse " and " venison," with the " fixins," returned 
 undirninished. Since you are so fond of game, why 
 didn t you " die game," before quitting Trifleton 
 House ? For your dissipation you were conscious of 
 deserving a " curtain lecture," but the innocent and 
 amiable Mrs. Trifle has evidently relied too much upon 
 the good influences of Trifleton garden, and couldn t 
 imagine that Trifle would so far " forget himself, " as 
 to return to that " vile club" and to his old game, 
 at the very first opportunity. 
 
 We cannot but admire the self denial with which you 
 decline the honors tendered to you by the " wire pul 
 lers " and " solid men " of Boston. We have no 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 181 
 
 doubt that the offer was really as delightful to you as 
 the incense of poor pigmy mortals might be to some 
 snuffing Olympian divinity, and we can only wonder 
 that your conceit permitted you to decline so distin 
 guished and urgent and unusual an invitation. Dinners 
 and presentations and testimonials were wont, a long 
 time ago, to be quite common, and the honor was of no 
 account ; but now they are of very rare occurrence and 
 are only u extended " to the most distinguished men of 
 the day, such as the very greatest defaulters, pugilists 
 and other operators, or, now and then, to a famous 
 policeman famous on the principle of " setting a 
 rogue to catch a rogue," and sometimes to some 
 plucky runner with the " machine." As such honors are 
 bestowed only upon the most distinguished characters 
 of this sort, they are so much the more to be prized. 
 While, therefore, we commend the unexpected modesty 
 which has seemed to govern your conduct in this mat 
 ter, we are all the more surprised that it should have 
 triumphed over your conceit when so severely tempted. 
 However, as you say, you have a good wife, and owe 
 much besides your " consequence " to her. 
 
 There are several matters to which you seem to 
 invite attention, but they are subjects such as engross 
 the thoughts of city folk only, and we shall not enter 
 into any such barren fields, notwithstanding you so in 
 vitingly " leave down the bars." As for the inquiry 
 of your cynical old bachelor, " whether or not there is 
 a degree of absurdity which women are incapable of 
 approaching, in matters of dress," if the amiable 
 and sagacious Mrs. Trifle can t answer it, we refer you 
 to the first long-skirted dandy that you meet, one of 
 
182 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 those individuals who seem so anxious to assume 
 petticoats. 
 
 We were telling you how Madame Hard, and Bel, 
 and the Hon. Mr. Weed came into Umber s studio, to 
 inspect the picture. As he heard their step, Umber re 
 tired behind a curtain into a little room adjoining the 
 studio, and we were left alone to welcome the visitors, 
 which was done after the city fashion that we acquired 
 from you, that is, as well as we could attempt so 
 stupendous a lesson. The formalities being over, they 
 turned towards the easel. Madame first spoke. 
 
 " Ah, here is Bel. But really, I should scarcely 
 recognize my daughter. It has a resemblance, the 
 features are like, but it lacks expression." (Ah ! 
 Madame, there is a most expressive smile on that 
 face.) "It does not show the maturity and bearing of 
 Bell ; it is too like a school girl." 
 
 The Hon. Mr. Weed looked at the picture with a 
 face expressive of a prolonged " Humph ! " Then he 
 glanced at Bel, who was flushed, and bit her lip. He 
 thought she was indignant, so he uttered his criticism. 
 
 " It is not at all like the original. It wants the air of 
 a high-bred lady." (Of course it does, for the heart 
 a good one too is in the face, and high-bred ladies 
 never reveal that.) " It lacks character, too. It is 
 quite unfortunate that this young artist does not suc 
 ceed better." 
 
 And the Hon. Mr. Weed s face resumed its half 
 contemptuous look, as he and Madame both turned to 
 Bel to inquire her opinion. While Bel had been look 
 ing at the picture she had been struggling with some 
 emotions which had caused, as we observed, her face 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 183 
 
 to flush and grow pale. But she responded quickly 
 and somewhat bitterly to the inquiring looks 
 
 " No, it is not like me, or I know not my own fea 
 tures and expression." 
 
 Just then Umber returned and courteously saluting 
 his visitors, gave them no time to speak of the picture 
 or to apologize for the criticisms. 
 
 " Pardon me for leaving this ideal head upon the 
 easel. We sometimes, for a study, attempt to give to 
 portraits which we paint, especially beautiful faces, 
 an expression entirely different from, and sometimes 
 in strong contrast with that of the original, showing 
 the force of character and feeling in changing the self 
 same features. This is Miss Hard s portrait." 
 
 And he placed another canvas beside the condemned 
 picture. He spoke pleasantly and quietly, as he usually 
 does, but with just a slight tone which might reach 
 accustomed ears. Here was the portrait of Bel Hard, 
 indeed, and so it was greeted by Madame Hard and 
 and the Hon. Mr. Weed. 
 
 " Excellent, Bel herself !" 
 
 " An admirable likeness." 
 
 " The features are very correct, and the expression 
 life-like." 
 
 " The bearing and air of the original. A charming 
 picture ! " 
 
 Bel was silent. Her eye turned from one picture to 
 the other, and she evidently contrasted the two. The 
 new picture was perfect in its portrayal of features, 
 and they wore the proud, cold expression which she 
 wears, with a slight shadow of discontent or unhappi- 
 ness. In this last respect the artist has flattered her, 
 
184 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 for the shadow on her face is deeper than in the por 
 trait, deeper than it was under the summer foliage. 
 To her the words of Umber were full of a meaning 
 which did not reach the apprehension of the others ; 
 and she must have been pondering them or the con 
 trast between the two pictures, else why did she start 
 so when Madame asked her what she thought of the 
 portrait ? 
 
 "It must be good, since you and Mr. Weed find it 
 so excellent. The artist best knows whether he has 
 done justice to his subject. But if the picture is satis- 
 factory to the one who ordered it 1 am content." 
 
 There was a peculiar tone to her voice, as if she 
 intended something more than her words. Possibly 
 Umber noticed it, but the Hon. Mr. Weed evidently 
 did not, judging from his words 
 
 " It gives me great pleasure to commend the artist s 
 fidelity, and my admiration for the picture is only sec 
 ond to that for the original." 
 
 Bel bowed coldly to this formal compliment, and 
 Umber deigned no notice of his share of it. It was 
 rather awkward for us to witness the embarrassment 
 of the parties in the silence which followed. But it 
 was soon relieved by the Hon. Mr. Weed condescend 
 ing to request Umber to finish the portrait, which being 
 done in due form, as we suppose, the visitors departed. 
 They had been gone but a moment, however, when 
 the door opened again and Bel Hard reappeared, 
 somewhat impetuously. There was a flush of anger 
 in her face, but there was the softness of tears in her 
 eyes. But perhaps it was not anger. She spoke in 
 a suppressed but passionate tone to Umber who met 
 her. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 185 
 
 " Why have you done this ? " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " These pictures have you not painted them to 
 make me hateful to myself r to show to all beholders 
 the contrast that was your word between me as I 
 am, cold hearted and miserable, for such you make 
 me, and what I should be if you could form my 
 character, and display it in my face ? " 
 
 " Have I not painted your portrait to meet the ap 
 probation of those who see you oftenest ? " 
 
 " And know me least, you have." 
 
 " That portrait was for their eyes." 
 
 " And the other was to show the virtues and graces 
 which I have not." 
 
 u No. It was a study of memory and hope, in 
 tended some time, perhaps, for your own eye, but 
 chiefly for my " 
 
 " Amusement ! But why then was it displayed 
 here ? " 
 
 " Not by my desire. You surprised it, and your 
 friends summarily condemned it. It had no meaning 
 except to your eye, and since to you alone it pos 
 sessed meaning, I can scarcely regret that it was left 
 there to produce impressions." 
 
 " And read me a lesson on my deficiencies ! That is 
 a new province for your art, and an assumption on 
 your part of duties which belong to you by no right *or 
 privilege. You do no good in your attempt. You 
 simply make me miserable. If that be a pleasure to 
 you, you are richly rewarded." 
 
 " Bel ! " 
 
 But she was gone. 
 
186 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 STILL IN TOWN, ) 
 
 About the time of the Winter Solstice. } 
 
 YES, the Winter of 1855 has come. It absolutely 
 startled me to see the heading of your last letter 
 "In Winter;" but Time lapses, whether you. and I 
 are conscious of it or not. Since this correspondence 
 commenced, the Summer and the Autumn of 55 have 
 passed over our heads, and, as you say, we have cross 
 ed the threshold of Winter. When we were boys, a 
 half a year seemed like an Eternity almost. What is 
 it now ? Immersed as we are in the anxieties and 
 small frettings of life, the seasons pass by us, and 
 
 " overcome us like a Summer s cloud, 
 
 Without our special wonder." 
 
 We grow older, but do we grow better more gen 
 erous, simple, truthful, self-denying? That single 
 word " self-denial " chiefly describes life. Do you, 
 then, live, my Editor? Do you brace up against diffi 
 culties, and carry a vigorous heart against the world, 
 saying, ** Confessedly, oh world, you bear pretty hard. 
 You are sufficiently relentless. You fight against me 
 rather sharply, and at times I m disposed to cry for 
 quarter ; but then, you see, there s Mrs. Editor and all 
 the little editors. I ll beat you yet, and carry the 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 187 
 
 glory home, for I ve discovered how to l put the world 
 under my feet, and I will show you what s what 
 before we get through ! " Do you put it on to the 
 world thus, my Editor? 
 
 We are about making preparations to return to Tri- 
 fleton House. We have seen the " folks " and they 
 have seen us. We have dined out sufficiently, and 
 everywhere we have been, Pat. s good looks have cre 
 ated a sensation. They say she s grown hearty and 
 ruddy. Who denies it ? They say she never looked 
 so well before in her life. It s no lie. Her lips are 
 red and her teeth white (notwithstanding these days of 
 degenerate teeth,) and her eyes sparkle with the vivac 
 ity of excellent health. 
 
 " Why is it, sir ? " " why is it ? " I m astonished 
 to hear you ask. It s because we live at Trifleton 
 House, and we are determined to go back there. A 
 little of " town " will do, but too much of it is very 
 like too much champagne. Headache, you perceive. 
 Everything not perfectly plain and simple, must be 
 indulged in sparingly. 
 
 Good bye, Town ! 
 
 I have had a letter from Stubs, which I enclose. It 
 seems, which I have only learned recently, that there 
 is a lawsuit now pending in the Supreme Court of the 
 United States, involving the validity of the title of the 
 principal part of his property. I have known all the 
 while during the Summer, that he was interested in 
 the result of this suit, but not to what extent. For 
 some good reasons, no doubt, he has been uncommu 
 nicative respecting it. He usually tells me everything 
 and desires my sympathy and advice. But perhaps he 
 
188 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 thought it would be foolish (as doubtless it would be) 
 to talk with such a person as Trifle respecting any 
 thing so dry and musty as law. 
 
 Like many rich young men, Stubs has studied for 
 the profession of law, and been admitted to the bar. 
 But he has never cared to practice, except to take care 
 of his own property, &c. He has capacity enough. 
 Indeed, if his inclination were equal to his capacity, 
 he would shine at the bar. But here you have his let 
 ter : 
 
 "WASHINGTON CITY, DEC. 1855. 
 My dear Trifle: 
 
 I have been dawdling in this rendezvous of squab 
 bling politicians, for some days. It is sufficiently stu 
 pid. The wrangle for the Speakership progresses. 
 
 The place hasn t changed much since we were 
 here last. Pennsylvania Avenue wears the same look. 
 The same four-legged donkeys flourish on one side of 
 it, and the same two-legged ones, if anything a little 
 more blase, strut on the other. The same exquisite 
 Republican simplicity of costume distinguishes the fair 
 sex, as they trip along the pavement, or gossip in and 
 about the Capitol. Can there be any danger to the 
 safety of our country, so long as the women are so 
 serenely simple, and so little addicted to show, out 
 doors, and luxury, in-doors ? 
 
 If the wife of a Congressman, who gets eight dol 
 lars a day, and sells all his self-respect oftentimes for 
 even that, admires feathers, and silks, and what not, 
 why, it s none of my business. Let her wear them. 
 Women in England and France dress somewhat differ 
 ently, it is true, at least in the street. But, then, that s 
 nothing. They are not Republicans, you know. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 189 
 
 The accessions to the Capitol are progressing quite 
 rapidly, and will vastly improve its appearance. As I 
 have wandered about the Rotunda, looking at the pic 
 tures, I have thought a good deal of times past, when 
 
 we stood in the same place with Pat. and , before 
 
 Pat. became your better half! You remember the old 
 leaky omnibus and the drive in the rain, when, Jwrri- 
 bile dictu, Pat. s bonnet got soaked doubtless. We 
 have lived years since then, Trifle. At least I have, 
 and experience has been my teacher. I have idled 
 enough of my life away, and I am resolved to go to 
 work. I find the older 1 grow, that I am more inclined 
 to judge men by what they have done, and that I have 
 very little respect for such as merely exist, with no 
 definite aim in life, and accomplish nothing. Energy 
 is a great trait in a man, or a woman. Whoso is at 
 work has no time to sentimentalize and grumble. 
 
 After some conversation with my counsel, I have 
 resolved to open our case, myself. I do not appear as 
 a party on the record, so that the world will not know 
 that I have a fool for a client, although I shall be 
 practically arguing my own case, because the Court s 
 decision in the case we propose to argue, will settle all 
 the law points in which I am interested. The docket 
 is much crowded, and we shall not be reached for some 
 weeks, probably. I spend most of my time examining 
 the authorities cited in the respective briefs. You can 
 judge somewhat of the work, when I tell you they 
 number more than five hundred. Lawyers from every 
 part of the United States are constantly rushing in and 
 out of the Law Library, where I am now sitting. They 
 are mostly men of distinction at home ; but I can see 
 their nervousness as they are preparing their arguments 
 
190 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 for the Court here the highest in the land. They 
 feel, probably, that they must sustain that reputation 
 which they have labored so hard and so long to acquire 
 elsewhere. 
 
 I have an advantage over most of them in this 
 respect, because I have no reputation to lose. I have 
 one to make. 
 
 I go into the court room every day. There s a 
 charm about the place which is almost sacred. There 
 is something in the appearance of the nine venerable 
 judges, in that little chamber, removed from all the 
 world, which reminds one of the Roman senators in 
 the palmiest days of the Republic. They look like 
 men who have lived down all the hot anxieties and 
 wretched frivolities of life, and have conquered them 
 selves. 1 think there is more benignity and childlike 
 simplicity of character expressed in the countenance 
 of Mr. Justice McLean, than I have ever seen in any 
 other man. Did you ever remark that all great men 
 are exceedingly gentle and simple, both in looks and 
 manners ? 
 
 I have listened to some of the arguments before 
 the Court with great satisfaction. A masterly one from 
 the distinguished Attorney General of the United 
 States, excited in me the same mingled feelings of 
 4 admiration and despair, which Chancellor Kent said 
 he always felt in reading Blackstone s lucid chapter 
 upon Contingent Remainders. Not many abler men 
 live than Caleb Gushing. I have been admitted as a 
 member of the Court upon his motion. 
 
 I have looked in upon the Senate occasionally, but 
 with feelings of pain. I saw neither Webster, nor 
 Clay, nor Calhoun there ; and I thought of the time 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 191 
 
 gone by when we heard these great men in the debate 
 upon the Compromises of 1850. 
 
 We shall never hear again such eloquence as we 
 heard then, and we shall never see again living in this 
 country such men as these men were. In their loss, 
 the prestige of the Senate seems to have been lost. 
 
 In the great political struggles impending over our 
 country, which will, in my judgment, shake more terri 
 bly than ever before the union of these States to its 
 centre, who and where are the men to lead and 
 guide us with safety ? God grant that they may ap 
 pear when the crisis comes, as it must inevitably 
 sooner or later ! If we were only more intensely 
 American, and National, and Republican ; if we would 
 only appreciate the contrast between the condition of 
 the rest of the world, immersed in war as it is, and 
 our own blessed country, it seems to me we should 
 have none of these sectional animosities and bickerings 
 which threaten our peace and salvation, and these 
 States might remain forever united and compacted in 
 bonds of fraternal affection. 
 
 I need not tell you how much I miss you, and dear 
 Pat., to whom please give my warmest regards. I am, 
 indeed, very lonely, and am much weighed down with 
 anxiety and responsibility. I care very little in regard 
 to the result of this lawsuit in a pecuniary point of view. 
 I ought to earn my own living, and I respect in one 
 sense, the mere day laborer who toils for bread by 
 which to feed his wife and children, more than the rich 
 man who idles his life away. I will be, henceforth, no 
 curnberer of the ground. I will do what I can for my 
 self and my kind. I need to live more out of myself. 
 I have been too selfish and inert, and I look upon my 
 
192 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 effort here as promising to furnish my initiary step to a 
 more rnanly and useful career. I feel ashamed when 
 I think how little I have accomplished in life, and how 
 little of real humanity there is in my nature. My dis 
 cipline should make me better, and yet, dear Trifle, I 
 am very rebellious. You have your devoted and affec 
 tionate wife and children to soothe you, and soften you, 
 
 and make you happy. I have nobody. I am all 
 
 alone. My life is becoming dreary and desolate. This 
 I tell you, because I must tell somebody. Else I should 
 quite break up. It is unnecessary that I should ask 
 you to keep my weak complainings secret. You are 
 my second self. But farewell, and God bless you ! 
 The enclosed verses I wrote last night. 
 
 Your sincerely attached STUBS." 
 
 * When will this weary heart find rest, 
 
 These stragglings all be done ; 
 When learn that all that is, is best, 
 When be the victory won ? 
 
 When grow insensible to grief, 
 
 And learn no more to fed ; 
 When have no yearnings for relief, 
 
 No sufferings to conceal ? 
 
 When will this fearful weight of care 
 
 Cease to oppress my soul ? 
 This fierce, relentless, black despair 
 
 Loose me from its control ? 
 
 Peace ! babbling child of sin: not thine 
 
 Life s mysteries to explain; 
 Mid night, and dark, the stars still shine, 
 
 And rainbows follow rain." 
 
 I have no comment to make upon this letter. It 
 needs none. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 193 
 
 XXII. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 As Christmas comes. 
 
 IT is not in vain, then, that you have lived at Trifle- 
 ton House a few months. The town tires you. You 
 confess it is like champagne a little too sparkling 
 and exciting, and brings the headache. Yet are we 
 a little astonished at your fickleness. Undeniably 
 you ran away from the blues when they first at 
 tacked you at Trifleton House, and when once in 
 town you made a "dead rush" to the club, to the 
 theatre, to parties, to dinners. But now you seem 
 to be surfeited, and propose a return to the quiet 
 of rural life, which has unfitted you for the contin 
 uance of that round of pleasure, a year ago an ab 
 solute necessity for your existence. But pray carry 
 back- all your courage, and ample store of munitions 
 for the war which you are to wage against your un 
 substantial foes. Most potent of such munitions will 
 be the prattle of Prig and the smiles of Pat. But 
 even these will prove ineffectual, unless you have 
 an abundant supply of content. Back to Trifleton 
 House, then, and forget all else of the town save 
 Thanksgiving, and home, and friends. 
 
 The Winter has indeed come, though with more 
 genial smiles than is his wont. But what an unwel- 
 13 
 
194 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 come guest he is in some dwellings, as he thrusts 
 himself in, and seats himself at the very hearthstone, 
 and looks coldly and sadly into the eyes of the poor, 
 and lays his icy fingers on their hearts ! None the 
 less unwelcome is he in some more comfortable 
 dwellings, where with harsh aspect he stands guard 
 over prisoners who are sighing for pleasures far 
 away. Such dwellings are in the country, mostly, 
 and the prisoners are summer birds from the city. 
 Ah, Trifle, be on your guard lest Winter prove such 
 an unwelcome sentry over you. Ay, follow him, 
 even, if you can, into some of those less fortunate 
 homes whither he goes to carry want, and suffering, 
 and despair, follow him with faggots, if need be, 
 with fire and food, and cheerful, hopeful words. 
 So shall you carry the war into Africa, and drive 
 the chilly sentry from your own door. 
 
 Winter finds little to tempt him at the Hard Man 
 sion now. He has sometimes apparently gloated over 
 the sullen looks he found there, and has called to his 
 aid the storm wind and his whole train of fierce and 
 cruel satellites. But Madame, and Bel, and the Hon. 
 Mr. Weed have gone to Washington. We have not 
 inquired whether the latter is one of the gentlemen 
 who have been amusing themselves and the country 
 by two or three weeks balloting for a speaker. Madame 
 wrote to Abel to meet them on the way, or to hurry 
 after them. But Abel didn t get the letter till it was 
 sent home after him, he having arrived here a few 
 days after the departure of the party for Washing 
 ton. There is a sort of whisper among the domestics 
 at the mansion, which came to our ears after the usual 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 195 
 
 fashion, that Miss Bel was very unhappy about going, 
 although she is to be married soon. But you can t 
 depend on such stories, you know. As for Abel, he 
 seems in no hurry to go, and is evidently gratified to 
 find a little chance for the indulgence of his own fan 
 cies without being too closely questioned about them. 
 He is happier than formerly, but there is still a shadow 
 on his brow, sometimes, and his heart is not altogether 
 at rest. A few evenings since we visited him, with 
 Umber. It was a dark and cheerless night, and the 
 north wind brought snow and sleet to tell us that Winter 
 is reigning prince over these regions. But as we en 
 tered Abel Hard s library we found a cheerful contrast 
 to the cold storm without. The Cannel hissed and 
 flamed in the grate, shedding a ruddy light over the 
 rich drapery, and the dark cases, and one or two fine 
 paintings. Abel s face glowed in the cheerful beams 
 as he welcomed us to that bright and genial room. 
 Next to the almost forgotten hickoiy-wood fire, give 
 us the brilliant, glowing, earnest Cannel. It warms 
 the soul as well as the fingers. It addresses the sense 
 of sight and hearing as well as touch. It cheers and 
 enlivens everything and everybody that comes within 
 its light and influence. Let us have for real, cheerful 
 warmth, no furnaces, and registers emitting hot air 
 like breaths from Tartarus. 
 
