^^,<^2ES^3esas;iii2Lieia?^^gy«mm^^s^^ PS 1664 .F15 E7 1895 Copy 1 '^^ -A^ ^4^'(By(i ^mmm^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, ®^j[t, P^TE^ U23 6" UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ESSIE A ROMANCE IN RHYME LAUEA DAYTOX FESSEXDEX ILLUSTRATED BY J. H. VANDERPOEL I LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 10 MILK STREET B O S T O X K^ \^ ;i:-.!^"' %% «tft..;C. /../'« ' And see the old house that Tiaurenee iold you of as '* his homi'," And see the mother that lov(^d liini (and misses him day by day ), Yon will iiiid a, kindly welcome, From your friend, Mahv Lancjley. THE A r fJEP TA S CE THE ACCEPTANCE Mv DEAii Ladv Langley. — Ym sittincr in the lioiTidest chatter and din Of at least five nations of school-girLs : so it's rather hard to begin. To tell you how glad I am to leave this la helle France. (\i Yd been invited to Hades, last summer, I'd jumped at tli.e cli.ance.) I had to show my guardian your letter tliat asked me to come. He's an American fossil, that used to live near us at home ; But, from Ijeing for yeai-s in Paris, he's grown to adopt their way Of guarding wards and daughters, which, really, I must say, To a girl of republican spirit, is just a regular cross ; For (to u to that age rather "green;" As for being out of a city, I've precious too much of that here ; THE ACCEPTANCE 11 And your proper London acquaintances would style me horrid and queer ; And then, my dear Lady Langley, it will be so sweet to know I am treading the very pathways that Laurence trod lonof ao-o. I Avas very fond of your Laurence ; I liked his odd, foreign way ; And used to sit beside his bed in preference to play. For you knoAV, my Lady Langley, that Lau- rence was poor and ill : And even now, in looking back, my eyes begin to fill. From the first he seemed fond of Essie — Essie, my lady, is me. I don't know how it happened — I was wild as I could be. Mamma died Avhen I was a baby, and so (though papa was refined) I grew u[) wilful and slangy, and never was known to mind. Tlie doctor said 'twas consumption ; that Lau- rence would have to go Away from us, up to heaven, before the winter's snow. 12 ESSIE Laurence was not sad at the summons ; and once, when I was near (I always was near liim some way), lie called to me, '' Essie, dear ! Are your tasks for the day all tinished ? " ''Yes," I said, ''and \A'hat then?'' 1 tV^ ^llll ^x '* Come and sit down beside me, and bring your paper and pen. I want you to write me a letter ; and, Essie, I want it to be (Until T die), little Essie, a secret ])etween you and me : THE ACCEPTANCE 13 'Twill not be long, wee lassie (and I shall be glad to die)." So I sobbed him out a promise, but he bade me " not to cry." Well, I wrote the letter, my lady, how you read it, I can't think, I'm sure, For I had no idea of spelling ; punctuation I could not endure ; But I wrote his words, my lady, and Fm sorry now to state, That I just absolutely abhorred you, with the hatingest kind of hate. What if poor dear Laurence had been wilful and wild. It seemed so very unnatural that a mother should see her child Turned in shame from the roof-tree, with a father's curse on his head. Your husband seemed a monster ; but Laurence always said. — • " Essie, I richly deserved it, I was wilful and bad : I know my wayward spirit has made my lady's life sad." You know how he asked '' forgiveness " — that '' kind memories you would keep 14 ESSIE Of your youngest boy — your Laurence — who soon would be asleep." So glad to rest in quiet, after life's short day, But what's the use of recalling when I only want to say, That I'm glad you forgave him, — glad that Laurence rests With the turf of old England above liim — the land he loved the best. And as to our kindness, my lady, we Ameri- cans have a way Of being a generous nation ; of being apt to say To a stranger that asks our protection, a '"yea," and not a •• nay." But enough of all tliis. Til be with you ere the close of the week ; And, my lady, I really intend to be docile and ofcntle and meelv. I hope your son's in the mountains, or, if not, that we shall cry truce. Believe me, my lady, I'm ever, Your little friend, Essie C. Bruce. ESSIE'S EIliST HOME LETT Eli 15 ESSIE'S FIRST HOME LETTER Dear Chicken, — I've crossed the Channel, and reached the old English shore (Every time I get on the ocean Em sicker tlian ever before). Old Guardy was true to the last; and stuck to me like a burr, And the lectures and cautions he gave, will not in the least deter Me from doing just as 1 like. Can a leopard change his spots? '^ No, lie can't." Well, do you suppose his talk- ing would change me lots ? I said, why shouldn't '' they stare ; " Em ve/'j/ pretty, grandpa. You can't deny that; for they say, '*! am like poor mamma ; " And that she was a belle in her youth, and t/ou were her beau. Till Dr. Bruce came and cut you out, so you can't be surprised, you know ; 16 ESSIE But ill ni}" lieart, dear Charley, I felt a little bit queer, A flutter of expectation, and a tinj^ bit of fear. At the steamer's dock there met me, the stew- ard, a Mr. Ray, He had come that morning from Leighcroft — all the way; And his manner was so respectful that I began to see. That if Guardy was provoking, he knew what ouQ^ht to be. So I vowed I'd be calm as a duchess, and that, all tlie way by train, I would sit like a small stone image, and gaze out on the pelting rain. But my legs got awfully cramped. (I had skipped my dull novel through). And so I looked about me, as the next best thing to do. Mr. Ray was respectfully napping, screened by the morning Times ; His snores were so funny and muffled, they made me think of the chimes On our village church at home. Chick, I don't have need to tell What I did, for ^^ou know I giggled — girls always do, and — w^ell, r^;? ^-m. 111 ^. s'Hi f=a i! I f 1 .