Fashionable ufFerer Illustrated emitrypr A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER Chapters from Lifes Comedy AUGUSTUS HOPPIN AUTHOR OF " RECOLLECTIONS OF AUTON HOUSE" ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR THIRD THOUSAND. BOSTON HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY New York : 11 East Seventeenth Street (Cfoe OiUcrsiOc press, JTam()nDgE c /f /7 Copyright, 1883, BY AUGUSTUS 1IOPPIN. All rights reserved. The Riverside Press, Cambridge : Electrotyped and Printed by II. 0. Houghton & C PREFACE. I dedicate this work to the human influence which has caused me the sharpest pain and the keenest pleasure. CONTENTS. PROLOGUE. PAQE IN WHICH THE OBJECT OF THE WORK IS SET FORTH, AND PERSONS INTRODUCED 7 ACT I. Scene in a Large City. Time : Late Spring. CHAPTER I. A NEW SPECIES OF LUXURIOUS INVALIDISM ... 11 CHAPTER II. A SCENE WITHIN THE SALON OF AN N. E. . . . 19 CHAPTER III. ANOTHER SCENE WITHIN THE SAME VALE OF MISERY AS PRECEDING CHAPTER, CONTAINING A DISCUSSION OF A CERTAIN KIND OF POETRY 32 CHAPTER IV. AN INTERMEDIATE OR PURGATORIAL CHAPTER ALLOWED FOR TRANSMIGRATION OF SOULS TO "PARADISE" . . 56 VI CONTENTS. ACT II. Scene: "Paradise. Time: Summer Vacation. CHAPTER I EVERY-DAY EXPERIENCES WITH GIRLS AND THINGS, CON TAINED IN THE DIARY OP AN UNFORTUNATE GENTLEMAN 60 CHAPTER II, SUNDAY MORNING IN PARADISE, WITH A SERMON WHICH DID NOT SUIT ITS INHABITANTS 100 CHAPTER III. A MELON PARTY ON " TOP-KNOT," AND THE DISAGREEABLE THINGS WHICH WERE SAID THERE 125 CHAPTER IV THE LAST CHAPTER IN THE DIARY OF AN UNFORTUNATE GENTLEMAN 148 CHAPTER V. LECTURE IN PARADISE HALI 189 CHAPTER VI. MR. CYNICUS DOUCE SURRENDERS, AND WHAT THE WORLD SAID 212 EPILOGUE IN WHICH THE LATEST INFORMATION RESPECTING THE PER SONS INTRODUCED IS GIVEN 238 PROLOGUE, 12ST WHICH THE OBJECT OF THE WORK IS SET FORTH, AND THE PERSONS INTRODUCED. HUMAN happiness is a cumulative sort of thing, scattered through life, made up of sunshine and ecstasy. Each bit, however, is a verity, possess ing the component parts of delight, namely, a thrill, and the subtle appreciation of it. Human, experience is composed in the same sort of way : of individual sensations, which, in the ag gregate, form a complete existence 1 . In childhood we were delighted to peep through those small, round, magnifying-glass apertures in the museum which revealed to us the wonders of the world. These glories, taken thus piecemeal, were more fully appreciated than if they had been presented in one great mass. As it is much more instructive to study creation in detail than in its more concrete capacity, so in the following pages it is proposed to take a few glimpses of life and character through the ideal lens of experience. We shall materialize and in troduce to the reader a limited number of decently dressed and " clever enough " individuals, and hear what they have to say on various subjects. 8 PROLOGUE. Like everybody else nowadays, these fictitious people have their " peculiar views " which they de sire to ventilate. Whether they are right or wrong, it is merely their way of looking at things, so no body need be troubled about it. Our purpose in thus proceeding is to show that the so-called "world" is simply a concrete totality of individual experiences; and to indicate that any one of these, however atomic, and apparently inconsequential, is never so unimportant as not to produce some sort of an impression on life. The mimic stage upon which these ideal person ages are to appear is, first, a certain corner in a certain street in a certain city ; then, at the proper moment, the venue is changed to a blessed little " Paradise " among the green hills of Tucit-Ken- noc, where the grass is greener, and the air purer than in many another spot which goes by the same sweet name. Here we shall dally until the first chill of autumn, listening to discussions on love and religion, on poetry, and other interesting topics. It is as if we were invited to pay a visit among a number of congenial friends in the coun try ; as if we had packed portmanteau and dress ing-case, and had actually proceeded to our desti nation ; as if we had dwelt there durintr the O summer heat, enjoying their intelligent conversa tion, and then had returned to town laden with pleasant reminiscences. We shall endeavor to give to this episode the PROLOGUE. smack of a comedy, without rigidly following the rules of such an arrangement, and, as intimated above, our attempt shall be confined to a few scenes in every-day life. PERSONS INTRODUCED. "THE BEAUTIFUL N. E.," a nervous txhaustionist and modern invalid. LADY ANGELA, a near-sighted lady and intimate friend of " The Beau tiful N. E: Miss LUCY, -i Miss JONES, I acqua i n tances and relatives. Miss SMITH, And several others, AMELIA, a delightful prude. HILDEGARDE, a sympathizing maiden. CONSUELO, called " The Countess." Miss EUNICE SMAUT, a Church-woman. MR. WOKTHINGTON, a gentleman. LAWRENCE, an observer. CYNICUS DOUCE, a pessimist. And others. ACT I.. Scene in a large city. ACT II., Scene in "Paradise." TIME: Late spring and summer vacation. COSTUME : Present day. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. ACT I. Scene in a large city. Time : Late Spring. CHAPTER I. A NEW SPECIES OF LUXURIOUS INVALIDISM. HE salon, the dinner- table, and the club are not the only fields for the dis play of wit. Newer regions have been discovered which afford opportunity for its brilliant ex pression. Few of us naturally turn to the sick-cham ber to find peculiar evidences of intel- sick-chamber must Nowadays what lectual vigor, and yet to the we go for just this very thing. 12 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. is called disease is not always treated with bitter medicine and hot applications. A luxurious civil ization has begotten a new order of invalids, who exist on the sweet counsel of their physician and the daily ministration of loving friends. The house physician, like the house-fly, is in chronic attendance upon them. Luckily, the modern medi- cus is a charming fellow, and shows nothing but velvet paws to his lovely patients. Harmless " Apollinaris " and a half-grain of quinine are the extent of his prescriptions. And while, to be sure, his bill grows steadily larger and larger, yet his pleasant and tidy appearance, punctually at eleven o clock, and the hope of final recovery constantly held out, are worth twice the amount of his daily fee. "Doctor, dear! come every morning, won t you? I don t know what I should do unless my monotonous day was relieved by your visit." */ / I, There, is something terribly mysterious about human nature. We are always stumbling upon it in doing the simplest things. When going to bed, or getting up, eating our daily food, or setting about our daily task, this inscrutable mystery forces itself upon us. Among the many ways of its quixotic exhibi tion, there is none more queerly queer and un naturally natural than what is called " the nervous exhaustion of ladies." When one first hears of this affliction, he hesi tates about approaching too near the unfortunate A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 13 victim who has "come down " with it. But he soon discovers it to be what the pretty school-girl said of love, " an awful common complaint." Although at first this disease appears to possess more of a physical than a metaphysical nature, still, when we consider that the fairer of the sexes is so wondrously constructed, the intellectual and perhaps the celestial linked with the animal and the material, the quizzical and the whimsical with the quibble-cal and the McFlimsey-cal, con stituting a bewildering hodge-podge of charms and other things, it does not surprise us to detect, among these wonders, one of a metaphysical na ture. Whatever be the truth, it is certain that the disease under discussion is a deceitful complaint. It generally attacks the handsomest and the richest of the sex, and seldom leaves them until all their friends die of it, for they themselves never do. It does not affect any particular vital organ, but flies about among them all, giving a little twist and pull to each, seriatim. First comes a sharp, wee quirk in the head, then a horrid neuralgic tweak in the u small " of the back ; and then again it " jangles " up and down the spine with agonizing force. But it somehow eases away again when the men of the family have gotten comfortably away to the " of fice," and a fresh log has been lighted on the tiled hearth, and the little chintz-lounge has been wheeled up close to the tall, bright andirons. It is undeniable that there is a goodly number -L4 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. of charming women in the. world, -so many that they may be said to form a class by themselves, A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 15 whose vocation in life, an ill-natured person might say, is to trade upon their supposed weak nesses with the rest of the world. Ileally nervous, lacking bodily vigor, and at first requiring both the sympathy and the attention of their friends, they end by becoming beautiful tyrants, before whom everybody must make obeisance. Taking advan tage of their chronic exhaustion, they traffic upon their allowed infirmities with consummate skill ; they have headache every morning regularly. They generally lie a-bed until noon ; have their breakfasts brought to them as they recline with languid grace upon big frilled pillows : a wren s leg on toast, perhaps, a bit of a chop en papillate, a snip of a roll, with a tiny pat of the yellowest butter, are sufficient for them to taste of and send away again. Before a genial wood-fire they deck and dawdle with powder-puff and Lubin ; then re pose, like sunlight, on the softest couch. Their active minds devour at a glance the latest novel, as they are forbidden by their doctor to do the least work on account of their eyes. They are just well enough to go to the opera and the play ; just sick enough not to go to church. They sit up past midnight in the easiest of chairs, at whist or some thing worse ; then make the whole house go on tip toe the next morning on account of the ^ agony " in their heads. They are very pretty, and have something about them so delightfully fragile, like Sevres or Dres- 16 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. den ware, that one is always desiring to touch them, but is ever afraid to do so, lest something might " come off," and they die on one s hands. Sad to relate, these charmers are the veriest hum bugs in the world. Some people have fits, and we pity them. Others have chronic distortions, and we u thank our stars" that we have escaped that sort of martyrdom ; but to be a " Nervous Exhaus- tionist " - which is about the same thing nowadays as saying that one is rich and fashionable is get- tins to be rather an envied and enviable lot in life. & Of all the lovely and becoming diseases this is the most accommodating, for it permits its victims to sit for three hours on the hardest seats to hear " Patience," or witness a ball-match, while it for bids them, for fear of a relapse, either to take a needle in their jeweled hands, or tie a ribbon of one of their children s bonnets. A single consider ation only prevents us from saying that one good honest woman in the house who says what she means, and means what she says, is worth a bag ful of this other kind. But there is one consider ation which stops us, and that is, that among this female invalid-corps are found some of the loveliest of the sex. They are fascinating to a degree that is surprising, in view of their Aveak backs, and so languidly lovable that it gets to be a privilege at last to pay their doctors bills, and be scolded by their soft, sweet voices. One beautiful blonde " exhaustionist " in a family keeps everything and A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 17 everybody lively. The children are glad to have one because of the tidbits of fruit and jelly which they purloin from the invalid fund. The men of the house are pleased because they meet so many " nice people " up in " dear Madeleine s bower." There is a subdued fragrance of rose-buds and lemon-verbena always lurking about one of these secluded grottos. " Dear Madeleine " gracefully rests on the rich cretonne sofa, in a rose-pink peig noir cut polonaise. Her coiffure is of the latest and most charming mode. *The color of her hair is a softish, childish, goldenish brown, with del- cate "exhaustion" undulations all over it. Great grayish-blue eyes roll about between their dark, moist fringes ; and when, from sheer exhaustion, they rest themselves upon yours, they have an enervating sort of an effect upon you, and you commence to experience the first sweet symptoms of nervous exhaustion creeping over your senses. A flush on the cheek, caused by your too sudden entrance, is still visible while the pink, taper fin gers dally among the leaves of the last romance with exhaustive elegance. Talk about the confining effect of sick rooms! I would much rather soothe the graceful contor tions of a " Nervous Exhaustionist," than adminis ter to the wants of any other patient in the world. Then again, the conversations to be heard in the boudoirs of this peculiar sect are often of the most delightful and racy character. An intelligent, quick- 18 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. witted specimen will amuse her friends for the hour together. To be convinced that the graceful art of conversation still thrives, it is only necessary to enter within the scented precincts of one of these nervous centres. CHAPTER IT. A Scene ivithin the Salon of an N. E. FACTS NECESSARY FOR THE J5ETTER UNDERSTANDING OF THIS CHAPTER. PERSON S INTRODUCED. THE BEAUTIFUL N. E. ; MR. CVNICUS DOUCE. HE Beautiful N. E. is a lady of thirty-five, possessing comeli ness both of face and person. She is bright, intelligent, and gray-eyed ; gifted also with the womanly art of coquetry in the most finished style. Several years ago she married one of the twenty lovers who sought her hand, and became a widow after a short campaign on the doubtful field of mat rimony. Her husband left her his fortune, which 20 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. was an ample one. Naturally given to luxuriou living, she imperceptibly surrendered herself to it blandishments, until she became a dependent an< almost helpless being. She is both lovely and lov able, and these very traits have gradually seduce* her into a detestable dilettanteism which threaten to spoil her character. She knows society by heart and she lies on her downy couch, just sipping like a graceful sybarite as she is the creanr foam of life s fascinations. She allows the world t< "gang its own gait," provided it furnishes her witl what she craves of its pleasures. She has becomi weakly, hypocondriacal, and exigeante. She ha summoned a handsome physician to attend her, am lives in a sort of medical bondage. She imagine; herself to be the most unfortunate of mortals, ever while munching away at royal dainties, and is eve: comparing her dreadful lot with that of her friend: who are so fortunate as to possess good digestion! but no money. She has known Cynicus Douce from childhood They have u summered and wintered " each othei through many vicissitudes. They have quarrelec and fought out all their youthful grievances, anc have reached a point at last where solid friendshij has survived all other feelings. The N. E. s motliei and Mr. Donee s father were at one time associated together in a very important and tender relation, which exhibited itself in an intimacy between theii children. The Beautiful N. E. is a gorgeous crea- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 21 ture, though living under a tissue of fancied ail ments. She resembles a magnificent jewel which has received a coating of some base medium which clouds its brilliancy. Mr. Cynicus Douce is a gentleman forty years of age, is well-born, well-educated, and decent-looking. His father s father was named Theophilus, and fought in the Revolutionary War. His mother s father was half-brother to one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence (which made his fam ily respectable). He graduated from Harvard Col lege. He has had sisters, but they are dead. He is worth eighty thousand dollars in United States bonds. He is generous, quick-tempered, warm hearted, and blonde. Mr. Douce has large experi ence in what is called u society " ; is considered, by his friends, as an oldish bachelor, who might, under certain provoking circumstances, marry somebody. He loves children and dogs, and has loved women. Society pets him, because he rather amuses society. He holds positive views on the current topics of the day, and sometimes expresses them. He is a gen tleman devoid of u stuff or nonsense ; " and his pet hobby through life is hatred of shams. The scene of this chapter is laid in a chamber- parlor of a mansion fronting south, in one of our principal cities. Sun shining most of the day in front windows ; soft moquette carpet on floor ; luxurious Persian rugs spread about ; commodious fire-place, heavily 22 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. tiled ; brass, antique andirons and fender ; cherry wainscot, five feet high, running round the room ; cherry-wood mantel, covered with placques and wonderful specimens of china ; oval mirror above mantel-piece, with dragons and crystal danglers ; long, graceful lounge wheeled up to wood-fire ; small clover-shaped table set with silver tete-d-tete service : roses and violets in pretty vases : books and magazines in profusion everywhere ; a dish of rare fruit on a little buffet at side ; elaborate lace- curtains about windows ; pink, down-lined slippers at foot of lounge ; small Skye-terrier rolled up, asleep, on cushion : two of Harmon s pictures on rose-tinted walls ; six phials, a silver spoon, half- tumbler of water, and ivory prayer-book on side- table ; piece of half - finished pongee on arm of lounge : the Beautiful X. E.. arrayed in becoming morning attire, discovered reclining with soft Olmd- dah shawl on her lap, reading a book just received from the booksellers. (She shakes her pretty head from time to time as she reads.) (Enter servant.) Ser. " Mr. Douce is below, madam, and asks if he can see you." Beautiful X. E. " Tell him to come up, Mary." Ser. " Yes, madam. (Exit.) (Enter Mr. Douce, hat in hand, with a smile on his lips, and a piece of lemon-verbena in his button hole.) N. E. " How do you do. my friend ? I m glad to see you, if for no other reason than to get your A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 23 opinion on something I have just received from the publishers. It is evidently writ ten by an unmarried cynic/ " Male or female ? " asked Mr. Douce, as he seats him self in an arm-chair. " A cynic is always a male ! " replied the N. E. " Why an unmarried one, then ? " " Because his spunk shows he s not yet come to the altar." " The halter, or the altar, did you say ? " said Mr. Douce. " You "11 find them to be one nrd the same thing, my friend, whenever you get bold enough to ap proach in their neighborhood." Cyn. " You seem strong enough to read this something to me ? " " I will, and willingly, too," she answered. " There s no name to the work. It simply has an interrogation point for a title " Cyn. " That fact, then, makes it questionable, I should say." " I 11 guarantee, though, it won t hurt your mor als. Listen ! The first chapter is entitled, Ani mated Female Molecules their Structure and Habits. " 24 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. "That certainly sounds like a woman-hater of the most venomous kind," said Douce. " Wait till you hear it," said the beautiful suf ferer, as her pink and diamondy fingers spread out on her lap the important document. " Let me get that cushion to put just under your shoulders ! " " Thanks ! " Cyn. u And this little bench for your feet, per haps ? " N. E. " Yes, T think so ; but please remove those violets ; they arc, too strong this morning ! " Cynicus carried the violets to the other end of the room. Cyn. " There ! Will that do ? " N. E. " I 11 trouble you just once more." Cyn. " Certainly ; what is it? " A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. .25 N. E. " My vinaigrette, please." ( Removing stopple and taking a sniff.) u Bliss ! I m all ar ranged now ; but don t you even cough while I m reading. I can t bear interruptions I " " I 11 hold in till the last minute," said Mr. Douce. The Beautiful X. E. then read in sweet tones THE PAPER OP THE UXMARRLEI) CYNIC. k; The machinery which goes to make up what is called k Woman is said to be very intricate. Phil osophers assert that so complex a work could never have been achieved by finite power. Subtler and more {esthetic material was required to develop this mysterious creature than was needed to construct the more ordinary mortal. These scholars tell us that when this weird and incongruous thino- issued O O forth from the .Almighty s alembic in all the glory of her perfection, she was as much a riddle to her self as she was to the worshiping universe which received her. And in this particular, philosophy must be correct. u This beautiful and apparently harmless crea ture, with her velvety skin, and her child-like de meanor, is not, however, to be trusted to that lim itless extent to which, at first sight, uninitiated youth is ready to accord to it. And the inexperi enced mortal who pins his faith, or bets his last dollar on that child-like innocence, that innocuous lambkinity will sooner or later discover his mis- 26 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. take. The unsophisticated youth will find that the pretty red blaze of the fire will burn his hands if he incautiously tries to clutch it. These same philos ophers go on to say that, superadded to the mental and physical qualities which a woman has in com mon with man, she possesses a nicer discrimination, a, subtler perception than he, ever dreamed of. These great qualities give her immense advantages over her natural enemy. Some of her e very-day qualities, such as secretiveness, passion, jealousy, vanity, ambition, self-control, and intrigue, become both dangerous and irresistible when wielded by a character possessing the combined attractions of a Venus and a Minerva. Such an one can crush with out mercy, slay without quarter, pursue with un flagging energy, and stoop to the meanest subter fuges to attain her desire. A merciful Providence has taken pity upon the other half of humanity, however, and so arranged it, that the heart and moral affections should be woman s great govern ing principle. So that, luckilv for man, these more insubordinate elements of her disposition are thus kept in healthy subjection : and it results that as these different impulses gain or lose, ascendency over her heart and affections, woman becomes ei ther a good, docile, domestic creature ; a dutiful wife and a model mother; a woman of the world, a tlirt, a reformer, a, criminal, or a nun." (I Tere the Beautiful N. K. ejaculated, ^ All this is perfectly absurd ! " and then proceeded.) A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 27 * Among the multifarious circumstances to which woman is (.-ailed upon to adapt herself, there are none in which her natural powers come more read ily into play than in her association with man. In the arena of society she is a curious and interest ing study, and astonishes a student of her charac ter with constant surprises. Self-poised and alert : uncertain, coy, and hard to please : eternally on guard, vigilant as an outpost; dying to give the k coiijt dc grdcej she prowls about her antagonist and wearies him out by her mosqiiito-inents. I Yw womeii reach their teens without becoming con scious of their attractiveness to the other sex. A desire to exercise an influence over man springs into existence the moment this consciousness is felt. A woman then becomes possessed of two an tagonistic and almost irresistible impulses : the one- is to attract a man and compel his allegiance : the other is to repel and torment her victim the mo ment her tactics succeed. That which the world calls snubbing is as much a department of wom an s code of love as to capture her natural foe. Like the English Constitution, a good deal of this code is unwritten. Precedent and the exigencies of each particular case furnish the law of conduct. No successful and fascinating woman, however, would consider her work handsomely performed unless she had first seized upon her little mouse, and then had legitimately introduced to him the dying-by-inches method, in order to make him real- 28 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. ize his own abject situation and her complete vic tory. When she starts upon the war-path, like a good general, she first instinctively hides away her own affections in the thickest covert ; then she gayly marches forth to combat, with her bright sti letto in her hand, and with a picture of a heart on her banner. She meets a foe who comes lumber ing up to the fight, bearing his heart on his sleeve, and with his face uncovered. Every day we see such couples descending into the Valley of Decis ion, the one in light marching order, with slender rapier and agile step; the other with his sword in its scabbard, and his plan of attack displayed to the enemy, inviting destruction. What a woman loves most is to play upon the edge of danger, and dance dalliance with her dearest foe. Without hesita tion she gives battle against overwhelming odds, having a vague hope, also, that she may be taken prisoner, if only for the pleasure of fighting again for liberty. Yet, with all this apparent reckless ness, she takes precious care to keep a wide road open for retreat, and flies back to her reserves the moment the enemy opens upon her with grape and canister. "In some of these foolhardy skirmishes she falls a victim to her own temerity. But even then, her conqueror finds it the most difficult of his labors to discover the place where her affections , if she has any, are concealed. Once entrapped, however, she enters into the harness of life, either with the ethe- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 29 real mildness of the lamb, to subside into the ordi nary humdrum of matrimony ; or else like that ob durate animal whose mission seems to be to kick in the traces, to take the bit in its mouth, and to run away with somebody, perhaps not its owner." When the languid sufferer finished reading, she o o said, "Now, my friend, what do you think of all that rubbish?" " I think," remarked Cynicus, u it is worth thinking of." u I would like to know," said the. Beautiful X. E., " what a woman is to do when she meets a man in society ? Can she be blamed for concealing her affections from every booby who comes along?" " I did n t say," said Mr. Douce, " that she was n t to do this." "AVell, then," said the N. E., with quite a peach- bloom on her cheeks. " And that," continued Cynicus, "is just what this wretch says who wrote the paper." " Xo matter if he does; there is running all through it a vein of sarcasm which is perfectly irri tating ; and as to wearing their hearts on their sleeves, I never saw a man in my life who ever had any to wear ! " * Von must be speaking, my dear Madeleine, of those dreadful creatures whom you used to meet at the balls, before you were prostrated by disease. What do you say of man in his fresh and youthful 30 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. state, untrammeled by tlic experiences of a season with all you knowing ones ? " u I know nothing of man in his fresh and youth ful state, " said the invalid. u Unsophisticated youth seldom passes under my ken. Such a sight would be a sensation indeed ! Hut," she added, " do you think, my friend, that what this crea ture has written is true ? " (ey ing him with searching scru tiny). " Suppose I said I did n t think it was? " k% Then, from my womanly perception, you would say what I know you did n t think ! " Here the N. K. pushed her wavy hair back from her lily forehead. Cyn. " If that is so, you ve answered the question for me ; besides, the subject is too deli cate a one to embrace at once. 1 N. E., laughing. "-Nonsense! I ve seen you embrace twice as delicate a one, in much less time ! Come, rnv friend, you must answer ! " " What is the alternative," asked Oynicus. " Death ! " said the Beautiful N. E., with mock gravity. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 31 "Then I ll answer you as the Yankee did Je mima s mother, who accused him of kissing her daughter half a dozen times behind the door. He replied, It s sort o true, and sort o not true, inarm, for I only swapped five of mine for one she g in me/ v (Exit Cynicus, who rises and escapes.) "Good-morning!" (The Beautiful N. E. shakes her pretty forefinger at him as he closes the door.) CHAPTER III. Another scene within the wmir- valr of misery s preced ing c/t<t}>t< j t\ contiuniny >r discussion uf , certain kind of poetry. PKSCRIl TIOX OK CH AKACTKKS NOT IJKI- OKK IXTUOOrCED. THE Lady Angela. This friend of the P>r;iuti- I ul N. \\. is about tlic same a^c as the invalid, and is shifted -\vith many attractions of mind and body. IFcr oycs aro of a true violet color, though not larmv. These, together with a profusion of dark brown hair, make, her handsome. Her near-sight edness interferes somewhat with directness of ex pression. She is clever, brimful of vivacity, and A FASHIONABLE SUFFEREU. o3 possessed of self-reliance and great administrative talent. Truthful, open-handed, and charitable to a fault, she has few emotions, a limited amount of sentiment, and no " gusli " whatever. Little given to joking, and utterly unsuspicious, she treats all the events of life seriously, yet she is like a child in her appreciation of the delights and the merri ment of life, and is the great power in the society in which she moves, carrying to a successful is sue everything she undertakes. Always reliable, and never weak, she is a charming mixture of self- will and brilliancy, intelligence and audacity, inno cence and resignation. Her wilfnlness and decision of character sometimes make her unjust, yet she is so healthy in tone and so vigorous in action that nothing can resist her progress. The Lady Angela is a great friend of Mr. Cynicus Douce, and is con stantly to be seen, in company with- him, in the apartment of her friend, the " Nervous Exhaustion- ist." Scene in Mr. Donee s apartment. Enter Servant, bringing note, which Mr. Douce takes and opens. " Tuesday, April 5th. "DiCAi; CYNKTS, Come round this morning and fetch your little paper on modern poetry. 1 wish to be amused, and my whim to-day is, that you are just the man to fill up the blank between my woman-rubber and luncheon. Come by eleven. " Yours in great pain, MADKLEINE." 3 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. On receiving tins note. Mr. Donee twirled his moustache, donned a becoming cravat, liis cheeked trousers, and a very benignant expression of counte nance, and, in obedience to the summons, hastened, with the desired paper under his arm, to the home of his friend, the N. K. The door-bell was an- A FASHIONABLE SUFFKIJER. 35 swered by Thomas, a tall, thin-necked house-ser vant, very pale and very constant, and with a quiet, unnervous voice most appropriate for an invalid s attendant. The visitor flitted like a burglar, up the easy flight of stairs, and landed at the top of it on an Aubusson carpet and vis-a-vis with the tidiest of ladies maids. She smilingly opened the door, from which the odor of i rrsldy cut flowers stole forth, and he crossed the threshold with becoming composure. As Mr. Douce looked about the ele gant apartment and observed the almost innumer able objects of luxury which lav in heaps on everv side, he murmured to himself, kv Who would n t be a nervous exhaustionist? How delicious to be combed and brushed by that pretty lady s-maid, and then laid away to dry before that charming fire! To be fed with crumpets and jelly from morning till night, and rubbed and fondled like a boy s moustache ! To lie in state on such a moun tain of frills, aud be decked with flowers, and sprinkled with such delicious odors ! And then, there are the grapes, aud the l rubber, and the sympathy, and the hairdresser ! Ah, me ! I should certainly get sick in spite of myself, with all these advantages." Mr. Douce murmured this to himself as he re moved his gloves, and endeavored to adapt his igno ble lungs to the soft, tropical atmosphere of this haunt of agony. The Lady Angela was sitting with "deal 1 Madeleine, so it was not long before they all 36 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. three got into a pleasant conversation. As was nat ural, a variety of topics were touched upon, pol itics, fashion, and the last bit of what they all had " heard." Lady Angela s eyes were very blue, and her hair was very brown ; and although she was near-sighted, her mind was in a most healthy con dition, and needed no binocular telescope to see what was in front of it. And then the fresh, bree/y way in which she expressed her opinions was a treat to hear. She had all the frankness of a girl, with the experience of a pretty woman. This mixture of brains and elasticity made her exceptionally agreeable. " You Ye a fine, obedient fellow," said the Beau tiful Ts. E., addressing Mr. Douce ; "for I see you ve brought your paper with you." "Yes." said Cvnicus, "like a deposit in the bank, I in kept on call. " I in much complimented, notwithstanding, that you honored my draft so quickly," said the N. M with a twinkle in her eye. "Ah! my dear Madeleine! T answer all your notes at sight," gallantly replied Mr. Douce. "Have your notes never gone to protest. Air. Cynicus?" gayly interposed Lady Angela. " None, I trust, you ever indorsed." "That s perhaps because I allow more than the usual grace ! " " Y on can well afford to do that out of your abun dance. 1 " A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 37 "My credit, however, is all gone to-day " re marked Lady Angela. " Why, where has it gone ? " "In the words of the immortal Mantalini, To the demnition bow-wows, for J ye been buying a \J O dog." t t/n. "One, of those idiotic pugs, I see! Hut pugs don t pay, Lady Angela." Lady A. "That s why I *ve got to pa v for him. (She smiled at her own facetiousness.) Oyn. "Still, you made by the operation, for now you ve two: the one in your lap, and the other on the back of your head, madam. Lady A. " Don t insult my scanty back-hair with your poor jokes, if you please!" C//n. (Laughing.) " Pray, excuse me. I ll drop it at once. It s so small a matter." The Beautiful N. E. "Stop your sauciness, cousin Cynicus, and tell ns if you have read Trol- lope s w Dr. Wortle s School, and what you think of it." Cyn. "One of the most interesting stories I over read. Dr. Wortle was a grand old fellow, was n t he ? " Lady A. "Indeed he was; but how do you re gard the conduct of Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke?" N. E. "I pitied them from the bottom of my heart." Lady A. "Yes. and so did I ; but they did very wronir all the same ! 