 We disposed ourselves at ease about that beneficent 
 fire, and joined Abel in the enjoyment of cigars, one 
 of which (contrary to the ordinary rules of the man 
 sion, he said) he was already discussing. The weather 
 was nothing to us now, so we didn t talk about that. 
 The shadows on the wall were more attractive than 
 
196 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 the clouds. Doubtless Umber thought he said no 
 such thing that the brightest light of the house was 
 gone and its darkest shadow. We followed them a 
 moment to Washington, and thence we hurried west 
 ward, to tarry awhile with Abel by the shores of Erie. 
 Then we congratulated our host upon his return to that 
 pleasant room and upon wd scarcely know what. 
 At this point of the random interlocution it wasn t 
 conversation there was a pause, which we severally 
 improved to watch the smoke curling gracefully from 
 our cigars, and possibly to think. To think deeply, 
 however, at such a time, would have been a burden 
 and a bore. But there was no occasion for it, as Abel 
 quietly assumed .the talk himself, and Umber and we 
 smoked in silence. 
 
 " It is two years since I first met Lily at Florence, 
 two years the very day I found her on the shores 
 of Lake Erie. It was in the Cascine, where all the 
 beauty and fashion of Florence is wont to display itself. 
 She was riding with her father, and an aunt, or some 
 other elderly female who took the place of aunt, for 
 her mother was dead. By some means I remem 
 ber the result better than the means an accident 
 happened by which their horses were affrighted. The 
 ladies were still more alarmed, and really there was 
 some danger which I had the good fortune, by being 
 near, to avert. But the gentleman sprained an ancle 
 in jumping from his carriage, and the carriage was 
 broken, so here was an opportunity for further service, 
 and to see whom I had served." 
 
 Umber s eye twinkled a little, but we smoked on in 
 silence. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 197 
 
 " I assisted the gentleman into his carriage again, 
 tendering the use of my light trotting wagon a 
 genuine Yankee carriage so far as it could be of 
 service. I cannot describe, though indelibly fixed in 
 my mind, the look of mingled alarm, anxiety and 
 gratitude of the one lovely face in that carriage. But 
 the result of my offer was that I had the privilege of 
 carrying home the aunt an accomplished lady I 
 found instead of the lame gentleman or his beau 
 tiful daughter. It served the purpose, however, for 
 I discovered their residence and name, and acquired 
 the privilege of calling again." 
 
 We knocked the ashes from our cigars and smoked 
 on. 
 
 "We met Lily and I not unfrequently after 
 that. I can t remember or tell all the details ; but 
 we met, and her father being confined to the house 
 for sometime by his lameness, I sometimes rode in the 
 Cascine with the ladies, or took a drive into the beau 
 tiful country about Florence. I went to the Uffizii 
 galleries, with them, to the Pitti Palace, and to the 
 churches ; and while we gazed at the almost divine 
 beauty of Raphael s paintings, and I listened to Lily s 
 gentle voice, uttering pure and beautiful thoughts, I 
 should have been heartless, indeed, had I not loved her." 
 
 We looked in the fire and smoked on. 
 
 "I loved her, as a young man of sensibility if not 
 sense, who had led the life of a student, reading poetry 
 and having nothing else to think of, might be expected 
 to indulge in the passion for the first time, and under 
 such circumstances. 1 never breathed it aloud, nor 
 hoped that Lily responded to my love. But somehow 
 
198 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 she, or the aunt, discovered that I was going mad 
 and so they took steps to cure me, or make me more 
 mad. The old gentleman got about, and then Lily 
 could not often be seen. Christmas and Twelfth Night 
 we met at one of the churches. Lily s manner was 
 constrained, the aunt s was formally polite, and the 
 father s was haughtily civil. Florence soon became 
 dull for me, for I could only take pleasure in the works 
 of art which we had visited together ; and they only 
 served to remind me the more forcibly of my loss." 
 
 Umber unconsciously sighed, but we silently 
 smoked on. 
 
 " I went to Rome, and with the fiercest industry 
 visited galleries, churches and ruins, studied frescoes 
 and statuary and gazed at pictures all with a most 
 admirable unconsciousness of what was before me. 
 On the last day of the Carnival an excellent illus 
 tration of things in general as presented to my mind 
 I saw Lily and her father again. Again, and for the 
 last time, but it was sufficient to add something to my 
 feelings and not a little to my folly, probably. I sought 
 for them, but I found that they preferred to pass Lent 
 in Naples. I wasn t fool enough to follow them, but 
 I went to Venice, when I had finished Rome. But the 
 seal was on me, and neither Venice, nor Greece, nor 
 Germany offered anything to take the place of Lily in 
 my mind or memory. On my way home, I ventured 
 to call in London at their house, but it was not in the 
 season and they were out of town. And so I came 
 home, a little melancholy, perhaps, and found nothing 
 here, or in society, at watering, places or in town, to 
 take the place of the past. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 199 
 
 " Are you surprised that I posted off at the first 
 information that Lily was in the country and under 
 circumstances so changed ? " 
 
 Of course not, but we replied only by a whiff. 
 
 " After a long .search I found them. Lily s father 
 had lost his estates by the turning up of an heir sup 
 posed to have died in India. Mortified and despondent, 
 he had come with a moderate fortune to this country, 
 seeking a home sufficiently distant from the new heir 
 and his lost property. Lily, though pressed by many 
 friends to remain in England, felt it her duty to follow 
 and comfort her father. She still remembered our 
 meetings in Florence, and has " 
 
 He paused, and Umber, after a puff or two, finished 
 the sentence : 
 
 " Crowned your Italian adventures with happiness. 
 You are more fortunate than I am. I met in Rome 
 a beautiful flower girl. The flower girls there are not 
 often beautiful, so she was the more remarkable. Her 
 gentleness and good will to me in a severe sickness 
 demanded my gratitude, and the only favor she asked 
 was, that I should sketch her face to send to her lover. 
 That of course put an end to the possibility of romance 
 on my part. But she was very grateful, and was still 
 more so, some months later, when 1 succeeded in get 
 ting her lover, who was a * patriot and was wounded, 
 out of the way of the French as they entered the city. 
 She would have suffered much to serve me. But the 
 very first time I spoke of her friendship after my 
 return hither, I disgusted a fair lady, and have painted 
 more clouds than sunshine ever since." 
 
 Thus we enjoyed our cigars by the bright Cannel 
 
200 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 fire in Abel Hard s library. For our part we had no 
 personal adventures to relate, so we told of Trifle and 
 Trifleton House, of Stubs, and Pink, and u corn-colored 
 gloves." Umber and we were about to depart, not 
 withstanding a bottle of Rhenish .wine invited our 
 stay, when a servant announced that a poor woman 
 with a little boy desired to see our host. We passed 
 out into the dismal night and Umber went home in 
 silence. 
 
 Christmas comes, Trifle, and so we date our letter, 
 for even the anticipation of a great event is worthy of 
 record. Yes, Christmas comes, and in a few hours 
 will commence the glad peals from church and cam 
 panile, the deep-mouthed clangor and the sweet sil 
 very chimes, sounding on in an unbroken circle around 
 the world, proclaiming the return of the holy night 
 when the shepherds on the eastern hills saw the star 
 that stood over Bethlehem, and angels sang, " On 
 earth peace, and good will towards men." From 
 mighty cathedral and from humble chapel shall swell 
 the songs of praise and the solemn mass. In hall 
 and cot shall be happiness and love, and young and old 
 shall rejoice in the festal day of Christendom. 
 
 ." A merry Christmas " at Trifleton House ! 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 201 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 TRIFLETON HOUSE, 
 Christmas week. 
 
 1 
 
 HOME again, the whole bunch of us ! A great many 
 sympathizing friends in the great city (considerate 
 souls) have said, and are constantly saying to me, 
 " You must find it rather tough at Trifleton House in 
 the winter. You ll freeze to death. You ll die with 
 the blues ! " But we have been home a week or two, 
 and I m afraid, for the sake of those who regard us 
 with such tender compassion, that we shall neither 
 freeze nor pine. 
 
 The truth is, my Editor, we think tolerably well of 
 Trifleton House it seems very much like home to us, 
 so that you perceive, in that point of view, it s not 
 such a very gloomy place. Still, I go for sympathy. 
 It s a very generous trait, and when I m condoled with 
 so undeservedly, I always say to myself, " Trifle, my 
 hearty, never find fault with the world again ; don t 
 you perceive how many are interested in your wel 
 fare ! " 
 
 My own idea is, though, that the atmosphere of 
 Trifleton House is such as to warm people up, even 
 those who are pretty cold. If I don t find any colder 
 people elsewhere than I do there, I shall be disposed to 
 
202 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 call it rather a mild winter. Prig expresses himself 
 as absolutely pleased at getting home. He says he 
 don t think he shall go to Boston again for a great 
 while ; but " I ll let Grandpa come here, and see me," 
 he considerately added, I have given you his exact 
 words. He inclines to the opinion that his White-y 
 is making a very long visit away from Trifleton. In 
 fact, it slightly puzzles me, where he has gone. He 
 departed in good health and spirits, one evening, just 
 before we all left for town, without even saying " good 
 bye," and he hasn t been seen since. I tell Prig I 
 think he s gone off with some dog or cat, perhaps, to 
 stay all the time, but he persists in the assertion that 
 he s " on a visit," and will come home " by and by." 
 
 Oh, human faith ! 
 
 That " by and by," how many tears it has dried up, 
 how many yearnings soothed, how many drooping 
 hearts encouraged, and how very many cheated and 
 disappointed! Still, let us not quarrel with it, my 
 Editor. It s a very pretty phrase. Let us take cour 
 age and hasten on. We shall be perfectly happy 
 " by and by." 
 
 What I wish to say in regard to sunrises, sir, is this : 
 When we were on our visit in town we didn t see many, 
 for I believe they are not very beautiful at quarter past 
 eight of the clock. In town it s a mere question of 
 night and day with one, and the day begins in the 
 winter season somewhere between eight and nine. To 
 be sure, there are coffee and the morning papers, which 
 are the two most romantic and important considera 
 tions which ever occurred to me there on " getting up ; " 
 but at Trifleton, sir, we see the sun rise every morning 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 203 
 
 of our lives, when he can be seen anywhere, that is. 
 On several occasions I have seen him come up from 
 the sea, and merely penetrate the line of dark, gloomy, 
 wintry, slate-colored clouds upon the edge of the 
 horizon with a white light, and then advance up into 
 the clear sky without a semblance, even, of crimson, 
 golden, or pink, being perceptible, but, at other times, 
 lately, he has come up with a glory I have never seen 
 surpassed, if equalled. 
 
 This morning I asked Pat. to describe the colors for 
 me ; he appeared in such a remarkable manner. " How 
 beautiful, how transcendently beautiful," I was saying 
 while buttoning one of my suspenders, (the green silk 
 ones, which cost me two dollars, and in the purchase 
 of which I got shabbily imposed upon, sir,) Pat. con 
 curred with me in opinion, in spite of the knot she 
 was trying to unravel in the strings of her night-cap 
 I was actually going to say, if I hadn t stopped to 
 think how extremely improper it would be ; and she 
 began immediately to describe the colors. Below is 
 her description. Before buttoning the other suspender, 
 I seized my pencil and took it down from her lips. 
 
 "First, line of dark, rich purple clouds; next 
 line above, golden ; next, a line of blue ; next, a line 
 of flaky, pink clouds." 
 
 " What kind of pink, Pat ? " 
 
 " Flaky," she replied, " Flaky." 
 
 " What s that ? " 
 
 " Why Flaky is, why Flaky means Flaky, 
 
 what s the matter with this string, for patience sake ? " 
 (with a twitch at it.) 
 
 After this lucid definition, I wrote it down " flaky," 
 as in duty bound. 
 
204 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 "Next," she continued, " comes a long, wide space 
 of light yellow; and, directly above this space, a pile 
 of rich, gorgeous, crimson clouds, tinged with blue." 
 
 " And the sea," I exclaimed, " how magnificently 
 it looks!" 
 
 " Yes," she said, " of a dark purple color, with the 
 reflection of all the other colors I have mentioned 
 blended upon it. How very beautiful ! " 
 
 " What s beautiful ? 1 want to see," and out came 
 Prig from his trundle bed into the dressing room, stag 
 gering and tottering in his flannel night drawers, drawn 
 up and tied at the feet "to prevent his getting cold," 
 as Pat. says, " when he kicks the clothes off." 
 
 " The sun, boy, look ! " 
 
 He clasped his hands in ecstasy, and said he liked 
 " all beautiful things." At this juncture, the baby 
 began to crow in concurrence, and thus, sir, you have 
 the opinion of Trifle and his whole family upon the 
 subject of that sunrise. I wish you could see such an 
 one, but, as " the years of a man s life," in this mun 
 dane condition, are only " threescore years and ten," 
 and calculating the chances of your being " up " in 
 time within thirty or forty years to come, I consider it 
 extremely improbable that you will. 
 
 I forgot to say that Pat. upon reflection, concluded 
 she would say " flaky salmon colored" on the whole, 
 rather than " flaky pink." After fishing for it a long 
 time she said that that was just the word. When you 
 consider, sir, that this description was taken down from 
 the lips of a young woman with white teeth, which 
 teeth were employed in snapping and biting at that 
 knot in that night cap, as I came very near saying 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 205 
 
 again during the whole time, and that it was written 
 by a man of the extreme dignity of character of Trifle, 
 in his shirt sleeves, I trust you will regard it as " one of 
 the sunrises you read about," henceforth and forever. 
 I laughed a good deal while I was taking minutes, and 
 so did Prig, but, the moment I buttoned the other sus 
 pender, it flashed upon me that I had compromised my 
 dignity immeasurably, and as I looked at myself in 
 the mirror, while tying my cravat, I practised an in 
 dignant frown which I adopted for the rest of the 
 morning. I considered it due to myself and proper for 
 the education of my household that I should wear it. 
 If you continually laugh in the presence of women and 
 children, they take advantage of you, my Editor. 
 They put their arms round your neck, and sit on your 
 knee, and pull your whiskers, and kiss you, and all 
 such things. Pat. and Prig, and even the baby are 
 extremely addicted to this sort of thing with me. Did 
 you ever hear of such monstrous familiarity ? They 
 require very much to be educated on this point, as 
 you perceive. 
 
 But, of Pink ! 
 
 I havn t much to tell you in regard to her, for I have 
 seen very little of her since our return. I suspect she 
 is slightly offended with me, but I think without cause. 
 She came to Trifleton House to tea, and was pouring 
 forth a torrent of asseverations about it s being " so 
 lonely " in our absence. 
 
 " Lonely ! Has not he been here ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Yes," said she, demurely. 
 
 " And are you not engaged ? " I continued. 
 
 " Yes," almost snapped she in reply. 
 
206 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " When Pat. and I were engaged," I stupidly nar 
 rated, * whenever we were most lonely, we were hap 
 piest. We were society to each other, and when any 
 one else was by, the cold obtruding world seemed 
 thrusting itself upon us, destroying the delicious ro 
 mance and sweet poetry of our natures. When alone, 
 we conjured an idea of heaven, and chiefly then. 
 Those who are i tenderly attached, " I added, I m 
 afraid somewhat warmly, " like to be alone," and yet, 
 why afraid ? Affection is not a thing to be ashamed 
 of, nor are its habits or demonstrations. It carrieth its 
 own reward. It refresheth the soul that is full of it. 
 Oh, ye who love Trifle, and whom Trifle loves, he is 
 better and fitter for heaven for your sake. 
 
 She waived the discussion, and began to ask me 
 about Thackeray s lectures. Upon a purely intellec 
 tual topic she can always fascinate me, and I forgot 
 Aim, corn-colored gloves and all, in listening to her 
 admirable parallel between Thackeray and Dickens. 
 
 While she talked, I drew a parallel also in my own 
 mind between herself and Pat. I thought of her sur 
 passing beauty, her clever wit, and powerful grasp of 
 intellect, but I thought how far higher, and purer, and 
 more admirable, because more womanly, was Pat. s 
 warm, gushing, affectionate nature, and sincere, gener 
 ous heart. A woman without a heart is a libel upon 
 her sex. 
 
 " Poor girl," said Pat. after she had gone home that 
 evening, " she is very much to be pitied." I ipquired 
 anxiously why, but I was not enlightened. It seems 
 she and Pat. have long and mysterious confabs 
 almost daily, but upon what subjects is quite beyond 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 207 
 
 me. I presume, though, that the number of brides 
 maids and the quality and cut of the wedding dress 
 for the approaching ceremony, are among the most 
 important. It is to come off in the spring, and it is 
 clear that three or four months are quite a short space 
 of time for the discussion of these momentous ques 
 tions. Consider, too, what an undertaking it will be to 
 " go to housekeeping " in the Fifth Avenue. It should 
 be expected, doubtless, that a woman would break 
 somewhat in anticipating such a thing. I give you the 
 benefit of these suggestions. 
 
 Item. I was passing by Goody Green s yesterday, 
 and she called me in. " Mr. Trifle," said she, " what 
 a world we live in. I hear tell that good Mr. Stubs is 
 going to lose all of his property." She clasped her 
 bony hands, reminding me of Goody Blake when she 
 prayed in the snow. But not as Goody Blake prayed 
 for Harry Gill did she pray for Stubs. She raised her 
 eyes to heaven, while the tears poured from them like 
 rain, and, with tremulous accents, murmured " may he 
 never know what it is to want. May he be rewarded 
 for all his kindness to the poor and needy, and find as 
 faithful friends as he has always been to them ! " 
 
 " I have faith to believe," she continued, turning 
 again to me, " that the Lord will take care of him." 
 She was strangely agitated, but grew calmer as I in 
 formed her, as well as I could, for my own voice began 
 to falter, that he would probably in no event ever be 
 come destitute, for he could earn his living even if he 
 lost his property, a thought which seemed not to have 
 occurred to her. I asked her who gave her her infor 
 mation. 
 
208 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " Why, Miss Pink," she replied, almost gaily, " she 
 han t got no pride, now. She comes and is very kind 
 to me, just as Mr. Stubs was. She reads the Bible for 
 me, just as he did. Sometimes I tell her the chapters 
 he likes, them as he said were good for poor lonely 
 women, whom the Lord tempted with tribulations in 
 this world, or some such hard word, to try their faith. 
 She reads em, but I don t know what makes her turn 
 her face away from me so, when she does; and then 
 she stops so often, too. When she picks out a chapter 
 herself, she reads the best ; for then she looks right at 
 me, and reads right straight along, and don t mind the 
 periods and commas, and such like. I like her better 
 than I used to, and I told her so the other day, but she 
 said, Dear Goody, lam very unworthy of affection. 
 Think of her saying dear Goody. Well, it s a strange 
 world. I told her 1 supposed she felt more kind like 
 to me, cause she was so happy about being married 
 to such a fine rich man. But, says I, Miss Pink, 
 says I, I always thought that you and Mr. Stubs would 
 be married to each other. But there s a Providence in 
 such things, and I spose it s all for the best, tho he ll 
 make a good husband for somebody, don t you think 
 so? 
 
 " Yes, Goody, said she, he will. 
 
 " Well then, I was going on to say, but just at that 
 moment she turned very pale, and began to shiver all 
 over, so I did not talk any more, but told her she must 
 go home and keep house, for she had a very bad cold. 
 Pears to me she s getting very delicate. She don t 
 seem so strong as she used to. She s not so gay as 
 she was, nor so proud neither. God is dealing with 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 209 
 
 her, for she sighs very deep sometimes when she reads 
 the Bible to me." 
 
 She is human, then, and has a heart, after all, I 
 thought to myself once more. 
 
 I trust that you all had a happy Christmas. Prig 
 and the baby hung up their stockings, which produced 
 from Santa 04aus, in the most mysterious manner, all 
 sorts of things for the former, and a nice, beautiful 
 silver cup for the latter. 
 
 Kind, considerate Santa Glaus. 
 
 14 
 
210 
 
 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 In the last hours of 55. 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING the old maxim, which you may 
 have heard, that " Ignorantia (legis) neminem excusat" 
 we are of opinion that ignorance must be an excuse 
 for many things, even for some of the sayings of the 
 sapient Trifle. You think we never see the sun rise ! 
 Having escaped from the brick walls which imprisoned 
 you for so many years the amiable Pat. must not 
 know that we say many years you have at last seen 
 the glories of sunrise, and you imagine they have 
 never been witnessed by any one else. As we have 
 been familiarized with such sights from the cradle, it is 
 a little too absurd that you should tax your mathemat 
 ics by a calculation of the probabilities of our behold 
 ing this daily event. 
 
 Yes, sir, we do see the sun rise, and not only that, 
 but in these short days we see his rising on other 
 people before he shines on us. We watch the shadow 
 of the horizon slowly sinking down the western sky 
 till the sunlight crowns the distant hill, and then the top 
 of the church spire. It creeps down the hill and across 
 the plain, brightens the exterior of dwellings and sends 
 smiles of gladness into the windows, startling many 
 a sleeper, doubtless and tben comes slowly on 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 211 
 
 through the valley towards us. When it reaches the 
 chimney tops of our nearest neighbor we turn to see 
 the sun itself come up beyond the dark cedars that 
 crown the hill in the south-east, in splendor perfect to 
 our human vision. 
 
 But the splendor of a life time was that which 
 met the eye a few days since, when the sun s rays 
 were broken and reflected in myriads of dazzling 
 flashes by the icy robes of the trees, the robes all 
 glittering with jewels which the winter had cast upon 
 them in a single night, as if to rival the foliage of 
 summer. Did that wondrous spectacle pass unnoticed 
 at Trifleton House ? that glory which surpassed the 
 dreams of fairy land ? that shimmering blaze of light, 
 bursting and trembling about every branch of every 
 tree ? When the sun came up with the ruddy glow of 
 morning, and when he went down with golden drapery 
 about him, was Trifle taking down from the lips of 
 Pat. words to describe the shining tints that leapt and 
 sparkled over the whole earth ? Make a note of it, for 
 but few such sights, so intense in brightness and 
 beauty, are permitted to one lifetime. But it passes 
 away, like all the beauties of earth, perchance into 
 infinite and everlasting beauty, as time passes into 
 eternity. 
 
 Time passes ! Ay, look you, 1855 is near its end 
 will have passed away ere we shall finish this wri 
 ting. The sad Old Year is drawing his latest breaths, 
 and the happy New Year comes close upon his 
 last sigh. The New Year cometh out of the east, un 
 der the clear, cold starlight. But the stars, heedless of 
 him, as of the long train of which he is but an atom, 
 
212 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 roll on and shine the same as on that morn when first 
 they sung together. Already, in other lands, has he 
 been greeted with joyous shouts and merry-makings, 
 and now he is on his way over the sea whose dark 
 waves roll, forever the same unmindful of the de 
 parture of the Old and the advent of the New. 
 