^7-^.>-.-^l ^^ .\ ''V'; '-',!/ sm™/*/' V/ ■■'/; "'I' { > ii]n iymiiimr,!iifiiiiiiii/ 1111 '.'''' /.."/'// " ' ^°wed rd be calm as a duchess ESSIE'S FIRST HOME LETTER 19 I could not vei'3' well help it, my eyes would take a look At the otliers in our couipartment, and there sat a man Aviih a book. I thouo-ht at first he was readino- but now I know that he, With very much more interest, was calndy watcli- incr me. o '' Ce monde est pleln de fous,'' Fve heard our madam say. I w^onder if that fellow, Chick, expected me to pay Him back the laughing glances, sucli as he seemed inclined to bestow? Chick, it could have been a flirtation (it was hard to let it go). (But 1 did.) I gave back one vacant stare, then turned my head awiiy. And kept it turned (though my poor neck ached), till I heard tlie porter say, '^ All off for Leighcroft Manor!" I saw through the door disap[)ear The heels of my Avould-be flirtation (I wonder if he lives here). j\Iy dear, the carriage that met me was just a familv ark. 20 ESSIE And I really believe the servants expected a real, live, stark, Staring, wild American Indian, with feathers, war-whoop, and all ; For, at sight of me their looks darkened, / ivasnt the thing at all ; A miss in a Paris bonnet, en pannier, en high- heeled shoes, Instead of a sooty savage in war-paint or with. a papoose. But servants are well trained in England, so tliey opened tlie old ark door, O Chick, such snifty cushions I never lounged in before I Ray did not get in ; he simply closed the door and stalked away. And hastened to tell (I doubt not) the buxom Mistress Ray And a host of red-cheeked daughters "that the importation had come ; To call me a little '• pipe-stem," and '^ thank heaven the girls at home Had not putty faces and Chinese feet," and fifty other compliments. That I won't take time to repeat. On we dashed through the twilight — Stood a gentle-looking lady." ESSIE'S FIRST HOME LETTER 23 The village faded away — and there dawned upon my siglit The Manor ; it stood upon a hillside, with ter- raced lawns before, And, like some grand old picture, before the open door Stood a gentledooking lady, clad in soft robes of gray ; One glance in her face, and fears. Chick, fled on swift wings away. By her side was a portly gentleman (he and Guardy would make a pair). Very fat and comfortaljle-looking, without any stock of hair ; He hurried as fast as he could, and held out one puffy hand, Wliile he said in a ivlnei/ whis[)er, '' Welcome, dear, to England." And then my lady caught me, and held me against her breast : I looked at her through a mist. Chick, and felt more perfect rest Than I have for two long years, since father's last kiss lav On my trembling, trembling lips, on the day I sailed away. 24 ESSIE It wasn't a bit like the stories (why will nov- elists lie ?) My lady was just a Avoman, and she let me have my cry Out on her motherly bosom. Then she kissed me, and said, — "" There, there, you are tired, dearie ; cease cry- ing, you'll make your eyes red." Well, we had tea together, my lord, my lady, and I, With no one but ourselves and a white-haired butler by. Then we sat and talked of Laurence till the great clock struck nine. When my lady said, ''Are you ready for bed?" Be sure, dear, I did not decline. Dear Charley, I'm awfully sleepy, but my room is very swell ; I wisli it was not, I tell you, for it's rather friglitful to dwell With four huge life-sized pictures of some long o'one ladies o'av : I can fancy them stepping down from their frames when the lights are taken away. Tlie bed is plump and fat and high, but yet I haven't a doubt ESSIE'S FIRST HOME LETTER 25 Every one of those four up yonder had on it their '' hivincr out.'' •J o But lieavens ! I'm getting the sliivers, and I'll frigliten myself to deatli, So, Chicken, I'm yours forever. Your sister, Essie, saith. 26 ESSIE Mcpherson to his friend Dear Philip, — ■ Tlie fates Avere against me. I would not be able to say Wliat I said, and wliat I did not, wlien T knocked into our man, Ka}', And learned 'twas his charmino- mission to briiia- out la j^etite squaiv To summer at Leiglicroft ]Manor. By tliunder, Phil, what a bore ! I am sure my lord will endure tortures far worse than his gout : / thank heaven for Switzerland's journey, so that / am counted out. But, as I said, luck was aq-ainst me ; for, I would have you know, I had telegraphed my A^alet to send on word to Leg row That rd take the noon train for Leighcroft, and arrange with him then and there For that sorrel colt — you know her? sired by '• Young Golden Hair. McPHEBSON TO HIS FRIEND 2i No time to lose, for Bronsoii was hard upon my track. So I was booked and done for. and could not well turn back. So I cornered Ray, and told liim about my little fix, Bade liim not to heed me, nor let the little minx Know I was son of my mother — no recognition to make : But, ])y George I we got seats in the very same cai". I donned my wide-awake. And when the train got in motion, I took my novel out ; And, Phil, by all the powers ! what do you think 'twas about? I had bought the thing in London, at least I went to the stand Near the depot, and took the book that lay near- est to my hand — A little American story ; the subject was very 7nim — '•Helen's Babies" I tliink the title — I tell you, I laughed some Over the random purchase ; but as 'twas all I had to read, 28 ESSIE I found, in the little urchins, friends in a time of need. I wanted to get a look at my lad}^ mother's guest ; But she sat with her face to the window, till I thought I should not be blest, When Ray dropped into a slumber, and sang such a tuneful lay, Tliat the o-irFs face, from the window, turned itself my way. I don't tliink it's fair in a fellow to judge of looks on a train. Besides, la petite Sauvage had been out in a pouring rain. So all I can tell you is, tliat her eyes are large and gray. That her hair is brown, and was tumbled down in a pretty sort of way ; I>ut upon this atom of girlhood I did not waste much time, I was thinking of you, old fellow, and that soon we'd begin to climb In earnest the grand Swiss mountains ; but, Phil, I pause to say. Can't you get off from town, if oidy for a day? I want you to see my purchase : I came here incognito ; Mcpherson to his friend 29 But my lady has found me out, and so from the inn I go To my okl quarters at liome. So come up, and bring some of the boys, Sir Guinn if you like, or Tom, or our jolly friend Joe LeRoys, And we'll talk our plans all over, and 1 will venture to say There will be nothing stupid during your little stay. Good-night, good-night, old fellow, now, is it not deuced queer, That, after all my planning, I find myself just here? Leigiickoft Manor. I am more than sorry, my dear old Phil, To hear by post that you were ill ; To know that you cannot, my dear old boy, Take part with me in the wonderful joy That Thursday evening holds in store. And I regret the forced delay That still keeps back the wished-for day Of our Switzerland journey. So haste and get well ; And, in the meantime, I've much to tell. The fellows came up (five good and strong. 30 ES.^IE Guinii, HaiTY, LeRoys, Tom and Will Long). They, thank fortune, were only a day behind nie here. So, you see, old fellow, I'd little to fear From my lady mother's guest, who does not in the least advance On acquaintance (she's a savage) ; and why they sent her to France Is one of the unsolved problems. I don't see how ma has the face To introduce la belle Sauvage ; I think she's a perfect disgrace. Her looks are all well enongli, complexion, eyes, and hair ; In fact, I think she would l)e called by most men dehonnaire. But manners, Phil, she has none. I asked her, in casual way (To open the conversation), how she came the other day? I thought, perhaps, the pink cheeks might a trifle pinker grow, At the seemingly innocent question ; but, I would liave you know, Slie lifted her large eyes at me, and said, in a pert, brisk way, — MrPIIERSON TO HIS FRIEND 31 "/.^ oh, f/ou do not know, do you? I came by balloon from Calais ! " My lord led lier out to dinner, she did not seem honored at all ; She talked witli the ease of a duehess ; informed us '' of lier skill at ball," Said she '^ climbed trees, rode l)are-l)ack, played ^shinny'" (great heavens! wliat's that?). And another heathenish game called ^-cradle the cat." The butler was liighly amused ; and so — strange to say — was my lord ; And my lady looked slightly perplexed, and I was horridly l)ored. After dinner we walked in the garden. I plucked a rose from a tree. And presented it to la Sauvaije, saying, '' OuhUer je ne puts ; " And what do you tliink came her answer — ^' I would not if I were you, But a man that makes a fool of liimself is noth- ing uncommon or new." And witli tliis my gentle Savage took my prof- fered rose of peace, Wliile from her sweet society I quickly sought release. 32 ESSIE The next day the boys came down ; each I for- mally introduce, To each, in return, a dainty 7iod vouchsafes Miss Essie Bruce. I think she '' takes " with tlie boys ; she's inclined to snare A fellow into thinkino-, late nio-hts, of m-av eyes and brown hair. So Gninn has told me, Phil, and he's known as a hardened sinner. Tom is growing fond of croquet, and Lelloys forgets his dinner, In order to drink in the music of ]\Iiss Essie Bruce's voice. (Miss Essie talks too much for me, but every man to his choice.) She has won my mother completely. Last night I happened to be Out in the swinging hannnock, tlie ladies were waitincr for tea. And I saw Ja belle Sauva(je climb into my mother's chair, And lay her head on her bosom (my lady's li})S touched her hair). And I heard her voice speak softly, saw her sweet eyes gentle grow, Mcpherson ro his friend 38 Saw her red lips part in loving words (in words I could not know). But the words brought tears to my lady's eyes, and brought kisses upon the face Of the tiny creature in her arms (^for the time I'd have taken her place^. Then Sir Charles calls her '' his beauty," says, *' when she goes away, She will take all the sunshine with her for many a louQ^, long^ day ! " The servants are her sworn allies ; they laugh at her lieathenish prank, And still (/ can't understand it), if Miss Essie held the rank, In right, of a titled princess, they could show no more deference true Than she seems to call forth from them when- ever her bidding they do. But I'm off for a constitutional ; and tliis even- ing, before I retire. For your benefit, my invalid, Fll tune my feeljle lyre. No pun intended, old fellow (you know I'm renowned for the truth). So, till evening, now I leave thee, O much loved friend of my youth ! 