88 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. "I d like to know what else they could have done to remedy the trouble, that they didn t do?" asked Cynicus. " A good many things," replied Lady Angela. " I in sure they suffered enough for a concate nation of circumstances which they never brought about," said Cynicus. " Yes, they did bring it about," answered An gela. Cyn. "Why, just as soon as Mr. Peacock ascer tained what Robert Lefroy asserted concerning his brother, he "He did what?" asked Lady Angela. Cyn. " He took measures to discover if this as sertion was a fact." "That was all well enough, but the trouble lay farther back than that," remarked Lady Angela. Cyn. "Oil! Now don t tell me that he ought to have gone before the world and repudiated his wife, for I won t agree with you." " What he ought to have done," said Lady An gela, slowly, "was to have gotten his wife di vorced from Lefroy in America, and before they came to England." Cyn. " How could he ? His wife was all alone in the world ; had no place to go to, no spot to live in ; so he had a right, I think, to shield hei from a horrible position, into which, through no fault of her own, she suddenly found herself. Lady A. "Ah ! no matter. He should have left A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 39 her and procured this divorce. They could have loved each other just the same, and lived apart ! " " I suppose that, on the strictest moral ground," said the Beautiful N. E., with a flush on her hand some face at the bare thought of the dreadful situ ation in which Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke were placed, " I suppose that, on the strictest moral grounds, they should have stopped just where they were." 1 " Where were they I d like to know," said Cynicus. " The mischief was done. They were married, and Mr. Peacocke was too much of a Chris tian to have left his wife in some boarding-house, with no money and no friends, to the tender mercies of her own sex, a treatment from which, as an innocent woman, she must have died." Lady A. "Why couldn t he have procured this divorce, I repeat ? " Cyn. " I suppose you think, Lady Angela, that a fellow can get mispliced as easily as they say he can out West in Indiana, where the train stops, and the conductor announces at the door, k Fifteen minutes for divorce " ; but it is a more difficult job than that, I can tell you." " Difficult or easy," said Lady Angela, " I know perfectly well what Mr. Peacocke ought to have done ; but if he had done so, Trollope couldn t have told us his story, you know." "And I know," said Cynicus, "if I had been Dr. Wortle. I would have done just what that splen did old fellow did ; and if I had been Mr. Peacocke, 40 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. with such an angel for a wife as Mrs. Peacocke, I d well, I would have hung to her forever." "That s pretty well said for a bachelor," re marked the Beautiful N. E. u But Dr. Wortle s School has put out of our heads the little paper on poetry \vhich our friend was about to read to us. (lo on, Douce, I in crazy to disagree with you." As the " Nervous Exhaustionist " said this, she crossed her tiny blue -silk-stockinged feet, and set tled herself to listen, while Mr. Cynicus Douce ka- hemnied once or twice, and then began his essay on "SOME FORMS OF MODERN POKTUV. "It is impossible for language to describe our highest thoughts or purest joys. The very process of putting them into words cheapens them to me diocrity. Thoughts and emotions which are su- premest must ever remain unutterable. They can at best be suggested bv glance of eve or tone of voice. They are murdered in attempted articula tion. Notwithstanding this, man is ever trving to syllable the unutterable, and poetrv is the chosen medium for this attempted expression. The. world acknowledges that, as one of the line arts, none of her sisters holds a prouder position. "A poetic mind is made out of finer clav than other kinds. Homer, Virgil and Hoi-ace, Milton, Shakespeare and Dante, Scott, Bvron and Words worth, with id oiinic </enu.i<, were all poets indeed. Their names and their works need but be men- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 41 tioned to be extolled. To be called a poet is a dif- erent thing, however, from actually being a poet. There are shoals of creatures who dream that they dwell on Mount Parnassus, when they mistake the bottom for the top of it. There is a certain form of modern poetry which is pure bosh. It mis leads instead of instructing anybody, it degrades instead of elevating one s soul, and it is as inappro priate to the needs of the age as a high-necked apron would be to the wants of a Zulu. If grand- sounding words, describing disembodied phantoms clutching after the unutterable, be poetry, then we have lots of it. "To some minds, the divine art is mere sound; like the monotonous droning of summer bees, or the flowing of water over a dam. It makes but little difference to them that no sense is conveyed ; for so long as the poet s object is sufficiently ob scured, and the rhythm and the feet are all there, and other folks who can t understand it are envy ing them who can, although even tliey can t, why, that is poetry. I am unable to fathom a good deal of this sort of modern rhyme, chiefly because I fail to discover, at a glance, the governing verb of the long sen tences. It does n t seem to come in at the proper place ; so in looking for this verb I lose all the sen timent of the lines. Then again, the jingle and the rhythm get away with me, leaving my com prehension far in the rear. It is a nuisance to be 4 2 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. so constantly obliged to stop in order to allow one s mind to catch up. Then I never know just who is talking, whether Sir Roland de (iraeme said all that about "the eagle s scream on rocky crag, or the Lady Gwendolyns. .Again, when I have at last decided that the knight was certainly the party AVhose check was blenched with ashen hue at what the Lady Gwendolyne told him, I am hope lessly involved by this line, which follows immedi ately after, At this relation she turned pale. So 1 am forced to go way back again to where moonlight mists lie on the moat, and with fore- linger retrace carefully, line by line, until I reach the place where I was brought to a stand. Now, this way of enjoying poetry is nonsensical ; and I think 1 must be made up differently from the rest of the world to find this aesthetic occupation such a diilicult task." - Yes, you must be," interrupted the Beautiful N. E., -for this rhythmic cadence is fascinating to me. The xcuxc is not everything in a poem, my friend; you are altogether too prosaic." u No matter," said Lady Angela, laughing. "Let s agree that he is made of different stuff, from other people ; and what is more, that there is neither rhyme nor reason about him." "Why, haven t 1 the required number of feet for a poet? " said Cynicus, laughing. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 43 " I suppose so, Oynny, for both of yours are spondees," replied Lady Angela, fairly blushing at the horrible joke she had perpetrated. N. E. (In great merriment, and smelling a nose gay.) u (10 on, my friend; we beg your (i race s pardon for interrupting all your eloquence." u I envy those young ladies," continued Mr. Douce, " who sit together under the elm-trees, and read for hours Locksley Hall and Mrs. Browning and Mr. Browning, and understand so easily every word these authors say. And when they are de vouring the seductive style of modern poetry under discussion, they go steadilv on, galloping forward, verse after verse, never looking back until the gloaming shuts out the printed page from their 44 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. pretty eyes. Besides, they intuitively perceive the truthfulness of those wonderful revelations of the inner inwardness of Lady Gwendolyne s conscious ness when she won the knight, and the naturalness of her buoyancy anent her wrongs; whieh, I, somehow, cannot fathom, and so consequently envy them. " They never stop, unless to draw breath or turn over. They know just what lie did. and just what she did, and just what they both did, and what be came of it all. " .No trouble, say they, all perfectly clear, perfectly lovely, so musical, so rhythmi cal, - " That haughty knight of <le Lorraine, Like, mists athwart the- roaring main, . . . Clutched at her jeweled, silken train ; He bore aloft mid blood and pain, T were belter that he ne er had ta en, O Gwendolyns ! thy gentle rein ! lie spoke but once, then closed his eyes ; The palfrey gray and bridle-wise! Ab me ! he .said. () Paradise ! Oh! It s just splendid!" " Ah ! now you are speaking of those mawkish school-girls, who are hardly out of pantalets," said the N. E. "No! not altogether of that kind," answered Mr. Douce. "The class I have reference to in cludes also girls whose feet, to be sure, are often seen below their dresses ; but not because their gowns are not long enough." A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 45 " Because why, then ? " said Lady Angela. "Because their stocking s are so pretty," replied Cynicus. " But why do you interrupt me so often ; you will lose all the continuity." Mr. Douce then resumed, " I make these remarks to inveigh against that unhealthy sentiment of the present day which in dulges in senseless rhapsodies over mere rhythmic, cadence. True poetry is emotion, and its office is to ele vate humanity. Here the ideal comes legitimately into use, for when poetry deals in natural events, and describes the different phases of human thought and feeling, it is permitted to idealize these sub jects. Just as the true artist, using his knowledge of the facts and attributes of nature, adds to all this his own ideal conception, without violating any recognized verity. The bosh-poetry of the present day does not follow any of these laws. It describes nothing but the unreal and the unnatural. It throws about itself such a veil of unintelligibility as to obscure the small figment of sense it may be supposed to contain. It depends for its effect upon high-sound ing words, a certain originality of expression which is attractive, any amount of gush, which is cheap, coupled with a th mlv veiled doullc-en- t end re which is disgusting. (iive me, in prefer ence to such pinchbeck varieties, Lucy had a little lamb ! or, Where are you going, my pretty 46 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. maid ? " I can appreciate these simple ditties. They kindle emotion, ami suggest pleasanter trains of thought than, for instance, the following lines addressed to "AMOR. " O spirit unutterable ! force divine ! Abridged athwart the auinial and the higher life, Coexistent with earth s commencement ! entwine Thyself an immortal legacy about my wife! " Pier golden hair make sensuous with thy presence ! Its gossamer web, like flowers of the yellow sun, Dropping in golden rain on ivory shoulders, whence, The pure irradiance of her breaths, but half begun " In loving heart below, doth warm these golden tresses Like gentle summer rays on some southern flowered slope ; Clearing away all signs of the heart s distresses, And bidding in their places to blossom sweet flovvret Hope. " "Let us now translate this poem into plain Eng lish. A nameless individual who seems to be a married man calls upon the spirit of Love, a hy brid of earth and heaven, to entwine itself about his wife like an immortal legacy. Immortal leg- O . acies " may possibly twine themselves. Mortal ones, however, are generally too small to do that. They expend their powers in mourning-rings, and black-edged note-paper. " The second verse is rather a-sthetic. The palpi tating husband goes on to hope that this spirit will get into his wife s hair and make it sensuous ; into her "pug, 1 her crepes, and her bang. It A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 47 must go all through it, in spite of hair-pins and false fronts, so he can perceive it. Then he poetically compares it to yellow sunflowers drop ping in golden rain upon her ivory shoulders, falling would have been better, but no matter, and as being warmed up by the irradiance of half- breaths. Think of half-breaths purring up from your wife s heart with irradiance, and warming this golden hair, which, of course, in that case, must have been all over her face ! Now, as a matter of fact, half-breaths never come up with any irradi ance at all. There is no illuminating power in a breath, much less a half-breath. 1 wish a light breath was the same thing as a lighted breath, for then we might save all our gas-bills, and be rilled with delight at the same time. There are three or four other objections to the half-breaths of this poem; one of these is that, instead of clearing away the heart s distresses, they actually redouble them. Nei ther do these semi-brefs make the sweet flowret Hope to blossom, because if they did it would be holding out false blossoms to the patient, as on pure mathematical principles a person could live only half as long on half-breaths as he could on whole ones. 48 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. " Besides all this, nobody ever does anything of the kind. It is all poetic, aesthetic, and dyspeptic nonsense. But the poem sounds mighty pretty. " Its gossamer web, like flowers of the yellow sun, Dropping in golden rain. " Oh, dear ! Is n t it too num-num for any thing ! There, is a ring, however, about true poetry which goes directly to the heart and stays there. Here is something delicious from Shelley s poem of " .JULIAN AND MADDALO. " Oh! how beautiful is sunset, when tho <Jo\v Of heaven descends upon a land like thec, Thou paradise of exiles, Italv. Thy mountains, seas, and vineyards, and the towers Of cities they encircle ! It was ours To stand on thoe, beholding it ; and then, Just where we had dismounted, the Count s men Were waiting for us witli the gondola. As those who pause on some delightful way, Though bent on pleasant pilgrimage, we stood Looking upon the evening, and the flood Which lav between tho city and the shore, Paved with the image of the. sky. The hoar And airy Alps, towards the north, appeared Between the east and west ; and half the sky Was roofed with clouds of rich emblazonry, Dark purple at the zenith, which still grew Down the steep west into a wondrous hue, Brighter than burning gold, even to the rent Where the swift sun yet paused in his descent Among the many-folded bills. They were Those famous Euganeau hills, which bear, A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 49 As seeu from Lido through the harbor piles, The likeness of a clump of peaked isles ; And then, as if the earth and sea had been Dissolved into one lake of fire, were seen Those mountains towering, as from waves of flame, Around the vaporous sun, from which there came . The inmost purple spirit of light, and made Their very peaks transparent. " Ere it fade," Said my companion, " I will show you soon A better station." So o er the lagnne We glided, and from the funereal bark I leaned, and saw the city, and could mark How from their many isles, in evening gleam, Its temples and its palaces did seem Like fabrics of enchantment piled to heaven. I was about to speak, when " We are even Now at the point I meant," said Maddalo, And bade the gondolier! cease to row. " Look, Julian, on the west, and listen well, If you hear not a deep and heavy bell." I looked, and saw between us and the sun A building on an island, such a one As age to age might add, for uses vile, A \\indowless, deformed, and dreary pile ; And on the top an open tower, where hung A bell, which in the radiance swayed and swung We could just hear its coarse and iron tongue : The broad sun sank behind it, and it tolled In strong and black relief. " What \ve behold Shall be the mad-house and its belfry tower," Said Maddalo ; " and ever at this hour, Those who cross the water hear that bell, Which calls the maniacs, each one from his cell, To vespers." u Now how perfectly intelligible this is! How beautifully expressed! How elevating in charac ter ! and, at the same time how it idealizes the 4 50 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. facts and verities of nature ! " Here Mr. Douce "ka-hemmed" once or twice more, and then pro ceeded. " Incessant reading of indifferent poetry will in jure character. An individual reared in a poetic atmosphere, where it is mixed up with his daily ex periences, will gradually become affected by it. If this atmosphere happens to be a mawkish and false one, it will show itself in his character. .Just as a continual diet of unsubstantial food will tend to form a less noble specimen of physical health than where there is an abundance of good beef and ale. On this principle a false and sickly character would be the result of daily doses of what are called k emo tional lines, rhapsodies of soul/ intuitive long ings/ argosies from heaven/ and such like. " In time, such bosh would turn a Christian into a sexless nondescript. "We should not only read the best poetry, but something else besides. Specialists of any sort, scientific, artistic, or {esthetic, are likely to become little else than enthusiasts ; and enthusiasts are in danger of becoming deranged people, and deranged people, after a while, get cra/,y. Nobody can think intensely, continually, entirely on one subject, give up his whole mind to it, without getting oblivions to other important interests, and sooner or later be coming an abnormal creature. One man believes in a vegetable diet, so he eats nothing but vegeta bles, until at last he is but little more than an or- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 51 dinaiy carrot. So it is with all other crazes which afflict society. Everything in this world can bo overdone, and we suffer from it. The same may be said of poetry. Let us read it as we sip maras chino, in its proper place. A bit of history, a novel or two, a little of the best poetry, then a few hours of recreation, and so on, until we reach that perfected state of living which we never can reach until we die. " Oh dear ! " ejaculated Lady Angela, u you do take such a dreary view of this subject ! Don t you know, my dear fellow, that allowance must be, made for a certain amount of what we call humbug ! Human nature demands it. It is like the chit-chat and tittle-tattle of society, which serve to take the strain off the mind, which might otherwise break down under a continued pressure of the prosaic." tw Yes ! " echoed the N. K. " Cranks and deranged people seem to be a necessity in this world. They act as mosquitoes and May-bugs do in summer, and call off our attention from more serious matters; the mere act of crushing them eases our minds." " Ladies, pardon my smiling. You talk as if you were both weighed down by an insupportable load of care and trouble; but, perhaps, you are right. This is only my view of it. It is delightful, how ever, to think you don t agree with me, for I hate the humdrum of perfect accord as heartily as you do. What I particularly dislike is being humbugged and not to know it; it s rather pleasant if you 52 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. have that knowledge. No matter," continued Mr. Douce, "I ve only a trifle more to read, and then you can pitch into me to your heart s content." " There is a sort of poetry, however, which de lights everybody, and which not only moulds char acter but enables the most prosaic of us to listen to it without weariness. This poetry can hardly be described, for you catch its mystic eloquence in the turn of a wrist and in the pose of a head, in the silver tone of laughter or on the crest of an arch expression. Whole cantos can be acquired by heart in the smallest moment of time, and volumes committed before on.e can say ".lack Iiobinson. (live me that kind of poetry for it makes but little difference whether love rhymes with dove, or dart with heart. There is a deeper rhythm, intelligible, unutterable, which tells its story in letters of light, either to the tyro of eighteen or the veteran of fifty." Silence reigned within the scented precincts of the invalid s boudoir for the space of two full min utes ; but was finally broken by our fair friend her self, who slowly remarked, " Now there is something true in what you say about a certain style of modern poetry, yet you can t make me hate it. ./Esthetic mooning, if you will, but in spite of it all, the whole idea is so dif ferent from this everlasting talk about the Cen- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 53 sus Bill and the Chinese Question, 1 or whether women will probably vote next summer, or what will be the political significance of the removal of some little postmaster in South Framing-ham, that I hail a touch of this hifalutin as a breath from another sphere." " You are more than half right, dear Madeleine," replied Lady Angela; "for even twaddle and non sense have their proper places, and nothing is more comforting, when one feels just like it, than to read the most ecstatic and improbable romance, and to gloat over the details of the most fiendish crimes." " This sounds well, I must confess," said Cynicus Douce, " coining from a woman who cries over an old love-letter, and gives he r last penny to help any worthless tramp who passes her door." "Never mind!" replied honest Lady Angela. "We are all bundles of incongruities; and the truth of the matter is that people an* a good deal better, and a good deal worse, than other people think they are." The Nervous Exhaustionist here grew a little pale, but gracefully leaned over and took from the table at her side a mysterious paper box, and said in the softest accents : " He fore you go, you must both taste the Count ess Toots wedding-cake. It was left at the Lega tion after the ceremony, and the Secretary sent it over to me in the dispatch-bag : just a crumb, my friends, you know, to dream on ! " 54 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. u Oh ! a crumb of that stuff looks black enough for the dream of death," answered Mr. Douce. Ob Not if you took quinine, as 1 do, before eating. Would you mind passing the pellets?" said the, Men ut if ul N. E. "Not tin; least in the world. How many will settle plum-cake?" inquired Douce. N. E. " Now don t be foolish, Cynieus. My doc tor prescribes one before each meal, and two before anything particularly indigestible." Cyn. " Your doctor must be a surgeon, then." N. E. -Why, pray?" Cyn. ^ Because he s evidently preparing you for some horrid operation." N. E. "Olu you can t frighten me; he lets me eat everything. He says where nervous prostra tion has taken place, patients are to have their own will." *" 1 wish my nervous centre was prostrated, then," said Mr. Douce. " You re incorrigible," said Lady Angela. But we must go now, Madeleine, dear : don t exert your self too much, for it will be sure to put you back just where you were last fall." N. E. "Exert myself! It s impossible. I can as sure you. I just lie here all day, thinking over what I d like to do if I were only as well as both of you. I tired myself all out this morning trying to decide whether 1 would better trim my white albatross with Spanish blonde or Languedoc. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 55 Lady A. " Ah ! you must be careful, Madeleine; don t do too much ; that s your trouble, dear ; good-by." " Good-by," said the Beautiful N. E., plain tively, as the door closed upon her two friends. "My dear Cynicus," said Lady Angela, when thev were both on the street, " what do you think is the mattei 1 with Madeleine ; has she any real disease ? " " Whatever she has, I could cure her in an hour, said Mr. -Douce. Lady A. " How, I should like to know?" Cyn. "Tell her to do something." Lady A. " She s a splendid creature ! " Cyn. "" Yes, she I. is a splendid creature, dving of inanition. Lady A. k * Well ! dying of inanition is doing something, is n t it ? " Cyn. "-Yes, beautiful woman, it is; but inani tion, being merely action begun, demands too much exertion for her to ever finish : and that s the whole trouble with this peculiar class. They are always f/oin<~/ "to do something. " Lady A. " Ah, C ynicus, you are too hard on our friend ; but seriously, let s do what we can to get her out of this miserable condition," said Lady Angela. " I 11 do everything that s proper," replied Mr. Douce, with mock seriousness. CHAPTER IV. AN INTKRMKDIATK OH 1 UHGATORIAL CHAI TKR ALLOWED FOR TRANSMIGRATION OK .SOULS TO " PARADISE." AKTKI; the first day of July city life laconics in tolerable. Thirsty, heated, and kiln-dried human ity hankers for " ^reen fields and pastures new." The idea of eventually ,i; (>in<jf to Paradise is a cher ished one in every heart. It is called " home " ly many people ; and \\ hat term is fraught \\ ith more tender emotions ! There are, however, many little paradises which lie scattered about life s highway, which will do very well for the summer months, A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. f>7 and which convert the sorrows of exhausted nature into temporary bliss. Scented clover and Alderney cows, brown roads and quantities of cream, soft beds, and lots of money, are good, solid, earthly substitutes for the real paradisiacal article. They certainly do effect a marvelous restoration of both mental and physical powers ; and at the same time they are, perhaps, better suited to the present groveling and sinful condition of man than the other one would be. Green peas and asparagus are delicious vegeta bles, but when coupled with the consciousness of their being grown in one s own garden, they taste even better than when eaten from the inimitable cuisine of Delmonico. There is a feeling of pride, equal to that of a Roman emperor, when one can sit back in his chair, at his own table, and say: " Try these peas, they are the Early Favorite. My gardener has a secret of * forcing which enables us to have them on our table ten days before any of our neighbors. Take some more, we have oceans of them. Even though it is not "good form" to dilate on the mer its of one s own larder, still, somehow, it will come out before dinner is over. There inevita bly conies an overweening temptation which can not be withstood by an ordinary owner of a villa, to remark off-hand, and incidentally of course, about the mutton." or the "gosling," or the "cauli flower," or the something else, which was raised on 58 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. one s own plantation. And why should n t we talk about "these things," I d like to know? I con sider that summer-time is given to those of us who are fortunate enough to own kitchen-gardens and cold graperies, Southdown mutton and green geese, for the precise purpose of expressing ourselves in just this seignorial manner. It engenders in us a healthy sort of diathesis which goes a long way towards bringing back tone and fibre to our city- jaded natures; and also enables us to return to gloomy brick walls and flashing electric light with a fresh stock of endurance. It fairly makes a, city man s nature expand to take a stroll some fine .June morning over the fresh, green hills and sit down beneath the shadowy elms. It opens the cockles of his heart to listen to the countless songs of the birds which are caroling above him ; and for the moment "selling short" and other "lingo" are, meaningless expressions. He finds, too, that he had no idea there were so many birds in the. world, and, as to that matter, so many lnjs either, which makes him forthwith spring up from the grass, and shake out his white handkerchief whereon he sat. (City people, when they sit down, always spread their white handker chiefs on the grass, for fear of malaria, and exam ine their ears for spiders, <fec.) lie walks rapidly buck to his breakfast with a healthy appetite and a renewed amount of vigor. These trivialities are all-important to city people. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 59 They " rehabilitate " their nerves, and are a deal more efficacious than all the tonics of the pharma copoeia : bringing roses to the cheeks when qui nine and iron utterly fail. To one of these earthly paradises above sug gested, a thirsty, sun-scorched, and tired humanity incontinently Hies with its trunks, its poodles, and its white-livered children. ACT II. Scene : " Paradise." Time : Summer Vacation. CHAPTER I. KVKIIY-DAY KXPKUIKNCKS WITH (JIKLS AND TIIINOS, CON TAINED IN TIIK DIAHY OF AN 17NFOUT UNATK (JKNT1. K.MAN. THIS is intended to be a pleasant scene among tlie rolling hills of Tucit-Kennoc. The ]iar)v gath ered on the lawn of the popular host of Paradise is a, congenial one, and consists of the following per sons not before introduced to the reader: Amelia, a prude. This lady is a handsome blue-eyed blonde: thoroughly delightful to know, charming to think about, and forever to be de pended upon. Consuelo, the Countess, is the u sult of the earth," A FASHIONABLE SUFFKRKR. 01 embodying perfectly Sir Walter s line " when pain and anguish," etc. ( i race; is a black-eyed, black-haired darling, just seventeen, dear, dangerous, and dreamy. Hildegarde is a winsome, sympathetic, golden- haired, Germanesque lassie, who will well repay the affection of the noble-hearted man who can win her. Mrs. George Madison Taggart of Middletowii, Conn., is a lady who has recently been added to the number of guests at "Hill-Top." She is a precise; and discreet sort of person, who appears to think that the; world ought to listen whe i n she speaks. Her remarks are delivered in jerky epigrams. Lueretia Davis is a little, sombre-dressed indi vidual, with novelistic tendencies, whose name 1 has bee n connected with a romantic affair in Hartford. She always speaks with emotion, as if every wore! distressed her. Lawrence is a keen, old-fashioned observer, de lighting in a gooel joke, cultivated, traveled, and altogether reliable ; moreover, he is a friend of Mr. Douce. This pleasant company was seated on the green grass, chatting, sewing, ami laughing at what had transpired in the miniature world about them since 1 they last settled the "affairs e>f the nation." These "affairs" we re "adjusted" regularly every afternoon, only to break forth afresh into new complications on the next. 62 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. The long shadows of the pines were already per ceptible on the lawn. Some of the fair boarders enjoyed their siestas: others lay in hammocks or reclined with easy grace on the short, green grass. A soft westerly breeze came soughing over from " hamlet-hill," while the long-billed hum ming-birds were tremblingly poised among the honeysuckles. " Do you know, lie is going to tell us something about his experiences with girls? 1 said sweet Ame lia-, the prude. "Such a subject requires to be handled very gingerly, and I don t wish Grace to hear it," spoke iij) ( onsiH lo, the Countess. "And discreetly, too," added Ilildegarde, "for you all remember what trouble came of just my telling about a little experience /had once . " No honorable man would ever impart to an in discriminate audience what had transpired in his privileged intimacy with the gentler sex," said Mrs. George Madison Taggart from Middle town. " And expect to hold his head up in decent so ciety afterwards," murmured Lucretia Davis, the woman with a history. "Oh, there he comes! Mr. Douce, yon won t be allowed to impart these horrid revelations to any one but myself. These other ladies are too un sophisticated to bear them," spoke up dear Miss Brown. " We never said so," murmured a dozen voices. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 63 "Well, but I know your mothers arc all very particular as to what you hear and read, so Mr. Douce shall tell me these revelations in all their wild license, and then I can make such emendations as I think proper." " What revelations do you refer to / " said Cyn- icus Douce. " Why, some of your love affairs ! " "Don t be afraid: J never thought of telling o o them." " ^ on said so this morning at the corner, " ex claimed the blonde-haired Amelia. ".Not at all! You certainly misunderstood me then, tor I spoke of reading a sort of diarv, written by an unfortunate stranger, supposed to be a great personage, I believe, dead now; giving an account of some of his experiences in life." * J in rather disappointed," replied Amelia, "for I hoped to hear his confessions." "What a pity." said (irace, "my curiosity would at last have been satisfied on some points." I>ut (irace was immediately "squelched" by Aunt Consuelo, who never was in love but once. "Ladies, you all mistake me," said Mr. Douce. "I thought it might amuse you, as we sat here under the shadow of Benjamin s pines, to read some portions of a curious MSS. found in a cham ber of an unknown gentleman who sighed himself to death last winter in the fourth story of No. 14i,7G3 Walnut Street, Philadelphia." 64 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. " Oh, you re joking ! It s not really so, is it ? " said Hildegarde. " Yes ; really so ! They found him lying, (lying of siu hino 1 , his head resting gracefully on his left O O 7 t/ arm, his curly hair threaded with silver." "Caused by disappointment, probably," said Amelia. " Yes ! caused by disappointment and despair," said Mr. Douce. tk Poor boy ! " " Was lie handsome and pen niless?" -"How he must have suffered!" " Do you suppose he had a title? " asked several voices. "Ladies," replied Mr. I)., "I know not the particulars; simply these facts : his body and this MSS. were found together. The pen, with the ink- still wet upon it, had dropped from his nerveless grasp, and was discovered lying on the lloor beside his almost lifeless remains. They buried him at Laurel Hill, 1 in a nameless grave, until his family (if he had one) could be informed of the event." Ladies. "Did he leave no effects?" " Ladies, he left nothing." Ladies. " Why ! he must have had " At this moment Cynicus Donee saw his fail- friend, the N. E., slowly emerge from the new cottage, and approach the charming group assem bled on the lawn. P>y dint of the combined persuasions of her doe- tor and friends, "dear Madeleine " had consented A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 07 to try what good a month among the hills would accomplish for her weakened nervous system. Her maid, Thomas the quiet man-servant, her quinine, her props her little hair pillow to stuff under her left ear, and all the other petty paraphernalia of invalidism, had been hauled up from the station bv instalments, and at last were saf elv lodged on the ground-floor of the new villa on the hill-top. The X. 1C. said she was "miserable," but in spite of that declaration, to outsiders she ap peared beautiful, while the two roses on her cheeks, and her red pouting lips, suggested any thing but nervous exhaustion. Having safely deposited the blushing invalid with her cloud of lace and ribbon in the new hammock, and assisted Ladv Angela to alight from her " buckboard " and join the pleasant partv. our friend Douce unfolded the unfortunate gentleman s MSS., while u Old Harry." the dog, flung himself at his feet in the cool grass, and the red squirrels stopped cracking the cones overhead, to listen. TIFE STUAXCElfs MSS. This is no history. I don t know what it is, and care less. I write merely to stop myself from this horrible sighing, for I m dying of sighing, caused by continual disappointment no matter what. The only way I get the least relief is by trying to divert my mind from that which is crushing it 68 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. by writing down anything, everything that comes into my head about my youth, my travels, my observations, my experiences. Nothing much very like what happens to everybody else. I Jut the mere act of jotting it down stops my sighing and my repining for the time: that s why I m doing it. . . . How well I remember my lirst experience in life. It was early in September that the little girl in the gray pelisse sang for me Over the far blue mountains. No angel tones were ever sweeter, no siren voice ever touched nearer a little boy s heart. But what tea is that perfume she used to have about her? ver bena? patchouli? musk? peppermint? What was it? Oh, orris ! It was orris. The remembrance of that, odor brings back with it a Hood of delight ful recollections. What a clean, upper drawer and fresh-linen aroma has orris! One immediately thinks of mountains of tidy collars and immaculate cuffs, and starched hem-stitched handkerchiefs. The little girl with the gray pelisse had all these; and when on calling nights I caught a whilT of this orris-perfume and a glimpse of all those other delicious things which came cantering down the front stairs to see me, my heart throbbed as if it would ily out of my jacket. The little girl with the gray pelisse was older than I was, and consequently possessed more of whut 1 afterwards discovered people called a plomb A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 69 than her youthful lovers had. The boys would call upon her in shoals ; and it was a common sight to see ten or twelve, of them, arrayed in their best clothes, ranged along in chairs in her drawing- room, with eyes fixed upon their idol, and ready^ to giggle at the slightest suggestion. A boy s idea of bliss is to laugh immoderately at nothing. How daintily she would trip up to the long row of Jier young admirers and offer to each one a seed cake, saying, Voulez-vous du gdtean? in such siren tones as were perfectly irresistible. I used to take my cooky with trembling hands, while great drops of perspiration and love stood on my forehead. "And then, to this day, I don t know whether that hair-bracelet she furtively gave me, tied with pink ribbons, was really her own hair or her maid s. I have a dark suspicion it grew on this latter creature s head. Somebody told me it did, forgotten who, possibly a rival. But that dark suspicion made it my sad and imperative duty to snatch the loved though faded object from my wrist and throw it, with all fury, behind the back-log. Was it hers or was it not? The question will never be settled, and perhaps it is better that it should remain a mystery. " Ah, dear girl ! I thank thee for the delights of that first experience of boyhood! Each little chap ter of it is graven on my heart. The plum-cake, the little billets-doux hid away between the leaves 70 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. of the fourth book on the second shelf of the first alcove, in the public library, as you enter ; and then the valentines ! k None know then but to love thee, etc. Every one of these precious memories is as vivid as if I had cried over them but yester day. iSo king was prouder than I was in my little realm of love. I dwelt of a truth in the k happy valley, until one day a great elderly snubby man broke into my elysium and stole thee away. Poor unsuspicious boy that I was? Why, 1 did n t know, dear girl, thou ever knew him, much more loved him. And so all the while thou wert saying Vou- fi Z-roiis du (jdtcau in those dulcet tones, and wert sending to thy boyish admirer thy maid s hair tied with ribbons, instead of thine own, and wert indit ing to him lines of constancy ; that great elderly rival was making up to thee with his insinuat ing smiles, which thou wert appropriating with consummate, spirituelle grace, thus cheat iirg thy poor callow lover! Longfellow piped a solemn verity, in more ways than one, when he sang, " Tell me not in mournful numbers things are not what they seem. An eventful career, since those youth- till days, has proven that not only little girls, but big ones as well, are things which are not what they seem to be at lirst, and before they know you admire them." After reading this brief but harmless episode, every lady got up and sat down again on the other A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 71 foot, and asked each other some of those regular O questions which usually accumulate after occasions of enforced female silence, such, for instance, as. * Is No. !