 The New Year cometh over the sea nearer and 
 nearer. The Old year breathes shorter the clock 
 seems to tick faster, and half past the eleventh hour 
 has already struck. Twelve months ago and this Old 
 Year was young, and fresh, and full of promise, 
 bringing joys, and hopes, and high purposes. He 
 passed on through the seasons in his allotted course, 
 and now he lies at the end of it. Ah ! he has brought 
 many sorrows as well as joys, sorrows to those who 
 least expected it. But for sorrows or joys he is alike 
 almost forgotten now, for the many sleep unmindful 
 of his departure, and those who wake are watching to 
 hail the new king that comes so quickly. But let us 
 reverently watch his end, recounting his benefits and 
 remembering the lessons he has taught us. 
 
 How we have wronged the poor Old Year! When 
 he has offered us precious gifts that might have added 
 to our treasure not gold and silver ; few indeed neg 
 lect to acquire that if they can we have refused the 
 feoon. VVe have turned us coldly away from golden 
 opportunities which he brought, and wasted the hours 
 which were his life blood. He led us by the door of 
 the afflicted, the hungry and the naked, yet we 
 clothed and fed them not, the broken hearted, but 
 we comforted them not, the erring, yet we guided 
 them not homeward. He brought us sage counsels 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 213 
 
 from his fathers, and pointed us to bright examples of 
 steadfast virtue and earnest purpose, too often in vain. 
 And now, tis too late. He has no more gifts to offer 
 us only a brief retrospection ; he has lavished all 
 upon us, and now, poor and weak, he is about to depart 
 forever. In vain we suffer regret now, in vain we im 
 plore forgiveness, for he grows not young again, and 
 what he was none other shall be forever 
 
 The New Year cometh over the sea yet nearer. 
 The Old Year breathes fainter. The third quarter 
 past eleven has been chimed, and the minutes the 
 moments assume an individuality and importance as 
 they pass by now. Crowded into each are the ghosts 
 of things past shadows which appear for the last 
 time, and shadows that, haply, on such a night, again 
 may come knocking at the heart s door. The long 
 train floats by to the quick measure of the fast swing 
 ing pendulum, and in vain the soul cries " stay ! " 
 The hands on the dial are near together, and we count 
 the minutes almost the seconds downward to noth 
 ing. Ten, nine, eight, how short the time for re 
 grets, and penitence, and resolutions. And so the Old 
 Year departs in silence. 
 
 The New Year cometh over the sea in silence 
 stealing nearer and nearer. Hark, the bells chime 
 and to their music the Old Year passes, floating away 
 like those wild sounds into the great formless gulf of 
 the past. The music of the bells dies away, and now 
 the clock strikes one, two on, on, to twelve. The 
 Old Year has gone forever, and the New Year has 
 come over the sea. 
 
214 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " Ring out wild bells to the wild sky, 
 The flying cloud, the frosty light; 
 The year is dying in the night; 
 Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 
 
 Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
 Ring, happy bells, across the snow j 
 The year is going, let him go ; 
 
 Ring out the false, ring in the true. 
 
 Ring out old shapes of foul disease, 
 Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
 Ring out the thousand wars of old, 
 
 Ring in the thousand years of peace. 
 
 Ring in the valiant man and free, 
 The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
 Ring out the darkness of the land, 
 
 Ring in the Christ that is to be." 
 
 A " Happy New Year " to the dwellers in Trifleton 
 House. 
 
 Among the new books to charm away the dulness 
 of the hours at Trifleton House don t deny that there 
 are such pray you read Robert Browning s new vol 
 ume of poems, " Men and Women," and Hillard s 
 selections from the writings of Walter Savage Landor. 
 Perhaps you may be familiar with the works of Lan 
 dor. But if you are, you will find in the volume we 
 speak of a most admirable selection of fine things, and 
 true things, and pointed things, here brought together in 
 most convenient form, just such extracts, for the 
 most part, as you would yourself like to make ; and if 
 you are not on intimate terms with Landor, through his 
 books, you will find these extracts just so many grace 
 ful invitations to open the entire works of the author. 
 
TR1FLETON PAPERS. 215 
 
 In looking through these leaves you cannot but ask 
 " from what other author, of the present day, could so 
 many gems and brilliants be collected ? " 
 
 In " Men and Women " you will find some of the 
 poet s best music. Browning writes not so much for 
 the multitude as for the few who love true poetry, and 
 for the future. He has looked deeply into the human 
 heart, and writes with a passionate vigor the most 
 subtile thought, and of the most delicate emotions. 
 Sometimes, perhaps, his words seem a little mystic or 
 his thought obscure, but even then we feel the poetry, 
 and everywhere there shines through his chosen w.ords 
 a luminous beauty, which is like the bright soul animat 
 ing a lovely form. Reading such books you shall forget 
 to wear even the " practised frown," and though you 
 thereby do not educate your family to less familiarity, 
 you may yourself learn to tolerate and pardon their 
 endearments, and the result will be the same, in the 
 country, that is, where "-deportment " is of less conse 
 quence than it is in town. 
 
 Perhaps you are not aware that Mrs. Trifle, in pencil 
 marks on your last letter, inquired for news about the 
 Hards. Or was it a device of your own, to cover your 
 curiosity ? Now permit us to intimate, very gently, 
 that we have no gossips about the arm chair, and we 
 are not familiar with all the sayings and doings of our 
 neighbors, even, and the Hards are not very near 
 neighbors. Occasionally we by chance hear of some 
 thing, or see something but it is altogether casual. 
 From tea drinking old maids we keep aloof, and as for 
 stories which are bandied about from kitchen to kitchen, 
 we give no heed to them. 
 
216 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Did we not say that when Umber and we left Abel 
 Hard, a woman and a little boy were announced ? 
 Well, that was true enough, and it seems that the boy 
 was Abel s young duck, whom he picked out of the 
 sea at Newport, and the woman was his mother. Lily 
 having learned from Abel that Dawson so they call 
 her was a widow at Newport, had written to her to 
 come to their new home. Dawson was glad enough 
 to go to the young lady whom she had found so 
 gentle a mistress, but ignorant and inexperienced in 
 travelling she had by some means found her way to 
 AbeJ Hard, whom she looks upon as a benefactor and 
 friend, trusting that he would send her safely through. 
 He was glad enough to serve Lily, and commended 
 Dawson s prudence for coming to him. 
 
 " But the young lady writes down-hearted, sir 
 one of the neighbors read me the letter. She feels 
 lonesome, sir, and says as how she doesn t feel as if 
 she should live long, and it would kind o be a comfort 
 to her to have an old servant like me with her now." 
 
 So Abel told Umber that Dawson spoke, and what 
 an icy dread stole over him as he heard her. And the 
 dread has not departed, but seems to have gathered 
 new gloom about his heart and hopes. He is darker 
 than ever. He sent Dawson forward as soon as pos 
 sible, making her the bearer of missives, of course. 
 But the boy, Dicky Dawson, was not able to proceed, 
 having the symptoms of serious illness about him. 
 Dawson objected to leaving him, but Abel would 
 listen neither to her delay or his departure. The boy 
 was his protege, he said, and he would take care of 
 him, better than she could. So with many tears on 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 217 
 
 the part of the mother and boy, she was finally per 
 suaded to go. But the day she departed, Dicky was 
 put to bed in a fever, and the doctor called. Abel had 
 him placed in his own room, and has watched him with 
 a care which seems to owe something to his love for 
 Lily, and the circumstances by which the boy is asso 
 ciated with her. He finds relief from his anxiety for 
 her, even while he nourishes it, in nursing this poor 
 sick boy. Haply he shall find something better. 
 
218 TRIFLETON PAVERS. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 TRIFLETOX HOUSE, 
 Sunday, in the new year of 56. 
 
 IN all this correspondence, I have written you no 
 word on Sunday, though I have often thought of you 
 on that day. 
 
 But this Sunday has been a remarkable one, and, at 
 this present writing, Trifieton House is completely 
 buried up in snow. Huge drifts lie scattered all 
 around, I don t know how many feet deep, and if 
 we were to see you a stone s throw off, and were to 
 beckon you to come in, you would find it quite impos 
 sible, by wading even, to reach our door. No paths 
 are broken, and everywhere, as far as the eye can 
 reach, extend largest fields of snow. 
 
 I have seen nothing like it since I was a boy. It 
 has indeed been one of the " old-fashioned snow 
 storms." We have been in-doors all day long, 
 watching the progress of the storm, and listening to 
 the voices of the wind, and to those other " still 
 small voices " that speak to our souls in such a day 
 as this. 
 
 It is the Lord s day, and He has shown us His 
 power and majesty. " The heavens declare the 
 glory of God," and " He hangeth the earth upon 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 219 
 
 nothing." Moreover, " He saith to the snow, be 
 thou on the earth," and, as He spoke to Job, so He 
 speaks to us, " out of the whirlwind," saying to each 
 one of us, " hast thou entered into the treasures of 
 the snow ? " and " the hoary frost of heaven who 
 hath gendered it ? " 
 
 But as the day has drawn to its close, the fury of 
 the storm has subsided, and the evening is still, calm, 
 and beautiful ! I remembered just such another Sun 
 day, and just such another storm, and looked over 
 my old manuscripts to find some lines I wrote in 
 commemoration of it. I give them to you in ipsissimis 
 verbis. 
 
 The weary sun has well nigh reached his home ! 
 His course to-day has been a gloomy one. 
 Dull, leaden clouds have girt his chariot round, 
 The azure track obscuring, while the winds, 
 Urged on impetuous by the winter king, 
 The bonds unloosed that fettered them awhile, 
 Have, mad with license, waged incessant war, 
 Their shrill voice echoing athwart the sky, 
 Rising above the tempest, like the moan 
 Of wounded men amid the battle s din. 
 But, with the close of day, the storm subsides ; 
 Twilight s soft hand smooths down its ruffled wings, 
 And opes the gate of evening, whence proceeds 
 The sweet, soft harmony of heaven s stars. 
 This day a lesson teaches, oh my soul ! 
 While all was gloom around, the sun s career 
 Was nobler none the less, although obscured. 
 He stayed not in his purpose for the storm, 
 Nor, for a moment, wandered from his course. 
 So, thou, in passing down the vale of life, 
 Press ever on, pure fa temptation s spite, 
 Breasting the storms of sorrow and distress, 
 
220 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 True to thyself, and trusting that the hand 
 Of Christ, who died for all, shall, at the last, 
 Open the gate of paradise to thee. 
 
 I find these lines under date of Sunday evening, 
 Feb. 15th, 1846 almost ten years ago; and they 
 would have slumbered quietly ten years more, in 
 manuscript, if the day just passed, and the thoughts 
 occasioned by it, had not called them forth to light. 
 Pat., who, it seems, pores over such things of mine, 
 says she has read them often before, but that " they 
 never seemed so real and genuine as this evening." 
 You are therefore indebted to her for them, entirely, 
 my Editor. 
 
 Ten years ago I was somewhat addicted to writing 
 verses, but I seldom write anything of the sort now. 
 Good, plain, substantial prose is best for all such in 
 different writers as Trifle. Genuine poetry, it is true, 
 is always admirable ; but how little of that does the 
 world see, or has it ever seen. 
 
 Ten years gone, and another year just entered upon ! 
 Well, let them pass, my friend. We have nothing 
 to do with their lapse, except to gain experience and 
 wisdom, and to keep instead of breaking, constantly, 
 the good resolutions we are so apt, all of us, in making. 
 Let us live for the happiness of others, and we shall 
 thus be happy ourselves here, and we can keep a 
 pretty clear look out for that hereafter which will call 
 into requisition all our capacities for enjoyment. Let 
 us travel on. What matter for the years. 
 
 I have read nothing to-day of any consequence, 
 but have thought much upon my past, present, and 
 future. Books and sermons do not constitute every- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 221 
 
 thing. Each man should study, and know himself. 
 He may find more agreeable subjects for study, but he 
 can certainly find none more important. Look your 
 self boldly in the face, my Editor. Don t shrink ! 
 How do you find yourself a little selfish, proud, dis 
 contented, disposed to murmur, &c., &c. ? Well, I 
 know several others troubled in the same way. It s 
 quite human, but it will never do, sir ! There s a 
 cure arid a balm for it. We can all become, if we 
 will, more pure, gentle, affectionate, childlike, chari 
 table. We are starting on a new year, and let us, 
 therefore, try. 
 
 Monday, P. M. 
 
 The roads are so blocked with snow that all trav 
 elling is practically interdicted. Hence I have not 
 travelled to town to-day. I have, rather, been tak 
 ing a general survey of things here at Trifleton 
 House. I have procured a small boy to dig us out 
 of the drifts, and Trifleton House can now be ap 
 proximated. 
 
 How different it seems from last summer. Then 
 we had birds and flowers in the garden, and friends in 
 the house ; but now the garden is buried in a frigid 
 shroud, and our friends are far away. Be it so. We 
 should be independent of friends. We should find 
 resources in ourselves, and we do. I speak the truth 
 when I tell you that I feel absolutely merry to-day at 
 Trifleton House. The shadows of last summer, it is 
 true, are somewhat about me, but what then ? That 
 summer is fled, and my Hail is for the Future. I 
 care not for the Past. Have we hopes, expectations, 
 friends ? Let them appear in the Future, and prove 
 
222 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 themselves real. I care not for the Past. It is gone, 
 with its joys and its sorrows. Cling to it, you who 
 sentimentalize. Good-bye to it, say I. It has become 
 a ghost and a shadow. There is what is real there 
 is work in the Future. Better brood no longer, ye 
 dreamers, but awake, shake off your sloth and work, 
 and, when you work, look to it that you work in the 
 right direction ! Care not too much for gold, for it 
 will disappoint you. Nor for fame, for it will cheat 
 you. Nor for what you call happiness, for it will 
 slip from your grasp. Ascertain your duty, and dis 
 charge it ! 
 
 Another most remarkable feature about yesterday 
 and to-day, in addition to the snow, has been my being 
 allowed to taste the tomatoes which Pat. put up for the 
 winter ; and entre nous, though it is by no means to 
 be told in Gath, or to be published anywhere, I con 
 sider them an open question. Pat. says she don t think 
 they ve any too much salt ; but that she " put in con 
 siderable to make them keep ; " and that I would bet 
 ter not mention it anywhere. So don t publish this 
 part of my letter I beg you not to. She says I m 
 no judge of tomatoes. I am not. The longer I live 
 the more I am persuaded that I am rather fresh. 
 
 The quinces are a triumph, as are likewise your 
 grapes. I m much obliged to you for them. Editors, 
 though, ought not to expect grapes. 
 
 I send you an extract from Stub s last letter : 
 
 " Our case has been reached and argued, and I feel 
 satisfied that we have made all we can of it and brought 
 out its whole strength. We stand now fairly before 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 223 
 
 the Court, and I shall remain here until the opinion is 
 given. I cannot speak in too high terms of the ability 
 displayed by my associate counsel, and by the gentle 
 men on the other side also. A pure legal argument, 
 pointed and vigorous, adorned by little rhetoric and 
 weakened by less illustration, but marked by a severe 
 simplicity, and pronounced in chaste and nervous 
 English, and supported by principles and authorities, 
 in such a manner as to enchain the interest and com 
 mand the attention of the Court, is a lawyer s test and 
 triumph. 
 
 " I was quite aware of .all this when I ventured upon 
 my opening. I trembled, at first, at the sound of. my 
 own voice, for I had for auditors men of ripe experi 
 ence and mature judgment, while I myself was simply 
 in my novitiate, and was, as it were, essaying an ex 
 periment. Slill 1 knew by whom I was to be followed 
 and sustained. This thought encouraged me ; but, as 
 I proceeded, I saw that the Court were honoring me 
 with their attention, and their calm and dignified bear 
 ing and gentleman-like consideration for what even I 
 might have to present, inspired me with a self-reliance 
 such as I have seldom felt, and I spoke steadily on for 
 an hour or two without further embarrassment, until I 
 had quite gone through our brief, and discussed the 
 several points contained in it. 
 
 " The kindness of the Court, of whose whole de 
 meanor, in fact, I can never speak in terms of sufficient 
 admiration, and the invaluable method and arrange 
 ment of my associate counsel, in the preparation of 
 our brief, were the chief causes of my managing to 
 push along as well as I did. I do not regard, then, my 
 
224 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 effort as entirely a failure ; but I would not have spoken 
 of it as freely as I have, except to gratify what I be 
 lieve to be more than an idle curiosity on your part. 
 I know that you are interested in all that I do. 
 
 " What the result shall be is of small moment to 
 me, so far as it will affect my property, as I have 
 said before. I care nothing for money or station, if I 
 can but educate myself and benefit my kind, as I pass 
 through life. I have nothing else to live for, my dear 
 friend. For what the world calls happiness I do not 
 look. The Jlush of my youth has passed, and my 
 enthusiasm has become merged in experience and dis 
 cipline. My hope has changed its name to disappoint 
 ment, and my fine resolutions to work and accomplish, 
 are fast fading away. I am growing inert and slug 
 gish, for what have I to strive after ? Who cares for 
 me ? I invest things and persons with virtues they 
 never had, and the bitter reaction which follows the 
 discovery of my mistake, makes me hate everybody. 
 I am far from happy, and the amount of confidence I 
 once reposed in a single woman, who has proved un 
 worthy of it, I can only reflect upon with a shudder. 
 It is unphilosophical and weak, I know, but I will 
 never trust another woman. Whether it be true or 
 false that one illustrate all, I know not and I care not. 
 I wash my hands of the entire sex forever. Let them 
 be content with their trinkets and their gossip ; their 
 small jealousies and frivolities ; and their hot desires 
 for admiration and flattery. I will not interfere with 
 them or trouble them." 
 
 Another extract from his letter, in a different vein, 
 is as follows : 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 225 
 
 " I have been reading Browning. We must assuredly 
 talk him over, when I return, for the man is a marvel 
 of his kind. Just hear him talk of Evelyn Hope, 
 who is dead : 
 
 1 Her life had many a hope and aim 
 Duties enough and little cares, 
 And now was quiet and now astir 
 Till God s hand beckoned unawares, 
 And the sweet white brow is all of her. 
 
 " And again, are you not startled at the irresistible 
 appeal to the human passion in your composition, in 
 the interrogatory in A Lover s Quarrel, of 
 
 * Woman, and will you cast 
 For a word, quite off at last, 
 Me, your own, your you. 
 Since, as truth is true, 
 I was you all the happy past 
 Me do you leave aghast 
 With the memories we amassed ? 
 
 " The italicising is mine. 
 
 " What the following is I cannot tell, whether it be 
 passion or poetry, or all soul. It is either intensely 
 human or intensely not human that is, something 
 higher. Which ? 
 
 I would I could adopt your will, 
 See with your eyes, and set my heart 
 Beating by yours, and drink my fill, 
 At your soul s springs your part, my part 
 In life, for good or ill. 
 
 " Here, too, the italics are mine, as also in this, so 
 full of meaning and feeling ; 
 15 
 
226 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Just when I seemed about to learn ! 
 "Where is the thread now ? OiF again ? 
 The old trick ! Only 1 discern 
 Infinite passion and the pain 
 Of finite hearts that yearn. " 
 
 We shall assuredly have to examine Browning a lit 
 tle, my Editor. It may be Stubs is somewhat too warm 
 in regard to him. But don t you think the kind of 
 selections he has given us a little remarkable old 
 married folks like us, and besides, how are they 
 consistent with other parts of his letter ? 
 
 I have seen nothing of Pink since my last. I occa 
 sionally ask Pat. about her : but quite all the informa 
 tion I get is, " Poor girl ! Poor child ! " What this 
 means is quite beyond me. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 227 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 In the time of snow-banks. 
 
 WE have no doubt, most sweet-mouthed Trifle, that 
 those grapes of which you speak with so much self- 
 gratulation our grapes you very provokingly call 
 them are excessively sour, even as your tomatoes 
 are confessedly salt. We have no desire for your 
 grapes. We have never believed in their good qualities 
 since you told us how we were cheated there s no 
 use in being mealy-mouthed absolutely cheated out 
 of them, by your wife s great desire to gratify your 
 inordinate love of " preserves." It is very refreshing 
 to think how disappointed you must have been, when 
 you found they were sour grapes, after all. You are 
 r airly punished for some of your sins by this infliction 
 on your fastidious palate. 
 
 It s all very well for you to talk so grandly about 
 not caring for the summer, with its birds, and flowers, 
 and friends. But of what value are words when your 
 acts tell a different story ? Shut up by snow-drifts, 
 to deliver you from which you call in the aid of a 
 small boy, instead of attacking them with a vigorous 
 arm yourself you uncork your tomatoes, and plunge 
 
228 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 into your grapes, the only mementoes you have of the 
 summer, and thus attempt to bring back the season 
 which you profess to care nothing about. Do you 
 succeed ? Do the snow-drifts vanish with the taste of 
 salt tomatoes? or are icy trees clothed with foliage as 
 you rejoice in sour grapes ? 
 
 That snow-storm was worthy of your notice, and 
 certainly the deep drifts are not to be passed by with 
 out observation. Ay, is it not a glorious sight, the 
 whole earth clad in such a spotless robe, covering its 
 dark places, its unsightly pools, its more hideous fea 
 tures, as well as all its beauties, with purity ? O for 
 some moral storm thus to spread an unstained mantle 
 over the dark places of misery, the foul pools of vice, 
 the deformities of sin ! 
 
 There are days of dazzling splendor in these seasons 
 of snow ; days whose brilliancy, and still, clear, invig 
 orating air, more than compensate for the absence of 
 the varied beauty of summer. The white snow every 
 where, shining in the sun and blue in the shadow, 
 with here and there a group of evergreens or the gray 
 trunks and branches of the thick woods to relieve the 
 eye, and over all the azure of the pure atmosphere, 
 cannot such a scene reconcile us to the rigors of our 
 northern winter ? The silence that seems to hang 
 upon the still air is broken only by the crackling of 
 dead branches in the woods, or the caw of the crow 
 who flaps his lazy wings over the high trees, or a 
 cheerful voice whose tones come up from the valley 
 like music, or the distant tinkle of merry sleigh-bells, 
 or the echoes which catch up all these sounds and 
 repeat them softly. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 229 
 
 So are there nights, with , these midwinter snows, 
 surpassingly beautiful, yet of a kind of desolate 
 beauty, which chills while it charms. The sense 
 of solitude which comes over one where the snow 
 stretches on every side, over hill and valley, white and 
 shining in the moonlight in strong contrast with the 
 dark sky, and there is no sign of human life, is 
 really oppressive. Under no other circumstances 
 we have not been a Crusoe, nor at sea in an open 
 boat, nor a solitary at the source of the Nile, nor in 
 the great desert have we felt so utterly alone, as in 
 such a midwinter scene, at night. The sense of beauty 
 is touched by the soft light, the striking contrasts and 
 the charm of mystery which hangs over the landscape ; 
 but gradually awakens the sense of desolation and 
 loneliness, as we look over the white plain, and hill, 
 and valley, all cold, still and lifeless, as we hear no 
 sound and see no living being, and feel that we stand 
 alone above the dead earth, and in the immeasurable 
 space above us worlds inaccessible. 
 