34 ESSIE ESSIE TO HER PAPA My dear, dear Papa, — If you could only be On this other side of the great wide sea. That divides, with its waters of greenish blue, Your own little Essie, your daughter, from you. I know we'd be happy and merry and gay ; For, dear, dear papa, 'tis a glorious day — A morning in June — not a cloud to be seen. The garden is fragrant, the meadows are green, And the river runs yonder — a silvery thread — And the choir of robins just over my head Are singing like '* fi^iy and all possessed " To me (and three birds in a horse-hair nest). Ah, if 7na tante could be allowed from her grave to rise, I think she'd change her will, when with opened eves, Slie saw liow much of change had come o'er the orphan cliild ; What heaps of savoir-vivi^e had Mademoiselle Essie, the wild ! " My old maid Aunt. ESSIE TO HER PAPA 87 "Speak well of the dead," they say; I wish I could now, but I can't. For I always did, from the very first, detest my old maid aunt. She called me "Esther" (through her nose), be- fore I hardly knew The very difference between my little elove and shoe. She always kept me "spick and span," she read me books on " infant sin," And once she whipped me when I yawned and said, "O Aunty, that's too thin." She punished me with Bible texts, and with the sweet commandments ten ; And, oh, in church, if I forgot one single small "Amen," A fvord in Litany or Creed, it was a sin of deep- est dye ; And if I did not mend ni}^ way, I'd rue it by and by. She would not hear of fairy-tales — More and Edgeworth, goodey-good. Formed my stock of literature — were my only mental food. I'm glad our goat ate Hannah up ; and I'll con- fess right now. 38 ESSIE That Miss Edgewortli fell a victim to Bess — our brindle co^y. Well, she asked me one line evening (I had been unusually bad), '* Esther, IVl like to know what you would do if you had No kind aunty to love you, and to care for you day l^y day ? " I said, "Til tell you, Aunty, Td just be ' gallus ' and crav : I'd play with Chick and the felloAvs, shinu}^ and marbles and ball — I'd go without slioes and stockings, Yd hang up my French doll On the topmost limb of the highest tree, and then I'd tell some lies. And then (to know what it felt like) I'd set up a shop of mud pies." That night she took a horrible cold, next morn- ing she nrade her will ; If I'd cheesed it about tlie lies (and the pies) she mio-ht be livino- still. Slie left me all that she possessed — jewels, bonds, and land, "• To me^ and mine forever,*' she said. But this was her dying command. ESSIE TO HER PAPA 39 ''That if her niece sliould live s^yeet fourteen to be, Slie must make a journey across the great wide sea, And enter a school in France ; there must Essie I'emain Three long and studious years, ere she journey home again."' And then she gave ns old Guardy — '-I do here provide As guardian, Mr. Jenkins, a friend botli true and tried." Papa, two years of the three have actually flown away. And there remaineth, father mine, but one little year to stay. I left my native land, papa, a very rough, rough stone ; And I greatly fear, papa, Essie has not ]_)olished grown ; Still, I jabber French like a native, and I play six nuisic books through. And I know how to walk, to dance, and to talk, and there's the list, Voild tout. I'm afraid I have not forgotten old ways, which you Avill regret to see. 40 ESSIE When I tell you Tm writing in pencil because I am up in a tree ; Yes, not a little tree either ; but for comfort FU hasten to say, No one but the gardener knows it, the house- hold are all away. My lady lias gone with the vicar's wife to visit the village school ; Sir Cliarles has gone to a neighboring squire's ; and the great big, stupid mule They call their son McPherson (in a suit I'd blush to wear) Is off with five boon companions pretending to hunt for hare. I think I lieard them say for that, but it may have l)een oidy air: But wliatever it is, thank goodness, lie's gone, and wliere, I don't know or care. Tell Chick my romance was squelched, that the wonderful vii<-d-vis Was no other than Mr. Mac Langley — how dared he flirt witli me ? And then when Ave were presented, lie asked me wliicli wa}" I came down ? I said, " By balloon, Mr. Langle}'.*' Pa, you should have seen him frown. ^d ? ;#; ^a^ A\ Because I am up in a tree. ESSIE TO HER PAPA 43 But jNIcPhei'sou is rather good-looking — he lias dark brown eyes and hair ; But I know lie likes fast horses, and I'm sure I heard him swear, Under his breath, at his valet, for forgetting some triflino' thintr. He's off for Switzerland next week ; I'll be glad when he takes wing ; But, before he goes, my lady is going to enhance My misery by giving me a little informal dance On Thursday night on the lawn; "informal!" listen, my dear, I want you to know the things they term in- formal here. The invitations are Avritten on crested paper, and say, " It is Lady Langley's desire to make a pleasant day For her young friend, i\Iiss Essie Bruce ; Avill the Misses Blank prepare To meet Miss Bruce on Thursday next (if said Thursday shall prove fair) ? " The guests are bidden to croquet, the guests are asked to dine With Miss Bruce and