>0, or 100, the best cotton to mend cambric dresses with ? " etc. Mr. Douce complacently ate a peach pending this passing flurry, and after flinging the stone clear over the white fence into the road beyond, went on to the next chapter in the diary of the unfortunate stranger, which was entitled : "A CASK OF IIOMAX FKVKIl. " From Malta to Messina, thence to Xaples, and so on to Koine, in lime for the ceremonies of Holy Week, was only a pilgrimage of love. Every step of the way opened lovelier scenes to a mind already filled with beautiful reminiscences of Naples and the upper Nile. When Pius IX. first became Pope 72 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. the celebrations clustering about the Easter-tide were gorgeously observed in the holy city, while the Pontifical States were still an acknowledged power among the nations of the earth. Besides, a dole?, far nic/nte life in Egypt had created a zest for more stirring scenes, and 1 hailed with especial delight the dome of St. Peter s, which I caught sii- ht of from the diligence on the road from Porto ?"> O d Ansio. " It goes without saying, that IJome was full of strangers, and I soon discovered many kind friends whom 1 had met on my travels. I obtained, with great difficulty, one half of an apartment in the Via di Bocca Leone, from an obliging traveling com panion, from whom I had but just parted at Malta, and felt perfectly contented that I had been even so fortunate as that. There is but one Koine in the world, and life in the city in the good old times was somewhat different, I trow, from the more modern regime. It was smaller than it is now, and it resembled a delicious pdte, composed of the choicest morsels, compressed together within the smallest compass. "There were some delightful English acquaint ances living in the Via Condotti, whom 1 was for tunate enough to fall in with, and who insisted upon my joining their party, and making, in their company, the tour of the city. These lovely peo ple only two, George Melville, and his wife Gri- selda were just young enough to appreciate A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 73 everything. They had money, health, and no chil dren, so they floated about among the wonders of the world, leading a most fascinating existence. " I knew Melville s wife well, and was keenly ap preciative of her courtesy when she begged me to make their lodgings my loafing place. We met every day for our appointed work. Mrs. Melville generally made the bargains for our carriage, and 1 would settle with her every night in a regular business-like manner. Those sunny, charming days can never be forgotten, whisking about the narrow streets of Rome in company with the Mel- villes. u In the many pleasant conversations between us, Mrs. Melville would frequently "run me on what she chose to call " my lonely lot in the world ; so that 1 told her that my fate was in her keeping, ami that she must become responsible for it. She clapped her white hands with delight, and assured me that she would ever serve my best interests. One afternoon I returned late from a tedious and lonely tramp through the Catacombs, to find lying on mv table a note from Mrs. Melville, which ran something like this : " Thursday noun, A/>ril 4. " Mv I>KAI:KST FRIEND: We have just received news that (Jeorge s niece, Eleanor Donald, is to be with us dtirmtr Holy Week. She will arrive this O . evening; and 1 write to tell you to be sure and come to the Via Condotti, and make one of our 74 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. tea-party. I wish to tell you something about her. She is a splendid girl, about twenty years old, beau tiful, intelligent, but somewhat saddened at present by the death of an intimate friend. u k I know you will like her, and in this connec tion I wisli to say, that, bearing in mind the sacred promise I made to yon in icgard to the custody of your fate, I deliberately take this means of bring ing both of yon together. Conic bv eight o clock. " k Your constant friend, kv (iKlSKLDA M KLVILLE. " VIA CONDOTTI, IS miHTo 5. u I found ten or twelve pleasant people assembled in the Melville salon; two or three young girls, several artists, and some older parties. kk I had good opportunity for observing Miss Don ald from the corner of my eye" before. I was pre sented. I perceived that she was neatlv dressed, in what 1 presumed would be called half-mourning. She had a comelv and delicate figure, and also an air of repose and simplicity which was quite charm ing. Very gray, quizzical exes, with marked lashes and eye-brows, a thin, well-shaped nose, a full, round throat, decked with sonic dainty female fluffery, a blooming complexion, and largish mouth. Artistically speaking, her chin was the 1 est part of her face, being round and well-modeled, wi;h a dimple just in the middle of it when she smiled. I looked at her ears always a point of A FASHIONABLK SUFFKKKR. 7o especial interest to me and found them small, with lobes unattached to the cheek. ".Just then Mrs. Melville took me in convoy, and with a quiet inclination of her pretty head, Eleanor Donald and I were made acquainted. " * May I sit beside you? said I. u l I wish you would. I in so glad to meet you -. I ve heard vour name so often irom the Melvilles. " " riiev are very good, I m sure." " ( )h, ves ; and they sa v you are such a traveler. You must come, and pilot us about this wonderful city." " Indeed, I shall be proud to. Are you fond of anv particular branch of the arts? ""Of course I am. As an English girl I like to sketch, and just now I am crazy to see some of the original cravons of the old masters. Do you draw yourself ? said she. "A little; at least I try to think that I do." " Then we can sympathize, she replied, with winsomeness. " * An Italian skv is very sympathetic. " Ves ; one feels in Italy like a new creature. There are so mam objects about one to stimulate taste, and lire the imagination, that one s heart is alive to the most charming emotions, unknown 111 our befogged island ! "Were you [(leased with Naples? " More than pleased enchanted. " k I wonder if you visited the little church above 76 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. the city on the heights under the supervision of the monks, you know and saw from there that magnificent view? " Ah, indeed] did. I never shall forget the whole occasion. In the first place, the church it self is too beautiful for anything; and then that view from the Cloisters! It is beyond words; one must behold it in silence ! " Von remember Capri in the distance? " * ( )f course ; and the blue grotto. " And the a/nre waters of the bay curving into a crescent, and tumbling- in graceful breakers on the yellow shore ? " " And the red-capped sailors dotted about among 1 their nets and fishing-boats! added she, with de light. " * And then old Vesuvius smoking lazily in the distance ? ""Yes; and then you remember, as you stand there, the roar of the city below you comes swell ing up the heights into the cloisters ! " " k You have a keen observation, I should judge. " " An individual dead to the beauties which clus ter about Naples ought never to have the privilege of going there. ""Upon my life! I think you re charming! 1 have n t met with so much appreciative talent since 1 left Upper Egypt ! " Why Upper Egypt? " k Because I met there, an enthusiast, an actor, an archa ologist, and photographer, all in one. A FASHIONABLE: SUFFKRKR. Go on and toll me all about it. 77 "She inspired mo witli unwonted enthusiasm, ;tnd I went on describing tlio delight of a life on a da- habeah. and tlio (juaint experiences of a winter on the Nile. As I related my ascent of the pyramids, ;ind mv descent into Cheops, my moonlight prowls about Luxor and Karnac. mv donkey rides to the tombs of the king s, and the ( olossi of Thebos, her groat gray eyes opened with intelligent interest, and. was another thrilling incentive for me to go on. I described to her the delightful sensations of float ing down the Nile back to Cairo; the peculiar brill iancy of the Egyptian moonlight ; the weird ap pearance of the great bonfires along the shores at night, and the motley appearance of the turbaned 78 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. sailors, as in their light they listened to the profes sional story-teller ; of the groaning sakias and the mournful shadoof; of the visits to the different mosques in the city; the wonderful performances of the whirling dervishes and the fanatical fakirs; in fact, all the experiences of the past season flashed back upon, my memory, under the influence of her charming society, and I depicted them he- fore her in the most brilliant colors. Time always flies, and that night it sped away with unwonted rapidity, so that we were both startled by the sud den appearance of Mrs. Melville, who said: * w Why ! where have yon both been ? we are all out at supper a half an hour ago, and J ve come back to get yon ; did if t you hear it announced ? " With some confusion, I confessed that I did n t, while my delightful companion, coming to my res cue, gayly added, * How could we hear, as we were both way up in the top part of Egypt when the servant came in ? "I gave her my arm and we went in to supper, and I fed her with all the tempting dainties spread out before us. I noticed, however, that she only played with her fork, and seemed to be thinking over the long journey we had just taken together. " \Ye had become by this time so well acquainted that whenever we met in company we insensibly gravitated together. The delight that I felt at the sight of so many architectural and artistic relics was greatly heightened by the presence of A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 79 a sympathizing companion. We wandered together through the galleries, and while the rest of the party would stray away into other portions, we often found ourselves seated before the gem of the collection, utterly oblivious to surrounding objects. Never was I so happy before. Never felt 1 so keen a joy. lp to this time we had said nothing to each other of any particular personal preference, still there was a certain unmistakable exaltation resulting from our mutual presence. Every day that we met, her large grav eves spoke the kind liest greeting, and whenever we parted. I found myself the joyful possessor of some little bud or flower plucked by her own fair hands. " Such emotions, when once aroused, seldom go O to rest. They smoulder steadily on, involving each moment more of the vital nature. "What is this that I feel? I would often re peat to mvself. So strange ! so utterly foreign to my heart ? It is slowlv consuming my very life. If I try to speak, 1 cannot articulate; if I keep si lent, I shall die. "So the days rolled swiftly by. The family party went regularly on its round of sight-seeing, while she in my company, and I in hers, trotted about the streets together, shopping and lunching, and dining and chatting : all so naturally, all so entirely without reserve. On one occasion it was proposed to visit the Vatican gallery by torch-light ; the effect of the flambeaux on the sculptures being 80 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. exceptionally line. So it was agreed that the fam ily in the Via Condotti, together with some pleas ant young men, newly arrived from Milan, should form an agreeable party for this expedition. There was delicious moonlight at the time, so that we would have the opportunity of first observing its weird effect upon the exterior of St. Peter s and the Vatican, before witnessing the wonders to lie un veiled to us under the flaring influence of artificial illumination within their classic walls. Our family, -I say our family, because I began to consider myself one of its members, our family were al ready engaged to pass that evening with some ar tistic friends living near the, Capitol, and so it was arranged to visit the Vatican by eight o clock, and then drive across the Tiber afterwards, to our friends upon the hill. " A person who has formed one of a procession which has wandered through the silent galleries of the Vatican, led on by the flickering candle-light, will remember the strange and mysterious effect produced upon the silent statues ranged in long lines on either side. The pale and serious counte nances of Olympian Jove and divine Apollo, of graceful torso, and youthful nymph, under such influence, produce a most peculiar effect upon the beholder. The eyes of that speechless, mar ble company seem to follow the receding pro cession with grave inquiry, as if it had broken in upon their privacy with unwonted license. The A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 81 young girl at my side, in obedience to sueli impres sions, clung to my arm as it for protection. Such an experience was not calculated to inspire our company with much hilarity, the absence of which 1 noticed as we drove by the Castle of St. Angelo, and across the yellow Tiber, to fulfill our engage ment. " The night was somewhat cloudy at times, but soon again our carriage would be flooded by the moonlight. " After the enjoyment for an hour or two of charming society, looking over most interesting artistic productions, conversing with intelligent people, and imbibing with it- all a sort of beatific emotion, only to be experienced by the enthusiastic traveler in dear old Rome, the time for our de parture drew near. " Kleanor Donald was seated near the window, and we watched together the bright moon as she sailed in and out of the hurrying clouds, seeming at times to nod and beckon to us from her fairy car. " What a night to visit the Coliseum/ said I. * Delicious ! replied mv companion, "if I only could ! " You know it is a great feat to have visited the grand old ruin at midnight. Oh, but why can t I ? " cried she. " It is n t a long way from here. I d give anything I possess to go there. " Why not ask your uncle and aunt : perhaps 82 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. they would all like to go, the night is so wonder fully fine. " Yes, said she, l I 11 propose it. " She tripped away from where we sat, to the group which occupied the opposite corner, and there I watched her eager and rosy mouth as it un folded her desired project. " k One may not visit Rome but once, and never have such another moonlight as this. Why not all go ? tk k Why not, indeed? " Well, come, on ! " And k come on they all agreed to do. We walked. There were 1 eight of us : the uncle and aunt, the two young men from Milan, and the two Miss Langworthys from America, besides Kleanor Donald and myself. vw Insensibly and gradually we became separated from the rest of our party, and took our way toward the old ruin by a path I knew full well. The others went I never knew exactly where. They either lost their way or else gave up the ex pedition altogether, intimidated by the lateness of the hour and fear of Roman fever. " Kleanor Donald and I kept on. I would n t have stopped in my purpose had I met in my path one of the ancient gladiators himself. \Ve p-radii o o ally neared the imposing old pile, and paused for an instant to admire its gloomy magnificence in the fitful moonlight. Curiously enough I noticed an A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 83 amiable-looking and sociable black dog emerge from the surrounding shadow and attach himself to our party as if he belonged to us. He wagged his great tail in a friendly manner, while his panting breath was the only sound to be heard, as we passed through the entrance of the Coliseum. u Here we were at last in a spot so memorable in the world s history ; and what was better, at the witching hour of midnight : and what was best, with the girl of all girls on my arm. My graceful companion hesitated a moment, but then creeping up a little closer to me, as if for protection, we ad vanced into the middle of the arena, and seated ourselves just under the cross which was erected in this consecrated spot. We sat together, silently watching the moon scud through the clouds and then sail out of them again ; at one time casting the whole amphitheatre into shadow, then flooding it with silver light. The dark arched recesses of the ancient ruin became peopled with invisible forms created by excited fancy, while the absolute still- 84 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. ness which reigned about us acted like a magic spell. " Think, said I, hardly above a whisper, in this vacant and lonesome spot were once heard the prayers of dying martyrs mixed with the jargon of maddened beasts. On this arena the rough gladia tor and the delicate Christian woman have died for their faith ! " Yes ! she replied, in a low, tremulous voice ; "isn t it wonderful what grand achievements faith in (Jod will cause the weakest of us to perform? "After a pause I rejoined in the same half-whis per : It seems to me, with you at my side, though all the world was mine enemy, there could be a faith so strong that one might die for it, even in these later days! As I said these words a slight tremor seemed to sei/e upon her, and I carefully wrapped the thick mantilla about her delicate shoulders, whereupon we became silent once more. "The old black dog was quite social, and lay at our feet peacefully sleeping in a domestic sort of way, while the shadow of the cross erected in the middle of the circus was mercifully thrown directly over the spot where we sat together. u \Ve heard a distant clock strike midnight, and were somewhat awed by the hoot of an owl perched high up among the shattered stone galleries. The mystic spell was still about us, which prevented us from moving, and I looked upon the dear soul at my side with an interest I can never forget. The pale A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 85 light of the moon shone full into her countenance, and I saw her beautiful open gray eyes glistening with tears, and looking, as it were, far away into the future. u The dews of evening had made her waving tresses dank and heavy, which transformed her for the mo ment into one of those beautiful creatures who had perished for her creed two thousand years ago. If I ever were influenced by a high and noble senti ment it was at that moment. " I said, * I have loved you with all the strength of my nature from the first moment I met you in the Via Condotti. " I know it/ whispered this loved one. " How did you know it, dear child? "I don t know. I She was silently weep ing. " ( an you put any faith in me. dear Eleanor? " Faith! Indeed I can; that is, I suppose so. I ha-rdly know what to say. I am I think would n t we better go home now? said Eleanor, in a sweet, tremulous tone, while a little tear fell at our feet on that same soil which had been drenched so manv times with the tears and blood of perse cuted ( hristians. "Yes! Certainly we will; but you are not af fronted with me, are you, for saying I loved you, Eleanor ? u * Affronted ! I low could I ? It makes me happy so happy ; but you see I m not exactly myself. 80 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. You won t say any more now, Avill you ? Wait a few days; let me think about it, whether or not, you know, that s a good fellow ! " No, dear child. I 11 do nothing to trouble you. Let me put your shawl on better. It s all askew, there. Is n t that more comfortable? " Yes ! thanks. Come, let s go ! " Wait one moment, cried I. k You ve dropped your handkerchief. It would n t do to leave that, would it ? " u No, indeed. I need that. It s so cold, you know. She said this with a sweet, teary smile, scarcely knowing what she did. She looked so like a young goddess, with her beatilied counte nance, her bright eye and her trembling lips, that I could scarcely restrain myself from frantically clasp ing her to my bosom. "We arose, however, from our places beside the great cross. She grasped mv arm with both her little cold white hands, and we paced across the an cient amphitheatre in perfect silence, followed by our trusty friend the black dog, and so passed out beyond its portals on our way toward the city. " As we strode along, nought was heard but the heavy footfalls of the man, mixed with the light and quicker steps of his companion. Each mind was too busy to articulate its cogitations, yet Elea nor clung, sometimes almost convulsively, to my arm, while my own knees trembled violently all the way. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 87 " How I reached my lodgings, after leaving my companion at hers, I know not. The whole; expe rience was like some delightful reverie, which took until the next morning s sun came shining directly in my face to convince me that I was actually in the ilesh and not far away in the spirit. " After such a transaction, could it be said that there was nothing between us? Two hearts se crets had been laid bare before k ({od and this com pany of invisible spirits in that ancient theatre, which could never be retracted. And so it happened that a few more plain words, a little ring from off my watch-chain on her tiny linger, and the deed seemed to be accomplished. Eleanor Donald told me that she loved me, and we 1 became, if not actually, at least prospectively, pledged to each other for life. 411 Existence in Rome, during the solemn ceremo nies of Holy Week, under such circumstances, bo- came clothed with stranger and more serious im portance. u Mr. and Mrs. Melville suspected what they offi cially did not know, and, good souls, left us to enjoy the bright, fleeting moments together. So it was decreed that Eleanor Donald and I could go about the Holy City like two young birds. tw There is no affection so sure and solid as to be beyond the reach of peradventurc. It is that very quality of apprehension which makes a youthful passion full of surprises. " Reciprocal attachment of years standing may 88 A FASHIONABLE SUFFKRKR. be an old joke, but that which characterizes newly discovered reciprocity is quite a different affair. Then it is that a tear is a mute declaration of a life s secret ; a sigh contains a continent of bliss ; a pressure, the destiny of two lives. " There was a delicate reticence in the nature of Eleanor Donald which repressed any marked ex pression of happiness, but she exhibited her fond ness for me in a way that increased botli my faith fulness and respect. Parents were to be consulted. Time was to bear its weight upon our contract, ("aim judgment was to sit on its merits ; in fact there were hosts of horrible peradventures which commenced to raise their ugly forms before us the very moment when the field was won. Heaven A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 89 will decide. Have faith in me ! were the cheery words of Eleanor Donald, as we parted from each other on the eve before Palm Sunday. " 1 shall never forget Easter-week in Rome. No ! not if all the other events of my life be blotted out, this week will stand in my memory as a most sa cred epoch. We talked but little of our mutual secret, but went about together, to and from St. Peter s, delighted observers of its great feasts. u We saw the Pope distribute the palms on I aim Sunday. We were part of the great crowd within the church when his Holiness was borne into the cathedral in his chair of state, on the shoulders of his cardinals. We heard the flourish of the silver trumpets. We witnessed the washing of the pil grims feet, and saw the High Pontiff present each one with a bouquet of flowers and a purse of money. Arm in arm we pressed through that tremendous crowd of well-dressed strangers, up the stairway and into the chamber where the Pope waited, as a servant, upon these same pilgrims, in imitation of the Saviour at the Last Supper. Together we stood in the piazza, San Pietro, among the mighty throng collected there, and bowed our heads when the Pope blessed the populace from the balcony: and finally, we listened with bated breath to the solemn k Mis erere " within the dimly lighted hall of the Sistine Chapel. How beautiful she appeared among the bevy of richly-dressed women which filled the dais within 90 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. the cathedral on those holy festivals ! The black veil was especially becoming to her, while her slen der figure was easily distinguished from among the countesses and ambassadors wives, by its graceful lines. Before breakfast each morning the church would be filled with these beauties from every land, \vhile, according to regulation, men in full evening attire wandered about the immense edifice with opera-hat and white, cravat. A curious medley ; but so unique, so idiosyncratic ! "The Melville party was to leave Rome on the Tuesday after Easter, for (Jennany, so that the evening of Easter Monday would be the last time I should see them until we met in Paris in the ap proaching autumn. "It was arranged between Eleanor and me that, as a matter of mutual trial, there should be but- little correspondence, and that all things should be left as they were until we met again. I acquiesced at once in this wise request, as it commended itself both to my judgment and my desire to please 1 her. "On Easter Monday evening the grand exhibi tion of the illumination of St. Peter s was witnessed by all of us, first from the piazza in front of the cathedral, and then again from the summit of the Pincian Hill, where in the starlight the mighty edifice, Hashing from pediment to cross, looked like some huge ark floating upon a waste of waters. " Ten o clock came. The show was over. The moment arrived for our party to break up. After A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 91 bidding both the Melvilles a warm k good-by, with a solemn promise to meet at the Trois Freres on the fifth of the next September, I alighted from the carriage and went round to the .side where Eleanor Donald was seated. I took her soft hand in both of mine, and whispered, "(Jood-by, dearest Elea nor ; we meet in Paris in September." By the dim starlight I saw her pale countenance look earnestly upon me for an instant, and then bending down her little face for me to kiss, she murmured, Have faith in me. Heaven will take care of both of us. God bless you until we meet again! "I entered the Via Uipetta on foot, while the Melville carriage rolled quickly away and turned the corner. " I loitered about Rome for a week or more after the rush of departing strangers was over, and at last took up my own line of march for the north. From Rome I went by diligence to Bologna, and then to Venice. The moon had gone away, but I did n t miss it half so much as I did the casta diva whom I had lost. So, wrapped in my French caban, I was rowed along the gloomy lagunes, un der the Rialto, until I became plunged in melan choly. From Venice I took flight to Milan, and by the last of May started over the St. Ciothard Pass to Lucerne, and so on until I reached gay Paris. Here, the soldiers, the high-capped bonnes, the little yrixettex^ and the orange-trees were as thick as butterflies in the Tuileries 1 gardens. 92 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. u The Langworthys were in Paris, and from them I heard of the Melvilles. They were passing a month in Germany in company with some friends from England. 1 left Paris the next week, and after knocking about the Pyrenees for a month, I went to the Tyrol and spent another; then a week or so at St. Moritz in the Engadine. I came over the perpendicular Gemini, down to Thiin ; then k kited quickly along so as to reach Paris again by September. k * I occupied once more my old rooms in the Rue Neuve St. Augustin, and found that Monsieur l>er- ger, the concierge, wore the same queer worsted cap, and kept the same dirty monkey as of yore, while his court-yard was as dismal as ever. "Dining one day at the Cafe Voisin, I saw in the Galignani the arrival of the Melvilles at the Hotel Bristol. There they were, sure enough. "Mr. and Mrs. George Melville and maid/ Miss O Donald and maid. " I looked at this announcement long and anx iously. Here we were again almost face to face, but with this lapse of six months between us ! Had this interval altered our relations together? I must confess that simple announcement was k too much for me, and it was a moment before I could command myself sufficiently to sip my claret with out spilling it. " " Of course I must go there, said I to myself, this very night, and within an hour ! A FASHIONABLE SUFFF.RKR. 93 "How human vanity always steps in on such oc casions. How scrupulously it bids one deck him self, and tie his cravat, and see that his appearance is entirely comme ilfaut! " I was ushered into the salon of the Melvilles at the Hotel Bristol, and greeted by them both with the warmest effusion. Miss Donald arose from her seat, where she was sitting with a young gentleman whom I had never seen before. She shook my hand very pleasantly: asked me howl had passed the summer: said she had been walk ing over the Bernese Oberland, and then introduced 94 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. me to her companion, to whom I made respectful obeisance. After this we sat again, and the Mel- villes and I ran rapidly over the events which had transpired since we all were in Rome together. u Melville told me that they were now a party of five: himself and wife and Miss Donald with Mr. and Miss Murgatroyd, intimate friends from Eng land, who were to be with them until their return home. " Miss Donald continued talking so earnestly with Mr. Murgatroyd, and for such a length of time, that my heart commenced beating with vague fore bodings, and my temples to throb with suspicious anxiety. She came forward, however, soon after, and asked me how I was, and said they were very glad to see me again. My voice must have trembled at her apparent composure and forgetful ness of our delicate relations to each other, which was prob ably betrayed in my reply to her inquiry, for she remarked in a low tone, "I have suffered much since we met. This gentleman is a very -old friend of ours, and you O / * . must know I have settled a little difference which existed between us for a long time, and that has made me very happy. k *l told her that I rejoiced that she had done so, for I did n t see how one could live at variance with anybody and be happy. ^ k No ! said she, especially if he is a very dear friend ! A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 95 " Do you remain long in Paris ? she added. " Long ? said I ! Long ! perfectly astounded at her nonchalance. I really can t say ; it de pends upon - " My voice utterly failed me. I could not speak. I looked at her in astonishment almost tearfully for a moment and she met my eye with a quiet, unsuspicious gaze, and then remarked, " You must be sure to go to the Ambassador s to-morroAV night. We shall all be there, and the music will be delicious. " I shall surely be there, said I. But have, you forgotten our visit at Rome? " k How lovely ! It seems a hundred years ago ! ""And the Coliseum; has it faded from mem ory ? ""Oh, horrible! 1 wouldn t go there again for worlds! I wonder I did n t catch the Iioman fever! " " Have your feelings changed toward me, Elea nor ? " Since when ? u Since then ! " Iwas an awful scare-cat that night. I acted like a child! " I see plainly, said T, that you are determined to ignore the past. " " You know what Longfellow says : u Let the dead past bury its dead." Hut be sure to come to the Ambassador s to-morrow. Good-night! " I went back to my lodgings, perfectly uii- 96 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. manned. I sat by the open window, just as I was, in my evening dress, for hours thinking think ing. 1 was pallid with sadness ; and like a child, so thoroughly crushed, so terribly cut up. "Said I, aloud, k l didn t know there were such women in the world ; so angelic to look upon, so damnable to have anything to do with. "The cold, gray morning found me still in ball costume ; but with the new day a stern and dif ferent spirit possessed me. Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ! I quietly arose and went to my chamber; carefully bathed and A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 97 dressed myself, and went through the daily routine without a word without a murmur. " In the evening I arrayed myself scrupulously, and made it a point to go to the Ambassador s. Eleanor Donald was there, looking radiant in roses and tulle. It made no impression upon me. When the music struck up for dancing. I approached her almost rudely and looking straight in her eye, said: You must dance with me once more, and for the last time in this world ! "She gazed at me almost wildly. The color faded from her cheeks, while, with an almost agon- i/ed expression, she faltered, Certainly, if YOU wish it/ " We stand here, said 1. I led her through the k Lancers with a supercilious smile on my lip, lint speechless. 