 We have been in this situation a few times, and ex 
 perienced more than we dare more than we can 
 express. You have confessed to having essayed poetry 
 in years gone by. Time was when we were guilty 
 of the same folly, and your lines recalled to our mem 
 ory some which we wrote more than u ten years " 
 ago, suggested by an experience of such a " Winter s 
 Night scene." We give you a part of them. 
 
 Night on the frozen earth, night on the snow, 
 Night in the dark blue sky, where the young moon, 
 Trailing her silver garments down the west, 
 Leaveth the infinite depth clotted with light, 
 
230 TEIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 As stars, like messengers from God, come forth. 
 Stillness and Night ; no restless wind astir 
 Shakes the soft mantle of the bending boughs, 
 Or sighs or wails in sorrow unrelenting ; 
 No voice nor music, chime nor echo breaks 
 The solemn hush, the deep, oppressive silence ; 
 Over the pure white snow that lies, a pall, 
 On forms of beauty sleeping now in death, 
 There moves no life the solitude to waken. 
 The chill heart hears its own dull throbbings only, 
 And sinks in trembling, shivering dread before 
 This awful silence, solitude and death. 
 
 This solitude and death ! Oh, shuddering soul, 
 Look up ! up from this frozen, desolate earth, 
 Its cold, pale, sculptured beauty, silence bound, 
 Into the fathomless infinite above, 
 "Where the stars shine in ever-living light, 
 And chant, in full-toned heavenly harmony, 
 God s glory evermore. 
 
 We commended to your attention, in our last, 
 Browning s new volume, and it seems that Stubs has 
 done likewise. The recent death of Rogers, the veteran 
 poet who has so long lingered on life s stage, a repre 
 sentative of the past, suggests a comparison rather 
 a contrast between these poets of different times 
 and different schools. We do not propose to follow 
 out the suggestion, but leave it for your own amuse 
 ment. Perspicuity and taste are the characteristics of 
 the author of the " Pleasures of Memory ; " and his 
 lines present a strong contrast to the frequent vagueness 
 and obscurity of those of Browning. In poetry, and 
 its impassioned expression, the latter is the superior of 
 Rogers ; but the clear elegance of the productions of 
 the departed poet, their graceful harmony and polished 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 231 
 
 thoughts, are sometimes more attractive than the sub 
 tile and beautiful ideas of the living one, and are, 
 perhaps, as much to be studied and admired in these 
 days of vague expression and meaningless words. But 
 pray you lighten the heavy hours of a winter s evening, 
 at Trifleton House, by comparing the two yourself. 
 Not as Umber does, however ; for though he admires 
 Browning, with a mischievous humor he tears some of 
 the most obscure lines from the context, and delights 
 in showing their nonsense when thus treated by 
 the side of some of the sweetest, and simplest, and 
 most expressive of the well-studied verses of Rogers. 
 That is the way many critics do, but, as you value 
 your own progress by weary steps up Parnassus, be 
 not guilty of such judgments. 
 
 At the Hard Mansion there have been some dark 
 days. Dicky Dawson has been very ill there. The 
 fever has run high, and for a time the doctor said the 
 chances of recovery were very faint. And as the poor 
 boy lay there on Abel s bed and in his care mur 
 muring indistinct words, as if to his mother, and clutch 
 ing at the bed-clothes, and looking up with glassy eye, 
 it seemed that the doctor must be right, and that the 
 course of the sufferer must be short. But the ways of 
 Providence are not scrutable to doctors. There were 
 kind hearts and willing hands about the sick boy, and 
 comforts which seem sent to him providentially. The 
 fever had its run and subsided, the mists rolled away 
 from his brain, and the doctor has pronounced him 
 safe. Safe I ay, in Heaven s keeping and by God s 
 mercy not by virtue of physic. Yet the doctor was 
 kind and attentive, and is skilful withal, but even the 
 
232 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 skilfulest and kindest is only an instrument. However, 
 it is enough for the household, and the relief of the 
 anxious, that the doctor pronounces him safe. 
 
 We went a few evenings since to the mansion, with 
 die purpose was it not kind of us, Trifle? of 
 cheering Abel s solitude a little, and relieving the mo 
 notony of his close-watching by the bedside of his sick 
 protege. We were surprised to learn he was not at 
 home ; but Mr. Umber, the servant said, was in the 
 library ! Umber domiciled here, and Abel gone ! 
 What has happened to bring this about ? Is it a token 
 of Umber s good fortune ? So we thought as we en 
 tered the hall and were ushered into the library. 
 
 Umber was " at home," certainly. Dressing-gown 
 and slippers and his lazy posture in an easy chair, said 
 that very emphatically. He was at home for the eve 
 ning, with no apparent intention of quitting his comfort 
 able quarters this night, and on the contrary assuming 
 a very host-like air, as he greeted us. 
 
 " But how is" this, Umber ? Have you actually be 
 come one of the family ? " 
 
 " The whole of it, doing the honors of the tea table 
 to myself, and entertaining myself after the most ap 
 proved fashion, as you see. Abel has installed me here 
 for a few days more or less to have a care for 
 this boy, whom he saved from drowning to be a great 
 trouble to him." 
 
 " And Abel ? " 
 
 " Has gone again ? " 
 
 "Whither?" 
 
 " To more sorrow, I fear. A letter yesterday in 
 formed him that Lily was failing rapidly, with a bad 
 
TRIFLETON TAPERS. 233 
 
 cough and other unpromising symptoms of sudden 
 growth. A letter from Lily herself, full of gentle love 
 he read it to me and a gentler spirit of resigna 
 tion which triumphed over the anguish of her heart, 
 told him that she believes her days will soon be num 
 bered, and expressed a wish to see him again. He 
 needed no other summons, and in his haste to com 
 ply with this request, he half conquered the misery 
 and dread which at first overwhelmed him. He went 
 this morning, leaving me to look after the boy whom I 
 have just translated to dream-land by reading poetry, 
 and now I am at your service." 
 
 " If Bel were here, now " 
 
 " I should not be." 
 
 Then Umber grew thoughtful. We fell to musing, 
 too, checked by the grave tone of his voice ; and look 
 ing into the hissing Cannel in the grate, that fire 
 shall ever be our delight ! we thought of the Hon. 
 Mr. Weed, calculating how many weeks or months it 
 might be, before Madame should make the mansion 
 brilliant for the consummation of her plans to unite 
 her only daughter with that piece of human broad 
 cloth, money and vice. Umber, perhaps, was thinking 
 of the same thing, for he spoke, half to us, and half to 
 himself. 
 
 " Bel is unhappy, and is waywardly, or perhaps un 
 der the pressure of circumstances, hastening her own 
 misery. If I could but dispel the cold, unhealthy at 
 mosphere which surrounds her heart ! But I am too 
 poor to presume to say I love her, and too proud to 
 subject myself to scorn. Our old friendship only seems 
 to compel her to raise a barrier between her heart and 
 
234 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 me, and as I seek to break over that barrier, and to 
 know and make her know what her heart really is, the 
 more sedulously she raises and preserves it. She is a 
 paradox. She despises him whose wife she is hasten 
 ing to be ; she repels me whom she might love if I 
 were not what I am." 
 
 " Like all women, she loves display, and would 
 marry the wealth which can afford it." 
 
 " All women ? " 
 
 " Most women, then." 
 
 " Education and fashion are generally responsible 
 for such feelings, or such actions, rather ; and in Bel s 
 case add her mother s influence. Underneath the con 
 ventional character which she assumes, I know there is 
 something better, a spirit like that expressed in the 
 idealized portrait of her, only more passionate." 
 
 " Have you made friends with her for that offence ? " 
 
 " I have not seen her since. But if I could read 
 aright, she is too true a woman not to feel and appre 
 ciate the purpose of that picture when she had 
 time for thought." 
 
 " You extol her." 
 
 " Not above her worth. Yet am I a fool to dream 
 as I do." 
 
 There was the jingle of bells in the avenue, and 
 then a ring at the door, voices and a stir in the hall, 
 during which Umber and we looked at each other with 
 a due sense of the awkwardness in which we were 
 placed as guests without a host. Before we had re 
 covered from our surprise, the door opened, and Bel 
 Hard entered hurriedly. We had both risen, and Bel, 
 passing me with a gentle salutation, hastened to Um- 
 
TIUFLETON PAPERS. 235 
 
 ber, whom in his domestic garb she at first mistook for 
 Abel. But she stopped suddenly. 
 
 " Ah ! I thought it was my brother." 
 
 She held out her hand cordially to Umber, though 
 her lip quivered as she spoke. He took it for a mo 
 ment, but before he could say why he, and not Abel, 
 was there, Bel burst into tears, and left the room as 
 hastily as she entered it. 
 
 This sudden appearance and strange agitation were 
 hardly realized, before we were made aware of the 
 worldly presence of Madame Hard, to whom all due 
 explanations were made, and we departed. 
 
 Women weep when they are happiest, do they not? 
 
236 TEIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 TRIFLETOX HOUSE, 
 In the month of drained purges. 
 
 I PRESUME you have had plenty of New Year s 
 presents ; of that kind we family men usually get, 
 one from the grocer, one from the butcher, one 
 from the baker, one from the tailor; and to sum 
 it all up in a word a great many from a great many 
 others you expected nothing from ; people you had 
 almost forgotten, in fact, but who kindly remembered 
 you, considerate souls ! 
 
 There is always more or less obligation connected 
 with this system of holiday presents, and a spirited 
 person likes to make some return for his gifts. Hence 
 I find it a good way to ascertain as nearly as possible, 
 the value in money of my presents, and to force the 
 amount, be it more or less, upon my donors. A gener 
 ous grocer, or a clement butcher wilt waive the deli 
 cacy of the thing, and accept it at once. I have even 
 seen those who would coolly give you a receipt, and 
 write upon it those quaint words, " received payment; " 
 which indicates to my mind that they actually expect 
 to be paid in money for every present they make ! 
 
 Money is a formidable agent. Men are conciliated 
 by it, and women barter away their happiness for it. 
 The shabby brethren of Joseph exposed themselves 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 237 
 
 to eternal animadversion for a scanty amount of it ; 
 and Judas betrayed our Saviour for a few insignifi 
 cant pieces of silver. And yet, is a little money a 
 most convenient thing to have in the early part of 
 January. It is not necessarily the cause, but it is 
 veritably the means of much happiness, in a world 
 like this. 
 
 It s excellent to make and pay presents with. 
 
 I trust, my Editor, that you have an exuberance of 
 it about this time. But Editors, after all, have very 
 little need of it, for are they not supplied constantly 
 with the choicest luxuries, with season tickets to the 
 Theatre, and complimentary tickets to the Opera? 
 And consider their libraries ! Every new book is 
 anxiously thrust upon them, while neither Phillips 
 & Sampson, Ticknor & Fields, nor Whittemore, Niles 
 & Co. ever impart a solitary volume to luckless 
 Trifle, without compensation therefor in lucre. My 
 real belief is that these publishers try to make all 
 of us, who are not Editors, wretched. For we want 
 their books. To be without them, is to be wretched ; 
 and to be continually paying our dollars away for 
 them, is to be wretched also. For what have we left, 
 in order to pay our New Year s presents, withal ? 
 
 Being in rather a dingy status from trains of thought 
 somewhat kindred to these, and reflecting upon the 
 lapse of years and the increased expenditures of liv 
 ing, I looked in some days since upon Goody Green, 
 to sec how the sharp severity of the new year was 
 affecting her, and to inform her that I had ordered 
 a few articles of fuel, clothing, &c., for her. 
 
 I found her, as usual, cheerful and happy, toasting 
 
238 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 her shins by her stove, which answers alike for culi 
 nary purposes and for warming her apartments ; and 
 her gratitude was unbounded for my trifling donations. 
 Mr. Editor, she is happy, poor though she be. 
 
 If you wish to know what real happiness is, she can 
 inform you. 
 
 As she worked, with nimble fingers, upon her old 
 shreds of list, and fragments of cloth, flannel, and 
 what not, with which she fabricates her " rag car 
 pets " (her usual occupation), I took occasion to ask 
 her how she relished the idea of adventuring upon 
 another year of life, and added that her lot was rather 
 a hard one. 
 
 u Yes," said she, " so you folks who live in fine 
 houses say ; but I m very comfortable, I be." 
 
 " But you are growing old, and can t work much 
 longer ! " 
 
 "Yes, I m almost home, and what mercies I ve had, 
 (I shuddered at my own ingratitude, as 1 looked around 
 her wretched apartments), and how kind the Lord is 
 that s always taken care of me ! When I think o the 
 poor, this bitter weather, that ha n t got no home, (oh, 
 God forgive me, I inwardly prayed), I feel I have much 
 to be thankful for." 
 
 " But do you never think that you may be worse off, 
 and that these hard times may reduce you to a state in 
 which you would find it difficult to sustain your present 
 condition ? " I inquired, in a very questionable if not 
 almost mean spirit of curiosity which I could not 
 resist. 
 
 " Sometimes ; but such thoughts is (are) pernici 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 239 
 
 " The world, though, is cold and heartless, and 
 friends are few and inconstant." 
 
 " I don t mind the world," she exclaimed, turn 
 ing towards me with a glowing countenance, " and 
 I have faith in the Lord. He is my friend." 
 
 " He may console and comfort you ; but, while 
 we live in this world, do we not need food and 
 raiment ? " said I, pushing her faith to its severest 
 test, in spite of the conviction that I had no right 
 thus to catechize her. 
 
 " He will give me all I wants," she replied. " Miss 
 Pink reads to me that He commanded the ravens to 
 feed Elijah, and about the poor widow whose barrel 
 of meal never wasted, and whose cruise of oil never 
 failed. I have faith to believe He will always take 
 care o me ; and, then, our blessed Lord and Saviour 
 said we musn t take no thought o such things, but 
 that we must seek fust .(first) the kingdom o Heaven, 
 and all sich (such) things should be added unto us 
 or the like o that." 
 
 And so is she happy, my Editor, from sheer Faith. 
 Do you understand it ? There is something certainly 
 mysterious in this FaitJi, which is thus the sum and 
 substance, quite, of a human life ; something which 
 will not be gainsaid, and which .utterly conquers and 
 exorcises the temptation to despair, or even to repine 
 and despond. 
 
 1 know many cultured men who could argue this 
 poor old woman -down, but whom, in the end, she 
 could subdue without argument. 
 
 I will not narrate to you, in detail, all the conversation 
 I had with her. Suffice it to say I left her " a sadder 
 
210 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 and a wiser man." She said, among other things, 
 that she couldn t understand our habits of thought and 
 action. 
 
 She informed me that she thought Pink was unhappy 
 (I tell it to you in my own language), because she was 
 laboring under the idea she had wronged some "one ; 
 and that she advised her to make amends for it by 
 acknowledging her error and asking the forgiveness 
 of the person she had wronged ; that Pink said that, 
 was hard to do, and would cost a great sacrifice of 
 pride and self-respect ; that she told her self-respect 
 was oftentimes only another name for what was 
 haughty and imperious, and sinful in the sight of 
 God, and that a chivalric and generous spirit thought 
 not so much of what was agreeable to selfish prompt 
 ings, as of what was right and just; that it was easy 
 to do wrong, but hard to do right, according to the 
 conventionalisms of society ; .but that the more we 
 discarded these wretched conventionalisms, and the 
 nearer we approached a state of simplicity and na 
 ture, the simpler, and purer, and holier we should 
 become, that we should be happier ourselves, and 
 make those around us happier. 
 
 A very simple and ignorant woman is poor Goody 
 Green, but she is also very wise. Think of her 
 advising Pink, and what is stranger still, think of Pink s 
 asking her advice ! 
 
 She says she considers that Pink is vastly changed 
 from what she was a few months since, and that it s a 
 great pity she is to marry the man with the corn- 
 colored gloves ; but he is impatient, and the wedding 
 day has been fixed. It is drawing very nigh, and is 
 only some six or eight weeks off. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 241 
 
 Good bye, Pink. 
 
 Goody insists to me that she ought to marry Stubs ; 
 so little does she know of this world and its ways. 
 
 She has not been in society. 
 
 Stubs is her idol. She exaggerates his virtues. His 
 faults she has never seen. She exhibited much concern 
 in regard to the result of his suit. I promised her she 
 should hear about it. 
 
 She will. 
 
 Pink took tea and spent last evening with us. It 
 has been, as you are aware, a considerable length 
 of time since I have seen her. I should scarcely 
 know her. She is still surpassingly beautiful, but 
 she looks worn and anxious. She is thinner and 
 paler than ever before. Her cheek is not the color 
 of the radish now. 
 
 She was sitting quietly after tea with Pat., at a small 
 work-table. .They were both engaged at their work, 
 and interesting themselves in some private conversa 
 tion, in which they evidently didn t wish me to partici 
 pate. I therefore smoked my cigar and read my paper 
 in silence. I had no desire to disturb them, and I was 
 quite satisfied with the conversation I was holding with 
 myself. At times, my Editor, when I am in good 
 humor, I find myself tolerably good company quite 
 entertaining, in fact. 
 
 But not a great while can two feminines talk simply 
 with each other, when there is one of us distin 
 guished " lords of creation " in the room and Pat. 
 inquired 
 
 " Trifle, what s the news from town ? " 
 
 " Not much," I replied, " except let me think 
 
 16 
 
242 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 ah ! yes, except this letter which I received to-day 
 from Stubs." 
 
 I glanced at Pink. She seemed in no way inter 
 ested, but went on with her work. She didn t even 
 look up. 
 
 I read the following extract : 
 
 " The opinion of the Court has been given ; it is 
 against us. I shall come immediately home." 
 
 " Oh, how sorry I am ! " exclaimed Pat. " Stubs 
 will be so unhappy, stripped of his property. I pity 
 him from my heart." 
 
 Pink still worked on most vigorously. It so hap 
 pened that a book I wanted was lying on the work- 
 table, and as I was unwilling to trouble her to hand it 
 to me, I walked up to the table and took it myself, and 
 how could 1 avoid seeing her tears falling like rain 
 upon her worsted, or what not, which she was vainly 
 attempting to get out of the snarl in which she had 
 entangled it. She had been working all the time with 
 great assiduity, and I was surprised to see the kind of 
 progress she had made ; and why she selected such a 
 moment for crying, is more than I know. But who 
 can understand women ? Without noticing her em 
 barrassment (and neither she nor Pat. knew I observed 
 it), I remarked carelessly, 
 
 " I am glad Stubs has lost his case." 
 
 As in the olden time, Pink turned towards me, her 
 head no longer drooping, but thrown back proudly, 
 her eyes kindling and blazing with fire, and the tears, 
 which were still swimming in them, glaring like dia 
 monds, and inquired 
 
 " Is such, then, a man s view of his friend s misfor- 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 243 
 
 tune ? How charitable it is ! " (with a slight curl of the 
 
 HP.) 
 
 " It is," said 1, quite satisfied with my experiment, 
 " and it is also a charitable view. In both particulars 
 you are correct as you generally are." 
 
 A shudder again a struggle, and the fire in her 
 eyes went out, and she was meekness illustrated. 
 
 " Pardon me, dear Trifle, but I do not quite under 
 stand you." 
 
 " Stubs has been a fool most of his life." 
 
 " How ? what do you mean ? are you jesting ? " 
 
 These questions came all in a breath, with great 
 rapidity vehemence almost. She looked up in my 
 face with a gaze of such beaming, earnest inquiry, 
 of such radiant, sparkling intelligence, that I thought 
 it was not only not surprising that Stubs should have 
 loved her so, but surprising, rather, that the whole 
 world did not. 
 
 " I never jest," I answered, " upon subjects of this 
 character. What I mean is, that Stubs, who has ca 
 pacity, only wanted necessity to provoke it into action 
 in order to make his mark. That necessity has come." 
 
 She replied with a smile, such as no woman 1 ever 
 saw could command, and was eagerly putting another 
 interrogatory, when I interrupted her with 
 
 " But I ask your pardon for saying so much of my 
 absent friend. You will think I have no interest in 
 you. Come, let s hear about the great event. Is 
 the dress selected ? Are we quite ready, Pink, and 
 how does he feel about it ? Does he write most tender 
 letters, urging you to have compassion on his impa 
 tience ? " 
 
244 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " Why, how foolish you are, Trifle," said my inter 
 esting Pat. 
 
 I m sure I could see no impropriety in what I had 
 said, and I looked to ascertain if Pink were at all 
 hurt. I was startled shocked, I may say. A look 
 of wretchedness was on her face, such as I have 
 never seen except on the countenance of Mrs. Fan 
 ny Kemble, when representing Queen Catherine, in 
 one of her readings. I said nothing further. A long 
 pause ensued, when, presently, a voice was heard 
 crying, in eager, almost jubilant tones, u Trifle, Pat., 
 I am home again ! " and my hand was wrung, and 
 Pat. s lips were warmly kissed before we could scarce 
 ly collect our senses at the sight of Stubs. 
 
 My duty is to record facts, and disguise nothing in 
 this most veracious history. 
 
 Pink started. Evidently struggling with emotions 
 she found it impossible to resist, she rose from her 
 seat, and, bowing, attempted to speak ; when, turning 
 very pale, she began to tremble, and would, I think, 
 have fallen to the floor, if he had not caught her in his 
 arms. He laid her on the sofa, and forgetful of time, 
 place, and circumstance, kissed her like a madman 
 brow, cheek and lips. 
 
 Pat. and I stood spell-bound. 
 
 Once she opened her eyes, and a sweet and quasi 
 angelic smile passed over her face. She lifted her 
 arms involuntarily, and wound them round his neck, 
 and again she was like one dead. 
 
 Pat. and I were awed. A moment more and we 
 were deluging her with restoratives. 
 
 I have told you in a former letter how Stubs and 
 Pink parted. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 245 
 
 It was thus they met. 
 
 Said Pat " She has had these headaches frequently 
 of late. They always make her faint." 
 There spoke the woman ! 
 