Lady Langley, if the weather shall prove fine. 44 ESSIE Then my Lady Langley knows so well, young- people do not scorn A dance at any season, that she shall have on the lawn A tent raised. There'll be music, and so the Misses Blank ma}^ Prepare to wander through the dance and while the evenino- hours awav. I think I shall Avear pink silk (I had it made on the sly — Gave the order to AVortli on a paper slip when Guardy turned his eye). It's snifty^ I tell you, pa, py^incess, train three yards lono- ; Perhaps 'twill l)e rather grand panire, for I'm bound to get things Avrong. I suppose the guests Avill come, each clad in a book-muslin dress, And behind their fans the dowagers Avill call my style '' excess." We Avill see — Fll write and tell you, oh, heayens I Avhat do I see? McPherson and his friends, papa, are coming toAyard this tree. McFHEBSON'S LETTER CONTINUED 45 MCPHERSON'S LETTER CONTINUED The evening is gone, and the night lias been reiernino- for several hours. Everything that I know of s asleep ; from tlie garden the fragrance of flowers Is stealing in upon me ; 'tis a fitting time to tell The rather strange adventure that to all of us befell. Roys began it, I thiidv ; at all events, la belle Was tlie tlieme we dwelt on. (I shudder as I tell), Not for what teas said so much as what mio-ht o have been. Phil, 'twill be a lesson, not soon forgot by us men. At all events, Roys began it, said, '• Take it all in all, One would not call Essie ' ur/li/ ; ' for his part, he liked small Women, like la belle Sauvage ; then, as to her ways, ah, well, 46 ESSIE She was very, very slangy I but, had she not to dwell. All her young life, in a country of blasted plebeian breed? For his part, he tliought Essie did very well indeed."' Tom said, ''The little foot that peeped out in croquet Was really enough in itself to charm one's heart away." Guinn said, '• her eyes had a trick of looking one throuo'h and throuo-h. Till a fellow caught himself blushing, as boys are apt to do." But we all agreed her a hoi/den^ regretted that lips so red Should so often give expression to words left better unsaid. We aofreed that our Eno^lish ladies would vote her horrid and loud ; And then we asked each other, collectively in a crowd. Would we be willing to offer ourselves to her for life? Would any of us fellows be willing to take as wife The object of our converse ? '' 'Twould be being cut off with a shillino- " MrPIJEUSON'S LETTER CONTINUED 47 Said Guinn. "I could not ask her, even if I were willing." Tom said they would be aghast; Itls relations, they'd raise a cry, That made him say, at the thouglit, '' lie would not venture to tiy." Hoys looked glum ; he said, " An officer of our day, And particularly a junior, had plenty to do with his pay/' Well, we all said something, and prol)ably would have said more. Had not something worse than loudest cannon's roar Reached our startled ears. A voice (not "gentle, soft, and low," That excellent thing in woman the poet praises, you know) Sounded high above our heads, a voice borne by the breeze, A voice high up above us from among the garden trees, Saying, " ' Listeners never liear any good ; ' your comments have done no harm. For in all your land, not a single man pos- sesses a sino^le cliarm 48 ESSIE For 'la belle Sauvage' ! She hates John Bull, Hates his arrogant, lordly Avay, and so accepts tliis rather full Dose of disapprobation. Does Sir Guinn fancy his poky way Of lifting his eyes, — a consummate art, — or that polished flattery Can win the heart of a o>irl American born — of a girl who was reared to believe That true manhood knows not how to deceive ? So, take the advice of Essie, each marry a flat- footed girl, Let eacli man fondly cherish as his, a native pearl ; Wear her for aye on your bosoms and you will never repine ; In conclusion, mind your business, and be sure / will mind mine. Now, if you'll kindly retire. Til get down from this tree ; For Fve been up liere all morning, and am tired as I can be." We left, Phil, without more ado, '^ la helle " had us all in disgrace ; And we wonder how she will treat us when next we meet face to face. ESSIE TO HER BROTHER 49 ESSIE TO HER BROTHER Dear Chicken, — The j)arty is over. It was a most perfect success, And 1 only wish I had the 2)ower to faitli- fully express The impression it made upon me. To give you a slight idea Of how a social gathering is arranged and con- ducted here. My lady bade me '' be ready to receive the guests at four ; " So, just at live minutes of it, I knocked at her boudoir door. You should have seen her stare, Chick ! I know she thouglit I looked Avell ; But her English reserve and training would not let her tell. I changed my mind on the pink silk that day, up in the tree. And resolved to out-do England's daughters in primness, if that could be. 50 ESSIE At the very bottom of my trunk (hidden away in disgrace, From my 2)^^ffed and furbelowed dresses) a white muslin had its phice. Simple as hands could make it. This I resolved to wear ; I knew that this sudden change would cause a general stare. Well, on it went, this simple dress, with a rib- bon belt at the waist, And at my neck and wrists I put a ruffle of soft lace. My hair I did '• la Marguerite,'" and it hung like two coils of gold. Ah, Chick, I knew I looked pretty, without even being told. I took some half-blown rose-buds, and pinned them into my hair C Marshal Niels " are