1 escorted her hack, frightened, to her seat with almost exaggerated courtesy. "She commenced to say: * But aren t we going to - But I cut her short by, " We are going to part forever! That s what we are going to do/ and left her. " I have had the ill-luck to meet her twice since thiit baleful night: but I recognized her no more than I would a stock or a stone. She was un worthy the name of woman : for, curse her, didn t she nearly break my heart?" Cynicus Douce stopped reading the MS$. " Good heavens ! " cried the Xervous Exhaus- 7 98 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. tionist from out the new hammock, "is it fin ished ? " " That s the whole of it," replied Mr. Douce. The company was lost in thought. The lady with a history wiped her eyes. Mrs. George Madi son Taggatt looked vacantly over the hills: she was thinking of her treatment of the poor man who was engaged to her when she threw him over for the wealthy Taggart. The others kept silent. " Whoever this creature was," said the sym pathizing Amelia, "he had a pretty hard time of it." "Eleanor Donald couldn t have been a true woman," sighed Consuelo, the Countess; " no true woman would ever have treated a man like that." " What is a true woman? asked Cynicus, blandly. " \Vhy, a true woman is one who never" " Flirts ? " suggested Cynicus. " Not exactly flirts, but one who never tells a man she loves him, and then " " What ! Never ? " interpolated Mr. Douce. " No ! never tells a man she loves him and then deliberately marries another ; she never does. Does she, girls ? " " No, of course she never does. Whoever heard of such a thing? " cried all the unmarried girls. "All ladies on this lawn," said Mr. Lawrence, " who have once acknowledged their love for one man, and then have not afterwards left him in the A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 99 lurch for another lover, will please hold up their hands. They were all just about to raise them, when Benjamin s great tea-bell providentially rang on the long piazza, and the fascinating bevy of true women marched in to supper. The sweet little Hildegarde was quite interested in the story, and staying behind, asked Cynicus if that was really the whole of the MSS. Mr. Douce said there was one chapter more, which seemed to be an experi ence in Switzerland; and he promised to read it to the ladies some off " afternoon. CHAPTER II. SUNDAY MORNING IN PARADISE, WITH A SERMON WHICH DID NOT SUIT ITS INHABITANTS. IT was not a 1 w ays Sunday in Paradise. There were six days during which the va ried secular amuse ments had full swing ; but when the first day of each week did arrive, the inhab itants of Paradise wel comed it with becom ing respect. They donned their starchi est habiliments. They adjusted their countenances to the correct angle, and they marched down the south road as decorously as good Christians ought to do. There is something very char acteristic in the way Sunday is observed in New England. The Puritanical flavor of the last century, that pious A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 101 grimness which made religion a business as well as a duty, has worn itself sufficiently away to leave at the present day only a suspicion of its former presence. This suspicion, however, still permeates the social fabric, and lends to it an impressive ele ment of distinctness not to be found elsewhere. Little boys and big ones feel as if on that day their best clothes and their best manners were to be aired, so whenever the sturdy yeomanry of New England " dress up " they look unusually sol emn and unusually uncomfortable. Now this is all well enough if the change of demeanor and change of dress would not stop here, but would just go on, altering bad habits and making over bad hearts into good ones. But observation leads us to remark that Sunday, of all the days in the week, is the one when if anybody is cross, that body is cross cut then ; arid if there are misunderstandings, it is on Sunday morning just before one goes to church. In Paradise, however, that lovely spot, these frag mentary disputes were almost unknown, and the morning of the first day was generally the most peaceful portion of the week. The city clothes and the white laces, the nodding plumes and the silver-clasped prayer-books of the guests, blended lovingly together with the more modest attire of the villagers ; and both bodies of Christians trotted amicably along the brown roads together, making a beautiful picture. All of our Paradisiacal friends were very good people : they thought highly of 102 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. their church, and held well-defined views on all re ligious matters ; but some of them were unable to attend church. The Beautiful N. E., for instance, \vas prevented by her nervous exhaustion from go ing there regularly. Besides the necessity of quiet ing her nerves, there were many other little things to lie done before she was ready to start ; so that church time was come and often gone before she had put on her gloves, or even her right boot. Then the hour was much too early for invalids such as she. The seats were far too hard : and, worst of all, she was regularly seized every Sunday morn ing with an undefined horror of entering a crowded building. She feared that so soon as she should reach her crimson-cushioned pew, away down the broad aisle, she would certainly faint, and have to be carried out over the heads of the whole congre gation, by all the men, particularly by that tall fright of a creature who sat just across from her pew, in number 112, and looked at her so imper tinently whenever she did go to the sanctuary. Therefore, the mere mention of church made the Beautiful N. K. sea-sick. All these misfortunes, however, did not alter " her views " on church mat ters, which were very pronounced. But our good friend, Mr. Cynicus Douce, was in his place every Sunday as regularly as a clock. In the city, he sat in the same seat where his father and his ucrandfa- O ther (the gentleman who fought in the great Revo lution) had sat before him, so that he did not thank A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 103 anybody who presumed to offer him advice on or dinary religious questions. Mr. Douce was sensi ble withal. lie knew that ministers were mortals, even it they were pious, and that they required quite as much to eat and drink as other Christians did, if not more. He quarreled with those people who, having lit teen or twentv thousand a year to spend on themselves, speak of poor parsons with a lean wife and eight hungry children living on a thousand a year and house-rent to pay besides, as being in comfortable circumstances," and needing no " outside help." lie sympathized with them, even when he ob jected to some of their narrow views and their oc casional uniitness for their vocation. Mr. Douce had a singular creed, which consisted, among other things, in this : that nobodv should be allowed to preach the gospel to sinners but those who kne\v, from their own bitter experience, what sin actually was: who had been buffeted and tossed about by the temptations of modern civilization : who had been caught in the golden snare of worldliness. and who by all this experience had become convinced that the inevitable end of it all was misery and ashes. lie did not believe in allowing inexperi enced and harmless young men. who had been tied to their mothers" apron-strings until they went to the seminary, who had never known what a terri ble thing to withstand temptation was. and what herculean effort was required to beat back the 104 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. devil when he appeared as an angel of light ; " he did not approve of such young gentlemen, though decked in all the smartness of sacerdotal habili ment, delivering a mellifluous discourse from some unintelligible text of St. Paul s, to hoary-headed but well-dressed sinners ranged in the pews before them. And this simply because he believed it did no good, but possibly some harm. He reserved these unpractical ideas to impart to his dear friend Lady Angela, who listened to him in an amused sort of way, as if she half believed what he said. This sweet woman was always apologizing for everybody s short-comings, and was shocked when anything was spoken derogatory to the church or its belongings. Trained in the old-fashioned meth ods which accepted as facts everything descended from the Fathers, she was slow to examine too criti cally these unchallenged truths. But Lady Angela was a very sensible woman ; indeed her good sense overcame her emotions, so that it was difficult to deceive her by anything inherently a sham. And although truthful to a fault, if such a tiling be pos sible, yet (like the rest of her sex) she longed to have some unimpeachable authority in religious matters to lean upon ; but when anything was act ually absurd, nobody saw it quicker, and nobody condemned it sooner than Lady Angela. Mr. Cyn- icus Douce, therefore, had a listener who, while she did not easily accept all of his (as she termed them) A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 105 " wild theories," yet was keen and clear-headed enough to perceive at once when he chanced upon a kernel of truth. Their discussions were often of a very lively character, and the welfare of the little parish of Paradise came in for a goodly share of attention. There was one lady in the small community who took even more interest than either Ladv Angela t O or Mr. Douce did in its spiritual welfare. She was possessed of good mental capacity, but, if the truth were told, was somewhat narrow in k- her views " on church matters. This lady was no other than Miss Eunice Smart, a Church-woman from her birth. She was like all good people who think on one sub ject incessantly. It, becomes at last the great ob ject of their life. This object to Miss Smart was "The Church. She held the no uncommon belief that the whole truth about sacred matters was dis covered, like a nugget of gold, in the Middle Ages. She believed that every specimen of the Christian Father was an exemplary Christian ; that he never wrangled with his brothers, was never selfish nor bigoted, but lived a pure and virtuous life. She held also that, gathered together in fraternal coun cil, these amiable and immilitant men had discov ered what was best (in the way of dogma and creed) for the guidance of the Church for all ages to come. Moreover. Miss Smart, applying these views to the modern Church establishment, nar rowed her ideas down to one creed, one branch, 100 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. one sect of that branch, one seminary of that sect, and finally to one priest of that seminary. On all other subjects she was very funny, very clever, and very good company, and her conversation, there fore, was always crisp and original. As might be inferred, with all these different ele ments in the community, it became a somewhat dif ficult task to decide upon an acceptable incumbent for the little parish of Paradise. The Beautiful X. E.,the Lady Angela, Mr. Douce, and Miss Smart were only types of the many forms of opinion which would certainly be called upon to decide this delicate question. The summer had proved a very hot and dusty one in Paradise, and the usually damp and brown roads were now merely heaps of white dust which every passing carriage sent whirling into the air. Like the dust, so this question was sure to be raised whenever a passing remark from any casual ob server suggested the discussion. Such was the condition of things when it was understood that a Sunday morning service would be held in the new edifice, which had at last reached completion, and that a possible incumbent of the little parish was to preach to them on that occa sion. This dainty memorial chapel in Paradise, with its rough rubble walls, its high-pitched roof, its tinted windows, and its brick trimmings, was most picturesque. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 107 As one approached it from the south road, or even coming in the opposite direction, its appearance, nestled among the tall pines, was very prepossess ing. It produced just that quieting, grave, and loving impression which one desires to feel creep ing over him as he enters the portals of a country church. The robins and the orioles were twitter ing among the dense foliage -which surrounded the sacred edifice, while a peaceful Sunday stillness spread itself over the green, undulating fields in its vicinity. The pews in the little chapel were pleas ant to sit in. They had just the right bevel for both ease and reverence, which is a good recom- 108 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. mendation for any church. The several articles of a memorial character, which kind hands and lov ing hearts had added, were exceedingly appropriate, while the chancel appointments bore the mark of an educated, ecclesiological taste. Nothing was wanting but the minister. Who shall he be ? With what stripe of churchmanship shall he be identi fied? The high, the low, the broad, the ritualistic, the high and dry ( onnecticut, or the low and liberal evangelical? vital questions to the Paradise we are speaking of, however unimportant they may be to that other and better one. As was very natural, there was some excitement among the members of the little parish on this subject. The Rev. Mr. (-owl was first invited to preach, blithe was found much too "high" for Paradise. Some of the parishioners were horrified, and said "he did every thing, "whatever that expression might mean. Then the Rev. George Fenner ascended the pulpit, but he was just as much too "low" as Mr. Cowl was too " high." I Ie did not lay stress enough on the authority of the Church to please Paradise. Then came Father Emerson, who was one of the order of the missionary brothers. His acre at hobbv *. r? . was preaching the gospel in foreign parts. " Paro chial missions, and diocesan missions, and domestic missions, were all well enough," said Father Emer son, "but in order to evangelize the world we must begin with Christianizing the Chinese, and then " work this way." Home fields would fall into A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 109 line the instant that foreign lands had been plowed over." Paradise, being a "home field," had no use for the Rev. Father Emerson. After him, a little Mr. Holly, from East Ipswich, came to the village. He was invited to preach, but could not be pre vailed upon to wear the surplice at sermon time, insisting on putting on the old black scholastic gown, long discarded, and much too voluminous for his short stature. This so displeased Miss Eunice Smart that she walked straight out of the new church in face of the whole congregation. Ail experience like this was trying, since it was very necessary for the welfare of Paradise that a clergyman should be selected, not only accep table to the members of the parish itself, but also to the large crowd of strangers who frequented the village during the summer months. At last a lady from New York city suggested the name of the Hev. Ambrose St. Julieii as a most suitable person, she thought, for the position. " St. Julien," she said, was just graduated from the seminary. He was young and unmarried, two good recommendations, which always interest the old, and, she might add, the young as well. Besides, the reverend gentleman s churchmanship lay mid way between the two extremes : not so high as to be displeasing to Captain Americus Topdressing, the richest farmer in Paradise, nor so low as to interfere seriously with the religious convictions of Miss Eunice Smart. She advised the committee 110 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. to invite him to fill the pulpit the next Sunday, which would be the eighth after Trinity. So the Kev. Ambrose St. Julien, having just entered the di- aconate, was summoned to Paradise as the guest of the New York lady on the hill top. The Lady Angela, who had for many years interested herself in the welfare of the little parish, played the new organ, while Miss Lucy sang soprano, and Cousin Edith took the alto part of the church music, every Sunday. These obliging volunteers were always rummaging the different hymnals for the most appropriate hymns for each service, and had selected the liHIth and the 2<)2d as the proper ones for this particular occa sion. The morning was auspicious. White cumulus clouds floated lazily over the zenith propelled by gentle zephyrs. The buzz of the crickets was heard in the fields. The yellow butterflies fluttered uncertainly before one s pathway, while a shim mering haze in the valleys proclaimed a warm day. The south road \vas alive with scores of gayly A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. Ill dressed people in flaring huts, and fresh-looking costumes. There were children with starched frocks and dainty prayer-books ; mild-eyed lassies with immaculate gloves and fluffy jabots ; and jaunty cavaliers, with all the smart extravagances of neckerchief and stocking which characterize the toilet of the modern Adonis. One of the prettiest sights in the world is such a youthful company, zig zagging in delightful disorder down a country road of a Sunday morning. A large delegation from the "hill" a precious load trotted by in Ben jamin s big wagon, while Claude and Cynthia, Cu pid and Psyche, Apollo and Diana, with heads down and parasols up. lagged in stately parallels across the road in the rear. The gay-colored crowd vanished, one after another, over the threshold of the new stone chapel, suggesting to the mind the sparks which, as children, we used to watch "go out" one after another on the nursery hearth. It always takes a certain number of twistings and turnings before any congregation is fairly settled. If one man happens to cough over on the east side of the church, two or three others must need take advan tage of this fracture of silence to "ka-hem" and sneeze over on the west. There are always two or three late comers, too, who make a great flurry getting into the front pews. The two strange boys, who have " no business there, must first be routed out, and then the stout lady tries to file past the 112 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. thin lady, who is undecided whether to go out or in, and thereupon follows the usual teetering, which the congregation watches in mournful silence. Every lady is fanning herself ; every man is wip ing his brow ; every boy is looking over the back of the pew. Dear, near-sighted Lady Angela, with her eyes way down to the keys, is performing one of her most approved "voluntaries" on the new organ. The last note is hushed. The Rev. Am brose St. Julien enters from the robing-rooin and kneels at the new chancel-rail. lie is a tidy-looking young gentleman, in white cravat, and new black sacerdotalish garments, appropriate enough to his position as one of the " inferior clergy." Twenty-two is about his age. Devout and hungry eyes look upon the congrega tion, while a large, ascetic, and celibate mouth shows great capacity for suffering. To an impar tial observer not the New York lady he ap pears to be an inexperienced, callow, but devout A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 118 young man, bent upon what lie calls his " mission in life, an enthusiastic individual who has wt convic tions " collated from the writings of some eminent mediaeval authority whom he has taken as his pat tern. From this fountain he has derived his creed, which teaches him, among other things, that the instant he "took orders" he mounted a pedestal separate and apart from all lower sinners ; that from this elevation he became suddenly invested with a knowledge of matters of which, to be sure, he knows nothing by experience, but which he be lieves has miraculously descended upon him through the two hands of his diocesan. lie read the ser vice in a voice which, if he had used after church, he would have been hurried off to an insane retreat. He jumbled the words all up together as if they were Latin or some other foreign tongue, and if he laid emphasis upon anything, it was the conjunc tions and the articles. He mounted the pulpit at last, and gave out his text in a scholastic undertone : "A ucl seeing the multitude he went up into a mountain." MATT. v. 1. u I wish to speak to you, my friends, for a brief space this morning, on the exclusiveness of the founder of the Christian faith. The religion ex pounded by the Son of Mary is not exactly what the popular idea, prevalent nowadays, makes it- out to be. It is a* priceless treasure, not a common boon. It is beyond the price of rubies, and can s 114 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. not be purchased with money. We must infer, therefore, that only a privileged few of the earth s inhabitants will be able to enjoy its inestimable benefits, and become the happy owners of this im mortal inheritance. Nowhere throughout the New Testament is it shown that the author of Chris tianity was a person who ever mixed with the com mon people as a companion. "As a rabbi or teacher, he was accounted one of an exclusive sect among the Jews. It is true that he walked about the streets of Jerusalem and Ju- dea, but he walked unattended, except by a chosen few of his disciples. The rabble were afraid of him. They looked askance at him, as one separate and apart from their own rank in life. "We must remember that he was no ordinary citizen, but the Prince of Peace; 1 and his murder ers called him * the King of the Jews. So when interpreting the New Testament we need to keep constantly in our minds that this wonderful teacher was set apart, even by his countrymen, as above and beyond all his fellows. Hedged about by that divine right of kingship, he naturally kept himself exclusive. As a consequence of all this exclusive- ness his religion is an exclusive religion. When we read that, among his other attributes, he came into the world as the sinner s friend, it will not do to make the interpretation too large. These texts should properly read, He was friend of such sin ners as should be saved, and he came into the A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 115 world to befriend repentant sinners of the Church. This version would bring it down to about the limit allowed by the most conservative church-writers of the present day. All people cannot expect to par take of such inestimable benefits, but only such good churchmen as are predestinated, elected, and preordained by the eternal fiat of Omnipotence. In support of this view let me quote some unmis takable texts bearing on this point : In the twentieth chapter of Matthew and part of the sixteenth verse, we read, For many be called, but few chosen ; that is, the elected few are the only ones to enter. The rest must bear the result of their own misfortune. "Again, in Acts i. verse 47, And the Lord added to the church daily such as. should be saved. The word "such in the Greek, freely translated, clearly means to limit the number to a chosen few, an exclusive few. " Again, we have another instance of this ex- clusiveness in the incident of the raising of the daughter of Jairus, where it is said that, When the people were put forth he went in, etc. "And finally. for I could go on multiplying the instances which go to prove my proposition, finally, I adduce this extract from Matthew xiii. ^, And great multitudes were gathered together unto him, so that he went into a ship and sat. This forcibly indicates his desire to get away from the multitude. He went into a ship and sat apart, 116 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. while the multitude probably stood, as before their superior, on the shore. And then lastly, the text we have chosen, And seeing the multitude he went up into a mountain. Now it may be asked and it is a pretty important question who are these elected few, this exclusive company of prophets and martyrs ? Clearly not many of the ot TroAAot, even though this TTo/XAoi were a repentant TroAXot, unless peradventure they happened to be of those elected few, those worthy ones who are found doing his will in his holy Church. His holy Church ! That Church which he ordained, and which has come down to us unbroken, through much tribulation and blood; through evil report and good report, from the Petrine foundation of the Christian era. "It will not do to ling to one s self the idea that because an individual has attached himself to some of those irresponsible bodies those so-called ( hris- tians, those numerous sects in the world, governed by conferences, councils, or other secular modes that thereby he is within the pale of the Christian Church, as we understand this Christian Church to be, because this hallucination w r ill lead him into fatal error. Those and those only are members of his Church who belong to hfs elect. They are those who conform to the rites and ceremonies, the his toric dogmas, and the most accepted creeds, which have come down to us in regular gradation from the blessed Peter himself ; or have been promul gated by the Church from time to time, through A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 117 her authorized channels. They are those who take, unquestioned, what the Church holds to be pure doctrine, if they can discover what that is, and who accept its assertions without cavil, and obey its commands without reserve. I pity all those cavilers, agnostics, and free-thinkers who dare to judge for themselves of such matters, and who are bold enough to say that many of our inesti mable rites and usages, which have descended to us from the blessed mediaeval era, are false inferences of sinful men from what the great Teacher himself inculcated. I weep for those erring sons who per sist in saying that the Great Christian Exemplar never expounded a creed, established a dogma, nor drew up a liturgy during his ministry, and that he only went about healing the sick, casting out devils, and begging everybody to love his neigh bor as himself : leaving the wrangling about dogma to weak-minded and vacillating churchmen: and, moreover, I defy these degenerate sons of the Church who flippantly say that all our precious and increasingly gorgeous ritual, our elaborate and symbolic ceremonies, are not at all in accordance with the simple teachings of the Great Master himself, but only the outcroppings of pharisaical diets and vainglorious councils. As good church men let us dismiss from our minds all such mis chievous assertions as unworthy of serious consid eration. If the sacred truth concerning these mat ters was not discoverable by those blessed saints 118 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. and broad-minded martyrs who lived at an age when men gave up their whole lives to their sacred work of reading and flagellating, surely in this gen eration, which is so much farther removed from the date of the Christian era, and at a time when men s minds are warped by what is popularly called the right of private judgment, it is twice the harder task to reach the meaning of those eternal verities. It is worthy to note, that faith in our holy Church must come in to sustain us just here. This faith must be greater than a mustard-seed to avail any thing. Surely the authority of a church, episcopal in its government, and which can be traced at least as far back as the second century, if not farther, and what do a hundred years, more or less, mat ter in so vast an inquiry, surely such authority should have a weight in our minds so strong as to silence forever all such assaults of agnostic infi delity as have been referred to. By this authority then, we say, that an episcopal form of church government is the only true vehicle of Christian doctrine ; that it and it alone is author ized to speak from time to time to the world ; that this government is a conservative and an exclusive government, and that this authority is above prin cipalities, and powers, and things present, and things to come. We have then but to hear her teachings as explained and expounded by her anointed priests to obey them. When we contemplate the hundreds of millions of the earth s inhabitants, comparatively A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 119 a small number will be brought under the saving influence of the Church ; in other words, be found numbered among the elect ; but then this very fact agrees perfectly with the idea which we enunci ated at the commencement of this discourse, the blessed exclusiveness of our particular faith. We read neither in the Old nor the Xew Testament that these chosen few, these elect, will be other than that preordained and surpliced company which clus ter about the eternal a?gis of episcopal authority inside the chanceL-rail. Safe within this exclusive barrier, they will be kept aloof from the surging tide of conglomerate sinners, who vainly cling to their straws of safety on the outside, and will met aphorically, and in their own poor way, try to copy their great prototype, who, 4 seeing a multitude, went up into a mountain. There is thus much to cheer those who rejoice in the conservatism of our hereditary Church. We know that we in the Church are safe, whatever may happen to those deluded souls on the outside. AVc can only say to such, that we have pointed out to them their folly ; we have directed them to the most unquestioned and approved channels of sal vation ; we have marked the proper collects and prayers made and provided for just such cases. We can do no more. Nothing remains but the de nunciation of the prophet: Ephraim is joined to idols: let him alone! lint let us, the chosen few, continue on in our blessed work. Be sober; 120 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. be diligent ; be exclusive. Tell people outside the Church they are lost. Teach our children the ru brics and the symbolic significance of the Christian year. Leave the door of the Church just open enough to facilitate the idea of Christian union. O The Church will do everything for this consum mation of its hopes which is consistent with its an cient conservatism ; but if Jews, Turks, noncon formists, and infidels willfully refuse to enter, it is their own fault and not ours : we cannot go out to meet them. They have the Prayer-book and the hymnal. k Let them hear them ! And seeing a multitude, he went up into a mountain. Amen ! " The congregation slowly separated. u WelV said Lawrence to Lady Angela, " what do you think of the Rev. Ambrose St. Julien ? " Lady A. " I think he preaches what he thinks he believes." Lawrence. " T think what he preaches is the most consummate bosh I ever heard. Look at the absurdity of the application of his text ; then the perfect non-sequitur of the whole of it. He must be an idiot." " No," answered Lady Angela, " a man with one idea tortures everything, even texts from Scrip ture, into a meaning which shall conform to his hobby." " Why," said Lawrence, laughing immoderately, " hear him coolly telling us that the Saviour, see- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 121 ing the multitude about him, went up into a moun tain in order to get away from the vulgar herd ! He might as well have said that when Moses was ordered to speak unto the children of Israel that they go forward, that before that time the whole nation was actually walking backwards. Mr. Douce remarked, "There is one, good thing about him : he said, in so many words, what I have heard lots of parsons infer, but did n t dare speak out." " Yes," replied Lawrence, kt this word w inference has caused a deal of mischief in the world; es pecially in religious matters. People are all the time inferring that what the Scripture says in so many words it does n t mean ; that the real signif ication, in the original (ireek, is exactly opposite from what it is translated in our version : and, therefore, what it seems to sav, it does n t say at all/ " I want to cry," said Cynicus. " Why ? " said Lady Angela. Oi/n. " Because this little parson is so narrow. I pity him from the bottom of my heart ; for he is looking through the large end of the telescope, and don t know it. What an idea he has of the Chris tian religion, to be sure." Lawrence. u You re right, Douce. Such a crea ture would roast his own grandmother alive, if she didn t subscribe to some particular rubric on some particular page of the revised canons. What we 122 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. want in the Church is a little more ordinary com mon sense." Cyn. " What we want out of the Church is just this narrow sort of doctrine." " I want to cry once more," continued Cynicus. Lawrence. "-What! Again?" Cyn. " Yes : because as we don t believe in a Pope, we can t prevent this Ambrose from mounting the pulpit. Hut in the church k over the way, a son who did her no good would soon be shipped oft to the Hottentots. He could n t hurt the Hottentots, while he might create a considera ble rumpus in the church." k<> Now you men are always so hard upon clergy men," exclaimed tolerant Lady Angela. Al though you know I heartily condemn such narrow doctrine, I can t blame the man from preaching what certainly is a legitimate conclusion from the premise he lays down. Do be generous. He seems to be an earnest, albeit a harmless creature." " Nobody honors the cloth more than I do, and nobody has more friends in the profession," replied Lawrence. " But this sermon only shows how many sides there are to the same subject. Looking at the sky from the bottom of a well, one would obtain a poor idea of its immensity." Cyn. " St. Ambrose; seems to be in the deepest kind of a well, then, to judge from the idea he gets of the heavens above him." u Ah, poor boy," added Mr. Douce, " if his nar- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 123 rowness were food, he d die before morning of hunger." " He d never do for Paradise," remarked Amelia. " Never ! " answered Lady Angela. " Neither Cousin Edith nor Amie would approve of it." " I could preach better than that myself, " said Cynicus, " if they would allow a k fellow to go up there without taking orders. " "1 have no doubt of that," laughingly replied Lady Angela, "for you arc so mighty independent that you wouldn t take; orders from anybody in this world." " Unless from you, my lady," added Mr. Douce. Miss Eunice Smart here joined the group, and began by saying, " Everything that young man said this morning was what might be termed " offi cially " true ; but the trouble was, lie lacked judg ment, lie ought to have kept silent on some of those points. It is just as well," said she, "not to tell everything you believe all at once." " Let it out gradually, you mean, perhaps," re marked Mi-. Douce. " Well, I mean, keep your own opinions to your self, and preach about what everybody would agree to ; it s much better." But Miss Eunice," answered Mr. Douce, this gentleman s whole doctrine is so narrow that he would drive everybody away from the Church." "No matter for that," replied Miss Smart, "the doctrine taught at Iota Seminary is pretty nearly 124 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. what this young gentleman gave us to-day ; but I never saw a graduate from lota who did n t know when to shut up. " But do you believe in his doctrine, Miss Eunice ? " " I believe, that carried to its logical conclusion, which I don t think it ever need be, but car ried to its logical conclusion, one branch of the Church would bring up about where he came out tli is morning." " But will you vote to call him to Paradise ? " " Before I actually voted on the subject," an swered Miss Smart, cautiously, " I would like to have an understanding with him on the " filio-que question, and also on several minor points in the Revised Canons." CHAPTER III. A MELON-PARTY ON " TOP-KNOT," AND THE DISAGRKEABLK THINGS WHICH WERE SAII> THERE. DIFFERENT seasons of the year produce different sensations : new life in spring, indolence in sum mer, accumulated strength in autumn, and sturdy resistance in winter. This changing experience is what toughens the fibre of northern races. It is one of the, many reasons why each season has its lovers. In " Paradise " the month of September is para dise indeed. This is the hazy month, and the dreamy month, and the fruity month. It is the ar tists month, and the tourists 1 month, and the inva lids month. Hearts are as bio- as melons then; minds are as fruitful as apple-trees. The evenings are so cool ; the shadows are so long : the shawls are so comfortable ; the drives are so invigorating ; 126 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. the roads are so brown, and what " he says " is so lovely. The grapes have all been picked ; the frogs have formed themselves into solemn choruses ; the screeching tree-toads are splitting their throats, while all nature is thanking God as loud as ever it can for the yellow harvests. It was a great privilege to take one of Mr. Worthington s easy-chairs and place it on the little platform outside the hut on " Top-Knot" Hill of a September afternoon. The view before one, which goes rapidly downward and outward over the placid landscape for twenty or thirty miles, has a most quieting influence upon the beholder. The blue horizon in the misty distance looks like the ocean ; while the little lake at the left, the red- roofed railroad station at the right, the white spire of the distant village, and even the serpen tine road, as it goes winding up the long incline towards Jericho, complete a picture of quiet con tent. There are all sorts of men in the world : some are men of taste who love art and nature, and women (who by the way combine them both). There are others also whose prominent character istics are good sense and gentle manners. These valuable citizens have a genial way of doing polite things ; they do not expect you to thank them more than one " good once," if they have done you a favor ; they differ from certain other brethren who, if they happen to loan you a handkerchief to A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 127 supply the place of your own unfortunately left at home, are looking out all through life afterwards to see whether you are sufficiently grateful to them for this favor. Mr. Worthington was not one of this sort. In July he gave strawberry-parties to the children ; in September, among other courtesies, he regaled his older friends on " Top-Knot melons ; " and it was a great honor to be an invited guest on such occa sions. There is an aroma about a cantaloupe melon which, heaven be praised, no chemist can imitate ; and when that melon is icy cold, and perfectly ripe, whether one eats it with pepper and salt, with sugar, or with no condiment at all, he may be sure that he is partaking of something more delicious than Jupiter Olympus, with all his naughty luxurious- ness, ever dreamed of. One hazy afternoon in September, Mr. Worth ington gave a melon party to some of his friends in Paradise. This gentleman s guests looked like a moving mass of gay-colored exotics as they sauntered up the steep incline of " Top-Knot. " The host had fetched from the hut all his skins, rugs, and easy-chairs, and placed them at conven ient spots over the grassy plateau, which were soon monopolized by an appreciative company. Old " Lily-pad," the setter, lay at full length in the cool shadow, and there was nothing wanting to 128 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER: make the party homogeneous. His friends did what all friends do when they come together they talked. " How about the new parson ? " said Cynicus Douce. " They have n t got one ? " inquired the inter ested Amelia. " 1 believe nothing has actually been caught yet. I wanted to hear if there was any bite?" said Lawrence. tk Paradise won t be satisfied with any sort of fish : she must have her pick of the assortment," spoke up Miss Brown, with a, toss of the head. "No small fry for her, I trow," suggested Miss Jones. " You are right, my dear," said Lady Angela. " Paradise needs a respectable, broad-minded gen tleman ; a good churchman, with an intelligent A FASHIONABLE SUFFKRKR. 