 Item. Pink s father has failed in business. He is 
 deeply insolvent. She don t know it, as yet. But I 
 do. What think you of the world, my Editor ? 
 
 I incline more and more to the opinion that Pink has 
 a heart. 
 
246 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 At the close of the 1st month, 56. 
 
 MONEY ! That is the text of your last letter from 
 the date thereof to the " item " which mentions the 
 failure of Pink s father. A very suggestive subject, 
 truly. Suggestive of misery, however, as much as 
 pleasure and happiness, misery to yourself, who 
 fall into a " dingy status" (that s a queer expression,) 
 as if Trifleton House were insolvent, and misery to 
 your friends, who have the misfortune to lose their 
 property and to become as poor as we are. 
 
 Money is, in truth, a " formidable agent," as you 
 say. We should say that it is a formidable foe. 
 Nevertheless, it is a powerful agent. It is a means 
 for innumerable ends, good and evil, great and small ; 
 but unfortunately some of us have more ends than 
 means. It procures a pinch of snuff, a penny paper, 
 and a polish on the boots, and it likewise procures 
 broad domains, palaces and pictures, and splendid 
 equipage. It procures misery and pains too ; but 
 then it finds the doctors to cure such ills. It pur 
 chases men and women, services, sometimes love, 
 souls even. It brings pleasure, but with all its might 
 it can t get happiness. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 247 
 
 Gold and silver are generally supposed to be the 
 true currency, the only real money, and when one 
 can get them they are certainly not to be declined. 
 Even paper money those pretty pictures which men 
 "make believe" are money is not to be altogether 
 disregarded. But there is another metal, which, though 
 not absolutely "legal tender" (nor, in fact, tender in 
 any way) is quite as current and quite as potent with 
 those who have enough of it. Brass was a common 
 and very useful coin, in olden time, and for many cen 
 turies it has been used more or less, but chiefly among 
 the most enlightened nations. 
 
 At the present day, though it do not always bear 
 the regal effigies or the national mint stamp, it never 
 was more current or more potent. Some people style 
 it a base metal. But if its value be measured or 
 weighed by what it purchases or accomplishes, it is 
 wonderfully precious. 
 
 Some of us, Trifle, have as little of this latter cur 
 rency as we have of the former. It is a great misfor 
 tune, for he who has not gold and silver, ought surely 
 to have brass. Else how can he get along in this 
 world, where everybody progresses only by means of 
 hese metals ? 
 
 Let us look around and see how the world, just about 
 us, goes. Don t you see the force of brass ? Observe 
 
 how II prospers in his business on that large 
 
 capital of this same metal; how B rapidly 
 
 mounts the political ladder by the liberal use of it ; 
 
 how L achieves matrimony and wealth at once by 
 
 wearing a circlet of it under his " Hyperion curls." 
 In short, see how in things great and small it is as 
 
248 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 formidable as gold if in skilful hands. There is one 
 inconvenience to some people about it ; for however 
 rich it makes its possessor, they who part with their 
 goods under the temptation it offers, seldom find that 
 they have an equivalent for that with which they 
 parted. It makes him who buys with it rich, but 
 impoverishes him on whom it is bestowed. 
 
 But after all, what are the effects of any of these 
 metals, gold, silver, or brass, wherewith men get pos 
 sessions, upon the heart and soul ? Do they not weigh 
 heavily there ? overshadowing and crushing out the 
 affections, and the hopes and aspirations which but for 
 this dull, solid weight, might have grown upward and 
 borne good fruit, might have secured possessions 
 more lasting ? From the world come silent answers 
 in numberless examples. 
 
 Look up, then, ye unfortunate, who possess neither 
 gold, nor silver, nor brass, but have that within you 
 which can look up. Around your hearts shall not be 
 reared the hard, cold walls over whose battlements you 
 may not look forth upon God s works. No canopy of 
 earthly ores shall shut out from you the sight of the 
 heavens. No clanking chains, whether of gold or 
 silver, shall fetter you to earth. Thus far have ye 
 an advantage over some ye deem more fortunate. For 
 the rest, be earnest, thoughtful, courageous, just and 
 honest, and notwithstanding an occasional rebuff or 
 defeat in your campaign with fortune, you will tri 
 umph in the end. Yes, all of you, Trifle, Stubs, 
 Umber. 
 
 Even Umber, though we begin to have some doubts 
 about him, he has become so despondent, at times. 
 
TRIFLETON TAPERS. 249 
 
 Ever since the return of Madame Hard and Bel, he 
 has appeared dull, sometimes even stupid, as if he 
 were in a dream. The shock of that sudden return 
 which found him domesticated at the mansion seems 
 to have had a bad effect. 
 
 A day or two since he came in, bringing a letter 
 which he had received from Abel Hard. Handing it 
 to us he asked us to read and " make a note " of it, 
 and seizing a book he threw himself on the sofa with 
 no more words, but a troubled expression on his 
 face. We read the letter, which contained the fol 
 lowing : 
 
 "Our worst fears are but too certain to be realized, 
 and even now we begin to dread only the hour of that 
 sad certainty, that Lily must die. Too surely, too 
 plainly, she fails. Hemorrhage and a cough wear 
 upon her weakened frame but too rapidly and too per 
 ceptibly. How has she changed since I first learned 
 the rapture of our mutual love ! Pale and thin she 
 seems to have grown ethereal. Her soft eye has 
 acquired an unusual brilliancy and an expression of 
 deeper feeling of more heavenly feeling, 1 think, 
 as it turned upon me with a bright glance, but with 
 unutterable tenderness. 
 
 44 We have conversed much, and freely. I think 
 I have listened to an angel as she spoke, she has 
 uttered such words of truth, and cheering hope, and 
 of deep religious faith. And while I stand, as it 
 were, on the very verge of an overwhelming sor 
 row, she has borne me up across the chasm, and 
 pointed me on to a happy future. She has, like the 
 sun, gilded the clouds that hang about her depart- 
 
250 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 ure, and opened through them visions of far reach 
 ing, infinite beauty. She leads me on O God ! that 
 I may follow her ! by endless progress onward and 
 upward towards the perfect. 
 
 " I marvel, myself, at the change which has come 
 over me under Lily s influence. I came here in rest 
 less sorrow, tortured with the dread of losing the price 
 less treasure I had just found. In my grief my spirit 
 was rebellious against the decrees of Heaven. But 
 now, when I know more certainly that what I most 
 feared must come, and watch the days go by which 
 surely bring the end, I look upon it calmly, I look 
 beyond with an indefinable but a sustaining hope. 
 Something of that heavenly resignation, which seems 
 now to be the very essence of her being, is infused into 
 my own nature by the force of its purity and strength, 
 and the passionate spirit, chafing with a selfish sorrow, 
 is subdued, and softened, and cheered. 
 
 " Lily s father, in his anxiety and affection for her, 
 has forgotten his misanthropy and his misfortunes even. 
 Her gentle oh, more than gentle, her angelic spirit 
 has wrought a change in him, too. But his heart is 
 full of an unutterable grief. And for him, whom she 
 will leave alone in his sorrow, is Lily s deepest regret. 
 
 " I wish that Bel were here. The icy garb which 
 envelopes her warm, true heart, would be swept away 
 forever. Commend to her care, when she returns, 
 the boy, for the sake of Dawson, who nurses Lily 
 with so much devotion." 
 
 When we had read this letter, of which we give you 
 but a part, we turned to Umber. He was looking 
 intently on the book which he held, but it was upside 
 down. He started as we spoke. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 251 
 
 " Abel tells a sad story, yet he is hardly more to 
 be pitied than congratulated." 
 
 "He is .much more to be congratulated than pitied. 
 He has attained the true happiness of love in a return of 
 his affection. 1 " 
 
 " But is he not to be pitied that death must divide 
 them so soon ? " 
 
 " Better be divided by death than folly. But even 
 there he is not to be pitied ; for under less affliction 
 their affection would have been less pure and elevated, 
 and would not have had the influence which it now 
 has. It is because he loves, as it seems to him, an 
 angel, and listens to words spoken almost from another 
 world, that Lily has so broken through his second na 
 ture and lifted up his thoughts from selfish sorrow to 
 pure hopes." 
 
 " It is a little strange that the change should have 
 been so quickly effected." 
 
 " Not remarkable. Abel has, under the surface, a 
 deep religious sentiment, which needed only a break 
 ing of the crust and the gentle encouragement which 
 such a spirit as Lily s affords him. It is a sentiment 
 that may not tolerate creeds and the dogmas of the 
 ology, but accepts the great truths of religion which 
 tower above all the mists raised by church and sect. 
 When he was in Italy some of the better influences 
 of the church might have made him a Roman Catholic, 
 but that he was more repelled by dogmas and forms 
 that offended his religious feeling. Now, that senti 
 ment, aroused by impending affliction, is addressed in 
 a manner more consonant with itself, and it follows the 
 aspirations of the purer nature which has become his 
 teacher without forms and creeds. 
 
252 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " Will this state of mind continue ? " 
 
 " As it is founded on a sentiment really strong, and 
 is sustained by affection, in which it has in part its 
 origin, why should it not continue ? But I did not 
 mean to discuss Abel s sorrows or hopes. I came to 
 ask a favor." 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " That you will take this letter to Bel Hard." 
 
 Abel s ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why do you not go yourself? " 
 
 " I cannot. Since her return, Bel has pointedly 
 shunned me when I have called to see the sick 
 boy, and once when I found her in the sick room, 
 she hastily withdrew after a most cold and hurried 
 salutation. I shall give her no further offence, and 
 no opportunity to slight me." 
 
 " How can we interpret this ? " 
 
 " Her nature is twofold, and the external, fashion 
 able, hollow and insincere has triumphed over the 
 real, true and lovely." 
 
 " The letter shall go." 
 
 While speaking of Bel, Umber s manner was un 
 usually disturbed. All his tones clearly expressed a 
 deep disappointment which could only be inferred 
 from his words. We had no idea that he was so 
 irretrievably lost in a hopeless attachment. Why, is 
 he not poor and of no account in the world ? He 
 will, perhaps, some day achieve a name ; but he will 
 be gray then, and future fame, or greatness, or wealth, 
 self-achieved, do not pass current in the present. 
 
 We went to the mansion and inquired for Bel. We 
 
TEIFLETON PAPERS. 253 
 
 were shown into a parlor where she was, alone. We 
 had anticipated that the Hon. Mr. Weed might be 
 there, for he has arrived from Washington, we learn. 
 For what purpose he has followed so closely on the 
 returning steps of the Hards, we may guess. Bel 
 was alone. As we entered she laid down a book 
 it was a volume of Tennyson and rose to meet 
 us. 
 
 Has female beauty any charm for you ? We doubt 
 if it has. Your idea is satisfied with the loveliness of 
 Pat., or Pink, or some other friend, and you have no 
 glance, even, for the beauty of a stranger or a less 
 dear friend. We presume to be more sensible. Bel 
 never appeared more beautiful than she did then, and 
 she is certainly lelle. She has been more brilliant and 
 probably more attractive. But now there was a look 
 of deep sadness not discontent, as we have formerly 
 seen on her face, and her eye was soft rather than 
 cold and languid. As she spoke, a faint sfnile soft 
 ened, but did not dispel, the sad look, and lent a 
 charm to her expression such as we had not before 
 seen on her face. She was more like Umber s fancy 
 portrait than we had seen her of late, only the happy 
 expression was wanting. 
 
 Formalities being over there must be some for 
 malities at a mansion like the Hards , though Bel and 
 Abel are not particular about them we presented 
 the letter which Abel had written to Umber, saying 
 it was the request of the latter. 
 
 " And could he not come ? " 
 
 She looked us full in the face with earnest eyes, and 
 
254 TR1FLETON PAPERS. 
 
 we could see them fill with tears, as she uttered these 
 words with a slight tremulousness. 
 
 We are afraid we stammered as we attempted some 
 excuse for Umber, and doubtless made bad work of it, 
 for the expression of bitterness, too familiar on that fair 
 face, returned, and she turned coldly towards the table 
 to read the letter. 
 
 " The contents of the letter are somewhat sad." 
 
 She seemed not to hear, for she opened it not. She 
 rested her brow upon one hand, the other dropped at 
 her side and the letter fell to the floor. There was 
 a struggle going on in her mind, and we were com 
 pelled to be an unwilling witness of it. But we could 
 not quite comprehend it all. After a few moments we 
 ventured to pick up the letter, saying, 
 
 "Your brother writes sadly, but do not anticipate 
 bad news." 
 
 " Thank you. And pardon me for my weakness." 
 
 The weakness was not all gone, for the effort to 
 speak calmly was not quite successful. She opened 
 the letter, but we knew that those swimming eyes 
 could scarcely decipher the touching words of Abel s 
 letter. We intimated that we would not trespass upon 
 her presence that she might read the letter more at 
 ease. Shall we ever forget the look with which she 
 replied r the sweet, sad, grateful smile that opened 
 to us the knowledge of a heart we had not dreamed 
 was possessed by Bel Hard ? 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 Those were the only words, but the look and the 
 tone expressed infinitely more. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 255 
 
 And so we departed, pondering on the mysteries 
 of life, and pitying Umber, who is to lose so much 
 womanly tenderness and worth, pitying Bel, who 
 is to cast such pearls before the Hon. Mr. Weed. 
 
 What think we of the world ! Trifle. That there 
 is much goodness in it which we have not yet dis 
 covered. 
 
250 TRIFLETON TAPERS. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 TRIFLETOX HOUSE. 
 In February of 56. 
 
 HAVE you ever read Ovid s beautiful poem of the 
 Four Ages ? If you bave, you will doubtless remem 
 ber how he speaks of the inordinate pursuit of gain 
 amor sceJeratus liabendi and that he describes it 
 as one of the marked features of the Iron Age. Is not 
 all he says as true now as it was in his day ? I think 
 so, notwithstanding all our rapid strides in civilization 
 of which we boast so much. 
 
 But Ovid knew nothing, or, at least, tells us nothing 
 of failures, as we call them. They are quite of our 
 day, and incidental to our mercantile communities. 
 We best illustrate the credit system. We all owe 
 each other, and so far is it possible for us to live on 
 mere credit, and nothing else, that, when a great mer 
 chant fails, nobody is astonished that for years he has 
 been sustaining an establishment, equipage, and what 
 not, on borrowed capital ; and that he hasn t had suf 
 ficient moral courage to come out and tell the world, 
 like a man, of his bankrupt condition. We are a 
 "fast" and " stunning" people, and each one of us is 
 eager to keep up with the times, and outstrip his neigh 
 bors in external display and glitter. We, therefore, 
 spend money not only after, but before we have earned 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 257 
 
 it, and, when we become embarrassed, we run large 
 risks in hopes of large gains, and the result is, every 
 year, a series of " failures." 
 
 In any point of view, it is a sad thing for a man to 
 fail. A true man, indeed, never fails in the proper 
 significance of that term ; but I use it now in its mer 
 cantile and American sense. Many a man would 
 rather die than fail. No matter what anybody else 
 may think, he at least sees something in it to be 
 ashamed of something ignominious almost ; and if 
 his nature be proud and sensitive, he will be inclmed 
 to quite break up, or rather, to employ a cat phrase,, 
 "break down" under it, unless he is sustained and 
 encouraged by those about him. 
 
 Have you ever been called upon to sympathize with 
 a man in such circumstances, and to persuade him that 
 he had still something worth living for? Have you 
 ever met his creditors face to face, and stood in the 
 gap between their indignation and his despondency 
 despair even, oftentimes? If you have not, I have. 
 I have seen all sides of human nature, the worst and 
 the best, and my belief is, that though men are selfish, 
 they are still open to conviction : and however harshly 
 creditors may bear upon a failing man in the first flush 
 of their excitement, in the end they will generally deal 
 with him justly, leniently, generously, if he prove him 
 self to be an honest man. 
 
 In a world like this we ought certainly to make 
 allowances for each other. None of us are infallible. 
 All of us are liable to misfortune. When a man fails, 
 then, however improvident and foolish he may have 
 been in his manner of conducting his business, let us 
 17 
 
258 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 be at least charitable. Let us hear before we strike, 
 and treat him as men and Christians should treat a fel 
 low in his distress. We shall thus lose nothing, and 
 we may gain what is invaluable. 
 
 I have been led into this train of thought by observ 
 ing the actions of Stubs, since my last letter. For 
 getful of his own misfortunes, he has undertaken the 
 settlement of the affairs of Pink s father. He called 
 a meeting of the Boston creditors, which I attended at 
 his request, and I was much struck with his conduct 
 and management. 
 
 Who reviles lawyers ? 
 
 Let such an one see a real, Christian lawyer, and 
 attempt to set a value upon the influence he is capable 
 of exerting, and we shall hear no more contemptuous 
 flings at the profession. It is indeed the noblest of 
 professions, in worthy hands, and more good is ac 
 complished, more differences healed, more acerbities 
 soothed, and more bitterness subdued and softened by 
 it than most people are aware of. A true, genuine 
 lawyer is the most valuable man in any community. 
 He can do more practical good than a minister, be 
 cause, while he may be just as pure, charitable and 
 religious, he knows men better, and can judge better 
 how they should be treated for their own good. If the 
 clergy would practise law a dozen years before attempt 
 ing to preach, they would preach more efficient ser 
 mons, and their influence in our communities would be 
 more commanding. I sometimes wish I were a lawyer 
 myself. 
 
 It is not for me to furnish the reasons why but 
 Pink has never before shone with such a lustre as she 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 259 
 
 has appeared in since her father s failure. She has no 
 mother, and she is to her father, as he told me, at once 
 daughter, friend, and wife. She is the bulwark of his 
 strength and safety. She infuses a courage into him 
 he thought himself incapable of. She shares his 
 sorrows, and dissipates his anxieties. Like a true 
 woman, in a good cause, she gives him her heart and 
 her hand, and makes him hope, in spite of himself. 
 Without the least embarrassment, so far as she can, in 
 the nature of things, she co-operates with Stubs in the 
 adjustment of his affairs, and Pat. tells me she is 
 astonished at her energy and character. 
 
 She is a daughter indeed, and if the .man with the 
 corn-colored gloves gets her for his wife, he will get a 
 true woman. She has never indicated herself before. 
 Indeed, my theory is that no woman is fairly tested 
 and discovered till she has suffered. Discipline makes 
 a woman, as it does a man ; but in real distress a 
 woman surpasses a man. In prosperity, a woman will 
 be, oftentimes, frivolous, weak, inert, and selfish. In 
 adversity, she is superior to a man. Where a man 
 will break, she will simply bend, and, with an admira 
 ble elasticity, rebound to her place. Without women, 
 what weak fools we men should be ! We call our 
 selves self-reliant, but how dependent are we upon 
 their sympathy ! 
 
 We call ourselves brave ; but, in our extremities, 
 how do we look to them for courage ! We call our 
 selves energetic ; but how little could we accomplish 
 without their aid ! They are, indeed, the " better 
 half" of our life. When we despond, they comfort 
 and sustain us ; when we break, and faint, and de- 
 
260 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 spair, they appeal to and evoke the hidden resources of 
 our nature. 
 
 Stubs talks of Pink in the most enthusiastic manner. 
 I begin to think he is still in love with her, notwith 
 standing all that has occurred. He says he has done 
 her much injustice ; and, in fact, from a variety of 
 such remarks, and my own observation in general, I 
 rather incline to the opinion that it would be much bet 
 ter for her to marry him, than to marry the man with 
 the corn-colored gloves. 
 
 You may explain it, if you can, but never was her 
 cheek ruddier, her eye brighter, and her lip fresher 
 than it is now. From the ashes of her father s ruin, 
 and her own despondency during Stubs absence, she 
 has come up with an extraordinary recuperativeness. 
 Pat. says that she is very happy, in spite of all her un- 
 happiness. What this means I cannot tell, but I never 
 could understand women. They are full of contradic 
 tions and inconsistencies. Still 1 am very glad Pink 
 is so bright and hopeful, just at this time, because, 
 consider how wretched her poor father would be to see 
 her depressed and down-hearted ! He would break at 
 once. 
 
 As for Stubs, he seems like anything but a man who 
 has just lost most of his property in a lawsuit. He is 
 calm, collected, and natural, and evidently quite for 
 gets himself in Pink ; that is, in her father s 
 
 misfortunes, and in her as connected and identified 
 with them. He is full of charity, and does what he 
 
 can to console both father and daughter. Pink 
 
 evidently regards him as an admirable lawyer, and 
 defers unhesitatingly to his counsel and directions. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 261 
 
 As he must now practise his profession for a living, 
 T am glad he has such a case in his hands. The result 
 of it may affect his whole career. Who knows ? 
 Slight circumstances make or mar one s fortunes. 
 
 Meantime, my Editor, the winter of 56 pushes on 
 vigorously. I am told there has been nothing like it 
 for thirty-two years. I tell Pat. we shall be ruined on 
 the coal question. Trifleton House has been sur 
 rounded with snow and ice for more than six weeks. 
 
 Inside, we manage to make our thermometers act 
 respectably ; but outside they lose all their courage, 
 and are worse than nothing. They are weak to such 
 a degree that they can seldom get above zero, if that 
 interesting point may be considered as a degree. In 
 fact, they show no character at all, and keep in such a 
 dingy, low, disreputable state that I am becoming quite 
 ashamed of them. 
 
 Pat. thinks she sees indications of a thaw by and 
 by. She has been seeing them for a month. 
 
 " Why, Trifle," says she, " our January thaw hasn t 
 come yet ! " 
 
 I m afraid not, and do you think it ever will, my 
 Editor ? 
 
 I understand this is Leap Year, and I incline to the 
 opinion that the January thaw aforesaid has skipped 
 over our heads. 
 
 I gather from various valuable treatises that the 
 month of February will be a good time in which to 
 trim the Trifleton grape vines. But how can I do 
 that while they are buried up in two feet of snow, or 
 ice, rather, and what will become of your grapes ? 
 Will you please to inform me. 
 
262 ^RIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Prig keeps house all the time, and wishes to know 
 daily when the Spring will come ; for in the Spring the 
 velocipede grandma has promised him will arrive, and 
 he will play in the dirt and gravel once more. 
 
 Ah, my Editor, how many weary hearts are yearn 
 ing for the Spring ! Burdened, and chilled, and frozen 
 by the winter of life, they hope to be happier in 
 the Spring. When the Spring comes, they will, per 
 haps, postpone their expectations of happiness till the 
 Summer ; when Summer comes, till the Autumn ; and 
 when Autumn comes, till the Winter. And so do they 
 subsist on hope, and hope alone. 
 