ver\' ])ecomina' to one whose com})lexion is fair). And I did not put on a jewel, in ear, on finger, or breast ; Chick, in tliu code of simplicity I could have stood the test. My slippers were only thh'teens^ as la belle Sauvage has very small feet; Marshal Nlel's are very becoming. ESSIE TO IIEE BROTHER 53 And a small foot on English soil, to an Eng- lishman's eyes, is a treat. Well, we went into the drawing-room, and in very short time, my dear, The guests that had been bidden — the o-uests from both far and near — Were with us. We doiit introduce, that is not the en refe=^. Good-by I my last words may be said.' Mcpherson to jus friend 59 Mcpherson to his friend Dear Phil, — Three weeks have passed since your letter came to hand, And I'm sorry, dear old fellow, to have had to let it stand So long, without seeming reason for such a long delay ; But when you liear my excuses, yoar w^onder will pass away. I meant to write you next morning — to write to you of all That liad occurred of interest the night before at the ball. But what man so often proposes a higher power will change, Disposing one's calculations in a Avay that seems most strange. It w^as late ere the party was over; yet we fel- lows lingered still — The smoke from our '\flor del fumas'' the de- serted tent did hll. 60 ES^IE We lauo-hecl and talked of the ball, and some- how when we came To mention la belle Sauvage, Ave dwelt upon her name With a sort of tender accent ; for, Phil, the little sprite Had (for some unknown reason) been charm- ingly gentle that night; Been gentle to all luit me; and, like one that is possessed Of a devil, appeared Miss Essie, my lady mother's gtiest. She inspired a feeling of anger; and yet Fd a sense of fear, Tliat this gray-eyed imj) of girlhood was draw- ing very near Some dangerous experience. I led her out to dine — A penance, not a pleasure^ yet, I could not Avell decline. I resolved to do the agreeable, site resolved the other thing — Restilt — all my good intentions in a moment's time took wing. Before tlie soup Avas over, Miss Bruce, Avith a jockey air. MCPHERSON TO HIS FRIEND 61 3et me — mark you — bet me, she could ride young ''Golden Hair." I tried to keep down my horror, and (still more) my supreme disgust^ And tliat my replies were courteous I most sincerely trust. I don't remember tvhat I said, I only know it cast An utter and perfect silence over our whole re- past. Well, I thought of this all the evening, thought of it in the tent — Thought of Miss Essie's flasliing eyes, and won- dered if she meant To defy my warnings; and I resolved to tell the orroom The earliest thing in the morning, that it would seal his doom If ever he let a being, man or woman, young or fair. Or ugly or old as IMethuselali, mount upon '• Golden Hair." (So I said not a word to the boys, who liad by degrees slipt away; We were all in the land of slumber before the dawn of day.) 62 ESSIE 1 woke with a start, the village bell was calling out for seven ; I turned upon my pillow, resolving to sleep till eleven. When a thought of my purpose regarding young ''Golden Hair," Changed my plan ; I at once arose, and dressed me then and there ; I hurried down — the old house was wra2)t in slumber yet, And I laughed to myself, Phil, thinking, ''for once ril surely get The best of la belle Sauvaye ; I'll stop this one mad prank. Her neck shall not be broken, and she'll have me to thank." The stable door stood open, the horses were champing their hay ; I called out for the groom, Thomas, he came with "Aye, sir, aye.*' I gave my command at once; you should have seen the surprise That came over the face of the fellow ; you should have seen his eyes Grow large with utter amazement. '' Why, Master, you don't tell me so; Mcpherson to his friend 63 Miss Essie rid off on ' Golden Hair ' more than an lionr ago. She came and bade me side-saddle the mare, she said ' 'twas a bet ' That you had made atween you ; that she was afeared to set On such a skittish young creetur as this 'ere 'Golden Hair.' I said all I could to dissuade her ; but, Master, I did not dare To say 'No' to such as Miss Essie; and, beside, I thouo-ht it your will. I was afeared^ I tell you, and am a fearing still." Tliere was no time for parley. I bade liim saddle '• Jane," Asked which direction they took. '' She went, sir, by hillside lane." I wanted no more, but galloped auay, my heart beatiniT liio-li with fear, Dreading to look, dreading to think, of what might soon appear. I galloped on ; nothing in sight, all peaceful, calm, and fair. No reckless Essie within view on more reckless "Golden Hair." 64 ESSIE On I pressed, looked right and left, a cnrve in the road, a hill beyond ; At its foot, in the morning light, the waters of mill-brook pond Glistened in the morning snn ; then on my ear fell the din Of the Eastern-bound train, to the town beyond coming in. It turned a sharp curve on its Avay ; on it came — God have mercy ! — there, With loosened rein, and laughing face, came Essie upon '' Golden Hair," Riding along at leisurely pace ; the memory of her young, sweet face, As it looked in that moment of peril, Phil, has in my memory forever a place. The beautiful, mettlesome little mare seemed pleased with tlie dainty burden she bore. And turned her graceful neck to look at the face of her rider once more. But the sharp, shrill whistle strikes on her ear. Her nostrils quiver, her eyes grow wild, and her body