129 wife, who can live on a very small salary and yet appear as contented as if he had all the luxuries of the season/ " Yes," rejoined Mr. Douce ; but he must be unmarried." That will never do," suggested Lawrence, " for he would be torn to pieces by his spinster parish ioners." "1 don t fear that at all." replied Lady Angela. " But a married and experienced man would be more proper and respectable for such an old parish as Paradise ; besides " " Now you will make a great mistake," inter rupted Cynicus, k " if you don t select a gentleman entirely free from any uxorial entanglements." "It can t be," said Cousin Edith. "Amie and I would not feel willing to make such a dangerous unmarried experiment." "Why!" continued Mr. Douce. "It is undeni able that celibacy increases the popularity of a pop ular preacher." " I don t agree with you," said Lady Angela. "How can you say so?" replied Mr. Douce. "Of two parsons with equal attractions of mind and manners, the unmarried one would be sure to carry the day in the long run." " Well, I don t see whvhe should," sighed Cousin Edith. Because," continued Mr. Douce, "the genus clergyman has ever been a subject of transcendent 130 A FASHIONABLE SUFFKRER. interest to the vast majority of women. They some how feel as if he were composed of different ingre dients from ordinary men. There is something so mysterious to them in the connection between wicked man and that which is pious and good, that he piques their curiosity. " That may be the case witli some women, but it is not so with me," said Miss Brown. "A cler gyman to me is only an ordinary man hitched to a prayer-book." "Still, I sometimes think," interrupted Amelia, "that we girls J<> consider ministers to be so blessed by heaven that they have no such feelings as other masculines have. The trouble is to know where so many bad traits go to so suddenly, and so many good ones come from, to occupy the vacancies." I can t believe, however, added Miss .Jones, "that even clergymen are entirely free from all the temptations of the w.. the f.. and the d." "To look at their placid faces and sweet expres sions, no one would suspect they ever had any," murmured the pretty girl just from school. " I rather think," said mine host in his kindliest manner, "that if the truth were told, a young, un married, and decent-looking clergyman has more young ladies in love with him than any other man in his parish. I don t think enough allowance is made for his sore temptations on the one hand, and his self-control on the other. I both envy and pity him." A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 131 " You need ii t pity him" answered Cynicus Douce. " It is the young ladies of his parish who need your pity." " They need my pity ? " " Yes ; for, as I said before, they have the crudest and jnost extraordinary notions of a young minis ter. They seem to think that it is not possible for so religious a mortal ever to have any feeling 1 of jealousy, hatred, or malice in his heart, like other sinners ; that he never falls in love, unless accord ing to the true biblical and patriarchal method ; that he writes his love-letters from a sense of duty and a concordance ; says grace every time he visits his lady-love, and offers himself by quotations from the sacred writers/ Miss Brown laughed heartily at this nonsense, and exclaimed: "Only think of him reading the Commandments every time he saluted \\\$ fiancee ! No, Mr. Douce, a parson is something more than a walking collect with a white cravat, and some thing less than a saint perched on a blue rain bow." " So he is to me," answered Mr. Douce. I was merely describing how an unmarried clergyman sometimes impresses the average young lady of his parish ; and viewing the question in this light, these gentlemen are placed in an entirely false position, for the circumstances of their office naturally make them the cynosure of all eyes, and thus help to place them in this unique yet popular situation. 132 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. It inclines mo to believe the truth of that wicked saying, that there are three sexes in the world men, women, and ministers." I don t know about the sex question," said Law rence, laughing 1 , "but I do believe there are only two sorts of ministers, as there are only two sorts of women in the world: those that are worth every thing and those, that are worth" "Friends!" interrupted Mr. Worthington, "our melons and peaches are awaiting our pleasure, let us go into the hut and discuss them at our leisure." The fruit was delicious. Each succeeding melon was cooler and more aromatic than the preceding- one ; while peaches and cream, plum-cake, and a mysterious "something" else, peculiarly indigenous to "Top-Knot," completed the unique menu of the occasion. AY hen the cigars were brought in or rather "out" and lighted, the company moved once more to the green plateau, and from its airv height viewed the swiftly declining sun as he marched toward his bed of clouds. Some of the party had but lately arrived from abroad, and conversation turned upon the changes which almost always occur during a long absence. That s the trouble with these protracted inter vals," said Mr. Douce. "I always feel sad when my friends are packing up for the grand tour, because I know that when Eddy has grown up, A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 133 and Sadie lias acquired Sanscrit, while Maria V projecting teeth have been made perpendicular, and her winking stopped, the old folks at home have all this time been sickening 1 and dying, and losing their minds, k Josiah has been married, El len engaged, the old horse has been killed, and Tommy Traddles has gone to Texas." " That s the worst of it," said Miss Brown ; " in this age of telephone and phonograph, it hardly pays to shut one s eyes for fear that something won derful will take place between the winks." "Oh, dear! said Amelia. "That is very true. People who are anxious for traveling forget that the tilings of this world are so nicely adjusted that one set cannot be jostled without disturbing all the rest." " We are all like rows of bricks," answered Mr. Douce; "the tilting of one row tottles over the whole file directly in front of it." "And our friendships go in the same way," said Miss Smith ; "like modern mortar, there is no stick to them." " What is that long procession coming up the hill " cried out Amie. "There seems to be one man with a chair on his head, another with a feather-bed; and then comes a * buckboard piled up with things, and somebody walking behind with a sun-umbrella. It is n t a funeral, is it?" Of course everybody sprang up to see the won derful spectacle. Almost immediately, however, 134 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. there was a great shout of laughter as the company discovered their delightful friend and sufferer, the Beautiful N. E., who was slowly approaching the feast at so late an hour. " Run. away and help her ! " exclaimed Lady An gela, whereupon there was a general scamper to the ambulance. Tlie hospital cavalcade was composed of curious impedimenta. Thomas, the. quiet man-servant, had on his head a certain particular chair belonging to his mistress, which just fitted the " right spot of his mistress s back. Parker, the maid, carried under one arm a large pillow of eider-down, marked with a beautiful monogram *" X. E." encircled by what appeared to be a necklace of quinine pills ; while in the other she held over (lie head of the sufferer a silken piirasol of delicate lea-rose color. It was "pinked" and " panfaleted " three rows dee}), with an ivory handle of an unearthly tin-t. The X. E. herself, poor child, lay on the "buck- board " at an angle of forty-five degrees, and was bolstered up on three large cushions, an elegant A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 135 lap-robe, and little footstool. She wore a gown of exactly the same shade as her parasol. It was cut d la princesse, with a jabot of delicate lace and rib- boii down the front, with a train of the same ma terial. A cluster of " .Jacqueminots " (just received from a friend in New York) completed the ele gance and simplicity of her toilet. Her lisle- tliread, clocked stockings were of the same delicate hue. and of Balbriggan manufacture. The pure country air had already done wonders for her. The color of her cheeks eclipsed that of the rest of her attire, and, like any other masterly production, the eye was made to rest upon the strongest point, to which all other points were mere accessories. Her brownish, childish, wavy hair lay in undulating heaps over her brow; and as she alighted from the low buckboard, and sank into her eider-down dais, she resembled a beautiful rose-bud just fainting a little for want of water. A score of sympathizing friends were quickly about her with peaches and cream, an eighth of a freshly cut melon, and quite a large slice of wedding- cake, to appease the cravings of exhausted nerves. With a graceful sweep of the hand, however, she stopped them by saying. " I never eat before I take my quinine. Won t you kindly get the pill box from Thomas ? " The X. H. s diction was superb. When she said k * Won t you," she didn t say " woon-chew," as so many of us do, but pronounced each word sepa- 136 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. rately. The "won t" had a "t" on it, and the " you " had a " u." It was pleasant to hear her converse. - You see before you," said Mr. Wortliington, grandiloquently, looking at the declining sun, " the great cosmopolite of the world, lie is at home in all countries ; has no prejudices ; shines on the evil and the good, and goes straight to his couch re gretted by an hemisphere." " There is nothing mean about the sun," replied Mr. Lawrence, with his eyes fixed on the departing luminary. "If everybody would copy him, and mind his own business, we should all be the hap pier ! " t " It is this interference which makes ns all hate each other," said Mr. Douce. "It is surprising to find so many disagreeable people in the world whose prominent fault is not minding their own business." " Why, Cynicus," exclaimed Miss Brown, with a laugh, " you "re a miserable old pessimist, 1 m afraid ! " u You "re right, my friend," answered Cynicus ; "everything you say convinces me of it. Hut have you never remarked how many disagreeable people there are ? " "We can t help seeing- some, of course 1 ," replied Lady Angela, looking at him with a quizzical ex pression. " Hut why not notice the agreeable ones, too? I don t meet many disagreeable people. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 137 Everybody seem to have something to recommend them even pessimists. " It may be dyspepsia," said Mr. Douce, u but it seems to me that agreeable people are only conspic uous by their rarity. Let me tell you what Hab- bertoii and I used to do when we were in college : We would start from the Campus and walk to the City Hall and back, and count the number of dis agreeable people encountered on the way. One day we bagged thirty-nine: and, as poor Arte- 111118" would say, it wasn t a very good day for them, either. Now thirty-nine in two miles is not so bad." "What constitutes a disagreeable person?" in quired Miss Brown, fearing she might be one. "There are twenty or thirty kinds," replied the pessimist. " Some have eternal smirks on their faces : some are always saying disagreeable things ; some take your politeness to them for servility, and accordingly treat you with contempt ; some pretend not to see you in the street when they do see you ; some are forever harping " on small matters, and quarreling about it; some are always remarking upon what YOU <>wjl\t to have done : some talk about you behind your back, and pretend they don t : some damn you with faint praise." "Heavens!" exclaimed Amelia, "you ve told us enough ; and if you don t stop we 11 put you in the category yourself." "I have if t half got through, but I 11 just go on 138 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. to say, that all these disagreeable people were con fined in an invisible pen, and the most disagreeable one of all we used to choose to keep the door ; we found that we changed this keeper almost every day." The company laughed merrily at this, and said that Mr. Douce was not half so bad as he pre tended to be. u Maybe not," said Douce. " I really don t think I am quite such a wretch as you will probably say the individual is who wrote this piece which 1 cut from the last issue of k The Home Circle. " Let s hear it." " Read it up," said many voices. "It is so rich," said Mr. Douce; "and such a lie, that it becomes almost ludicrous." "What is the name of the article?" " The views of Archibald Bald, after fifteen years ex perience in our best society ten of them as a married man, and the other five as a nondescript." Air. Douce commenced to read the article : "It sounds a little start ling to say tli at there are some human natures, in what is called k fashionable society, devoid of the A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 189 sentiment of natural affection; but every dav teaches us that this world is a conglomerate of many ingredients, and it is no longer wonderful that specimens of such characters are found. These individuals are confirmed egoists. They possess no active principle of love for their fellow- creatures. They are votaries of ambition and self- interest. They delight in the results of their cun ning manipulation of society. Luckily for them, want of heart is seldom coupled with want of in telligence. u It seems to be true that within certain limits the less the heart the more of a certain kind of talent. Things become abnormal only when there is either too much or too little of any necessary fac tor ; so, in a worldly point of view, while it is true that too much heart causes its possessor disappoint ment, too little of it engenders stoicism and cru elty, both being abnormal states of being. l> A person without any natural affection could never become an angel, while he might be well fitted to occupy the position of tyrant, or despot. u It is fashionable to be heartless, because, some how, heartlessness is coupled with success. The dimness of snobbism is only a milk-and-water form of it. A merchant who has a heart is not generally the ricJii at man in the community, al though he may be the happiest. A landlord without a conscience generally col lects more of the money due him, and is a much 140 A FASHIONABLE SUFFEKER. greater miser than lie whose eye glistens at the sight of poverty. A man who gives thump for thump in the jostle of life, and rides rough-shod over society, is the one who has the best chance of exercising his skill in these particulars. " According to the popular creed, success is life, non-success, death. To succeed, a man must be without a heart. To fail, he has only to possess one. The soul of trade is self-interest ; therefore, the more the self-interest, the more the trade. " Popular logic is very simple, and the deduction comes very easy. The result of all this is that love for others and self-sacrifice are seldom found in the mart of trade. Instead of these, k tit for tat and quid pro quo jostle you at every turn. u Society acknowledges all this, and admits that it is necessary to success; yet flatters itself tli;it way down in its inmost heart there is, somewhere, an exhaustless philanthropy ; and perhaps there is - I don t happen to see much of it. " When \ve leave the mart of trade and ascend to the dress-circle of society, wo meet there a differ ent species of the same tribe. At the door of this cultivated sphere everybody assumes a mask, which, once put on, is only laid away with death. " Presenting to each other this false front, we are enabled to say to our dearest friend the very op posite from what we mean. We appear glad when we are sorry ; we weep when we are really laugh ing, and w T e are gayest when we are saddest. Some A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 141 people call this conventionalism. Whatever it is, it engenders an unique species of humanity. This society exotic numbers among- its fraternity both men and women. There are in society no-hearted mothers and no-hearted fathers, as there are no- hearted saints and no-hearted sinners. Amonsj the O motley group of this species, let us select a single example, " ab uno disce omnes, I take the first that comes to hand. It is a man. Now, why is it that disappointment rises in the mind at this an nouncement? A no-hearted man! says society, k It goes without saying, * Would n t it be better, and more entertaining, if search should be made until, peradventure, a specimen of the other sex be discovered? Perhaps society is right. By dint of great endeavor we have found such an one. There she sits before us in all her majesty. " This individual seems to have been born with out the capacity of loving. Cool, calculating, and sallow, she excites love in others, without a scintil lation of it in herself! She is a hunter who brings down her game by adroitness. Sighings and tears are not found in her vocabulary. Self-control sup plies the place of passion, and a sluggish circulation of a throbbing pulse. She takes every possible ad vantage of her natural charms, in order to success. She modulates her sharp voice to a persuasive key, concealing its natural asperity with consummate tact. Her life s secret were it ever known is ambition. Her apparently pliant will is in reality 142 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. inflexible. In her association with men, she bids for their devotion by every artifice at her command. To every favoring breeze she sets her sails, pro vided that it brings her to the haven tv \vhere she would be," success. To see a strong man surren der to her blandishments, and sit a vanquished prisoner at her feet, is a "sweet boon which makes her anthracite eyes to glisten. To obtain his love and to gain the mastery of his opinions is her single aim. " If she has no thought of returning his affection, it is because she actually has none to return. But so cleverly does she simulate love, that her willing vassal simpers at her feet, never quite, but always to be blest. Never overcome by her feelings, she is pretty sure of doing the right thing under all circumstances. "No solecism is ever laid at her door, and her morals are, apparently, as correct as her manners. She has several secret unwritten aims in life. One is, to be considered the most beautiful woman in society. If nature denies her that, then she bends all her efforts to become the most fascinating. If this is impossible, then the most fashionable, and so on. The most something she will be, even if it is the most dangerous of her sex. Having achieved success in some one of these directions, she is apt to be patronizing to certain of her aspiring compan ions who have not been quite so fortunate. Such a woi nan has a deal of tact, and finds it advantageous A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 143 to be attentive to the aged. It is not a bad thing, you know, to hear these good, people say of her, she is so kind and attentive. " Such a woman, also, is very particular in her social obligations. To strangers, if they happen to be guests of the best people, she is especially gra cious. Of her poor relations she is not always quite, so solicitous for to such an one who may perhaps have just successfully planted her foot on a certain coveted plane of social standing what greater misfortune than to meet on the boulevard poor Aunt Rebecca, or threadbare I ncle Josiah ? "Her husband, poor man, was one of the few eligibles who nibbled at her matrimonial hook when she first seated herself on the banks of life. The others happy creatures got away just in time to k save their bacon/ leaving their senti mental rival fast entangled in the fatal net. This catch was a rich one, and on it she has gloated ever since. Position and wealth is good diet for famished seekers, so the no-hearted wife is gorged and happy. She is most out of place when she pays visits of condolence, and endeavors to sympa thize with real sorrow. Here tragedy becomes comedy : and her words of pity are mere ghosts of sound. Nevertheless, no-hearted women are of some value after all, for they are the ones who never forget themselves. When the house is burn ing up, or when people are dying, they are per fectly self-possessed, and know just the right thing 144 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. to do. By their thoughtfulness the silver is saved, even though the baby burns up, and the grand piano is safely moved into the neighboring lot, and the bearers gloves are just the right number. "In domestic life, too, they often make good mothers. On this point that of children they come nearer to an exhibition of affection than on any other. Yet there is no self-sacrifice in dressing " little Maria, and cunning Ethel, so as to attract attention and make people turn in the street and sav, "Those are Mrs. Saintley s lovely children i/ * \J \J " So like mamma - Such a French accent ! But when she gets out on the avenue she is apt to over look other people s children, unless it possibly be Lady Alice s, or those of Madame La Comtesse. "The no-hearted woman snubs her husband dreadfully. Although he is strong enough to double her up and throw her out of the window, she knows by experience that he loves her too well to do any thing of the kind. So she discovers his little weak nesses, and plays upon them a delightful tune at her pleasure. First, slit 1 calls forth his admiration and love by simulating unfeigned attachment, then she tantali/es him by continual disappointment, until, wound up in her toils, the warm-hearted booby tumbles into the pit prepared for him by his cool-headed Delilah. In every-day life she takes care to be just a little disagreeable and indifferent; not doing her whole duty, and yet not wholly neg lecting it. She is guilty of more sins of omission A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 145 than of commission, and so manages to sail over life s seas pretty smoothly ; giving her husband a threadbare sort of happiness, and herself a good deal of selfish satisfaction. She dies a stoical old woman. " One can scarcely associate domestic love with such an alliance. Of the two, the wife is much the . better off, because her idea of joy is mere success, and this she has attained. It is difficult to say just what the other party got for his money. The best that can be affirmed is. that he bought a plated imitation of the real article. " Even when a kind Providence takes pity on the husband and removes him from this pinchbeck happiness, it mysteriously seems to redound, even then, to his partner s gain : for there are instances where even this event has banished from her path the last stumbling-block to a wife s ambition. "On this lugubrious occasion the subject of our remarks is tearless for weeks together. Stunned, people say she is. Her crape is very deep, but very becoming. Tier pale countenance exhibits the ravages of inward grief. Her cap is exquisitely plain, and of the latest mode. When the will is read and she hears that she is still to have twenty thousand dollars a year, and all the plate and the family lace, she folds her hands with a heavenly expression of resignation. At the proper time, however, after the weary months of etiquette have rolled away, she emerges from her tribula- 10 146 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. tion with a very good appetite and a pair of huge solitaires." After he had finished reading, Mr. Oynicus Douce folded up the slip and replaced it in his pocket- book. " That s a libel on the sex ! " said Amelia. "It s a foul slander on woman, written by a coward ! " bravely exclaimed Miss Brown. "No such creature was ever born!" remarked Miss .Jones. "She s worse than Becky Sharpe ! " " The individual who wrote that was an opium- eater ! " said I>ucy. " It doesn t make it true, ladies, because he says so," added Mr. Douce. " lie magnifies into perfected traits of character, what in nature are never more than bare sugges tions," said Mr. Worthington. "Yes," interrupted Mr. Douce, "we all undoubt edly have two natures within us, and one of these natures has been diabolically magnified by the genial writer of this article beyond all bounds." " Two natures !" said Miss Brown. "I believe we all have two, at least I have, and I m con stantly settling disputes between them. It s a great bore, this hot weather." " Come, Douce," remarked Mr. Worthington, " as you have suggested this dual idea, why can t you give us your views on the subject in extenso ? " A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 147 " It s too late," said Douco. " I don t mean now. Write them out and read them at Paradise Hall. We 11 all go, fifty cents a head." " All right," answered Mr. Douce, " I 11 do it if you will promise to sit it out." Of course they promised, and so it was agreed that Mr. Cynicus Douce should formally present his views on "our dual individuality at Paradise Hall the next Wednesday evening at eight o clock, for the benefit of the library fund. The melon party then took leave of their hospi table host under the starlight. CHAPTER IV. THE LAST CHAPTER IN THE DIARY OF AN UNFORTUNATE GENTLEMAN. ( CORDING to promise, Mr. Douce dreAv from his pocket the diary of the unfortunate gentle man, found in his cham ber after his demise, and proceeded to read the last portions of it to his friends on the " Hill." The little group of attentive listeners gathered around him were eager to hear what else the poor creature had to say about himself and the cruel world which had used him so badly. The ladies of the company, remembering the merciless treatment which he had received at the hands of the " young person in Rome," as Mrs. George Madison Taggart called her, were filled with the hope that the concluding chapters of this doleful history would embody a happier tale, and unfold a better future for their deceased A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 149 brother. Mindful of their own innocence of con duct toward the other sex, they condemned, with out reserve 1 , the heartless coquetry of Eleanor Don ald. They vowed that if these concluding chapters did not exhibit something more noble and compli mentary to their own sex, they would believe the whole thing was a trumped-up affair of Cynicus Donee s, and not at all the truthful tale it pre tended to be. " Ladies/ 1 began Mr. Douce, " please remember that this is a large world, and in it are people hold ing every shade of opinion, and influenced by every variety of motive. We must not deceive ourselves with the thought that real people are made up like the heroes and the heroines of modern romance. The real human heart is a common sort of an affair after all, and its action is governed a good deal after the simple rule of selfishness and self-preser vation. We instinctively pursue that which will redound to our own advantage, and are too apt to be careless about what may happen to our neigh bor. We seldom see those ideal men and women who strut across the stage of modern fiction, parad ing across our stage of experience ; and so, 1 think, we would much better look at life just as we find it, than be always imagining it to be what it is not." Mr. Douce stopped to breathe after this little vir tuous speech, whereupon Amelia said : " For my part, every-day human nature is so hid- 160 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. eons tli at I love to imagine that I live in an atmos phere where things are what 1 would like to have them." " Yes, replied Mr. Douce, "but the constant reading of the modern novel puts us in a false sphere ; and this it is which unfits a man to cope with the ugly realities of life about him. drive me the truth, the immortal truth, bitter or sweet, then I know just where J am. No mawkish sentiment about what never was, will ever make it easier to earn my living." "I agree with you," replied Lady Angela. "And it is this unreality, I take it, wherein lies the bad effect which modern romance produces upon us. But how beautifully we women do act in these works of fiction. I like to cheat myself with the belief that it s all true." " No doubt you are all right, and all wrong, my friends," exclaimed Miss Brown. " Novels are mighty nice things, and I expect to read them all my life. But let s hear our deceased friend s last words first, and then we 11 discuss this other ques tion. Shall Air. Douce begin? " " He shall," they all said. Here appeared on the green a servant with a pitcher of iced lemonade, with tumblers. The clinking ice gave a most refreshing sound. They all partook. After a bumper of this delicious bev erage Mr. Douce read the title of this chapter, which was, A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 151 "TOUJOURS A SWISS IDYL. lio.M Strasbourg to Basle, from Basle to Mencliatel. IVoin Xenchatel to Geneva, and from Geneva to Cha- niounix. that was the route we took. After crossing the Tete-Noir as iar as Martigny, we intended to drive round to Yevay : then go to Berne, Thun, Jnterlachen, and Lau- terbrunneii, so as to be ready to commence a pedestrian lour over the Bernese Alps. At Chamounix it rained like "everything." but when we reached .Martigny the weather cleared again and promised to be steady. The next morning, after our arrival there, was su perb, and we decided at once to ascend the Grand St. Bernard and lodge fora night at the Hospice. The journey up the pass, as far as the little village of Liddes, is performed in char-a-bancs. Then, after the noon-day meal, the mules are taken from the vehicles and mounted for the rest of the way, some twelve miles, to the Hospice. u As we ascended from the vale of Martigny by the little winding road which carried us past the rustic chalets, the low cow-stables, the gushing streams of water, and the sturdv villagers, we had full opportunity to enjoy the scene. Clouds hung over the misty mountain tops, then cleared away, 152 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. leaving their icy summits in bold accentuation against the bluest sky. " Wreathing, lazy smoke found its way into the upper air ; bleating goats and tinkling cow-bells sounded in the distance ; while groups of peas ants in rough homespun stockings and hob-nailed shoes moved by our carriage on their way to and from the hills above. "At breakfast we had partaken heartily of the aromatic Swiss honey, which, with fresh bread and butter, is never more palatable than when one leaves the A ale of Martigny for the Alps above him. As we mounted higher and higher we ob served a party of tourists at some distance in ad vance, which was apparently bound for the same destination as ourselves. Some curiosity was nat urally excited to discover who and what they were. On nearer inspection their dress and general ap pearance proclaimed them to be Knglish. Two young girls, t\vo young men, and a more elderly couple, who might be man and wife. We learned all this from observation from our cJiar-a-banc, as the cavalcade wound its way around the big bowl ders and across the mountain torrents. " Sitting in a constrained position hour after hour was so fatiguing that I alighted from the " char " for a walk. A powerful mule hauled our carriage, and I could but notice her black points and fine action. She drew us up the mountain with great ease, showing no signs of distress, while s A FASHTONAI5LK SUFFERER. 158 her bright eyes glanced from right to left, and her delicate ears moved backward and forward. When she stopped to catch breath, I noticed that our Jehu fed her with bits of black bread which he cut from a loaf taken out of his box. Then, after patting the animal, we would start cheerily up again toward Liddes. "I soon caught up with the English party, with their alpen-stocks and their green veils, their red Murrays and their healthy faces. "As we sauntered up the winding pass I found the men of the company, with whom we fell into conversation, pleasant and chatty. I spied a couple of Alpine roses just l>v the road-side, which I gath ered and courteously presented to the young girls, who accepted them with the usual "thanks. Far ther on I saw, under an immense jutting bowlder, and down some distance from our line of direction, a small bunch of edelweiss, which 1 sprang for ward to pick. This interested the whole company 154 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. a good deal, who stopped and watched my move ments with curiosity. I managed at last to seize upon it, at some little haps, risk, per- of falling off the precipice, yet not enough to make it of any moment. I brought the cov eted white flow ers to the expect ant group and gave them, with a decent show of gal- ntry, to the fairest of ic two girls. This per- deserves especial no- cause she proved to be ctly charming and de- What author is it who has said, The most beautiful, the most lovable, and the purest form in which nature ever exhibits herself, is iu a young woman under twenty: well bred, well born, and well educated; with hair like a fairy and head like a goddess ; straight, lithe, and pure-hearted ; with shell-like ears and chiseled nose. Her laugh like running water, and her breath a morning zephyr. Her woman. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 155 clear, guileless eyes look at you with innocence, while, like the wild game in an unexplored coun try, she walks about her enemy, man, without fear or tremor? The above description fitted the object of our notice in many of its details. She must have been, however, oue-aiid-twenty at least, while her hair, instead of resembling a t airv s. was straigliter and more self-contained than is generally attributed to those creatures of fancy. In other particulars she satisfied the above requirements. As we walked along, we compared each other s alpen-stocks, and the names of the various Swiss wonders branded upon them. It turned out that her party was about leaving Switzerland, having gone over much the same road upon which we were preparing to enter. She told me that they had just passed a night on the Faulthorn," and she maintained that its summit was much higher than the top of the pass we were now mounting. Some of her party her cousins and aunt held the contrary opinion : and she immediately bespoke my partisanship to her side of the question. I told her that I had no doubt that she was correct in her supposition, as I happened to know that there was some eighty or ninety feet in favor of her moun tain. Just then, as we rounded a corner, the clus ter of un painted chalets composing the village of Liddes came into view, and the whole company pressed eagerly forward towards it. " The mules were unharnessed and hitched in 156 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. the shade, while the party amused itself as best it could, awaiting the noon-day meal, which was being prepared. tk I walked round to the log-stable to see the ani mals. There I found the driver of our char-a-banc talking with the ladies of the English party, who were admiring the mule which had pulled our car riage. The man cut off pieces of bread and held them before the animal, which would prick up its ears and advance towards the tempting morsel, in quite a noble style. " " What is its name ? asked the elder of the two ladies. " Toujours, madam e ! replied the driver, touch ing his visor. " Toujours ! What an odd name. May I ask why it has such a curious one ? A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 157 " Oh, yes, certainly, madam e ! We call her Tou jours because she is always so willing- to go, and always so good-natured, and always so him- gry- . " k I m sure, then, Toujours is very appropriate to her, said the lady. u " That is the best mule in the whole canton, madame ; and would n t mademoiselle sketch her for my wife ? asked the man, looking towards the younger lady. / v " I hardly feel up to that sort of thing, re plied the beautiful girl ; k perhaps this gentleman would/ looking at me as she spoke. " k I don t mind trying, said I, but let me get a good look at her first, and I walked around the animal to examine her points. Soon after this I entered what, by the sign over the door, was the tap-room of the rude inn which served for a refuge for travelers. I seated myself on a bench and before a wide, long deal table which extended down the whole length of the low-studded and vacant apart ment, and upon which meals were served. I took out my utensils for drawing, and commenced a sketch of Toujours from memory. "I drew her head and rubbed it out, then com menced again, got her expression, went on, came to her fore-legs, and stopped to decide what was best next to do, when I perceived what seemed to be the quiet, regular breathing of something or somebody just over my head. I raised my pencil 158 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. from the paper, and, while the color mounted in my cheeks, I turned slowly about in the direction of the sound. There, just above my shoulders and not a yard from my own face, stood the beautiful English girl and her aunt watching my operations with respectful interest. " Excuse us for interrupting you ? said the older lady, w but we are very much interested to see how Toujours comes on. " It is no interruption, said I. * I don t think I ve succeeded anv too well/ u The likeness is very good: and how rapidly you do it ! You are something of an artist, I see. " Yes, perhaps so. I am very fond of sketching, I replied, as T finished the drawing. " Oil, that is fine ! exclaimed the beautiful girl, who had not spoken before, but who could not re- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 159 strain the expression of JUT approval. It s capi tal, and so like Toujours, please let me look at it, so she took the sketch in her own fair hands while 1 peeped just over her shoulder. This was the second step in or,r acquaintance; so when we started from Liddes for the Hospice, 1 felt that perhaps 1 was warranted in trotting lie- side her on Toujours for the remainder of the jour ney. The summit of the (irand St. Bernard is a gloomy spot ; hut very like all other summits of the Alps. The mere debris of the world as if Omnipotence had piled up the pieces there, after finishing creation. Our united parties straggled up single file, to a, barn-looking structure, and were met by one of the holy brethren, who at once dashed to the ground all my preconceived notions of the monks of St. Bernard. * Instead of an aged man with cowl and san dal, with lantern and alpen-stock, followed by a faithful dog, we were received by a bustling young gentleman in glasses. He wore a tall black visor- less hat, long garment, reaching to the feet, of the same material, and the white badge of his order about his neck. lie was neither emaciated by penury, nor bronzed by exposure, but in the most affable manner he conducted us to the salon, where the cloth was laid for dinner, and he directed our attention to an open piano. 160 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. u A regular menu, with Bordeaux wine, took the place of the ideal fare of the monks of old. After this, the stranger s book was brought in for our sig natures. ki The nationality of our newly made acquaint ances was a certainty, in our minds, while they were not as well informed in regard to our own. For while we talked English perfectly well, we certainly were not English. And as there were so many blue-eyed Germans and Russian tourists who spoke the Anglo tongue without an accent, a well-bred curiosity was pardonable to discover whom we should actually prove to be. How well 1 remem ber the signatures of our English friends. That of my particular acquaint ance was bold and very legible. She took the pen and wrote, l Miss Edith (rey, Tamworth, England, without hesita tion. It then came to our own turn, and I noticed the look of suppressed satisfaction when they finally settled the ques tion as to who and what we were. Such a merry time we had after dinner, singing national songs, and telling our adventures ! kt The accommodations for the night at the llos- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 161 pice were abundant. The beds had canopies, albeit there was but one small window in our chambers, and that one cross-barred with iron. " The next morning we awoke in a great snow storm, and the look outside was anything 1 but pro pitious. We attended early mass, deposited in the charity-box what we judged equivalent to a night s lodging, inspected the morgue, where were the unreclaimed bodies of those unfortunates who an; found on the mountains, and then prepared our selves to descend into the valley. The whole Alp was enveloped in a snow-cloud. We could scarcely 11 162 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. see our way, so that I feared lest Miss Grey might lose, her self-possession and something befall her. This was my excuse for posting myself at her bri dle, and guiding her mule down the blind and slippery pass. " The party would at one time be completely lost in the great surging cloud : and then emerge again with weird effect from the enormous rifts which lay about us. This circumstance brought Miss (irey and myself constantly together, and I re joiced that the snow was as thick as it was, and that 1 had the good fortune of being up in the clouds with such a charming woman. "1 shall not soon forget the grand sight of the lower valley, reveling in sunshine, and sparkling in the drops of the recent showers, which suddenly burst upon us, as we slowly emerged from the snow- cloud : iirst our feet, then our persons, and last of all our drenched and dripping heads. It was like a sudden revelation a beautiful vision brought before our eyes. " Weary, delighted, and lilled with satisfaction, mv companion and I bade our friends good-night at the foot of the mountain, promising to meet them all again on the following day. Unluckily, we were lodged at different hotels, which made it a little more difficult to meet; still that fact stimulated my wish to do so all the more. Some unfortunate experiences in former years had made me somewhat wary of placing implicit faith in anybody ; yet I A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 163 was strongly impressed that the sweet friend whom I had so recently met was true and noble. " Another beautiful day had tempted the whole English party, with the exception of Miss Edith Grey, to make an excursion to a famous waterfall on the road to Vevay. Calling at their hotel after breakfast, and on entering their salon, I was gra ciously received by my new acquaintance, who begged me to select the easiest seat I could find, and told me that the rest of her party were away for a day s frolic. After consultation with a pleas ant-looking Swiss courier, who had been their guide all through the mountains, she seated herself in my neighborhood, and beside a white porcelain stove. " Every one who has traveled knows how easily people become intimate with others whom they chance to meet on their journey, and that one s most cherished friends are sometimes those whose acquaintance has been made in just this manner. Didn t we have a charming day at the Hos pice yesterday ? said niy companion. " * Indeed, yes, and unexpectedly so, I replied, because I commenced the excursion as a matter of duty. I promised my friends at home to go there. " I m so glad that our last impressions of Switz erland are so delightful : and when we get back to England we shall all think that a monk s life on St. Bernard is not so bad a lot after all. " * When do you start for Paris? inquired I. 164 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER, " To-morrow afternoon, I believe ; and don t forget that when you come to England you must surelv visit Tamworth. " * I could scarcely help doing so, I answered ; k for to me, England its Tamworth, and Tamworth, England. " I m sure you would like it ; and when you come to us, you must sketch my little filly that I ride on. I>ut before I forget it, would it be ask ing too much for a sketch of Toujours? " dear Tou jours ? " She \vas such a beauty. " " With the greatest pleasure in the world, said I. Have you pencil and paper? "Here they all are, so you ve no excuse, ex claimed she with a merrv laugh, k The pencil is lovely and sharp, is n t it? 1 did that. " Just right : but what shtill I draw upon? " k Here s the back of my music-book : will that do? " " The very thing. What shall she be doing? " * Let me see. I think I M like to have her hitched at the log-barn, when the driver fed her with bread, and you were just coming no, just hitched ai the barn, I think, Avill do. " \ es ! I know. "So I commenced the sketch, while a delicious repose fell upon the scene. As I drew, she looked over my shoulder, and rested her head on the back of my chair, and I could feel her sweet breath fan my cheek as it came and went ; and sometimes, A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 165 when I would stop drawing, and lean back in order to see the k effect " of the sketch, my face would come mighty near her own rosy countenance, but not a bit too near, and she did n t seem to mind it, and I know 1 did n t. " It took me a long time to complete the like ness of Toujours ; I don t think I ever was so long making one before, but 1 could n t bear to alter a single circumstance in the situation of things about us. Had I finished the sketch before I act ually did, then it would hardly have been the thing to sit that way any more, and my delight would have come suddenly to an end. Miss (Irey said she must take the sketch in her own hands, to see it : and then I had to take it in mine, just to alter something wrong about the ears of Tou jours, and then she must needs look at it herself again, " to see if what I had done had improved it at all ; and then 1 wanted to take it just a sec ond, to % rub out a wrong line about the fore-legs ; and then she said that I must let her have it, for I would certainly spoil it to touch it any more, it was just perfect as it was. 1 And so we kept it ii}). from out of her hands into mine, until at last we had both the sketch and our hands in each other s hands, without reali/ing exactly what we were both about : and yet I think we both realized, "a little, the true position of affairs, after all. That s glorious!" exclaimed mv companion, after 1 had completed the picture for the fifteenth 166 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. time ; Low can you do it so rapidly ? Now, I 11 just piu it up here on the wall to show to Aunt Mary and my cousins when they return. You re very good, I in sure, she continued. Not good, said I, looking her in the eye, but happy- "Hasn t your talent for drawing given you much pleasure ? " \ es : and some queer adventures as well. %% Ah! do tell me some, said she, in a pleading tone. " Perhaps I will, for I in already commencing to feel communicative. It should he a reciprocal sort of an agreement, however. " How queer that we should know each other so well away oil here in Switzerland, when, day before yesterday neither of us suspected there w;is such a creature living, - said Miss (Jrey, with an expression of wonderment on her handsome face. "Yes, strange 1 enough. 1 believe I was born just for this afternoon ! " I m curious to know if you have parents, she said, with elevated eyebrows and sympathetic voice. " No. " A real orphan? How I pity you. v Yes, a real, living orphan. " k Is that the reason why you look so sad? " One reason. " Do tell me about yourself. An orphan s ex perience must be very unique ! A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 167 "I ll agree to relate an adventure which hap pened to me once while I was sketching away up in the hill-country of England, but only on one condition. " And that one, of course said she (smelling an Alpine rose). " Is that you take pity on my motherless state, and confide something to me in return. " Can an orphan he trusted ? inquired she, with a sweet smile. " Trusted! Don t you see, an orphan has no body to whom it can possibly impart its secrets. * I never thought of that before. 1 have a mind. she added, after a moment s musing, * I have a mind, if you "11 tell no one, and care to return to our hotel after luncheon, and will not ask loo many questions, to narrate the circumstances of a case which happened to a young lady once who was much younger than she is now and who was way ward and foolish, and who would never do such a thing again as long as she lived. " 1 promise, solemnly, on the word of an or phan. >k> I know F ought n t to do it. said she. ponder ing over the idea : -but I just tintxf, this once: ;ind to an orphan, too, it really makes some difference, doesn t it? she inquired with winsomeness. " " All the difference in the world, cried 1, as I bade her good-moT ning for the present, and rushed to my hotel for luncheon. 108 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. " After my return I found Miss Grey quite eager to listen to my adventiire, for she seated herself at my feet, and raising up her full, brown gazelle eyes to mine, said, Begin immediately, for I am dying to hear it. " THE STORY OF A LEAD PENCIL. u I was once passing the Sunday at a hotel in the lake and hill country of England, and in the neighborhood of a shin ing river. The little inn had quite a wide veranda in the rear, which af forded a splendid vie\v of the distant water and the pretty village: be neath us. The weather was warm, and the house was full of strangers. Among other parties I noticed one in particular, which consisted of two young ladies, and another older one who was their chaperon, and two male companions students they appeared to be who were evidently dear acquaintances, while one of these gentlemen was undoubtedly a lover of the younger girl. The boy was just at that stage of the passion when he had surrendered uncondition ally to the enemy, and with all thought of further resistance abandoned was begging that he might simply wear her chains, and be put to the most A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 169 menial service, so that she be the gainer by it. Poor fellow ! I pitied him, and it was painful to view his pale, passionate, and imploring attitude as he approached his conqueror. She was like a beau tiful kitten who had caught her first mouse. Her great eyes sparkled with a laughing ferocity. Her cheeks were burning with the flush of youth and victory; while her lithe and girlish figure moved about with the dignity and consciousness of a suc cessful victor. There is no grander sight, in its way, than a young girl s return from her first suc cessful foray into an. enemy s country; and this one was a fair exhibition of such an event. She glanced at her victim with delight, first snubbing him almost to tears, then beaming upon him with a look of such ineffable tenderness that it made the young man tremble with emotion. Then she would walk with him on the piazza, up and down, up and down : cutting her eyes about from right to left, as if in search of other conquests ; taking care, however, to keep firm hold on the writhing victim in her grasp. k> l noticed all this philandering as I satin one ( orner of the piazza, sketching a large oak, half detached from the ground, a nd inclined over the precipice, but still held lirm by its roots to the soil. The murderous purpose, then and there, entered into my mind to try the power of my pencil, and see if I could not attract the attention of the beauty, madden with jealousy her boyish lover, and 170 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. finally steal an acquaintance with this beautiful and untamed l Katharine. This is the way I went to work : I sharpened my pencil, took a fresh sheet of paper, and every time the little beauty ap proached my position on the piazza, I would look at her so seriously, so admiringly, and so interest edly, that it at last attracted her attention. Then, as she got close to where I sat, 1 woidd immediately put down my head and commence to draw as rap idly as possible. After several repetitions of this sort of pantomime, her curiosity was so piqued that she could not restrain herself from casting sidelong glances at the picture, as she moved up and down the veranda. These glances became bolder and bolder, until she became certain that it was her likeness I was attempting to sketch. " Now you must remember that this young lady v O </ was still an imprudent and wayward school-girl ; that she was untamed as a colt, and, moreover, not above seventeen years of age. She had already conquered one manly booby who was blubber ing at her side, and was now seeking further to satisfy her appetite with more dangerous game. She looked beautiful as she proudly sailed by with her languishing tender beside her. He, wretched boy, was already black with jealousy, and scowled at me with direful vengeance as he passed by my corner. Matters were fast approaching a crisis. I said to myself, There is nothing gained by delay. I certainly have a right to sketch with my pencil, A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 171 and if rocks and trees, why not pretty girls ? Echo answered, why not? So my mind was at ease. Luckily at this juncture the rest of her party appeared at the hall door with shawl and parasol, all prepared for a walk to a neighboring summit to witness the sunset. They asked the beauteous " Katharine to accompany them. But she excused herself on the score of a headache. The chaperon then begged her, but she refused again, alleging a desire to take a nap. The student belonging to Katharine s companion next lent his voice of entreaty, but she put him off with a pretty laugh of derision. Finally, as a last resort, the fainting lover ventured, sotto voce, and timidly, to beseecli her himself : k For my sake, Kate, said he ; but she ruthlessly snubbed him, in that loveliest of all womanly ways, by ignoring his suggestion alto gether, and saying, * Xow you all go and have a good time, and when you return I shall be so bright from my nap you won t know me. There, Maggie, take my hat. It "s broader-brimmed than yours, and will keep the sun off better. Good-by ! " So they were forced to go without her, lover and all ; leaving behind them the charming Kate on a secluded piazza, a Sunday afternoon among the mountains, and an artist somewhere in the dis tance, sketching her portrait, a dangerous con catenation of circumstances, surely ! " A denouement was rapidly approaching. Kath arine stopped at the upper end of the veranda, 172 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. and leaning her pretty head on both her plump white hands, surveyed the wide, woody landscape which lay before her with anxious eye. Said I to myself, Will she now go in and leave me, or will she Macawber-like wait for "something to turn up. One moment passed, then another, still another, with no change in the situation. By Jove! she s not going, said I. k What an oppor tunity ! Everybody either in bed or on the top of a distant hill. I 11, I ve a good mind to pork up and show her her portrait ! And if she remains where she is until I ve counted ten, by Jove! I 11 go and yes, 1 11 go and speak to her, whatever happens. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Here goes! "As I finished counting, I arose from mv place in the corner as quietly as possible, took the sketch in my hand, and walked in an easy, nonchalant manner toward the blushing maiden, who ap peared to be so unconsciously beholding the crim son sunset. " My hat was off a long way before I reached her proximity; and then, after swallowing rapidly several times, to enable me to do what I had never done in mv life before, I spoke to the lovely crea ture without being properly presented. " k I trust you will pardon my speaking without introduction, for I confess I was unable to resist taking a sketch of your face; and here it is in my hands to prove what I say. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 173 " Oh, not at all, sir, replied the young girl, frightened at the scene she had so rashly provoked. " Will you be pleased to look at it? I con tinued, and see if it is like ? " Oh, thanks ! I knew I think I should rec ognize it anywhere. You have flattered me, sir ! " I don t think 1 have. I was attracted by your marvelous resemblance to a dear friend of mine. Will you honor me by accepting the sketch? " Oh, thanks, sir ! If you please I d like to send it home. " But I don t want you to send it home. I wish you to keep it/ " k l will, then, and hang it iu my dormitory! " Ah, you are a school-girl, are you ? " Yes. I go to boarding-school ; but this is my last term. " And then - said I. " k Then said she. " And then what, please ? I persisted. " I shall " come out," I suppose. " Are you anxious to "come out," as you call it? " She looked at me with a knowing smile, and gave two or three quick nods of assent. I ven tured to remark, " " When you d > " come out," you 11 have to be awfully " proper." " I know it; and that is why I am having such a good time now. 174 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. " You an; certainly having everything your o\vn way up here, Avith some members of your party. " She eyed me askance for a moment, and while a deep color mantled her peachy cheek, replied, Oh, he "s nothing ! " Won t you take a bit of a walk with me? 1 said I, beseechingly. " 1 told than 1 was going to take a nap, she answered. " No matter, cried I, tJu t/ "re gone, and you are far from sleepy. Will you, please? " Only once or twice, then, up and down the piazza, she replied, as she straightened up from her leaning position on the balustrade, and wrapped her mantilla about her rounded shoulders. " k I nr very grateful for "once or twice." "So we started on our tramp. That once or twice was prolonged to hundreds and thousands. I found her as communicative as a little parrot. She imparted to me lots of family history ; how this poor student had actually offered himself, and how she was only liaving a harmless flirtation with him nothing more; that she couldn t think of marrying him, or anybody, for three or four years at least, and that she really loved her cousin Joe better than all the world. kw Could n t you ever love anybody but cousin Joe? " I might play /o>v, but T don t think I could ever love that kind where you cry, and have to go A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 175 and tell your mother all about it, she answered, with an innocent expression on her pretty face. kk Could you almost love anybody besides cousin Joe ? kk Perhaps I might, a very little "almost," said she, with a quizzical, coquettish expression which revealed the whole case to me ; so I added, " k I don t want you to forget me. " k I never shall," she whispered. " I never can yon, I murmured, with deep feel ing. " Nonsense! When you bid good-by, you II never think of me again! " k When 1 leave you, it will be with painful emotions. 176 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. " That s splendid, said she. " When I go back to school, your sketch will always bring back the pleasantest memories. 1 "11 plague the girls awfully. " Thank you, very much ! I would n t mind a little of that sort of tiling. " I knowl oughtn t to talk with you in this way, she said, with an expression of apparent sad ness. u If you do nothing worse than this, you will surely go to heaven. " It seems as if everything 1 want to do is al ways wrong I u k Why, my little friend, your conscience is as tender as all the other angels ! You are doing nothing wrong and won t you give me some thing to remember this afternoon by . " * What con. you want. " Oh, your glove, that bit of silk there any little "snip" that I can keep. 1 " " You don t really want that ! " * Indeed, I do."* " How much? " Ever and ever so " Well ! I really think you deserve some return for your my likeness, and I 11 just give you this bow here, if you want it u ever and ever so," she rattled on thus while she was detaching the scrap of ribbon from her dress. " Allow me to help you ! said I. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 177 " No! thanks ! I can do it perfectly well myself; there take it (jit this moment her party ap peared returning from their excursion) quick quick. Oh, dear! There they all are, returning from their walk, and 1 have n t taken a nap after all : and they see me, and I ve lold a lie, and there Ml he a pretty ro\v. Run away as quickly as you can. \\ hat can I say? How shall I explain? \Vhile she was giving vent to these expressions 1 stood silently by her side, holding the ribbon in my lin gers and awaiting the impending shock. MMie party had indeed returned. MMie foremost one had already appeared at the door which opened on the piaz/a, and saw me plainly receive from her tiny hands the silken memento. This individual was the love-sick student. While the rest of her party crowded about Katharine, this young gentle man walked up to where I was standing and with anything but a saintly expression of countenance I demand that you give up to me the rilibon which that young lady just; gave you ! " Who are you and by what authority do you make such an extraordinary request? I replied. * I am that young lady s friend, and tlutt is niv authority," said he, with a face blanched with anger. I am that young lady s friend also, and that is niv authority for refusing your impudent demand. k> Meanwhile, Katharine s party had retired with 12 178 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. her into the hotel evidently in a troubled and disorganized condition, which left the young stu dent and myself alone together. u " You had no right, sir, to take advantage of the absence of her protectors, and accost that young lady without presentation , and if you communi cate with her in any way again., you will have to account personally to me for your ungentlemanly conduct. ""My young friend, said I. I admire, your spirit and all that, but I can assure you that your charming friend has been in no \vay compromised by any act of mine ; and I am proud to say that we are the very best of friends. 1 " k You are a rascal, said he : and I ll teach you better manners ! Take that, for your artistic im pudence ! \Yith this ejaculation he struck at me with his list. J easily eluded the blow, however, and catching him by the throat pinned him against one of the pillars of the pia/.za. " Ah! my hoy; do you know that I can choke you to death, and throw your body over the cliffs, and trill do so, too, if you don t listen to reason and jay explanation. Holding him there, I then went on : I don t Avant your girl, nor have, I done anything to call forth all this rumpus. I mi-rely showed your friend the little likeness which I had drawn of her, and then naturally fell into an agreeable conversation about it, which, by IHT sweet condesceiisioji and my own importunity, has lasted A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 179 as long as it did. I can assure you that she has proved herself the most delightful of young ladies; that her manners are only equaled by her beauty, and that, in short, all the fol-de-rol which you are making about this little adventure is pure nonsense. Finally, I beg your pardon, sir, and the pardon of all your party, and the young lady s pardon too, if 1 have done the least thing to offend any of them by my actions this afternoon. During this long explanation 1 held the love sick student firmly braced back against the post, but gradually eased the grip on his neck, as I ap proached the conclusion of my harangue. This af forded him great relief, and permitted him at last 180 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. to ejaculate : T see that I was mistaken, sir, and I ac-cept your apology and will go and make it all right with my lady-friend. Thank yon/ he added, as I let go his throat and offered him a cigar. He didn t accept it, however, but vanished inside the hotel, leaving me in possession of the iield and the little ribbon, which was well worth all the effort I had put forth to obtain it. Late that night, as 1 descended the main stair way, I heard, far above me in the darkness, a sweet voice which whispered, Good-night and good-by, forever, 1 looked up in the black air, but could see nobody : and this was the end of the story of k The Lead Pencil. " During the relation of this youthful episode Miss Edith Grey looked steadilv up into my face, while a ruddy cheek told plainly that she had fol lowed with interest every word of the narration. "That night as we both sat together in the little inn at Martignv. while the gloaming stole silently over the vale, I confess to a deep feeling of con tentment and ddight, such as had seldom fallen to my lot before. kw Yon were verv naughty to u earrv on" so with the little lassie, said Miss (Jrey, at last. It was my pencil that did it not I. " Aren t you sorry that your pencil acted so naughty ? " I m very sorry that I m not sorry ; but I in not ! A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 181 " You could n t surely blame the lover for his indignation at your conduct! " "Not a bit ; I admired his pluck/ " And you think you were very bold and wicked in accosting the little tiling without an introduc tion ; don t von ? " I suppose I must have been; but I ll never do it again ! " You were a very bad boy : but, to be frank with von, I believe I should have done ihe same thini; 1 , were I in \our place/ . " Had you been in the voung girl s place, 1 should never have had the courage to do what. I did. " Why, I thought yon were very courageous! " Before angels! I never am. " k You must n t Hatter me, for that "s not nice! " u " Lead me not into temptation, then, said I. "And now we 11 have //<>t/r lit tie story, if you please. kk It s getting too late for that, 1 see, almost six o clock. I fear we must defer it until we all meet in Tain worth. twk () Miserie! I m truly disappointed, said I. crestfallen, for I in a first-rate listener! " Then yon would make a good father confessor, she archlv added. To be the depository of your coid ession, I d take orders this very minute ! u I would n t like you to be a priest, though ! " * Why ? Not long enough to hear your story ? 182 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. " A woman s confession is a tale of weakness, you know ! " And of love ? Are they not equivalent terms ? " Perhaps so ! It is a wretched state, that of a mortal who has a secret which he can t impart ! " Or she can t impart, said I. They tell me that a woman s secret burns to gain utterance. She must tell it to somebody. " I 11 tell it all to you, in Tamworth, said she, sonic day. " If I remain much longer, I ll tell all my se cret to i/on here in this very inn, replied I, with ex citement. " The hours have surely sped rapidly away to day, she seemed to think aloud. " Yes. Ilmv swiftly falls the foot of Time which only treads on flowers," quoting the old trite line. " Dear me, we all go back to England to-mor row by the diligence, said Miss Edith Orey, with a sigh. " Ah, how unfortunate ! At what o clock ? " Eleven. I believe." " I shall certainly be here to see you off ; and you will pardon me, I know,. said I, quietly, if I confess how greatly I regret your departure. This day has been to me a day of heavenly peace. " Do you, indeed, regret our going? Well, I have no hesitation to acknowledge that the agree A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 18o able events clustering about our newly-made ac quaintance and this little quiet evening at Mar- tigny make it equally sad for me to say goocl-by. Here the red sun sank behind the snow-capped peaks. We took each other s hands and bade fare well, and then farewell again, and yet another farewell before I realized what 1 was doing, or could tear myself from her dear presence. 1 re turned at last to my hotel with a throbbing heart, and, if I must confess it, a tearful eye. " The next morning I hastened to see the party off. b Mine host, at the inn, told me that the last night s mail had brought dreadful news to the Kng- lish party. The father of one of the young ladies had suddenly died, and the whole company had rushed away back over the Tcte-Xoir to Cha- mounix. and so on as rapidly as possible toward England. " Here I was then, suddenly separated by a cruel fate from one in whom I had learned to confide, and to whom 1 was just about to open my heart; from one also with whom 1 felt perfectly en ra/>- port* and who was fast growing to be a dear object of my regard. What was T to do? Where was I to go? In this case there was no deceit, no heart- lessness ; our friendship was healthy and rational : our regard mutual and honest, and I was forced to confess at last that there were, indeed (after all my sad experience to the contrary), true-hearted women in the world. 1 had no other alternative, 184 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. however, but to follow out my original plan of travel, and hope for better things. So 1 and my companion went to Vevay and Lauterbrunnen ; thence walking over the liernese Alps we reached at last the pretty city of Lucerne. From this point we spent a night on the " Kighi ; and in the evening, at the miniature inn on the summit, I spied, among the group of guides who were talking together, the vcrv courier who had been with my dear English friends through Switzerland, and whom 1 remembered was conversing with Miss (Jrey on the occasion of mv first visit to her hotel. It was the work of but a moment for mutual recog nition, and from him 1 heard most grateful news concerning the object of my solicitude. "Fraiit// described to me her precipitate departure, and the terrible state of sorrow into which the sad news had plunged the whole party. " lie showed me a watch and several other trink ets which the young ladies had given him when he- left their service, and told me, what I pri/ed (In most to hea r, that i mademoiselle, the one with the large mild eves, monsieur, had told him that, if he ever saw monsieur, to explain to him the dreadful circumstances of their sudden departure, and also to bid him good-by for her and n revolt . And this was all the comfort I got, and this is all the comfort I ve had these many weary months which have passed awav since the precious idvl at Martigny was so rudely broken up ; yet in my A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 185 dreams and waking moments, I am comforted by that little word Toujours, Toujours, whichever sounds in my memory. "One night, in Paris, as I reached my apart ments, I found, lying on my table, this telegram : " T.YMWOKTH, ENCJLAND, November 19, 187 " We all start for America by the Cunarder of the 21st, ToiMorus. k They have already gone, said I, for to-night is the 22d of November. I could bear the suspense no longer, and as soon as I could arrange my affairs I felt impelled, as if by some hidden influence, to follow them. And I h<t> e followed them, sought them in all the principal cities of this great Union, out to Colorado and down to Florida; and now here I am in this checker-board city, so friendless, so forlorn, so very, very ill. " Heaven be praised for one crumb of comfort which has just this moment arrived to illumine my otherwise sunless lot. This little letter has fol lowed me from place to place, and, by the same relentless fate which has pursued me so long, has never quite reached me, until it finds me ill and despairing. Will it prove mere irony, a mockery of words, and, like Moses of old, shall I onlv behold the land of promise, and be deprived the happiness of crossing a Jordan to possess it? 186 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. " NEW YOKK, .//// 17, -. " We have just heard you arc in this country, as AVC arc about to reembark for England. Do come back to Tamworth, and liear the little adven ture 1 promised to tell you in confidence, in the vale of JNlartigny. ToiMOUiis. "If tliere is strength enough remaining I start to-night, but " When Mr. Douce had finished reading, the effect produced upon his listeners was evidently not alto gether favorable. ;- I was hoping," said Ilildegarde, "that that poor fellow was at last to be happy." "Remember," said Mr. Douce, u that this is a true story, not a romance." " I know it," replied Ilildegarde ; "but is there A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 187 nobody happy, then ? Good gracious! I was flat tering myself that /was the only wretched creature in this world. Grief is getting to be altogether too common nowadays." " Happy," answered Mr. Douce, " of course (here are creatures who are happy: there are the May-bugs, for instance. Mr. Worthington remarked "that this poor gen tleman did have one cruml) of comfort at last." "A pretty dry crumb, though, and one which never sustained him sufficiently to get over to Eng land to his girl," said Lawrence. "There is always something which steps in just as one is about to grasp what one lias lieen aiming at all of one s life, and dashes it away," sighed Miss Lucv. ".lust hear that youngster! One Mould think she had met with some great disappointment. tk Well, I don t believe," continued Miss Lucy, "there is anybody living who lias n t suffered in this wav, young or old." " That s what makes some, of our characters so lovelv. my dear," replied Ladv Angela. " It s inscrutable to me," said Mr. D^mce, "how disappointments can possibly improve a body s character. I hate them now as heartily as ever I did when I was in petticoats, and I believe if I had never had any, my temper would have remained as angelic as it is. " Yes, just about," said Angela, laughing. 