 My theory is, that we should enjoy what we can 
 now. We havn t long to live in this world, and we 
 are too apt to grow old in searching for happiness 
 such as we can never find. We are all too fond of 
 living an ideal rather than a real life. The regular and 
 actual details of duty well performed must, if anything 
 can, constitute our happiness here. 
 
 Item. Last night about eleven o clock, just as we 
 were retiring, our door-bell rang violently, and a mo 
 ment afterwards Goody Green rushed in, in a state of 
 prodigious excitement. The cold had tipped her nose 
 with the color of tomatoes, and if 1 had never seen her 
 before, I should have regarded her as a somewhat sus 
 picious looking visitor. She declared in voluble terms 
 that she had called to see me upon a matter of the 
 most urgent importance. 
 
 " The happiness of two feller beings," said she, 
 " Mr. Trifle, depends on it." 
 
 With much solicitude, and no little anxiety, I begged 
 her to communicate its nature, and promised to do 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 263 
 
 what I could for her. " Promise me not to tell, sir, 
 no, not nobody," she exclaimed, with earnestness. I 
 promised. 
 
 Taking a letter from her pocket, she asked me for 
 the address of the man with the corn-colored gloves. 
 Happening to know it, by the merest accident in the 
 world, I gave it to her immediately, and she wrote it 
 down with her pencil in the most precipitate manner. 
 She then read a letter she had been writing him. 
 
 It was in her own style and language, but was sur 
 passingly eloquent, it was so full of noble feeling. 
 She wrote that she knew that Pink s heart was in the 
 keeping of Stubs, and had been for a long time, even 
 before her engagement ; that Stubs was the noblest of 
 men, and idolized Pink, but was far too generous ever 
 to tell her of it, and thus embarrass her and make her 
 miserable ; that it was right in the sight of God that 
 they should marry ; that, if she married any other man, 
 she would sacrifice the happiness of her life simply on 
 a point of delicacy or honor ; and that he would per 
 form an act of genuine manliness if he would come 
 immediately on, and release her from an engagement 
 entered into under the excitement of anger and hurt 
 
 "ide. 
 
 Poor Goody ! The wedding day is fixed, and mar 
 riages have little to do with hearts. What think you 
 of life, serenest and most excellent of editors ? 
 
264 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, > 
 
 In the time of the first thaw of 56. 
 
 IT has come at last, that thaw which the weather- 
 wise prophesied and the snow-sick hoped for in Janu 
 ary. That hard old warrior, Winter, has got a repulse 
 at last. He has been besieging us for six weeks, grow 
 ing more and more bold and defiant, until we were 
 almost desperate. But he is down now, and some peo 
 ple say his back is broken. The warm south wind 
 took the spirit out of him, and the sun has shot arrows 
 through and through his white and shining armor. 
 The snow banks are turning into floods, and if Trifleton 
 House shall not be carried away by a freshet, you may 
 congratulate yourself and your household. 
 
 " Have you ever read Ovid s beautiful poem of the 
 Four Ages ? " 
 
 That is a proper question for a close student of the 
 Ledger like you, O classic Trifle ! But we do remem 
 ber that, far back in the days of our boyhood, we 
 scanned and translated those verses with no little pleas 
 ure, considering they were always a task. We think 
 we have never opened those pages since. We are of 
 opinion that if Ovid lived now, or were by some spirit 
 ual medium to express his views, he would find the 
 present an age of mingled bronze and iron, and of gold 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 265 
 
 and silver too, in one sense of the words a mass of 
 glitter and base metals which would confuse all his 
 former ideas of the ages, unless, indeed, he looked 
 deeper than the surface, much deeper, into the crystal 
 springs and among the gems that are hidden there, 
 beneath the cold, hard exterior. 
 
 " Who reviles lawyers ? " is another quaint question 
 in your last letter. Who reviles lawyers ? Not. we, 
 certainly, after your praises of a " real Christian law 
 yer." Doubtless there are good men who are lawyers 
 (professionally), and good lawyers who are men. But 
 
 what is a lawyer who is a lawyer and nothing 
 
 else ? You may have seen such, growing gray before 
 their time, inhaling and inspiring Coke and Blackstone, 
 pleadings and reports, until the real, warm blood of 
 humanity is deprived of vitality, arid becomes a cold, 
 slow stream, that clears the brain but stupefies and 
 chills the heart. They look ever on the dark side of 
 human life, seeing only vile passions, dishonesty, or 
 meanness, or poverty, which to them is. both dishonesty 
 and meanness. They are sceptics in honesty, and honor, 
 and truthfulness ; the affections are unknown to them ; 
 sufferings and despair touch them not. Sometimes 
 with noiseless feet and oily tongues they spread their 
 nets about the unsuspecting unfortunate, and sometimes 
 drive a car of Juggernaut, an unyielding mass of forms 
 and precedent, which they foolishly call " Justice," 
 over weak and despondent victims. 
 
 And what arc they socially ? They are sharp enough 
 intellectually, and correct enough, morally perhaps. 
 But socially they are cold, ungenial, barren ; they 
 contribute nothing to human happiness, and derive no 
 
266 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 happiness from others ; they measure life and human 
 beings by precedents and authorities, and imagination 
 and hope, friendship and love, are always convicted 
 felons at the bar of their opinion. 
 
 These are lawyers who are lawyers. Thank Heaven ! 
 there are, even in this age of iron and brass, lawyers 
 who are men, who acknowledge the claims of humani 
 ty, who have hearts, who, in fine, do not leave their 
 Christianity at the church door, but carry it into the 
 office and the court room, and into social life. But 
 what proportion of " the bar," think you, are these 
 latter individuals ? 
 
 But let us not discuss such ungenerous subjects 
 when we have something of more interest to communi 
 cate. 
 
 A few days since we received our " Six Months in 
 Italy," with a note of the following tenor : (is not that 
 the way you clerks or the lawyers express it r) 
 
 " I trust my friend, Mr. , will excuse my long detention 
 
 of these volumes, and will attribute the fault in some degree to 
 the events of the last few months in our domestic affairs. I have 
 many thanks to return for the pleasure which I have taken in 
 reading them a pleasure which will be the more fondly though 
 sadly remembered, because it is the last which I can so enjoy. 
 I am very grateful to you, also, for your kindness on other 
 
 occasions. With much regard for yourself and M , and a 
 
 kiss for Eompy-Dompy, I shall hope ever to be counted your 
 friend, BEL HARD." 
 
 c What means this note and the peculiar tone of its 
 expression, thought we, as we passed it over the table. 
 Our doubts were soon settled, however, by the infor 
 mation, which women always have in such cases, that 
 Bel was to be married in a day or two to the Hon. Mr. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 167 
 
 Weed. The wedding was to be very private, no 
 company, no parade, no levee, no calls, but a mar 
 riage at church and a departure on a long journey. 
 And it was all to gratify Bel, who would not listen to 
 her mother s wish for a " splendid wedding." 
 
 This was rather sudden, but it .was agreed upon at 
 Washington, hence Madame Hard had hurried home 
 somewhat unexpectedly, and the Hon. Mr. Weed had 
 followed to secure his prize. That is the information 
 which feminine curiosity obtained, and are we not, 
 therefore, bound to record it ? 
 
 " Poor Umber ! that is the end of your dream," 
 thought we, and we fell into a reverie on the subject of 
 the artist s love, his folly, his talents, his pictures of 
 Bel, his genuine worth and manhood. We had not 
 concluded whether to pity him or to wish him joy at 
 this abrupt termination of his idle hopes, if he enter 
 tained such, before he was yet more deeply involved 
 in the meshes. And we were in doubt what to think 
 of Bel. We were approaching our conclusions, how 
 ever, when a ring at the door disturbed us, and another 
 note was placed in our hands. It read thus : 
 
 "Madame Hard requests the favor of Mr. s company 
 
 this evening, to attend to the execution of certain legal instru 
 ments. Madame II s solicitor informs her that the attendance 
 
 of a magistrate is necessary, and Mr. s presence would be 
 
 most desirable. The bearer will await Mr. s convenience." 
 
 We were a little disturbed. Dressing-gown and 
 slippers, the easy chair and Macaulay s fourth volume 
 promised a quiet and comfortable evening, to say noth 
 ing of the company so agreeable to our domestic hab 
 its. But Madame Hard s request appeared somewhat 
 
268 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 of the imperative sort. We looked out the door, and 
 found Abel s span of bays, with a light sleigh, await 
 ing us, a clear night and a young moon ; so we hesi 
 tated no longer, but made ready and departed. Abel s 
 fleet bays made our journey a brief one. 
 
 In the parlor at -the mansion, we found Madame 
 Hard, who introduced us to the Hon. Mr. Weed and 
 her solicitor, Mr. Fee. The Hon. Mr. Weed s man 
 ners were gentlemanly in form, but exhibited none of 
 the genuine courtesy which comes from the heart. 
 Have you ever marked the difference, Trifle ? We 
 observed his face more narrowly than ever before. 
 The freshness of youth must long since have departed, 
 and unsubdued passion assumed the place of manly 
 vigor and high purpose, and we thought there was 
 something sinister in the glance of the eye. But all 
 this must have been imagined, for how could Bel Hard 
 become the wife of such a man as we saw in the Hon. 
 Mr. Weed ? 
 
 Mr. Fee is a man of note in his profession, a man of 
 shrewdness and probity. Past the middle age and gray 
 haired, his face bore the marks of intellect, but no 
 great degree of benevolence. Yet there was something 
 kindly in his eye, and there was a geniality about him 
 which showed him not of the class of lawyers of which 
 we just now wrote. He had been their guardian during 
 the minority of Bel and Abel, and he informed us that 
 we were called upon to attend the execution of a mar 
 riage settlement between Bel and the Hon. Mr. Weed. 
 
 We expected it. Nevertheless the information wasn t 
 pleasant. It was another step towards the end, the 
 end of our interest in Bel. We expressed a regret to 
 Madame, that Abel was not present at this time. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 269 
 
 "Abel is wayward, and pays no heed to our letters 
 except to say that he cannot return." 
 
 A slight look of vexation passed over Madame s 
 features as we spoke and she replied. It signified 
 more than she uttered. We still wondered why the 
 approaching nuptials had not called forth some expres 
 sion from Abel, a strong dissent, we had hoped. 
 But Madame took up that fertile topic of conversation, 
 the weather, and while she was speaking of deep 
 snows and extreme cold, Bel Hard came into the 
 room. 
 
 She was very pale, and we thought her eye wore 
 the cold and languid expression of old. She greeted 
 Mr. Fee cordially, and responded pleasantly to his 
 short sentences, till he rallied her on the business of 
 the evening, saying: 
 
 " So you could not give me the slip, Bel, as you do 
 everybody else. You find me almost as important : 
 
 He stopped suddenly, for Bel looked in his face 
 with a look of sad and earnest entreaty, which mani 
 festly made him forget what he would have said, or 
 regret what he had said. The expression of his face 
 changed to one of inquiry, and his eye seemed to read 
 an answer in Bel s face, for he said nothing more, but 
 uttered a half suppressed 
 
 " Ugh ! " 
 
 We found that was a frequent expression with him 
 on all occasions. 
 
 Bel next turned to us, and with a salutation which 
 seemed something more than formal almost affec 
 tionate. We then saw that what we had mistaken for 
 a cold, languid expression of her eye, was in truth a 
 
270 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 deep sadness, that the signs of tears had not disap 
 peared. She spoke to us in a somewhat low tone, 
 and we saw the Hon. Mr. Weed watching her from 
 the opposite side of the room, where he was seated 
 with Madame. 
 
 " Have you heard from my brother ? " 
 
 We replied that we had not since we had delivered 
 to her one of his letters. 
 
 " Has he received a letter ? " 
 
 "Umber?" 
 
 " Yes." It was a half stifled " yes. 1 
 
 " He has not mentioned it. Indeed he has scarcely 
 been seen of late." 
 
 " He is not sick ? " 
 
 " No not physically." 
 
 Bel s pale cheek was slightly tinged as she saw we 
 had noticed the tone of her question, and she felt the 
 meaning of our reply, but she spoke quickly, 
 
 " I wish Abel were here." 
 
 Evidently it was an earnest wish, it was so deeply 
 uttered, as if from the heart. 
 
 " Have you written to him ? " 
 
 " After reading the letter you brought, I wrote to 
 him, telling him my unhappincss. I have received 
 no answer." 
 
 Tears filled her eyes and fell upon her pale cheek. 
 She spoke in a low tone still, but there was a severe 
 look in the Hon. Mr. Weed s eye as he watched her.. 
 Of course she had no right to speak confidentially and 
 with feeling to another than himself. 
 
 It matters not how we expressed our sympathy with 
 Bel. It is sufficient that we witnessed again that look 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 271 
 
 of mingled sadness and gratitude which we had seen 
 before, and which dwells in our memory ever. There 
 was not time for many words, for Madame Hard arose 
 and proposed that we should walk into the library to 
 attend to the business of the evening. Bel took our 
 arm and we followed the other three into that cheerful 
 library, where the Cannel, flaming and hissing, shed 
 its ruddy glow over the room. 
 
 Mr. Fee quietly unfolded his papers, and spreading 
 one on the table, said : 
 
 " You know the contents, Bel. Here is the place 
 for your signature." 
 
 Bel s agitation was palpable as she seated herself 
 and took the proffered pen. She gazed at the paper 
 intently, as if she were examining its contents with 
 professional scrutiny. Some clause must have been 
 unintelligible, judging from her long and fixed look at 
 it, and the whole instrument was evidently wanting in 
 clearness, so much time did she take in looking over 
 it, although she had read it before. Madame and the 
 Hon. Mr. Weed grew impatient, and after a jest or 
 two between them on Bel s delay, Madame spoke to 
 her. 
 
 " Come, Bel, we shall become fatigued standing 
 here while you study the paper. Others desire their 
 turn." 
 
 Bel started a little, and a tear fell upon the paper. 
 That was a very improper seal for a marriage settle 
 ment. Mr. Fee and we saw it, (he uttered another 
 suppressed " Ugh ! ") Madame and the Hon. didn t, 
 or noticed it not. 
 
 " Come, Bel, sign the paper." 
 
272 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " I cannot ! " Then fell more seals upon the in 
 strument. 
 
 " Cannot ! " 
 
 Both Madame and the Hon. Mr. Weed spoke ; but 
 the tone of the latter, half angry and half scornful, 
 alone was heeded by Bel. She rose suddenly, and 
 turned towards the Hon. with a glance as scornful as 
 his tone. It was the proud, spirited Bel Hard once 
 more, and for a moment her eye flashed fire, even 
 through tears. 
 
 "I will not!" 
 
 She threw the pen down. Madame and the Hon. 
 Mr. Weed were startled stupefied for a moment ; 
 and the one was vexed, and the other was flushed with 
 anger. 
 
 " But to-morrow, Bel ? " 
 
 " To-morrow ! " 
 
 She uttered it with passionate grief, and sunk with 
 hysterical sobs into a chair. Madame Hard spoke in 
 a tone of severity. 
 
 " Bel ! what folly is this ! " 
 
 But Bel was insensible to her words, or the mutter- 
 ings of the Hon. Mr. Weed, which sounded much like 
 oaths. She had fainted, which being seen by Madame, 
 maternal solicitude succeeded to anger. Restoratives 
 were applied, and the usual confusion of such occa 
 sions followed. Domestics were called, and finally 
 Bel was removed to her room, and the library was left 
 to the Hon. Mr. Weed, the solicitor, and ourself. 
 
 The solicitor seated himself before the grate, and 
 stirred the Cannel, saying to himself: 
 
 " Ugh ! I am glad of it." 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 273 
 
 The Hon. Mr. Weed walked the room fiercely, and 
 there was no doubt now that some of his mutterings 
 were oaths. Once he approached us with a lowering 
 look, and said : 
 
 " Perhaps you can explain this, sir ? " 
 
 " Indeed, sir, the explanation would seem not very 
 difficult." 
 
 " And what is it, since you are in the secret ? " 
 
 " What is perfectly evident, that Miss Hard does 
 not wish to be married to-morrow." 
 
 Mr. Fee looked up from the grate, and probably 
 supported my assertion with a glance. The Hon. Mr. 
 Weed glared at us a moment, then, sitting down at the 
 table, hastily wrote a note, directed it to Madame Hard, 
 rung the bell and ordered his carriage. It was all done 
 with remarkable energy, even to the suppressed ex 
 clamation, as he went out : 
 
 " Fool ! " 
 
 The sound of his sleigh-bells had hardly died away 
 when Madame Hard again entered the room. She 
 was surprised but manifestly relieved by not finding the 
 Hon. gentleman there. Bel had revived, but was not 
 herself. So said Madame. But we surmised that Bel 
 ivas herself, and was no longer to be unresistingly led 
 to her own misery. The letter was handed to Madame, 
 and we departed. 
 
 " A better night s work than I anticipated," said Mr. 
 Fee, as he drove away from the mansion. 
 
 Postscriptum. Did we mention a thaw ? Did we 
 anticipate freshets ? Verily, with the mercury sinking 
 below zero, the waters won t rise .very high. Winter 
 18 
 
274 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 is conqueror again, and has quite got his spirits up. 
 Shrimp has been running back through the long years 
 of his experience, and he don t think there ever was 
 anything quite equal to this winter, take it all in all. 
 He is under serious apprehensions that the ponds 
 and rivers may freeze quite solid, and destroy all the 
 fish. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 275 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 TRIFLETON HOUSE, > 
 
 Still in the tough Winter of 56. $ 
 
 THE Winter s back is by no means broken. Ask 
 Pat.! 
 
 " Well, Trifle," said she yesterday morning, " I 
 never did see such weather (that s what she said 
 see, ) in my life. There s the cistern frozen up, and 
 the girls can t wash. We havn t a drop of water. A 
 pretty cistern, indeed ! and as for that pump, which 
 you have praised so much almost as much as you 
 have the cistern it won t work at all. It s sucked, 
 or something ! " 
 
 When you consider that this cistern was built after 
 serious consultation with the gentleman who undertook 
 the repairs of Trifleton House for rne, and the argu 
 ment was advanced by him that a nice, new brick 
 cistern, with pipes, and an iron pump, &c., though 
 somewhat expensive, would be invaluable, (which said 
 argument met the hearty concurrence of the mason 
 he had with him while renovating the chimneys, fire 
 places, and so on of Trifleton House,) and that I have, 
 as indicated by Pat. s speech, been rather disposed to 
 congratulate myself upon my superior sagacity in 
 having it built according to his suggestions, you will 
 not be surprised that I was a little indignant at its pre- 
 
276 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 suming to freeze. I addressed a note to the gentleman 
 alluded to, requesting him to immediately look into the 
 state of things, and added, with some tartness, that the 
 pipes couldn t have been fixed properly in the begin 
 ning, or some equally sharp thing, which I intended as 
 a " crusher." He came to Trifleton House with his 
 men, and while Pat. looked on, they tore up the floor, 
 and put salt in the pump, and tried in every way to 
 melt this obdurate, cold-blooded, frigid cistern. 
 
 " To think of its assurance to freeze so ! " said 
 Pat. 
 
 The relentless cistern, in nowise discomfited at this 
 remark, maintained the most imperturbable indifference. 
 Through salt and through fire it refused to yield any 
 water. The men were becoming wearied, and Pat. was, 
 I think, getting a little out of patience (at least I should 
 say so were she ever guilty of such a thing), when it 
 occurred to some one that they would better go into 
 the garden and lift off the cover of the cistern. 
 
 They did so, and mirabile dictu, the bricks looked 
 very nice and clean, as if they had just been polished 
 down by sand paper, but they had also an exceedingly 
 dry and thirsty look. There wasn t a drop of water- 
 
 But then a cistern has no right to freeze, even if it 
 has no water. That s the way I argued to Pat., and 
 ifs so. 
 
 The affairs of Pink s father are brightening under 
 the management of Stubs. He has nearly completed 
 for him a composition with the creditors, who, it seems, 
 are willing to accept fifty cents on the dollar as a full 
 discharge of their claims. This will leave him in 
 tolerably comfortable circumstances, and give him an 
 opportunity to immediately resume his business. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 277 
 
 He has received a rebuke, though, which he will 
 not soon forget ; and if it shall make him more circum 
 spect, and teach him that the mere accumulation of 
 wealth is a small part of the object and end of life, and 
 shall purify and elevate his nature, at the same time 
 that it humbles it, his failure will be of no great conse 
 quence, in my judgment. 
 
 There are three things of capital consequence in a 
 man s career, the first and the most important of which 
 is his moral education and development ; next, his in 
 tellectual, which is, indeed, in some sense, identical or 
 allied with his moral, and lastly, his pursuit of wealth, 
 within reasonable limits. 
 
 If this order be not practically reversed in our day 
 and generation, to a very considerable extent at least, 
 then I am by no means a shrewd observer. 
 
 Hence, as Goody Green, or a person of large faith 
 would argue, are reverses of fortune, which seem so 
 inscrutable to most of us. They are the necessities 
 of Providence to make men better, even against their 
 will. 
 
 Pink s father, like the majority of his kind, in simi 
 lar cases, labors under the idea that, while he himself 
 can bear the change of his condition, she will repine 
 and suffer under it. So little does he know women, 
 with all their inconsistencies. 
 
 He has exhibited the usual quantity of weakness on 
 her account, though something, confessedly, is to be 
 set down to a father s anxiety. 
 
 He remarked to Stubs that he felt quite ashamed 
 that she was about to carry no larger dowry to the man 
 with the corn-colored gloves. 
 
278 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " To think of my daughter s going to live in the 
 Fifth Avenue of York, and marry a man of wealth and 
 standing in society, with no possibility of an ante 
 nuptial settlement such as he will undoubtedly expect. 
 It s too ridiculous and mortifying ! " 
 
 I have given you his exact words, as Stubs told it to 
 me. 
 
 I replied, " Bah ! " arid I believe, even, " pshaw ! " 
 in which opinion Stubs concurred. 
 
 He added, also, very earnestly, and his voice trem 
 bled as he spoke : 
 
 " I do not think she cares to marry a rich man. 
 She has tested the value of money, and its uses. She 
 is evidently tired of ostentation. Glitter has lost its 
 charms for her. She seems to like only what is real." 
 
 " She has passed through a severe ordeal," I ob 
 served. 
 
 " Yes, and with credit. She is a true woman, and 
 I hope she will be happy in her marriage." 
 