trembles in nervous fear ; Another, another shrill resound, till far-away echoes take up the sound — One maddening plunge, one wild rebound. Mcpherson to his friend ^^y And, like tlie inoriiing wiiicl, on rushes "• (rolden Hair." I looked in speechless terror, wondering does slie bear Her rider jet, or has she flung her precious burden fair. No ; bravely liolding to the reins, on Essie came. I strained my lungs, I called the name Of horse and rider • — •' AVhoa I whoa, ' Golden Hair ' I " '' Keep tight hold, Essie, on that cursed mare ! " She heard my voice. I thought that I could trace A look of courage on the pinched white face ; And back upon the breeze, Phil, this reply Was w^ifted to my ears, '' Give in to ' Golden Hair,' not I!'' And, sure enough, friend Phil, the mare began to slack. And, as she drew up beside me, Essie remarked, ''Mr. Mac, I am mrry I took 3^our dare, — a runaway is not gay, — Mr. Langley, if you've no objection, I thiidv I shall faint away." 66 ESSIE I had lier down from '* Golden Hair " in less time than I can speak ; She lay in my arms like a lih^ so gentle and white and meek ; Her brown hair all tossed and tumbled, her bonnet gone (Heaven knows Avhere) ; m . .^^ Wi&^ ^Or . ,fims, -.i^ir ^rr" VM j^'*^-"* ' But what AYoman wants a l)onnet with such a wealth of hair? I bathed her Avhite face from the brook, holdinsf lier on my breast, And I felt in this situation 'particularly blessed; When the lovely gray eyes opened, and called me to earth again. By the pretty lips remarking, '^ I think I'll ride home on ' Jane ;' Mi^PHERSON TO HIS FRIEND 67 I think I will, for my poor wrist aches like all possessed ; And i/ou can manage ' Golden Hair ' a little bit the best." Phil, since then she's been a lamb ; and now that the boys are awaj^, I suppose I must give up Switzerland, and just resolve to stay. And do the agreeable to Essie, — her vacation is almost passed, — And try to make her stay with us pleasant to the hist. In three weeks from now she leaves us, and then I'm coming to town. I shall feel quite like a hero, worthy of much renown. For having made myself a martyr to be kind to this little child (Who is not so bad, after all, Phil, only a trifle wild). Well, my letter ends; I'll be with you as soon as Miss B. goes away. And, for the present. Sir Philip, I wish you a very good daj^ 68 ESSIE FROM ESSIE'S JOURNAL Well, little old Journal, my trusty friend, Do you know my visit has come to an end ? And that I am back in the land I adore (?) Monsieur '' Johnny Crapaud\s '' dear, native shore ! My visit is over — my fair holiday. With the things that were, shall be put away Far in the past, that ever seems To grow bright and m(^re fair in memory's dreams. When I came that day from that horrible ride, I sort of and kind of 7'esolved Td decide Never to take a dare again (I nearly l^roke my neck that day, And, as a general practice, neck-breaking does not pay). I resolved to utter fewer words in vulgar par- lance called " slang ; " But, if life depended on keeping that vow, I'm afraid I'd have to hmig. FROM ESSIE'S JOURNAL 69 Oil ! when the whistle blew that clay, and '' Golden Hair " grew wild. Every wicked thing I'd ever done since I was a little child, Came before me in a flash. I thought my " bucket would kick," And I wondered if I was so had, that his ma- jesty, ^'Old Nick," Would catch me from wild '' Golden Hair," and take me down to dwell With Eurydice and himself, in his brimstone abode in — well, I won't name the city — but I did not care to go ; I did not like the prospect, I tell you, " not for Joe!" Then there came to me this comfort — I weren't so very had, And the Master, way up yonder, I remembered that He had Known our sin and weakness, endured tempta- tion too ; So I Avas sure He'd open the gate and let my little soul through ; And in tliat sweet assurance my fears all slipped away. 70 ESSIE While my heart asked God " to take me," and my lips began to say — "Now 1 lay me" — softly (as I do every night), But \yhile I looked to Providence, yon bet / held the 7'eins tight! Then, lo ! upon me dawned — ]iow. Journal, who do yon guess ? Why, Mr. McPherson Langley, in his knicker- bocker dress. On his pretty mare called "Jane," with eager, anxious speed. He was hastening toward me. I was glad to see him, indeed; Somehow lie AAas not so ngly, viewed by that morniiio' lio-ht. And I don't think that man ever was so fair to woman's sight. Not Adonis unto Venus, not iEneas to the queen Called "Dido," with her wild love, looked more beautiful, I ween. He came from death to save me, ah I life is very sweet — We never know its value till death's dark form we meet ; FROM ESSIE'S JOURNAL 71 Till ^ye see the arrow quiver, feel that the bended bow Is eager to drink our heart's blood, and lay our head so low ; But I would not have liim Jcnoiu it — know I was glad lie'd come ; So I rode toward him madly, with lips both white and dumb, Till I heard his voice ('twas music) cry, " Hold tight, Essie ! Whoa, ^Golden Hair ' I *' (He might liave cried, '' AVhoa, Emma ! " for all that mare would care.) But ''Hold tight, Essie," gave me courage, and I clung like all possessed, While my heart beat, oh ! so loudly, against my frightened breast ; But I answered, in my weakness, that / did not mean to let go ! And then ('twas a marvel) " Golden Hair " began to slow. And grew slower, and still slower, in her eager pace. Till