188 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. u I m sorry for the poor fellow, too ; " said Miss Brown, u for somehow I can t get him out of my mind. I don t see why Edith Grey didn t find him, and he her, and they both become happy like sensible people. "And get married," said Hildegarde. " Yes, and get married," said Miss Brown. " And live in England in fine style." u Yes, and but why did n t they, do you think?" " Because," said Mr. Douce, u this is a true story and not a romance, and that s why." CHAPTER V. LECTURK IN I ARADISK HALL. r l"HK little circle of friends in Paradise was inter ested in regard to the wav in which Mr. Cynicus Douce proposed to treat the subject oi his lecture. Opinion was about equally divided, some holding that he would surely discover a humorous side to it; and the other, that he would not. As Mr. Douce possessed a mind in which the sublime and the ridiculous were in close juxtaposition, tin; chances for either view were about equal. A pleasant feature of life in the country is, that the miniature community becomes excited over every subject, large or small, which for the moment happens to occupy its attention. Whatever the ripple may be, temporary enthusiasm prevails un til something fresher takes its place. So it was in this instance. "Our Dual Individualities," said little Paradise; " what on earth is the meaning of that? The news had even reached the country store ; and one old farmer remarked that he heard " Squire, Douce was going to speak to the Hall and show 190 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. how he and the rest of the boarders had another body inside of "em," and " for his part he believed they had, for the way they acted the fourth July, looked a leetle as if they all saw double." The young people perceived at once that the topic was too dry for them, and determined to keep away from the Mall on Wednesday night. Mr. Douce himself Avas quite perplexed as to his best method of procedure. He did not mean to " back out," after promising to write his views on the subject ; but the truth was, he had no views at all upon it. Still, to carry out his purpose, it was imperative to have some sort of theory on which to start his lecture. He therefore went out into a. neighboring lot, several evenings before the one appointed, in order to ruminate upon the matter and endeavor, if possible, to lay out a train of thought which he could carry to a logical conclu sion. lie found this no easy task, and as the time ap proached he became more and more nervous in his action and appearance. lie was forced to absent himself from the pleasant coterie assembled on the piazza, in order to complete his herculean labor, and he subjected himself to all manner of good- natured jokes as he flew from his writing to his meals, and from his meals to his writing again. u Heavens !" said his friends on the hill, u how relieved we shall all be when Cynicus has delivered himself of that horrid lecture." A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 191 " And delivered us of it as well," said his friend Lawrence, with a mischievous smile. " I trust," remarked Lady Angela, good - a- turedry, " that our friend will never attempt such a subject again. He will surely die in the effort, for thinking always tells upon him fearfully." u We must applaud him to the echo, even if he- fails," said the kind-hearted Amelia. " And throw flowers at him, in any event but there he is/ said Miss Brown, as the gentleman in question passed over the lawn with a large roll of papers under his arm. How far have you got, Mr. Philosopher?" " You see just how far," replied Mr. Douce, laughing, as lie came to a sudden stand-still, and wiped his brow. k - If I told you any more, you would never come to hear me." u Will your lecture be k illustrated ? "" I may put in several cuts for some of my friends ? " replied Cynicus, as he went on his way rejoicing. The evening came and Mr. Douce was at his O post in white cravat. The heat was oppressive, but the friendly audience in front of him did not seem to mind it, for they fanned themselves into a lower temperature and greeted each other with catching good-humor. There is a peculiar sort of delight which steals over one as he seats himself in his allotted place in a public hall, and watches 192 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. his friends as they trip past him, singly or in coup les, to their respective places. The. little nods and smiles and ecstatic recognitions going on all about produce a unique species of exaltation which no other joy quite resembles. And what is so delight ful about it is, that "young men and maidens, old men and children," are equally affected by the same pleasing emot ion. Mr. Douce appeared well in evening dress, though pale, and somewhat ill at ease. Alter spreading out his MS. on the desk and sipping from a tumbler of water, he thus began : ADIKS AND (JHNTLK.MKN, I trust you will bear with me this evening while 1 present a few remarks on the subject of < )ur 1 )ual Individuality. " I claim to be neither phil osopher noi metaphysician, and therefore I offer only prac tical observations, suggested from the stand-point of com mon, every-day thought. "You will acquit me of a desire to usurp either the place or the principles of any school of ethics, because you are fully aware that I appear here sim ply in pursuance of a promise which I hastily made under the genial influence of friendly hospitality, and from no aspiring ambition of my own. (Here he sips the water again.) A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 193 " It is well, perhaps, that we should occasionally pause in our humdrum, every - day existence and ponder over subjects which, though actually beyond our reach, are constantly exerting a mysterious in fluence upon our lives. Such pauses, even if they settle nothing, have a tendency to divert the mind into more serious channels than it is wont to pur sue, and, therefore, to strengthen its natural fibre. " I will only add, that in consenting to be pres ent this evening, you have the proud satisfaction of adding to the wasted exchequer of the Paradise Library Fund/ an object so dear to each one of our hearts. (Applause.) Ahem ! Questions concern ing the mysteries of mind and matter, and their subtle relations to each other, are unusually attract ive to the human intellect. The laws of chance and causation have tried its mettle, while the Theistic Theory and the doctrine of * Immanent Finality have stirred its deepest philosophical powers. I have wondered how it would affect the world if it could actually decide any one of these important questions. For instance, if it could both mathe matically and scientifically demonstrate that there was either something or nothing left to us of our ancient creeds besides the ego-consciousness. Or if we had finally proved, either that molecules moved themselves, or that there was an active, intelligent force behind them, pushing them on, what effect would the settlement of these questions have upon the welfare of the world 13 194 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. " The philosophic mind loves to burrow among the roots of peradventure and the tangled fibres of uncertainty. It revels in the clouds of dust raised by its own digging ; and it does not seem to matter so much that anything is logically proved, as it does that there is rich territory before it into which it may continue to delve. But this is only in conformity with a general law ; for the mind, like the body, is at its best when actively employed. " Our Dual Individuality is the subject of my paper this evening. Although this theme has a smack of the metaphysical and unintelligible about it, it still will commend itself as a very common and practical fact. And while I am free to con fess that it deals with matters about which but lit tle is known, a feature, however, which must inhere, of necessity, to all intellectual discussions, it still possesses the element of attractiveness, for it pertains to our actual daily experience, which we talk about as if we knew whereof we speak, which is pretty nearly as comforting as if we did. u Every one is aware that consciousness is that attribute of our intellectual natures which allows us to perceive what passes in our own minds. I must not stop very long here for fear that some body might ask, what right any one has to call that a mind as we understand the meaning of that word in which our perception tells us things are A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 195 passing : if the mind does not perceive this passage, luit leaves the perception to perform that office ! If this be true, I don t see the necessity of having a mind at all, and I should rank consciousness, or perception, far above it as the intellectual reser voir, and degrade the mind to a position even below that of the liver or the spleen: for tJicij always know when anything is passing through them. But I hurry on to say that, having shown the high po sition occupied bv our consciousness, I would re spectfully make this inquiry: that if every healthy individual has consciousness, what is there to pre vent his having two, or even more, consciousnesses? No argument can be advanced to prove that there is anything to prevent it ; in fact he has two. Proof of this is both self-evident and plentiful. Before passing to this, however, I pause for an in stant to indulge in a little hyperbole on these phe nomena within us. " Two wonderful self-consciousnesses in the same body ! One perfect entity working, at one time in accordance with another perfect entity ; then again at variance with it! One great soul-judge sum moning another great soul-judge before a court of last appeal with no name! .V man calling himself before himself for judgment pronounced by himself on himself! One good second thought condemn ing us for the commission of crime suggested by one first bad thought! One bad iirst intention withstanding to the death a single good intention, 196 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. interposed by one good second thought ! This entity in a bad man is a devil ! In a good one, an angel I But to resume : " And God said, in the book of Genesis, Come, let us make man, etc. * Let MS. It seems by this expression as though even Deity itself possessed a dual consciousness ; because I take it that the word -God means " God, the Creator, and has no refer ence to the Trinity. " Shakespeare makes Laertes tell his sister Ophelia, when speaking of Hamlet s love for her, If with too credent ear you list his songs - Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister ; and keep you in the rear of your affection^ etc. So in the same play, Old Polonius tells Laertes, To thine o/rn self be true, etc. "Again, St. Paul, in his Epistle to the Romans, says in the well-known passage, k For what I do I allow not ; for what I would, that do I not ; but what I hate, that do I." k For the good that I would not, that I do. For I delight in the law of God, after the inward man ; but I see another law in my members warring against the law of my mind, etc. "Thomas Carlyle, in his Reminiscences, some where in the remarks on Edward Irving, and while speaking of his own indecision after one of his returns to London, remarks, Another morning what was wholesomer and better, happening to notice, as I stood looking out 011 the bit of green A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 197 under my bedroom window, a trim and rather pretty hen actively paddling about and picking up what food might be discoverable. See! I said to myself. Look, thou fool ! Here is a two-legged creature, with .scarcely half a thimbleful of brains ; thou calFst thyself a man, with nobody knows how much brain, and reason dwelling in it ; and behold how the one life is regulated, and how the other ! In God s name concentrate, collect whatever of reason thou hast, and direct it on the one thing needful/ Now if anything were needed to estab lish the truth of this proposition, such extracts from the inspired writings and the utterances of won derful men would he amply sufficient to prove the existence of separate individualities residing in the same person : two distinct egos, or else a double automatic-acting one. " These two personalities reason with each other, wrestle with each other, and alternately gain the mastery over each other, as occasion serves, or pe culiar circumstances favor. Each ego may be said to live in a state of independent dependence, and inter-mutual antagonistic attraction upon and with the other. It is a queer state to be in ; but it is a queer sort of possession to be possessed of any way. Jt appears that nobody is without these two inner governors. They complete one s moral identity in this world, as much as one s oesophagus or liver do his physical nature. Nor are these individualities always antagonistic. They often appear to dwell 1 98 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. together in lamb-like alliance. Happy is the man between whom and his own self there is no va riance, for the skies are bright and the grass is green. His heart throbs on with a cheery pulse, and the whole hue of life is the color of the rose. Trouble begins only when the paths of these two individualities diverge ; when one insists on boss ing the other, or of donning a mask and false presentment, which the other just as stoutly per sists in pulling oil. This alter eyo, whether good or bad, keeps itself well out of sight, and yet is lodged somewhere within very easy call. We all know just when 1 its hiding-place is, although we never disclose it, no, not even to ourselves, what ever that may mean. Says I to myself, is what we are all constantly saying ; and often "my sell" retorts upon us in a most unpleasant manner, tell ing us that we are liars, and Pharisees, and wretched hypocrites, when, by the dumb show of our out ward mien, we appear to the world just the oppo site. "It would hardly be right to call this twin- brother conscience, because it acts so often in a manner different from a judge of the moral sense. It is merely our other self ; that individuality which does not appear on the surface. It may be a bad self as easily as a good self, as our real desires may be horrid and devilish. This hidden soul-machinery is so complicated and kaleidoscopic in its action, that we hate and loathe what we at the same mo- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 199 nient endure and embrace. And such is the subtle character of these two natures, that they make us love to hate that which we hate to love, and yet do love. And we find ourselves deliberately reveling in scenes, and becoming prominent in actions, which we are simultaneously condemning with the bit terest invective. " It is almost laughable to hear philosophy claim ing to determine what the human mind can or cannot conceive ; when such harlequin perform ances and moral pancraticals as these are turning and tumbling us about in the manner above sug gested. " It would be extremely amusing, if it were not so mighty serious, to watch the tussles which these two egos are continually having with each other. The devils if there are any must be most in terested spectators of these little skirmishes which are ever going on within us. IIow excited they must be to watch an individual get into heated ar gument, for instance, and in his warmth say ex actly what he neither means nor believes ; and how, little by little, he linds himself in a false position; then how pride and obstinacy rush out to bolster him up, until he, becomes absolutely ridiculous. And then they see a little door open, and the man s other self steals out and walks tiptoe up to him, and whispers in his ear that he is a fool; that everything he said was a lie, and lie knew it was when he said it. And then the man seizes himself 200 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. by his own mental coat-collar, and by the little short hair in his mental neck, which hurts so, and twitches himself off his feet, and hauls himself away into a corner, where he jounces himself down with considerable roughness, and leaves himself there poor, degraded creature in his own eyes to chew out the k cud of sweet and bitter fancy, until his punishment is over. *" I would like to inquire how the doctrine of either molecular force or will-power can be applied to such case as this? Again, when any individual puts on a sanctimonious outward guise of innocence, having a deep, conscious, and inner intent of com mitting wrong, the working of this dual conscious ness is well exhibited. Here the alter ego, the other self, is a bad self, and anything but the man s real moral sense. It is n t his conscience, for it does n t condemn him ; on the contrary, it spurs him on to exhibit this heavenly expression, this lamb-like air, for the express purpose of committing the crime. That is not conscience. Indeed, in such instances, we might almost say there, were three consciousnesses at work. One, the conscious being who goes about with the sanctimonious ex pression. Second, the spirit within him prompting him to deceit, for an ultimate bad end in view ; and the third, the little dried-up party in the rear conscience, if you please Avhich is doubling its fist in his face, and is hurrying him onward toward a gibbet of his own making, and, upon which he A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 201 voluntarily mounts, and insists upon hanging and choking to death. " When I commenced those remarks I was greatly impressed with the probable fact that we had two distinct consciousnesses within us ; but after writing all the above, the fearful thought arises whether, besides the consciousness that there are two distinct consciousnesses within us mak ing three, the consciousness that we have the consciousness of two consciousnesses may not prove that we have four. This suggestion is so frightful, however, that I instinctively fly from its discussion." (Ap plause.) (Mr. Douce takes a sip from his tumbler, / wipes the perspiration from his brow, and starts on again. ) " As at first sight the whole question of con sciousness or no con sciousness, or of two consciousnesses, or of any number of consciousnesses, might easily be con founded with that cognate subject, entitled, Sec ond Sight and Visions. I shall avoid all such complications by quoting the language? of another, who says: * In the subjective reality of objective falsity lies the reasonable explanation of many of 202 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. the delusions that affect mankind ; which settles the question, as the duality of individuality is no delusion, and therefore does not come within the above category. I wish now most reverently to draw an illustration of Dual Individuality from the New Testament, and I desire to descant upon it with becoming decorum and propriety. The il lustration which I adduce is the Temptation, as contained in the (iospel narration. " There is at the outset a great difficulty in deter mining whether, in the first place, the temptation was a contest going on between the man Christ, that is, between his earthly passions and human desires, and his other self, just as it might go on within the bosom of any other human being in like position ; or whether this contest went on within the divine being in his mixed character, that is, between the humanity and his divinity; or, again, whether either of these individualities, that is, the man or the (Jod, had this struggle with the genius of Evil with Satan himself in his bodily shape? As nobody can positively settle either of these propositions, it is perfectly allowable for me, and for the purpose, I have in view, to choose one of them. I certainly shall assume, then, that the struggle was between the humanity of the prophet of Galilee 1 and somebody, or some other force. I don t hesitate to do this, because I conceive that there would be no struggle at all, no sort of temp tation, as we understand that word to mean, if the A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 203 Great Master was there in his divine character, for it would be an impossible thing to tempt Deity. It is inconceivable, therefore, to say that Deity was taken up into a high mountain by Satan and tempted, and is degrading- to all divine attributes. There is one little difficulty however, just here, which arises from the fact that the Master expressly says, after each attempt of Satan, 4 Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy (iod. The only way I can see out of this dilemna is that Deity was there as the Man l with like passions to ourselves, and that this struggle went on within himself, just as it would go on within the breast of any other man ; but he also knew and felt that there was divinitii in him, which he never, however, brought i/ O to his assistance, in order to get rid of the tempter, but contented himself by simply notifying Satan of the great fact. .Just here I would mention an ob jection which is sometimes made on tliis passage, that it is used by the Saviour as forbidding him self to tempt (rod, not as a reproof to Satan/ In reply, 1 \vould ask what ground has the objector to make such an assertion? The context certainly savs in so many words, that tle Saviour, in one of his replies to Satan, says, * Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy (iod/ Surely if he did not say this to Satan, no more did he address him when he said, (iet thee behind me/ It is strained and far fetched to make this passage represent Our Lord as talking to himself. 204 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. ^ From this stand-point, then, we have a beautiful illustration of dual individuality. For whether the struggle transpired wholly within his own breast or not, it was still a struggle between his two individ ualities : one telling him how magnificent it would be to rule as a man all the kingdoms of the earth. How flattering it would be to self-love and vanity to receive worldly applause and popular adu lation : and that he had only to accept the tempting offer, in order to establish an earthly and princely kingdom, and this was a sore temptation to a poor carpenter s son. The other self was, we may imag ine, at the same time whispering to him the words of the prophet : " Vanity of vanities all is vanity." To yield now would be an ignominious finish to the glorious doctrine but yesterday promulgated in the streets and bv-wavs of Jiulea, a pitiable answer to the startling words of John the Baptist, Behold the Lamb of ( iod ! The man battled with himself, weighing and balancing the arguments for and against, as they were brought up before him, and thanks be to an Almighty power, his better consciousness pre vailed, and saved a world. " Now, for a moment, let us take the other case, thai, of Satan himself. Let us conceive for the nonce, that the (ienius of Kvil if there he any such individual appeared to the author of ( hris- tianity and presented -to him his side of the ques tion in the most attractive and dazzling manner. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 205 We may imagine that lie came with seductive mien as an angel of light. This outward appearance of innocence, and this persuasive language would naturally give the impression of a creature of hon est purpose, possessing at the same time the charms of a commanding intelligence ; while be hind this fascinating exterior was lurking that other self, that earthly, sensual, and devilish individual ity, reeking with direful and deadly purpose. Here the two egos are again displayed in sharp relief, one against the other, - that which first appeared, all smiles, blandishments, and seduction, and that other malignant principle, that quintessence of hell, which, had it won the victory, would have entailed upon the world inconceivable woe. " I now pass to some animadversions of my sub ject, and will enumerate certain thoughts suggested by my theme, as they present themselves before me. It is a rare privilege, that of expressing one s self be fore a lenient audience without incurring responsi bility; and I take advantage of this immunity to say that dual individuality is sufficiently a fact not to be seriously controverted, which leaves me at liberty to consume the remainder of my time in making general remarks upon my subject. The evolution of thought is never a contempti ble process. On. the contrary, it is a noble mental operation. The value of these mental products, however, is another question. This factor is deter mined by the fibre of the mind, whatever that 206 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. vague expression may mean. Some thoughts, like some milk, are thin and watery ; others are loaded down with the heavy cream of cogitation ; so that it is not every thoughtful person who evolves the deepest and most valuable results by any means. u The first thought on the subject of dual con sciousness which I desire, to express is rather a mea gre one, but I note it down as a physician does a symptom. " A good deal is told us by the superstitious, about the mystic significance of the odd number Three ; but it occurs to me how much more might be said of the even number Two. Throughout the animal world duality in some of its forms seems to reside. Hearing, seeing, smelling, walking, talk ing, and feeling, all require a duality of action of some sort in order to their exact performance. Even iu thinking, or in living, or departing from this world, the soul and the body are necessary to its perfect execution. Besides the double ear, eye, nostril, tonsils, we have the leg, the vocal chords, with the dual action of the tongue with the roof of the mouth in order to taste. We have also the double lung, the two ventricles of the heart, the stomach and viscera for perfect digestion ; the sub tle conjunction of nerves and brain, the cerebrum and the cerebellum, the mystic tie between soul and body, the equally mystic loosing of soul from body, the male and female, the marriage tie ; be- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 207 sides the marked antithesis throughout all nature between one thing and some other directly oppo site, as light and darkness, good and evil, loss and gain, etc. Then ascending higher in the scale, the connection between the finite and the infinite, God and man, the highest ideal man a purified soul in a purified body, the perfection of heaven, Christ and his Church, and the perfect reconcil iation, God and mankind, etc., etc. kw The next thought I wish to express is, that the very presence within us of this wonderful conscious ness, whether it be single or double, or even triple ; or whether it be only the varying shades of one and the same conscience ; this fact, that there is inside every man, lodged in his brain, or outside of him, or wherever it may be, a subtle power not subject to the same law of government as his vitals are, and not amenable to the same rule as his life, but which talks with him, argues with him, flatters him, makes him sin, causes him to repent, blanches his cheek with fear, accuses him of crime and drags him to a mental prison, is a convincing proof of his immortality. "It matters little whether molecules move them selves or not; it is certain that thought and passion move about at the bidding of some higher poten tate, some invisible king. So intangible, so impon derable, and so invisible are they, as to pass beyond and reach into another sphere, differing from that which feeds man s body, and is compelled to wit- 208 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. ness man s ignoble actions. God or whatever we may call the intelligent omnipotent First Cause linked himself or itself to humanity, and made a domicile therein in this mysterious manner. " These individualities are the God-principles, the seals of divinity, the heavenly brands of owner ship set upon humanity, and I verily believe on some species of animals, and labeled them for heaven. They are seeds from a celestial country, planted in man to aid him to grow up from out of earthly degradation into an eternal existence. kk The next thought which I suggest is, that if it is true that this dual individuality in man, this al ter eyo, is sometimes good and sometimes evil, how is it possible that it can subserve the high aim of working out man s ultimate salvation ? " Vital principles, whose end is immortality, must of necessity be immortal themselves. It is rather contrary to modern.thought to hold that the prin ciple of evil is eternal, so, if these two principles within us, which are to accomplish such results, are immortal, and they must be immortal to ef fect this, then it follows that the bad principle must always be bad, eternally bad. " The way I solve this rather difficult question in my own mind is this : That although it may be true that these individualities are immortal, it does not follow that the good individuality may not be a stronger principle than the bad one ; and that, in the countless ages the great warfare might not en*d in the triumph of right. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 200 u The next thought is : If the bad ego is immor tal, ho\v is it possible to overcome him? In two ways. One is : The badness of the one may not have been inherent, and, therefore, might in the end be overcome ; leaving him, to be sure, without occupation, a rather discouraged sort of an individ uality ; a kind of an immortal drone, in the heav enly kingdom, minus his power to accomplish an evil. The second way is : That the doctrine and spirit of Christianity, acting in conjunction with the natural love of right implanted in every creat ure, might convert the other individuality at last, and so enable the man to attain eternal happiness; his very bad individuality becoming at last a very good one, and merging into the other, thus making him twice as good." The audience here commence to grow weary and twist about in their seats, which causes Mr. Douce to say, quickly : In conclusion, and before leaving the subject in your hands for discussion and decision, I wish to express my own thorough belief in the truth of my proposition ; but also to add, that man s intel lect is at best but feeble, and therefore, possibly I may have been, after all, greatly mistaken about this subject, and what I have, been calling the du ality of individuality is nothing more than our old friend conscience acting the part of Harlequin and assuming all sorts of quaint and disturbed forms in order to deceive us. 14 210 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. " Whatever may be the truth, there is undeni ably something very mysterious and wonderful about this double mental machinery, which defies our comprehension." (Mr. Douce bows his head low to signify that his lecture was concluded. Prolonged applause.) When the audience separated they seemed to be considerably mixed up and confused in their no tions of dual individualities. Some thought they had two, while others believed the whole idea was " moonshine." The lecture had one good effect, however, for it set Paradise thinking, and that is what Paradise needed. The night was quite dark, and Cupid and Psyche (two lovers from the k> Hill-top") decided to walk home together under rover of the deep shadows ; so as they trudged along down the south road, hand in hand, Psyche remarked to Cupid, somewhat alarmed : u My dear, do you believe that you and I have dual individualities ? " " We may have two of them now, my darling," answered Cupid as lie stole his arm about his inam orata s waist, "but next fall, after Bishop Good pro nounces the benediction, we shall only have one." ^ How queer it will all seem ! " " Yes queer but so comforting ! " " Still, I don t quite understand yet," said Psy che. Let me explain then, dearest," replied Cupid. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 211 " Tt is perfectly clear to me now," whispered Psyche, as she tore herself from her lover s em brace and rushed up-stairs to her room in the new cottage. CHAPTER VI. MR. CYNICUS nOl CK SURRENDERS. A LARGE room on ground floor in " Benjamin s " house; neat cottage furniture; elegant portiere 1 , and lace curtains gracefully concealing, within a deep recess, what might contain wash-stand and toilet apparatus ; a gay-colored cretonne lounge ; a, centre-table, covered with latest periodicals, pocket editions of kb Lucilr" and Mrs. Browning s " Au rora Leigh:" lady s writing-desk with dainty scented paper, etc. ; unanswered letters lying about; a, bunch of roses on table , large traveling trunk at side of room ; pair of pale blue silk slippers at foot of lounge ; a small draped mirror, with lady s toi let extravagances, manicure box, etc . ; on a bracket in corner, several phials of medicine in disuse ; heavy lace curtains to all the windows ; the Beau tiful N. E. discovered at full length on the lounge, with paper-cutter in hand reading ; as she reads, A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 218 she seems to meditate, stops, commences again ; she is very prettily dressed, and has a wee bit of a mole under her right ear ; time, four o clock in after noon ; all the guests either asleep or driving. There is a saying that all roads lead to Rome ; so in human society all things point to matrimony. I mean by matrimony a natural affinity of the sexes, which inevitably draws them together. Not that \J everything ends in marriage by a "long shot;" but, if matrimony were a big show, the tide of so ciety would be seen setting in towards it from all quarters. We do not all get into this matrimonial ring, and many who do want to get out again; but for all that, the fact remains, of this steady current flow ing in the direction of the phantom tents of w * union ; " in spite of man s declaration to the con trary, and woman s pretensions to be above its in fluence. There are a few specimens from both the sexes who seem to be beyond the pale of this influ ence. For instance, there is the man-woman, that is, a female who has mixed up in her composition a sufficient number of manly attributes to supply the natural desire which each sex has for that which the opposite one possesses. Then, there are a few per sons whose intellectual nature is far in excess of the affections, and which has squelched, so to speak, those inherent qualities of dependence, gregarious- ness, and love which are common to both sexes, and which constitute the charm of human society. 