 " She will ! " said I, emphatically, lighting a cigar, 
 and handing him one. 
 
 I generally light my own cigar first, and then hold 
 the match or lighter for my friend ; for I have dis 
 covered that otherwise I am apt to burn my fingers 
 while he is dawdling and biting the end off his cigar, 
 or sticking his knife through it, or some such thing. 
 He can do that while I am lighting my own cigar, and 
 I know just how long a match will burn. My skill in 
 this particular is the result of careful calculation and 
 experience. He sees the match getting most burnt out, 
 and he stirs himself at once ; whereas, give him his 
 own time, and he will keep you waiting until you 
 
TEIFLETON PAPERS. 279 
 
 burn your fingers. Practice, and you will become an 
 adept. 
 
 We puffed in silence for some time, when Stubs 
 finally began to talk of his case at Washington, and 
 the loss of his property under it. 
 
 It seems he is now worth, to use an absurd phrase, 
 about five thousand dollars. All the rest of his prop 
 erty is gone forever. 
 
 " But," said he, " I never felt so rich before in my 
 life. I have now something to work for, and I intend 
 to work. I mean to take and make opportunities. I 
 am resolved to make my mark." 
 
 All this is very well ; but I have heard young men 
 talk so before. However, I have strong hopes of 
 Stubs. He has capacity enough, which is the main 
 thing, and the sharp spur of necessity will goad him 
 to effort, even though he should occasionally falter. 
 We shall see. 
 
 Since this conversation, which occurred some even 
 ings since, Stubs and Pink have had an interview of a 
 very peculiar character. Pink told Pat. of it, under 
 strict injunctions of secrecy. Pat., for that reason 
 probably, told me of it, and under a similar injunction ; 
 and I now, therefore, tell you of it, in the same fashion. 
 I think it likely you will have the assurance to publish 
 it in your paper ; for I have observed that people who 
 are requested not to divulge a secret, generally do. 
 
 When you wish to have anything kept very pri 
 vately, never say to those to whom you confide it, 
 " you musn t tell ! " When you say this, it becomes 
 worth mentioning, you perceive. It becomes invested 
 with a mystery, at once. What you don t wish to be 
 
280 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 told by others, refrain from telling yourself; or at 
 least, when you tell it, impose no injunction of secrecy 
 respecting it ! 
 
 Stubs, it seems, was sitting in the library of Pink s 
 father, jagged and wearied over certain papers he had 
 been examining, when she happened to enter the room. 
 She was struck with his pale face, and anxious cast 
 of countenance at once, and asked him if he were not 
 well. 
 
 " Ah, yes," said he, smiling ; " I am only tired a 
 a little, and my head aches." 
 
 " Have you these headaches so often as you had 
 formerly ? " 
 
 " No, only when I am excited." 
 
 " You are too assiduous in my father s affairs. I 
 hope you will give yourself more rest. I cannot bear 
 to see you so anxious. You will wear yourself out. 
 You are too kind and devoted, and we can never 
 be sufficiently grateful for all you have done and are 
 doing." 
 
 A proud and generous man dislikes to be thanked ; 
 and, as a look of pain passed over his face, he re 
 marked that he had done no more than any one would 
 have done in the same circumstances, and added : 
 
 " I was examining into my own affairs at the mo 
 ment, and not those of your father, dear Pink." 
 
 With a passionate burst of feeling, she could not 
 restrain, she exclaimed : 
 
 " We have all the while selfishly occupied your 
 time and interest in regard to ourselves, without once 
 considering that you needed our most affectionate sym 
 pathy. Can you forgive me ? " said she, extending 
 her hand. " I have treated you very ungenerously." 
 
TRIFLETON TAPEHS. 281 
 
 She was in no fainting condition now, and he had 
 not just met her upon his arrival home, after a pro 
 tracted absence. Besides, he was in her father s house, 
 in a mere professional capacity. He shuddered, and 
 said, somewhat proudly and coldly, without taking her 
 hand : 
 
 " You have doubtless a right to address me thus ; 
 but I am not aware that I have made any complaint 
 of you. Still, I am quite ready to say that I forgive 
 you, if you desire it ; but I have nothing, really, to 
 forgive." 
 
 " And is this all ? Have I wholly forfeited your 
 affection, then, which was once so truly mine ? Am I 
 so unworthy ? " 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, and she 
 turned her face away from him. 
 
 " Can it be possible that you are trifling with me 
 still ? " said he, as if deliberating upon the selection 
 and meaning of his words. " Will there never be an 
 end ? Why speak to me of affection ? Such lan 
 guage is unnecessary. Whatever may be, or may 
 have been, once, my affection for you, I have no right 
 to receive or demand your affection for myself, and 
 you pardon me for the remark, but you force me to 
 it have no right to grant it." 
 
 " You are mistaken. I have a right, but I have no 
 need to avail myself of it now," said she, sobbing 
 vehemently, and wholly losing her self-control. " I 
 have always loved you ; but my love is neither worth 
 giving nor receiving. Alas ! how I am punished ! 
 but bless him, Father!" she continued, lifting her 
 arms to heaven, and gazing upwards with streaming 
 eyes, " not for my wretched sake, but for his own ! " 
 
282 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 Then she buried her face in her hands and wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 So she told it to Pat., and Pat. told it to me. 
 
 He stood and gazed at her, like one abstracted, and 
 utterly confounded. Had she no self-respect ? Was 
 this real, or was it all a dream ? Where was he ? 
 Could this be Pink ? Was he himself? Did he hear 
 aright, in tones of tenderest and most touching pathos, 
 " I have always loved you." 
 
 An electric thought shot through him, burning him 
 like fire, and he asked, like one whose whole exist 
 ence hung upon the response, 
 
 " Are you not bound to him ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Have you not promised ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 Then the sweet voices of the past seemed to address 
 his soul, and in his fancy, he wandered back to the 
 days of his hope and his happiness. But this was 
 mere weakness. Life was real, and as he recollected 
 what he had suffered since those days, he thought how 
 dangerous it would be to be too sanguine again, and 
 he said, distrustfully : 
 
 " I do not understand you. I have been otherwise 
 informed, and have acted upon my information." 
 
 " Read," said she, u and judge for yourself." 
 
 She handed him a letter. It was her answer to the 
 offer of the man with the corn-colored gloves. It was 
 as follows : 
 
 " I am obliged for the honor of your proposals. I will accept 
 them conditionally. My heart has always been, as I have 
 supposed, another s. We have quarrelled. He is nothing to me 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 283 
 
 now. I am not in the habit of disguises, and you may consider 
 me bound to you, if you desire it, for the space of three months. 
 I shall examine and test myself in the meantime, and if I dis 
 cover that my affection for you is not sufficiently strong to war 
 rant the risking my happiness, which is, like my honor, in my 
 own keeping, and in regard to hazarding which I must be my 
 own judge, I shall frankly tell you so, and ask, and expect to be 
 released from my engagement. Upon these terms, and these 
 only, I am willing to accept your proposals, for which I am much 
 indebted. With respect, &c." 
 
 He read the letter through, as a condemned man 
 would read his pardon. 
 
 " The time of the probation is past," he said, at 
 length, " and " 
 
 " I am wholly free once more." 
 
 And this strong man, Stubs, buried his face in his 
 hands, and the large tears rolled from his eyes, as in 
 the days of his boyhood. He was a child in the 
 presence of the woman that he loved. She went and 
 kneeled involuntarily before him, and took his hand 
 in both her own, and kissed it, and asked him to for 
 give her. 
 
 He forgave her. 
 
 $jid they prayed together, (not in words,) and the 
 holy spirit of God fell upon them, and blessed them, 
 and they were both purified and humbled. 
 
 So Pink told it to Pat., and so Pat. told it to me. 
 
 And they twined their arms together, and their lips 
 met, and she lay her head upon his breast, when 
 
 Pink s father entered the room. 
 
 He started, but Pink rushed into his arms, and 
 cried, 
 
 " You know all, dear father. I love him idolize 
 
284 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 him almost worship him, as I told you ; and (jubi 
 lantly) he loves me, too." 
 
 And she went back and nestled in his arms again, 
 with all the eagerness and simplicity of a child. And 
 Pink s father placed his hands upon the head of each 
 of them, and, with the tears now in his eyes, said : 
 
 " The good God bless you, my children ! " 
 
 " Well, Pat," said I, knocking my ashes off my 
 cigar, " I don t- see but what Pink really has a heart." 
 
 " I guess she Aas," said she, (it s exactly what she 
 said " guess,") rather indignantly, as it seemed to 
 me, " and so has he. He wrote a very handsome 
 letter to Pink, as soon as he got Goody Green s letter. 
 This was before Pink wrote to him at all, and (with 
 great volubility) he s coming on, and as soon as 
 
 Goody, and before Pink had time and hark ! 
 
 Patience ! there s that baby again. He always 
 
 wants me. Kate can t " 
 
 " I shouldn t suppose she could naturally," said 
 I, but she was off, and didn t hear me. 
 
 My opinion is that Pat. likes that baby. Everything 
 has to yield to him. Yesterday he exhibited two teeth, 
 which circumstance she thinks is extremely wonderful, 
 and when she discovered them, she nearly choked him 
 with caresses, and said she wanted to " eat him up," 
 the cannibal ! 
 
 It s true, for I heard her say it, and so did Prig. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 285 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, 
 In the last days of the Winter Months. 
 
 FEBRUARY is passing, Trifle, and notwithstanding 
 Time has lent it an additional day, it will soon be 
 gone. But winter seems loath to depart with it. A 
 bright sun and softer winds for a few days have made 
 large draughts upon his accumulated wealth, and there 
 are some signs that it will, in time, be exhausted. But 
 he clutches and guards it like all misers, and in spite 
 of his age, he holds on bravely. He must be con 
 quered, at last, however, and that, too, by gentleness 
 and smiles. Even his hard nature will finally yield to 
 these, which are, after all, the most potent weapons 
 for a vic ory, and he will depart to prepare for another 
 campaigi^ in those regions where he reigns perpetual 
 king. Let him go. He has taught us something ; he 
 has brought us some treasures. But we can look 
 forward to a gentler reign with hopes of something 
 better. 
 
 Verily, the winter has taught our friends something. 
 Madame Hard and Bel, Umber and even the Hon. Mr. 
 Weed, who has departed with his experiences for a 
 more genial latitude. At least, it is supposed that he 
 is gone, for he has not been at the mansion since the 
 
286 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 eventful evening which snatched from him his prize. 
 Let him go, too. He was a darker winter to one heart 
 than the natural winter has been to the earth. Even 
 Madame is incensed against him, now, for the note 
 which he left for her was insulting. 
 
 & 
 
 A few days after that evening we looked into Um 
 ber s studio. He was sitting in deep thought, and 
 looked sad. After responding to our hail, he said, 
 abruptly : 
 
 " I am going to Europe again." 
 
 " Why, you havn t been at home six months." 
 
 " I wish I had not come at all." 
 
 " But why go back, now ? " 
 
 " I have several commissions to copy paintings in 
 the Louvre and at Florence. Besides, I " 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " You have not been fortunate here. The Hon. Mr. 
 Weed, probably, did not pay for his picture before he 
 left." 
 
 Umber looked at us doubtfully. He did not know 
 what had transpired at the mansion, so we related faith 
 fully what we had seen, heard and done there. He 
 listened to us in silence, but he was deeply moved, and 
 notwithstanding his usual control over his feelings, his 
 face expressed both delight and sadness. He said 
 nothing, even when we finished our recital, but, plac 
 ing the portrait of Bel on the easel, he deliberately 
 painted it over till Bel s fair face and cold look had 
 disappeared, and there was nothing but a plain dark 
 canvas to be seen. Then he spoke, as if to himself 
 
 " If I could as easily undo the injustice of painting 
 her thus ! " 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 287 
 
 " Injustice ! Why, did not her friends pronounce 
 it a perfect likeness ! " 
 
 " It was a picture of her sorrow and her anger, not 
 of her real self. It was painted in pique, and for the 
 purpose of wounding, if it possibly might convey a 
 meaning to her. It was utterly unworthy of her and 
 of myself. I know now that it must have added tor 
 ture to an already troubled heart, and I feel guilty of a 
 mean and ungenerous action." 
 
 " But you had no reason to suppose that it would 
 wound her ? " 
 
 " That is the only excuse I have, and that is a paltry 
 one. A generous man should at least measure his 
 actions by his own feelings, but I deliberately did what 
 I knew must pain feelings no more sensitive than my 
 own, and that, too, towards a woman." 
 
 It was more his manner and tone than his language 
 that indicated emotion. He might have spoken thus 
 in relation to any other woman, but Bel called forth 
 something more than words, something more than 
 chivalrous feeling. But he had little time now to 
 indulge in feelings, or contemplate going to Italy, be 
 fore a knock at the door called his attention. The 
 door being opened, Dicky Dawson entered and handed 
 a note to Umber. 
 
 Dicky appeared quite the gentleman, in new clothes 
 and with his bright, intelligent and healthful face. 
 While Umber read the note and it seemed to take 
 him some time we spoke to Dicky, inquiring after 
 Bel. 
 
 " She s quite well, now, sir." 
 
 " Quite well ! Has she been sick ? " 
 
288 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " She has looked sick, sir, and sad." 
 
 " And she s better now ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, she s happier but she cries, too, 
 sometimes." 
 
 " Why do you think she s happier ? " 
 
 " O, sir, she speaks to me more, and is kinder than 
 ever, and she seems as if she had got over a great 
 trouble, she speaks and smiles so. She didn t smile 
 before." 
 
 " But she cries, too, you say." 
 
 " Yes, sir, sometimes I see her wiping her eyes. 
 When I wished I could see Mr. Umber, who read books 
 to me when I was sick, she cried most. But then she 
 gets over it quick, sir, and smiles again. I know she 
 must be happier than she was." 
 
 " Observant boy," thought we, as Umber, who prob 
 ably had not heard a word of this conversation, handed 
 to us the note he had just received. It was as follows : 
 
 ** The relations which might have entitled the Hon. Mr. Weed 
 to my portrait being terminated, I desire that no one but myself 
 should have the picture which you painted. Please retain it 
 until my brother returns. I could wish, indeed, that it had 
 never been painted, were it not for the few pleasant memories 
 which are mingled with much pain and bitterness. The picture 
 itself can only be suggestive of sorrow and regret, not the least 
 of which will be for the unkind words that I may have uttered to 
 you, and for which I ask your forgiveness. BEL HARD." 
 
 " She ask my forgiveness ! " 
 
 He spoke with suppressed emotion, as we finished 
 reading the note, and paced the narrow open space of 
 the room rapidly. He was deeply moved, and though 
 to our apprehension there was more reason for his re 
 joicing than sorrowing, there was a most unhappy look 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 289 
 
 on his face. Suddenly he stopped before Dicky, who 
 had watched him with wonder. 
 
 " How did you come, my boy ? " 
 
 " In the carriage with Miss Bel." 
 
 " And she ? " 
 
 " She is in the carriage, now, sir." 
 
 " Did she tell you to wait for an answer ? " 
 
 " No, sir, but she said perhaps you might wish to 
 send one." 
 
 Ah, Bel ! how much that " perhaps " revealed, 
 mask though it was intended to be. 
 
 " I will." And Umber hurried to a writing desk. 
 
 Just then there was another knock at the door, which 
 Dicky opened, and Bel Hard entered, saying, 
 
 " Why, Richard, I thought you were lost." 
 
 At the sound of that voice Umber started from 
 his seat and rushed across the room. There was as 
 sudden a motion on the other side and a double ex 
 clamation. 
 
 " Bel ! " 
 
 " Paul ! " 
 
 Umber s name is Paul. Bel had always called him 
 so when they were children. 
 
 Bel put out both her hands, which were eagerly 
 seized by Umber, and she looked up in his face with 
 an earnest, tearful gaze, in which were expressed the 
 struggling feelings of her heart, a tried, chastened, 
 loving heart. He looked back into those eyes as he 
 never before had looked, tenderly, lovingly, sadly. 
 
 " It is not for me to forgive," he said softly, but with 
 deep feeling. " I ought rather to ask your forgiveness, 
 19 
 
290 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 a thousand times, for the cruelty with which I wounded 
 you when you were suffering, too." 
 
 Her head fell on his shoulder. She spoke not audi 
 bly, but there was that in her action and in her tears, 
 which expressed all that words could. And thus these 
 two, without declaration or acknowledgment, knew that 
 each was beloved by the other. Our eyes were some 
 what dimmed, Trifle, but we saw it all, and the boy 
 looked on in wonder. But it was not courteous to 
 suffer any further scene to occur while Bel was un 
 conscious of our presence, so we emerged from our 
 corner and spoke as she raised her head. Her self- 
 possession had gone, but seeing who we were, she 
 extended her hand, and we were better friends than 
 ever. But she soon turned to Umber, asking, 
 
 " But where is the evil picture ? " 
 
 He pointed at the canvas on the easel. 
 
 " If I could as easily obliterate the memory of the 
 pain it has occasioned ! " 
 
 " Obliterate it ! O no ! now I would remember it, 
 for out of that suffering have grown purer hopes and 
 feelings, and a truer happiness." 
 
 A few more words and Bel was gone. When Umber 
 returned from the carriage, whither he had accom 
 panied her, he threw himself in a chair, and covering 
 his face he groaned aloud. A great struggle was going 
 on in his mind, and for the first time we saw him en 
 tirely overcome, and he wept. But it was not for joy. 
 Such an inconsistent, perverse thing is the human 
 heart. Solitude is the best remedy for such illness, 
 and we left him. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 291 
 
 Umber has received another letter from Abel, in 
 which he writes thus 
 
 " It is all over now ! I have seen the end no, not 
 the end, for the love of earth has passed on to love in 
 heaven. Lily is dead rather her spirit, that made 
 her earthly form so beautiful, the spirit that has so 
 charmed, purified and elevated my heart, has passed 
 into another world, and carries with it my thoughts, 
 and hopes, and love. 
 
 " It was Sunday evening. She had grown weaker 
 and weaker through the day, and we felt that with the 
 fading twilight she would depart. She had uttered a 
 few words during the day, a touching farewell to her 
 heart-broken father, and words of holiest love, sus 
 taining comfort, and tender entreaty, to me. The sun 
 went down beyond the snowy hills, and the shadows 
 came stealing into that silent chamber the shadows 
 of night, the shadow of death. Her hand rested in 
 mine, cold and motionless. Her breathing grew fainter 
 as the light departed. Then, while we counted the 
 too rapid moments, our agony calmed by silent prayer 
 prayers that went up to heaven with the forereach- 
 ing of her spirit there was a sudden, faint grasp of 
 my hand, a scarce heard utterance, yet distinct to our 
 startled minds, ; In Heaven ! and there was no 
 more breathing. The light of day had departed, and 
 the light from those eyes forever. The shadows of 
 night had come and of death. O God ! My beloved 
 was dead ! 
 
 " We have laid her at rest now near the little 
 village church, in the frozen earth, under the deep 
 
292 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 snows. The summer will make it a beautiful spot, 
 shaded by the noble elm in whose branches now the 
 wind wails mournfully. The summer shall bring flow 
 ers and verdure over that grave, now so desolate. But 
 the sorrow of laying that beautiful form down on such 
 a couch is lightened, not by the promise of summer s 
 flowers and foliage, so much as the assurance that the 
 more beautiful spirit is with infinite beauty and light 
 eternal. 
 
 " We have performed the last rites and returned to 
 the desolate home ah, how desolate, to the stricken 
 father ! for the power to teach him to endure ! The 
 light of his home has departed, but there is a star in 
 heaven to lead him thither." 
 
 We were not requested to take this letter to Bel, for 
 Umber performed that office himself. Touched by 
 her brother s grief, Bel s heart was the more ready to 
 seek sympathy and support from another, and could 
 Umber deny it? 
 
 As we have this from good authority, Trifle, you 
 are not to question the truth of our account, nor to ask 
 us how we know what we tell. It is true that notwith 
 standing the irresistible feeling of love which attached 
 him to Bel, and would seem to promise happiness, 
 Umber was sad and silent. There was an expression 
 of deep distress on his face as he sat in the parlor, 
 after the reading of the letter and after the still firmer 
 union in their hearts. Bel saw it, and resting her 
 hands on his shoulder she looked anxiously into his 
 face, saying, 
 
 " What troubles you ? " 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 293 
 
 It was an exquisite tone of love, but it seemed to 
 increase, rather than alleviate, his distress, and he an 
 swered nothing. 
 
 " Will you not tell me ! Will you not let me have 
 the privilege of friendship of love, that if I cannot 
 relieve your distress I may at least share it? Come, 
 you have not learned the power of woman s sympathy, 
 and it must be my privilege to teach you." 
 
 " Your words your tone your love, even, is a 
 torture to me ! " 
 
 Bel started back and turned pale. The suppressed 
 anguish of his voice and his words alarmed her heart. 
 
 " Am I deceived then ! you love " 
 
 " I love you, passionately, with all the strength 
 of manhood, all the ardor of youth ! I have loved 
 you from boyhood ; in distant lands during years of 
 absence, and here when I felt that in your beautiful 
 womanhood my boyish love were worse than folly." 
 
 A look of joy, almost of triumph, passed over Bel s 
 face as Umber spoke his first passionate words. It 
 changed to one of tender reproach. 
 
 "And I, do you doubt, any longer my feel 
 ings ? " 
 
 " O, no. Through the habit of a false education and 
 of fashion I still saw your true nature, and knew that 
 it struggled with the false. Under a severe trial and 
 through much suffering the true has triumphed over 
 the false. But " 
 
 But ! Do you still doubt ? " 
 
 " I am poor. By my own toil I must earn my bread, 
 and not always sure of successful toil even for mod 
 erate wants. You are wealthy, educated in luxury, 
 
294 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 accustomed to society, and fitted to be one of its 
 brightest ornaments." 
 
 " And is that all?" 
 
 She spoke as if greatly relieved. 
 
 " It is enough to forbid our love. It places a barrier 
 between us, and I should be false to my sense of right 
 and false to you, if I attempted to overleap it." 
 " And should I be false to womanly delicacy if I 
 removed the barrier ? I have wealth, but I thank 
 Heaven that it is a means of doing good and procuring 
 true happiness, as well as ministering to heartless folly 
 and selfishness. With my fortune I should not be a 
 burden to you and it is at my own disposal." 
 
 " And do you think me such a craven as to be 
 dependent on you ? " 
 
 " I think you everything that is generous and noble. 
 1 would not wound your self-respect or pride. I would 
 not take away your motives for effort. You could still 
 labor, but for that distinction and fame in your art 
 which I know is dearer to you than wealth. May I 
 not aid you in this honorable ambition ? " 
 
 She looked earnestly into his eyes as if to enforce 
 more than she dared to utter in words. He involun 
 tarily threw his arms about her, and pressed her to his 
 bosom. 
 
 " Noble woman ! I should be utterly unworthy of 
 your love were I to suffer you to do what your gener 
 ous affection prompts. You have a position to cherish 
 the opinion of the world to respect friends to be 
 regarded. I should be base to suffer you to sacrifice 
 these to a generous impulse." 
 
 " Her friends shall honor her, and approve her 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 295 
 
 choice," said a voice behind them. They started, and 
 Bel threw herself into the arms of her brother, who, 
 entering unperceived, came forward, and had heard 
 the last of their conversation. 
 
 "And you are not married, then !" he exclaimed, 
 " Thank heaven ! you have escaped that, and have 
 made a nobler choice." 
 
 He then explained that he had not received her 
 letter until the messenger who carried his last letter to 
 the post had brought it on his return. He lost no time 
 in coming, dreading that he should find Bel s misery 
 sealed by marriage vows. There was a new earnest 
 ness and decision in Abel s pale face, as he spoke, 
 and its sadness gave a dignity and impressiveness to 
 what he said. So it was that he calmed the doubts in 
 Umber s mind, and pressing his hand warmly, said, 
 
 " You and Bel shall have a brother s blessing." 
 
 Again we ask you^ Trifle, what think you of the 
 world ? 
 
296 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 TRIFLETON HOUSE, > 
 As the Spring commences. 
 
 SPRING once more ! Soon the buds will be out on 
 the trees, the birds singing, and the fragrant lap of 
 earth filled with flowers of every hue and name ! The 
 sweet blue violets will appear on the hills, and the 
 dark, wintry frown pass from the sea. All nature will 
 be wreathed in smiles again, and the long, dreamy 
 days of sunshine and hope come back. All the in 
 habitants of Trifleton House rejoice in anticipation. 
 
 I have become much addicted to studying the " New 
 England Farmer," of late. Pat. threatens to show me 
 how flowers can be induced to flourish under her 
 superintendence, and Prig seriously contemplates an 
 accession of several rabbits to his existing stock of val 
 uables, and he even has thrown out hints of a small 
 dog, to accompany him in his excursions with his velo 
 cipede. We shall see. 
 
 But, my Editor, I wish to call your friendship to the 
 test, and have a favor to ask, and you a duty to per 
 form ; an arduous one, I admit, but I see not how you 
 can escape it. So courage, man, courage ! 
 
 I understand the exuberant Miss of nineteen sum 
 mers (twenty now), and your smart subscriber, too, 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 297 
 
 have both been extremely interested in this correspond 
 ence. It is stated tome authoritatively, and I believe it 
 to be as true as the veracious telegraphic despatches 
 from Washington (which nobody ever yet doubted), 
 that the actual experiences of life therein recorded, 
 have, in some sense, come home to them. 
 
 " Why," said your smart subscriber, " if Pink s 
 father has failed, why may not I, by possibility ? 
 Who can tell ? " And the exuberant Miss has been 
 heard to remark, " V^hy may not Bel Hard s case be 
 mine, and am I not thinking and acting as Pink used 
 to last summer ? Wouldn t I better pause a little ? " 
 She also added, (so they say,) " As for that Pat., she s 
 a darling ! " which, I must " own up," I esteem as 
 quite a compliment to myself. 
 
 Now, what I desire of you is this. My pens of 
 every kind are quite worn out, and I, myself, am pass 
 ing into desuetude. Hence, this correspondence must 
 cease. I can write no more, and I wish you to an 
 nounce that fact to your readers. You must break it 
 to them as gently as possible. 
 
 You could do it in this wise. You might call on the 
 exuberant Miss, and send up your card " The Ed 
 itor " and after waiting an hour or two for her ap 
 pearance (she changing her dress and " fixing " her 
 hair meantime), you might, when she came in upon 
 you, after the usual commonplaces, and a slight dis 
 cussion respecting Lagrange and Didiee, casually 
 remark, " Trifle is in a bad predicament. His pens 
 are all used up, and he can t afford any more. No 
 doubt you are tired of his platitudes, &c., &c." At 
 which she will say something, and then you can say 
 
298 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 something more, (all the while collecting your courage,) 
 and then she will interrupt you with great volubility, 
 and while she is rushing on at railroad speed, you can 
 prepare the announcement in fit terms, that Trifle is 
 really about to say good-bye. It might be well to have 
 a bottle of Cologne with you, in case she should see 
 fit to faint. 
 
 Your smart subscriber must, I think, be managed 
 somewhat differently. 
 
 It would be well, perhaps, to ask him about his 
 clipper ships, and comment upon cotton, corn, and 
 consols, and freights to California and Australia, and 
 the amount of his loss by the last peculation from some 
 Kailroad Company, Insurance Company, or Bank, in 
 which he is largely interested as a stockholder, and 
 then add that the paper (there is only one paper 
 " the Editor s " paper), henceforth, will be filled with 
 something else than this stuff from Trifle. There s 
 been quite a sufficiency of it. The thing must be 
 managed very adroitly. 
 
 So, mind ! 
 
 He will say that he s rather sorry on the whole (non 
 committal, you perceive, that is, business like), for he s 
 been somewhat amused with the correspondence, oc 
 casionally ; but that there have been a great many 
 words wasted in it ; that there hasn t been enough 
 coming to the point, and that it s hardly worth while 
 for " a business man " to spend his time reading too 
 much of such sort of writing ; and he supposed it was 
 about drawing to a close ; but, really, he would like to 
 know how Pink s father was getting on, and whether 
 he intended to let her marry that man, Stubs, who is a 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 299 
 
 strange sort of a fellow, and worth nothing now, though 
 lately, he must confess, he has " done the right thing," 
 (elegant expression,) and that he appears to be " pretty 
 smart," (another,) and if he were only a little more 
 " wide awake," (another yet,) he could probably " get 
 along," and " go ahead," (a couple of em,) well 
 enough. 
 
 To all this, you can make such a reply as you think 
 expedient, and then tell him that Trifle bids him an 
 especial good-bye, and that he is much indebted to 
 him for the interest he takes in his friends, and (pri 
 vately) that he would be glad to see him at Trifleton 
 House next summer; that Trifle invites him to dine, 
 in a word ; and that he will meet Pink s father, Stubs 
 and his beautiful wife, (Stubs intends to marry some 
 body, in the early summer, so Pat. says, and I pre 
 sume she will, of course, be beautiful,) and, that he 
 will, possibly, meet, too, tl?e man with the corn-colored 
 gloves. This gentleman has left us, and has promised 
 Pink that he will come again next summer. Perhaps 
 he will, but 1 consider it somewhat doubtful. He is 
 much changed. He is more subdued than he was. His 
 conversation, too, is of a different order. 
 
 Have you observed how circumstances often change, 
 abruptly, the whole style, tone, and character of a 
 man ? Pink tells Pat. that we have never done the 
 gentleman justice, and that he has been far more gener 
 ous to her than she had any right to expect, and that 
 she shall never cease to regard him as one of her 
 best, truest, and most tried and disinterested friends. 
 Queer ! Isn t it ? but, who pretends to explain wo 
 men ? 
 
300 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 He called to see Goody Green, while he was here, 
 " in answer to her fine letter," as he said, and she 
 declares " he is a gentleman, every inch on him." 
 Let us never, my Editor, accuse any human being of 
 wanting a heart. Most people have hearts, in their 
 way. The wretched conventional habits and require 
 ments of our time make us suspicious of each other. 
 Mere style and courtesy pass so current for feeling, 
 that we become apt to question the existence of feeling. 
 There are so many counterfeits, that we grow into the 
 belief that there is nothing real and genuine. Fashion 
 has put truth to the blush, and diplomacy is becoming 
 to be regarded as a higher quality than sincerity. 
 
 In case the exuberant Miss should ask you whether 
 Pink intends to marry, as well as Stubs, you may say 
 that she would better inquire of Goody Green on that 
 point. I can t keep the run of such things. Pat. is 
 looking over my shoulder at this point, and if you con 
 sider her exclamation worth having, I will give it to 
 you, she says : 
 
 " Why, Trifle how you talk ! You know the 
 wedding day is fixed." 
 
 This is very true, and I presume Pink will not 
 change her mind, for what woman was ever yet known 
 to change her mind, from Eve down ? 
 
 While I think of it, I m rather inclined to the opinion 
 that the exuberant Miss would better come to Trifleton 
 House and make a slight visit. She, possibly, might 
 be permitted to see the wedding dress, and be con 
 sulted upon the style of its cut, etc. Has she good 
 taste ? 
 
 And now, serenest of Editors, I bequeath to you my 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 301 
 
 farewell. There is always something sad to me in 
 saying " good-bye." But meetings and partings are 
 about the substance of this life. Friends come and 
 go. Enjoyment is but for a season. Blessings are 
 at best periodical, and happiness, if there be such a 
 thing, has wings. There s nothing fixed this side of 
 Eternity. 
 
 But let us hope on ! Separation and absence, and 
 non-intercommunication, even, are impotent in case of 
 a real attachment ; and, most excellent of friends, and 
 most imperturbable of Editors, Trifle wears you in his 
 heart, and will henceforth. When hope grows dim, 
 and expectation dingy, please to reflect that down in 
 humble Trifleton House are those that think of you 
 most tenderly ! Mrs. Editor, too, and the incipients, 
 are remembered and talked of by Pat. Come ! by 
 several means, if not by all means, come and see us ! 
 Be with us, and of us ! 
 
 We are unfashionable, and little skilled in the ways 
 of this world, and we know next to nothing of society. 
 We are simple and unsophisticated. We dress poorly 
 and talk plainly. We are of those who reflect that our 
 Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, associated with hum 
 blest fishermen, while illustrating his earthly career, 
 and we are disposed to guage people by their moral 
 and intellectual worth. We are not ashamed to call 
 Goody Green our friend. 
 
 Sufficiently stupid we are, doubtless, but we hold 
 that pretence and affectation are inadmissible ; we are 
 quite willing to pass for what we are commonest of 
 folks. No grandest men or fishionablest women will 
 come to Trifleton House ; and therefore, it is, we thank 
 
302 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 God. To all simplest and sincerest, and most natural 
 people we say, come ! 
 
 The way to find the house is this. You get into the 
 cars (without purchasing a ticket), and when the con 
 ductor comes along and says, " ticket, sir ! " or " ticket, 
 ma am ! " you reply simply, " Trifleton House ; " at 
 which he politely says it will be so and so, (when you 
 are with Trifle there will be nothing to pay, for no 
 friend shall ever visit his house, in his company, at a 
 pecuniary expense,) and you travel on till you stop. 
 You stop several times, indeed, before you get there. 
 And when you arrive at the Station, and get out, you 
 see not much of anything, as I should say. There s 
 a river, and a hill, and two shoe manufacturers shops. 
 You walk on a considerable distance, and then you 
 turn, and then you walk on again ; and then, after a 
 slight advance, you turn once more, and then you go 
 straight forward till you arrive at Trifleton House. 
 You can t miss it. 
 
 After these explicit directions, we shall expect you 
 to come, all of you, readers of " the Editor s paper." 
 
 We shall be glad to see you. So come ! come ! ! 
 come ! ! ! 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 303 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 THE ARM CHAIR, > 
 As the end approaches. } 
 
 IT is quite true, most worthy Trifle, that all things 
 earthly must have an end, and notwithstanding your 
 letters are not altogether earthy, we have feared that 
 they must sooner or later be subject to the immutable 
 law. Nevertheless, your announcement is somewhat 
 abrupt, and we were disposed, at first, to lament, both 
 on our own account, and on account of the numerous 
 readers to whom, after perusing them, we have passed 
 over your letters. But upon reflection we are rather 
 inclined to rejoice, for of what should we tell you in 
 return ? 
 
 We were at the Hard Mansion a day or two since, 
 and discovered that we should have little more to say 
 of its inmates. Bel s portrait was hanging in the li 
 brary, the beautiful picture in which Umber, look 
 ing deeper than the surface, had revealed Bel s real 
 loveliness. Bel was there, too, with a radiant smile 
 which made her more beautiful than the picture. It 
 was a smile of happiness as she looked at the artist, 
 who, with such rare skill, had revealed her heart and 
 stamped its beauty alike on the original and the coun 
 terfeit. Umber was there, with no trace of trouble 
 
304 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 in his look, and the light of genius glowing in his 
 face. Abel, with his pale face, half sorrowful, half 
 happy, sat by, resolving, rather than dreaming, as of 
 old. And Madame Hard was present, also, some 
 what subdued, but looking well content, as if she 
 heartily assented to the aphorism " whatever is, is 
 right." 
 
 They were arranging plans for a tour in Europe 
 and a sojourn in Italy, and are to take their departure 
 ere many weeks have gone by. So, you perceive, 
 Trifle, we shall have nothing to communicate to Mrs. 
 Trifle you are of secondary importance, you know 
 unless it should be an account of a wedding, and 
 that s of no consequence to her or to us. The truth is, 
 that these people, who have been playing some scenes 
 in the drama of this life, as it were for our especial 
 benefit, are about to make their exit. The curtain is 
 to fall, and whether they shall appear again, or what 
 strange plot shall be developed in the succeeding acts, 
 it is not for us to know. The veil cannot be lifted. 
 
 Of what then should we write ? Shrimp, having 
 three times prepared his rods and lines, his hooks and 
 flies, and all his piscatorial paraphernalia for the coming 
 season, and having committed to memory the pages of 
 bid Izaak Walton, has turned his attention to mending 
 the world and repairing the ravages of time. But he 
 does it so practically and moderately that we can make 
 no account of it. As for Rompy-Dompy, we shall say 
 no more of her at present, but shall send her to Trifle- 
 ton House to share in Prig s delight over the velocipede, 
 . the rabbits, and the small dog. 
 
 Therefore have you read the premises ? we, on 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 305 
 
 the whole, have few regrets that this correspondence 
 ends here and now, provided (that s the way the law 
 yers put it, is it not ?) we retain the friendship of 
 Trifle s household, and all other people who may be 
 disappointed by so sudden a termination. Yet these 
 letters have grown upon us like some of those habits 
 which you acquired in your city life, and being shaken 
 off we shall probably feel at a loss how to get along 
 at first, as you did. We believe in homoeopathy, how 
 ever, and habit, which produces the misery, will also 
 cure it. 
 
 We pondered some time upon the request you pre 
 ferred, and the arduous duty which you imposed upon 
 us. Havn t we said, that we are not overburdened with 
 brass ? If we recollect aright, we said that you and we 
 have as little of this as of the other metals wherewith 
 men make their way in the world. We are disposed 
 now to except you from that proposition, seeing the 
 coolness with which you propose to put our friendship 
 to the test. But we seem still to be wanting in brass, 
 notwithstanding you impose such a quantity on us. 
 
 We reflected for a time longer or shorter, we can t 
 tell which how we should manage to escape the duty 
 assigned, and still retain the good will of Trifleton 
 House. We to call on the " smart subscriber," and on 
 the " exuberant Miss ! " It was utterly out of the ques 
 tion. Why, every time we have met him in the street, 
 or seen her riding in her carriage, since you presumed 
 to address them so familiarly in one of your letters, we 
 have trembled lest on our devoted head should fall the 
 vengeance with which we feared they would visit such 
 presumption. And to visit them to offer ourself a 
 20 
 
306 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 voluntary victim ! - it was not to be thought of, even 
 to deprecate their anger, by the hesitating announce 
 ment that Trifle has ended his platitudes, and we 
 
 likewise. No, we couldn t do that. But after pro 
 found thought we hit on an expedient which proved 
 the right one. " Ev^y.a " we shouted, and sat down to 
 adopt it. 
 
 The letter being printed, we marked the passages 
 which contained the important information, in two 
 copies of the paper, and directed them, one to the 
 " Exuberant Miss," and the other to our " Smart Sub 
 scriber." With them each we sent a r note of the follow 
 ing import : 
 
 " We are requested respectfully to call your attention to the 
 marked paragraphs in our paper. THE EDITOR." 
 
 And so we despatched them, feeling as Atlas might, 
 relieved of the world. We pray you, Trifle, don t in 
 flict such a task on us again. We congratulated our- 
 self that it was well over. We said 
 
 " Trifle thinks these people have read his platitudes 
 
 and ours, and that they have been touched by 
 the experiences which he has (and we have) recorded. 
 He thinks that some things ; have come home to them, 
 (most people have things come home to them) that 
 they will profit by what they have read in his true 
 history and ours. And above all, he thinks they 
 will regret that he can no longer write and we reply. 
 But here s the end of it. He ll find how much they 
 have read and to what purpose when they conde 
 scend to announce it. In the meantime he can flatter 
 himself, and wonder, and suspect, till the whole is 
 forgotten, till the smart subscriber has become a 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 307 
 
 millionaire or a bankrupt, and the exuberant Miss a 
 dignified matron, or " 
 
 That s what we said to ourself. But even we can be 
 mistaken, in private. Our domestic conjectures are 
 not always reliable, though our opinions put forth to 
 the public are not to be doubted. Why, Trifle, we 
 actually received replies from the " smart subscriber" 
 and the " exuberant Miss !" And they wrote thus : 
 the smart subscriber as follows : 
 
 " Mr. Ed. : Yours of this date is received and 
 contents noted. Trifle is about to stop writing because 
 his pens are worn out, and I suppose he isn t able to 
 buy more. I shouldn t suppose that a man entertain 
 ing his views, and living as he seems to, would have 
 much money, and it is pretty evident that his credit 
 won t last long. He isn t right, and he isn t far wrong 
 in the sentiments which he presumes to ascribe to me. 
 1 have read his correspondence, though there is a good 
 deal in it that I don t understand. I find some good 
 things, and I have been a little interested in some of 
 the people mentioned, but I think that you and Trifle 
 both put bad notions into young folk s heads ; making 
 them undervalue the good things of this world, and 
 encouraging our daughters to marry poor men. The 
 example of these people ought not to have been made 
 so public. However, the young men are rather prom 
 ising, and I feel disposed to encourage them. I will, 
 therefore, send to Stubs some law matters, and I 
 should like to have a picture or two from Umber, for 
 my new country house. He s a lucky dog to marry an 
 heiress, as I suppose he will, unless he is fool enough 
 to lose the opportunity. 
 
308 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 " On the whole, I am rather sorry that these Trifle- 
 ton Papers have come to an end. The greatest fault 
 I have to find with them, is, that I have several times 
 been reading them when I should have been calculat 
 ing the chances for a speculation, and on several oc 
 casions they have set me thinking. 
 
 " I should like to accept Trifle s invitation, but really 
 his direction to Trifleton House, like much else that 
 he says, is not clear enough for a practical man like 
 
 myself. 
 
 " Your obedt. servant, S. S." 
 
 " P. S. As Trifle is in want of pens, I send you, for 
 him, a package of commercial pens, such as I use in 
 the counting-room." 
 
 That s what our smart subscriber says, and on the 
 whole we are rather proud of him. The exuberant 
 Miss writes thus : 
 
 "Mr DEAR MR. EDITOR: lam quite shocked to 
 learn that Trifle will write no more letters, and for 
 such a reason, too. I have really been exceedingly 
 charmed with the Trifleton Papers. To be sure I 
 havn t read them all, but all those parts which tell 
 about people, Stubs, Pink, Pat., Bel, Umber, I 
 have delighted in, they were so much like a story. 
 And then it was so romantic for Bel to break off her 
 
 match with the Hon. Mr. 1 forget his name and 
 
 marry that fine fellow, Umber, and for Pink, after 
 breaking with Stubs in a pretty little pet, to be recon 
 ciled so beautifully with him when he had lost his 
 fortune. 
 
TRIFLETON PAPERS. 309 
 
 " And they are to be married ! Why, it is just as 
 good as a novel. 
 
 " I shall be delighted to come to Trifleton House 
 and see the bride, that is to be, and to talk about the 
 dress. Bat to think of that Goody Green writing to 
 the York gentleman, telling him that Pink didn t love 
 him, how queer ! I read some parts of the letters 
 to Pa, and told him I would do just as Bel Hard did 
 and as Pink did ; and that I never would marry a man 
 made of money. He said it was all nonsense, and I 
 must not let such foolish stories turn my brain. As if 
 they were not true ! But Pa is like all pas, he ll 
 have his eyes opened some day. 
 
 " And now, to think that we are to have no more 
 letters, it is really too bad. My dear Mr. Editor, I 
 have a favor to ask. Pa gave me, a short time since, a 
 beautiful gold pen to write with, from New York. Now 
 I send it to you, and beg you to transmit it to Trifle, 
 as his pens are worn out, so that he need not stop 
 writing. But pray don t let him know that it comes 
 from me. Perhaps, with a new gold pen he will con 
 tinue to delights us. E. M." 
 
 That is what the exuberant Miss wrote. But as 
 Trifle has fallen into desuetude, we have concluded to 
 keep the pen ourself. 
 
 It is settled, then, Trifle, that here our correspon 
 dence closes. Be it so. Henceforth when we wish to 
 communicate, it shall be at Trifleton House, and fol 
 lowing implicitly your directions, we shall come to 
 partake of the joys about your hearth-stone. 
 
 Glancing back over our letters, and the histories 
 
310 TRIFLETON PAPERS. 
 
 therein recorded, we are under the impression -that 
 we have found hearts where we least suspected their 
 existence warm human feelings lying underneath 
 the cold exteriors which fashion and fortune had 
 formed. Trial and suffering tear away the masks 
 which men and women too readily assume, and we 
 can look upon their real natures and love them better. 
 Alas for the folly that so covers the true with the 
 false ! 
 
 Spring ! You talk of Spring, most sanguine Trifle. 
 Verily, we envy you the fancy that can can see violets 
 underneath the huge snow banks that still remain, and 
 feel the warm winds, while the mercury squats at zero. 
 But there is nothing like Hope and Faith. To them 
 the Spring will come, with its sweet blossoms and its 
 singing birds, with its genial sun and its soft airs. Let 
 us also look onward to a better spring, beyond the 
 dark winter of death, into the fields of everlasting 
 beauty. 
 
 And so, most genial and excellent of friends, master 
 of a household whither our thoughts come often and 
 where our love lingers, farewell, for of the Trifleton 
 Papers this is 
 
 THE END. 
 
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