214 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. And lastly, there are those people who have once been married, and whose self-will is so strong, and the enjoyment of that sweet-boon " liberty " is so delectable, that they cannot brook the mutual self- sacrifice which such an alliance necessitates. Hut even these poor seeming- exceptions to the rule are continually getting into trouble caused by this same tendency of the sexes to affiliate. Although JNIr. Cynicus Douce did not exactly come within the category of either of these classes, he still professed to be beyond and above the com mon rules which regulate men. He had a kind heart and a level head, and he saw, or thought he saw, that all men Avere, if not "liars," as the sacred writer has it, at least, dissemblers, back biters, unjust, slanderers, damners with faint praise, self-lovers, shams, and Pharisees. And he came to the conclusion that he had no use for this sort of society. His creed was simple, and so he felt no sympathy with what seemed to him the mere tin sel of piety minus its substance. He used society for the amusement it afforded him, and was con tent. Of course he believed that there was some virtue and affection and true worth in everybody, but he saw so much of the other animus in the world that he became sick of it. Much to his chagrin, he discovered that these views were gradually begetting in him what might be termed a cynical diathesis. lie was puzzled what to do about it. Naturally of a warm and A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 215 ardent disposition, he started on life s journey, loving and asking for love in return. He soon found, however, that men and women want to be loved well enough, and will accept all of it you care to give them ; will seize with avidity all your kind offices, and all your self-sacrifices for their joy ; and all your untiring efforts to procure for them the " front seats " in this world, and to feed them with the cream of its pleasures; but if you happen to suggest that perhaps there is something, some little thing, due to you for all this devotion, this self-abnegation, this wear and tear in their service, they will look in your face with blank as tonishment. The idea of making any such return never entered their minds. Their philosophy is after this sort : say they, " If you love me truly, you will give to me all these things ; and make all these sacrifices freely, not expecting any return. True love is unselfish. True love asks but to die in the service of its idol. As it is more blessed to give than to receive, so we are allowing you to enjoy that supremest of pleasures." In reply to this you ask : " Don t you ever make any return for benefits received?" If they answered truly, they would say: "Never, if we can help it. We merely re ceive. We are the kings and the queens of society : born to receive homage, not to give it. You are our vassals, and you should be happy in serving us. This kind of philosophy is sound enough, Mr. Douce thought, if practiced among a nation of 216 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. slaves ; but he argued, that in society as at present constituted these monarchs should be pretty sure of their thrones before they attempted any such tyranny. So Mr. Douce found by experience that he loved, and loved, and loved, hoping for a return in kind, but found that his love fell on a dry and parched ground, " where no water is ; " so this dis covery taught him a lesson which he acted upon intelligently. lie laughed and joked in society. He sipped its honey, and smelled its flowers. He ate its fruit, and spat out its pits ; and so gave up all idea of ever granting his warm heart a holiday again. He considered that organ beyond the reach of profane hands. It was in this way that he flitted in and out among his fellows. lie still had his friendships, as IK; used to have his loves. He seated himself just within the glare of society, and was delighted to behold its full corruscations af fecting the destinies of others, while he sat snugly ensconced in a corner watching the result. Now, albeit his fine experience had brought him to a logical conclusion, it did not at all destroy the truth of accomplished facts. A fact is a fact, whatever else is false. For instance, that beauty will at tract, is a fact perfectly incontrovertible. Fasci nation and natural affinity between two people, will, under certain conditions, inevitably produce certain results. A woman s smile and a woman s word of promise will certainly produce a known and acknowledged effect on man. Even supposing A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 217 the one and the other to be as false as Hades itself. Such is the certainty of accomplished facts. Like the rest of mankind, Mr. Douce was fallible. And though he was cynical, he was nevertheless mortal, and therefore susceptible to the great facts of fascination and beauty. So one day, one sa lubrious afternoon, he walked into the presence of his dear friend, the Beautiful X. H., as a man of recogni/.ed and distinct convictions, and he walked out of it again soon afterwards, shattered in his convictions and riddled in his principles ; and this is the way it happened : I hue, that wonderful medicine, effects most as tonishing cures. It eats up animosities ; seals and shatters friendships : destroys youth ; throws a film of uncertainty over its follies, and a glamour over its crimes, lint among its beneficent and charm ing effects, none was more marked than that pro duced upon our beautiful friend, the "Nervous Exluiustionist." Hither the tonic air of Paradise, the gradual in fluence of her summer experience among normal people, or her own returning health, caused her to view life from a different stand-point or rather reclining jioint of view for she appeared one morning, to the astonishment of all her friends, mounted on a slashing bay mare with a banged tail, and commenced galloping over the, Paradise hills in such a manner as to completely knock up her faithful man Thomas, and delight her loving 218 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. family. This was no spurt or vagary, but she kept on in her change of purpose until all that was beautiful and glorious in her had been fully aroused from that long lethargy in which it lay buried, and she became at once the comfort and the pride of an admiring crowd of friends. The fact that his beau tiful friend had taken her place again among what he termed "the powers of the earth," was a source of intense satisfaction to Mr. Cynicus Douce. Knowing her from childhood, he felt there had been lost to the world a noble woman, who had gradually succumbed to the seductive allurements of a luxurious invalidism. His heart kindled with kindly emotion when he beheld what he was pleased to call her " resurrection," and he expe rienced a pardonable sort of self-gratification as he beheld this great change, which, lie flattered him- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 221 self, was the fruit of his own precious example and teachings. Although Mr. Douce was unalterably fixed in his favorite creed concerning society, he became grad ually convinced that two opposing facts could also exist, side by side, without detriment to either. For instance, although lie firmly believed that the world was teeming with hypocrisy and selfishness, lie was also beginning to allow that there was also such a thing in society as true love and disinterest edness. In this dubious frame of mind he left his room in the new cottage, and trudging over the green grass, k n o c k e d gently at the door of his fair friend, the Beautiful N. K. (Knock heard at door.) N. E. hastily looks in mirror, adjusts her bangs, and pretty costume of lace and ribbons. Gets up and sits down again with left foot under her, and answers in a quiet, mellifluous voice, " Come in ! " (Enter Mr. Douce, a trifle excited.) JV. E. " How do you do, mv friend?" Cyn. , All the better for seeing you, for I am miserable to-day." 222 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. N: E. " Why ? " Cyn. " The fact is, I have lately given myself up to pet theories and views on subjects which never seem to come out as I want them to." N. E. u The best way, then, is to let them gang their own gait, and not try to alter them. People will do as they please, in spite of you." Cyn. " You re right. (Sits.) I never mean to raise a hand again to alter that which I see plainly is destroying society. The whole social body is rotten with selfishness. Let it go to Guinea for ;ill me." (Here Mr. Douce puts both hands in both pockets and stretches both his feet out to their full est extent.) N. E. -The whole?" Cyn. " Yes, man. woman, child, and dog. N T o ! the dogs are im-seln sh. I il except the dogs! " N. E. " Why, my friend, you arc in an awful state to-day. Do try and look at things through a different colored glass. Don t forever pick out of your paint-box the indigo, and the bistre. Let s have a little Tight blue and couleur-de-rose once in a while, to give the picture a livelier tone. .Just look at that water-color of mine ! How do you like it?" Cyn. "It s clever very clever. Everything you do is clever. (Cynicus looks at the sketch through both his hands.) But I want you to ac complish something better than a faded, neutral- tinted, wishy-washy water-color. You have the capacity to set the world a-fire. " A FASHIONABLE SUFFKRKR. 223 N. E. u But I can t do it, my friend ! " Cyn. " I say you can ; but the trouble is, you are too rich, and too pretty, and too much busied about the shape of your nails, to have any time to save your fellow-men from going to the devil." N. E. " Why, t ynicus Douce, you are crazy. You know very well that I am powerless to do what ijn want me to do. Cyn. u Xo ; you "re not. You ve got character enough in you to command the world s attention, and compel them to listen ; but the modus is the trouble." (Here Mr. Douce shoves his hand through his short hair, and pulls out his collar from his throat, as if it were too tight for hiiu.^) N. E. "The modus. What di> you mean?" Oi/n. " I mean, as things are managed nowadays, the rich act as drags and hindrances rather than as pioneers of human progress." j\ r . E. ( Carefully un stopping the Preston- salts bottle, and taking a whitf. ) " It won t do to pooh-pooh the rich, especially rich women, for without them the rich men would never act at all." Cyn. u Exactly ! And the fault I find with rich 224 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. women is this: that while they recognize the need of reorganizing society by an example of thrift and self-denial, they are so often content to let this re main a mere sentiment, never acted upon." N. E. " Perhaps you are right. Although I rec ognize; the need of philanthropy, it is hardly natu ral for those who are mercifully removed from want and poverty to deny themselves the good things of tliis life." (Here she pulls a bursting rosebud to pieces, and eats the leaves.) C-t/n. " Excuse me ! " (shoving his hand through his short hair again.) "It is incumbent on the in fluential members of society those that are fully able to indulge themselves to the utmost to set a noble example to the rest of the world. I have given uj), however, all hope of reaching that cov eted goal, for our richest women, those who ought to set this example, are the very ones who are sunk deepest in the slough of self-indulgence." (Looks at the Beautiful X. E. with sadness.) N. ]<J. u You mistake me, then, if you think that I am, for I have long felt convinced that there is something nobler in this world than the selfish study of one s own comfort. I seem to realize, for the first time, that 1 am only one oitl of three hundred mill ions of other mortals, who never heard of my exist ence." (The gray eyes of the N. E. glisten with emotion, and a rosy flush appears in her cheeks.) Ci/n. " Glorious ! Superb ! Now you make me believe that a woman is something more than an illogical quibble ! " A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 225 N. E. u My dear Cynieus (with a comical smile), I hardly know what to make of this unusual com pliment. It quite overwhelms me. Pray let me get used to it before you go on." Cyn. " It s drawn out of me, in spite of myself ; for it is the symptoms of your signal victory over the subtle weaknesses engendered by wealth and luxury, which you have shown of late, as well as for the noble sentiment you have just uttered, which fills me with admiration. (A pause.) " And, Madeleine, if you have overset all my pre conceived notions of woman s frailties, you have also, suddenly, made me the happiest of men." (Madeleine blushes and bites end of fan.) Mad. -Why, dear friend?" Cyn. "I cannot tell why I am happy; but all I know is, that what you have just said has suddenly made me so. With these 1 blemishes removed you become, in my eyes, the most noble of women. Now, can you will you I don t know what I am doing but you innat know, Madeleine, what I mean." (Visible emotion in both parties, with per ceptible signs of a denouement. Silence for a few seconds, during which both principals insensibly approach each other.) Cijn. "* I am perfectly boyish about all this; but I can t help it, Madeleine. I love you ; yes, adore you ; worship the very ground you stand on. Now, what can you say to me? " (Madeleine looks askance; hesitates a moment 15 226 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. to toy with her fan before she replies, with a roguish smile on her lips.) Mad. u You may well ask me, What can 7 say? for I am truly astonished at what you say. You surely cannot be the same gentleman whose motto a moment since \vas, u Vanity of vanities, all is vanity/ You cannot be that happy soul who de nied the necessity of woman s society to man, and proclaimed his perfect freedom from all uxorial aspirations ! " Cyn. Ah, Madeleine ! you have your revenge. I acknowledge that some of my conclusions have been erroneous/ Mad. " Yes : your philosophy has been of such a frightful sort that no sensible woman could ever think of of a man holding to such a creed in any other light than as a dangerous foe to her hap piness ; that s my idea ! " Cifii. " You don t mean to say, then, you hate me ? M<td. " I don t haft: anybody. I only say that any mortal professing such a horrid creed would be a dangerous element to be admitted into a wom an s life. 1 never could be happy with such a creature ! Cyn. " Ah, Madeleine ! you have known me from boyhood ; and do you believe that I could ever hurt you ? " Mdd. " You have hurt me often by what you ve said, and by the way you ve gone on/ " A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 227 Cyn. " And am I to understand that you never can love me ? Great heavens ! Are you going to break my heart?" Mad. "" My dear Cynicus, I m no girl of sixteen; I have reached the sober years of discretion, and fully realize that no two people can ever be happy together who have not some identical interests, or who are not in a measure en rapport. " Cyn. "And don t you think that you and I are, in some measure, en rapport ? Have n t we been growing more so every day ? " Mad. " Have we? " (With a doubtful and dazed expression.) Cyn. (Brushing a tear from his eye.) "Yes, we have ! I know we have : I feel we- have ; and what are opinions after all, Madeleine ? And what are conclusions, after all, in the face of an actual, un biased, and true-hearted affection? Madeleine, I love you. Do you fully understand what that means? Xot a make-believe, namby-pamby love ; not a fanciful sort of partiality, but a gradual, ma ture, and healthy passion, resulting from life-long experience and the growth of years ! " Mad. (Sighs.) "I understand, my dear friend, or I think I understand your feelings. The rev- rlatinn of them is what astonishes me so much. I cannot surely be blamed for this astonishment ; nor can you wonder at my hesitation to believe you. You have taught me for so many years to think of you in any other Im ht than the one in which YOU 228 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. now display yourself, that I have great difficulty in realizing that what I hear is not a dream of fancy, or one; of those exhibitions of hollowness in which you think the world indulges so much." Cyn. " Oh, don t be cruel, friend of my youth. You have heretofore seen me as a quasi philosopher ; but you now behold me robbed of it all a mere child again." Mad. "Alas, my poor friend ! Do I understand that you now avow all this fine argument about, the emptiness of life to be only just so much non sense, and not your real opinion after all?" Cyn. "Oh, pity me! pity me, dearest love! for I really do confess that there is such a thing as true ali ection : I feel it too deeply not to believe , in its existence. MY only mistake has been in going too far with my philosophy." Mad. " Do you then recant, my friend, and give up all these fine-spun theories?" ( i/n. "No, dearest Madeleine, not all, not all; spare me a few! For I cannot entirely disbelieve a conclusion which manv eventful years of expe rience and trial have brought me to. No, not all ! I do believe that this world, by itself, is well enough : that honesty, truth, and virtue, unlet and unhin dered, would thrive and flourish here ; but that the degenerate results of our modern civilization have plated, so to speak, everything and everybody with a thin veneer of falseness and pretense. This con viction I can never surrender." A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 229 Mad. * Plow is it then possible for this to be true, and at the same time your love for me to be equally a truth?" (Madeleine looks serious, and straightens the feathers at the top of her fan with thumb and forefinger.) t yn. " I don t know how they can be true. I only know they are true, nevertheless. Is n t it possible, dearest child, that the world should be filled no. not entirely filled, because I ve given up that point but (\. good deal filled up with hypocrisy and humbug; and also be true that I, the cynic and the dis believer, s h o u 1 d love and adore you ? T should like to know why both of these truths can t exist at the same time on the earth? they? (Air. Douce here furtively takes the left hand of the Beautiful X. K., who passively allows it to be held undisturbed. ) Mad. (With hesitation.) u I have sometimes thought, Cynicus, that that perhaps you were about half right in some fcic of your conclusions. But I never could acknowledge it, you know, never ; Why? Tell me why can t 230 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. my womanly instincts would n t allow me to do that" Cyn. (With effusion.) " I don t ask you, dearest, to agree with my theories ; I only pray that you acknowledge my facts. Do you, can you believe, that when I swear I love you, I say the solemn truth?" Mad. (Looks a little 1 more shaky than she did, slight twitchings descernible at the corners of her pretty mouth ; she sighs.) " I believe you." Cyn. " Can you then permit this fact, which you say you believe to be true will you permit it to remain unaccepted ? " Mad. u It makes me both happy and frightened to acknowledge this avowal as a fact." Cyn. "Then, dearest Madeleine, will you not give me the inexpressible delight of hearing from your own lips that that love finds an echo in your own dear heart?" Mad. " 1 find it impossible to tell you what I feel." Cyn. "I won t ask for words then, darling! Look it. Tell me with your dear eyes that you reciprocate my love!" ( The Beautiful N. E., after several vain attempts, at last looks the friend of her youth straight in the eyes, while two large tears roll down her pale cheeks.) The pearly, waning sunlight was the only wit ness of this momentous contract, shedding upon the two a loving, silent benison. A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 231 Tableau*- Vivant. So let all Nervous Exhaustionists and Pessimists perish ! / WHAT THE WORLD SAID. As may be supposed, when the engagement be tween the Beautiful N. E. and Mr. Douce was an nounced, all Paradise was agog with excitement. The very day and the very hour when the impor tant event occurred was, by some wonderful means, known to the little community almost as soon as the event itself had become a certainty. Her inti mate friends immediately resolved themselves into a committee of the whole " to discuss the subject." Some said, " I told you so. I knew that something A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 233 must come out of all that apparent disagreement and yet constant intimacy." While others re marked, " They will be a dreadfully unhappy couple; for when a spoiled child and an old bach elor come together, look out for breakers ! " The young ladies were very much interested in the daily progress of the match. The children reported to the grown people every time either of the engaged parties moved a muscle which might be construed into an amatory evidence, while the old heads won dered how it all came about. The great question which agitated everybody was, tk Is this the result of persistence on Mr. Donee s part ; the end of a faint-heart-never-won-- fair-lady policy ; or did it happen naturally, as people take measles, or the mumps ? " There was one very wise person upon the Hill who delivered quite an oration on the subject. He remarked, " I believe that Cynicus Douce never would have asked the Beautiful N. E. to marry him, had it not been for just the peculiar state of circumstances which happened to surround him on that particular morn ing, and at the very moment. I believe/ said this O J person, u that he had no more idea of being en gaged to his life-long friend then, than at any other time within the past ten or fifteen years ; and it only proves that all these things are ordered for us. It shows that, work as we will in one direction or another, there is a divinity which shapes our ends. 234 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. " Some men think that by constantly belaboring a woman, and sending flowers to her, and asking her to marry them over and over again, that at last she will succumb, and accept the persistent adorer. This may, once in a while, be the case, when the man is very, very rich, and all her family are poor, or she herself is getting a little a wee bit passee. But nine times out of ten this is not so. If a woman is inclined to dislike a man, why, she dislikes him, that s all ; and if she likes him, she likes him, and also every foolish thing he says, and every idiotic thing he does. Another man, really twice as fascinating, and twice as wise, may try to step in and cut him out; but all the pos turing, all the flowers, and the Jacqueminot buds, and all the k taffy and the caramels in the world, are entirely thrown away upon her. They are not worth, in the mind of this infatuated one, a scin tillation of the value which she attaches to one miserable faded leaf which her Alphonse may have given her, or to an awkward expressionof ad miration which he may have awkwardly expressed. Now Cynicus Douce did not think or know any thing about his love for the Beautiful N. E. I believe he supposed that she and he were to be just as they had been to each other, good friends, you know, to their life s end ; but feeling rather blue that morning, and being so pleased with Mad eleine for her perking up and flying round on horseback, and so delighted with what she had told A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 235 liim about her new sort of feeling on subjects which had so interested him all his life, that he sud denly felt a strange impulse to tell her that he loved her for it, and then the ball was opened, and there was nothing to be done but go right ahead, and that s the way, in my opinion, this affair came about." Xow this person was pretty nearly correct in his view of that important event. At any rate the thing was done, and the world was already getting used to the new arrangement. Autumn had now commenced to admonish the fair sojourners that the big trunks must again be packed, and thoughts be turned once more towards the bustle and the stir of city life. Maids and mistresses were half buried in mountains of immac ulate linen, which lay in heaps on the floor, while the great towering "three-deckers* stood gaping by, ready to swallow them up at the appointed moment. It is a sort of melancholy occasion, this breaking up of a summer s campaign, this end of a d?cef<ir niente life. Especially so if these necessary ar rangements happen to come on a morning when there; is an unwonted balminess in the air, and a peculiarly la/.v haziness over the landscape ; when the turning leaves are exquisite in color, and seem to be silently murmuring mournful farewells. One stops his packing, and, looking out from the 236 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. open window over the quiet hills, is tempted to ex claim : " No ! It \s impossible to leave all this love liness ! I must take that long desired drive to-day, which I have been so often about to take, but have never quite accomplished." Time, however, waits for no man. To-morrow becomes to-day, and to day yesterday, almost while we are looking from the lattice over the glowing landscape. The big wagon is already at the door, and they are calling upon us to take our places. Before we quite know we are off, the puff-pun of the great locomotive carries us swiftly behind the hill, shutting out from view the scene of so many delights. Yes, the summer is past ! As we go clattering and banging along the iron track, each moment is separating us farther and farther from the almost ideal existence in which we have been dreaming ; and is hurrying us nearer to those tentacles of worry and toil with which the great metropolis in front stands ready to enwrap us. One shrill whistle and two shorts " toots " are sufficient to bring us again face to face with the city and all its cantankerous cares. Friends are everywhere on the streets nodding recognition and welcoming our return. The furnace fires must soon be lighted. Our ulsters and mufflers taken from the camphor-trunk, and presto ! in a twink ling, the scene is so completely changed that the A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 237 summer which has but now departed may just as well be the summer of ten years ago, as the one whose influence is still showing itself on our brown and ruddy cheeks, and in our vigorous gait. THE glimpse of life s comedy which we have taken in the foregoing chapters is but an incom plete and partial view of that daily drama which goes cheerily on in the life of society. The characters which have appeared are meant to be merely types of real people ; while what they have said is a chance echo of opinion, enter tained by friends at our elbow. These- people and these opinions may not be exactly those to be found everywhere, yet, we think, such can easily be dis covered without the aid of a telescope. As the world is both larger and smaller than we realize it to be, so there are persons in it who take narrower and broader views of the questions of the day than we naturally expect they would. One charm of A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 239 life is disagreement. The curse of it is when this disagreement carries rancor and personality. Ex purgated of these baleful elements, existence would resemble a bouquet of varied and exquisite flowers. The doleful and pessimistic opinions of Mr. Cyn ic us Douce may be pronounced both unnatural and strained, yet there are many good people of one s acquaintance who hold ideas akin to those expressed by him, and who can say just how far Mr. Douce was wrong. The peculiarly delicate case of the Beautiful X. E. may be dismissed as an exaggerated form of an unheard-of disease, if such a thing is possible, yet there are many individuals in ival life who are afflicted with a complaint very similar to that which laid our fascinating friend on a couch of delicious pain. The healthy tone of Lady Angela s mind may possibly be thought to be more in accordance with that of every-day people, and yet there are not a few, I trow, who, if they cared to think at all on the subject, would quarrel with just that frank ness of expression which characterized this lady s speech. In this world each one is apt to take himself for a standard of virtue and godliness, and think that this or that thing is neither natural nor right, sim ply because he or she would never think of doing thus and so. To prove this, propose any question of every-day experience to a company of men and women, and observe how naturally they decide it 240 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. in accordance with a view favoring their own line of conduct under such circumstances, rather than what would be the actual truth of the matter. For instance, tell a lady that her sex have two objects in adorning 1 themselves, one, expensively, to please their own vanity; the other, becomingly, to fascinate the other portion of humanity, and she will reply that it can t be true, as she never does either the one or the other. Tell a man that the world is happy when some poor devil "comes to grief," and he will say that it can t be so, because he never felt so himself ; forgetting entirely that a soup fo it of that same emotion was present in his heart but yesterday. It would be tedious to pursue this subject farther ; for, however interesting the theme, man is so constituted as to be unable to bear but little of one thing at one time. Nothing but " Robinson r^ O Crusoe" and " (Julliver s Travels" can be read forever. It remains for us to say a few words, by way of valedictory, concerning the fate of some of the friends who have occupied our attention throughout these pages. The Beautiful N. E. is living as the radiant and contented wife of Mr. Cynicus Douce. Her wealth ministers to do good where good can best be done. Her aristocratic yet unpretentious home is the arena where wit, philosophy, and elegance vie with A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 241 each other in friendly strife. Nothing mawkish or unreal thrives in her society ; while everything lovely and lovable, generous and beautiful, finds a welcome there. She has shown to the world that " Beautiful X. E s/ all over the country have only to shake off the luxurious lethargy which lugs at their life, in order to become endeared and honored members of a thankful society. Cynicus and she are a thoroughly charming couple. They live like sensible people, and so get on famously together. In addition to all their other fine qualities, they possess that wonderful, ever-to-be-prized, matrimo nial desideratum, called tact. It there could only be more tact and less money in the world, every body would be happier. Tact is more valuable than solitaire ear-rings or ancestral coaches ; and more to be prized in a family than dresses from Paris, or an eligible match. These two delightful friends have a "large assortment" of the above- mentioned article, hence the resultant happiness which tills to running over their cup of domestic Now a word concerning their intimate compan ion, tht 1 Lady Angela. She is so like everybody else, and yet so very unlike, that everybody loves her ; selfishly imagining they see in her what they think they possess themselves. She is an admired object of the society in which she moves, because she is, not only on a level with every- 1G 242 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. body else s good qualities, but also far above every body else, in the same direction. Natural and elegant, unsuspicious and clever, childlike, and even manlike, she can but chal lenge admiration, and inspire respect. It is a very elevating circumstance to be the friend of a healthy, clever, and thinking woman ; one who can stand up in argument against a full-grown intellect, and do good battle with it. There is something very inspiring in this condition of tilings. The Lady Angela does all this effectually. What she knows she knows exactly. What she says, she means. What she proposes to do, she does. The Lady An gela does n t joke, though she is the opposite from solemn. She merely says "yes" when she means " yes," and " no " when she means what that mono syllable implies. The idea of " badinage " is a stranger in her direct mind ; she laughs and romps and " skylarks " to any extent, but if she makes an appointment she keeps it. If she says she is going anywhere, it is no " moonshine ; " she goes somewhere. At school, there was always some unlucky scholar in love with her. She be longs to that class of her sox which have girl-lovers as well as man-lovers. But the Lady Angela, with all her infantile sprightliness, is in reality only a lovely tyrant. Her adorers, both male and female, are abject adorers; given over to her interest body, soul, and opinion. She has a way of extract ing from them their entire allegiance, without being A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 243 called upon to furnish any of her own in return ; accustomed thus to receive, all her life, she natu rally forgets to give. If one is a receiver only, lie soon loses the impulse to give. So it is, in some degree, with the Lady Angela. Her lovers insist on loving her, and pouring into her lap all their de votion, and find it so very agreeable that they forget, until it is too late, to obtain anything from her in return. But it is a boon indeed when the Lady Angela does actually u smile back," or give, as she sometimes does give, k *a quid pro quo." On these happy occasions it is as if Juno had smiled in the council of the gods. It was pure good fortune that Air. Douce and his Beautiful N. E. lived so near, in the great city, to their friend, the Lady Angela. Their dinner parties and other entertainments, at each other s houses, were never complete unless all three were together, so that the society of the metropolis was pretty nearly "perfect" when this was the case. It may be asked, Was the Lady Angela mar ried ? And if not, why not?" History is a little vague on this point. Some people thought she had once lost her heart, and then got it back again ; another portion were not quite so sure. Certain it was that she broke men s hearts from sheer ina bility to do otherwise ; and if her own was not shattered, it was because she never met the man worthy of performing such a redoubtable feat of arms. 244 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. Something should now be said concerning the little church in Paradise, and its new rector. The miniature excitement which raged in the parish during the summer, in its efforts to obtain what it desired, at last culminated in success. The Rev. George Faxon is a model priest, meeting every requirement which such a person is expected to possess. In the first place, he is an intelligent, level headed gentleman ; next, lie is a conscientious, hon est Christian. Then again, he possesses tact, talent, and coolness. Besides all these fine qualities, he is benevolent, lenient, and trustworthy. Travel, and a good deal of knocking about, has given him liberality of view, and a lot of sturdy principle. His sermons are twenty-three minutes long. He preaches what St. Paul preached, and does not busy himself in trying to explain the unexplainable ; or talking about that which he knows nothing at all. He is thirty years old, and charms every variety of Christian in his parish, from Mr. Cynicus Douce to Miss Eunice Smart. The weekly contributions have also steadily increased ; and from eight dollars and fifty cents, as of former years, they now amount to twenty-eight and twenty-nine every Sunday. To cap the climax, Mr. Faxon is married. His wife neither talks too much nor tattles. She has " means " of her own, so her house is not wanting in those surroundings which make home so pleas ant, and the parish feels more easy in regard to the salary question. Unlike most ministers, who usu- A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. 245 ally fall in love with some damsel in the town where the seminary is situated, before they are raised to the priesthood, George Faxon waited until he returned from Europe before he married. His friends think he lost nothing by this delay. In short, the minister and his wife are a couple, such as any parish should be proud of. The sacred profession is honored by a conscientious, honest, and intelligent member, while the dear old church has no worthier son to sustain her ancient prestige, or bear aloft her sacred banner. George Faxon is a handsome fellow, and his wife is not an invalid two weighty facts in a parish. As to our other friends of whom we have spoken : those who gathered together under " Benjamin s pines " to listen to the " Diary of an Unfortunate Gentleman ; " who assembled in Paradise Hall where Mr. Douce gave his lecture, and who passed those happy hours on " Top-Knot " when the melons were ripe, we are glad to say that " Paradise " still claims them for her own. Indeed, "Paradise" would hardly be " Paradise at all, unless their gladsome smiles and beaming countenances were recognized amidst its emerald glades and undu lating hills. What though they be but ideal com panions in the realms of fancy, still, to say fare well to even these, stirs within our heart a feeling akin to that which is present when living friend ships die. Let us hope that as the halcyon days approach, and the robin and the bluebird fly back 246 A FASHIONABLE SUFFERER. from their southern homes, so these dear friends may return each season in the puffing train which stops at the little red-roofed station among the green hills of " Tucit-Kennoc." STANDARD AND POPULAR SELECTED FROM THE CATALOGUE OF HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND CO. S~^ ONSIDER what you have in the smallest chosen library. A company of the wisest and wittiest men that could be picked out of all civil countries, in a thou sand years, have set in best order the results of their learning and wisdom. The men themselves were hid and inaccessible, solitary, impatient of interruptions, fenced by etiquette ; but the thought which they did not uncover to their bosom friend is here written out in transparent words to us, the strangers of another age. Ralph Waldo Emerson. OHN ADAMS and Abigail Adams. Familiar Letters of John Adams and his wife, Abigail Adams, during the Revolution. 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