Mr. Langley and Essie Bruce were actually face to face. Of course, like a fooJ T fainted; I was mad, be sure of that ; 72 ESSIE So weak and namhy-pamhy^ just like a regukar ''flat." And wlien I sort of "came to" (but before I had strenofth to rise From a very romantic position, and too weak to open my eyes), I coukl swear, if it ivamt iviched^ tkat I beard as plain as day, McPherson say, ^^ preemis darling I " in tlie most smoodUng Ava}^ He call "/« belle Smivage'' '^ preciovs'' — call Essie Bruce '' darlivig " too ! I wonder the eartli did not open, and offer to let me through. And then, — well. Journal, — McPherson, who looks with infinite scorn Upon girls, and green me above all, hissed me^ as sure as you're born ! I suppose I should have been angry; I'm a little afraid I was not; An hour before I'd have slapped his face, and looked as angry and hot As a large, new-boiled lobster; but there I lay, pale and calm As a lily on a May morning, with my head on his great big arm. FROM ESSIE'S JOURNAL 73 But 1 had to come to myself ; 1 opened my eyes and said, — " O Mr. Mac, you're tired ; I'm sorry my poor head Proved so weak a member; thanks for your kindly support. 1 won't faint agahi^ I assure you ; it's not very pleasant sport." He said, ''Thank Heaven it's over!" I replied, "Ah, yes, I survive;" Then we never spoke another word for all the rest of the drive. My lady never reproved me ; and as for Sir Charles, he said, "I was a trump;" he liked my pluck, so there was iiotliiinj to dread. And then I spent three such weeks I McPlier- son seemed to change ; And from that morning / liked Jmn ; and, what is still more strano-e, He gave up Switzerland's journey, and devoted himself to me. What caused all this sudden changing, I can't for the life of me see. The days of the three weeks flew on great, wide wings away. 74 ESSIE And before I knew it, Journal, had come the parting day. I got up very early, intending to visit the gar- den below, To say good-by to the landscape I had learned to loA^e and know. Then I passed through tlie rustic garden gate, to the meadow, where the dew Lingered on the green blades and ''violet eyes" so blue ; And I Avished (a very silly wisli) tliat every drop was a tear Of regret, from Nature's children, that Essie was leaving here. I stooped to gather some blossoms to take as mementos SAveet Of the pleasant visit ended, when the sound of coming feet Rustled in the grass behind me, and lo, and behold ! there stood My stalwart friend McPherson, and he looked " very good "' (As the Bible hath it). His strong, blond Eng- lish face Seemed full of feeling ; and I'm sure that I could trace FROM ESSIE'S JOURNAL 75 A sadder tone in his full voice, as lie said, '' Tm glad yon're here I " " Yes ? well, I came to say good-by to this meadow, grown so dear To '- la belle Sauvage^ your guest ; I have spent sucli happy hours *fA.*.^ i,i^j f*0,// 4 Out here among the clover and the nodding blue-eyed flowers ; And I'm glad yo^i are here ; I can say good-by to 3' on In this meadow very much better than at the house ril do. i b ESSIE Mr. McPherson Lano-lev, if I've ever been hate- fill or rude (And I can be both^ I know, if it happens to suit mj mood), Won't you please forgive me? You know I'm a perfect chikl ; And Tm motherless, Mr. Langley, and I've grown up ever so wild. When you first called me ^la belle Sauvage^^ I hated you Avith a will ; But now I ask as a favor, that ?/o)i will thiidv of me still As ' la petite squaw,' ' la belle Sauvage^' as just wild little Essie Bruce, With whom, after many a squabble, y(ju\'e raised a perpetual truce. And I hope and trust that some day we shall meet again ; And be assured, whenever it is, you'll find that you retain My honest and true friendship ; and I hoj^e, sir, ere long to hear That you've found the lady of your heart, some one just as near Your idea of perfection as this earth can be- stow ; " I left a kiss on his forehead." FROM ESSIE'S JOURNAL 79 But it's breakfast time — by-by, iov please — sir, I 7nust go.'' He was bending over the rustic gate, his eyes looking into mine, Mine that were brimming over with very salty brine (Salty because I tasted one), and then — oh, Journal — don't tell. For it's airful to act on impulse, but I did, and — and — well I It was a motherly impulse, and he looked so verfj sad. That 'I left a kiss on his forehead, and then took to my heels like ''mad/' Journal, I never once looked back, I did not see Mac again ; For to my lady's amazement he took the noon- day train To London; -important business called him at once to town." Business! Ms business! Fll bet that nothing took him down But to send on board the steamer such a basket of fruit and flowers Tliat I forgot to be seasick for actually several hours. 80 ESSIE I'm back in the old dull routine, and I feel myself acting queer; I go dreaming and mooning about in a way Td have scorned last year ; Dreaming of great blond whiskers (that I used so much to despise), Of an English voice, and, above them all, of a pair of dark brown eyes. And I've actually jyressed some flowers. Guardy says, " I'm growing refined." Perhaps V\\\ in (Heaven forbid it) — in love, or out of my mind. ■tiil'iitlltl^r y Mcpherson to his friend 81 Mcpherson to his friend Dear Philip, — Tve no need to tell you of Sir Hugh's death hist week; The Times reported the sad event, so of that I won't stop to speak. Well, we obedient relations, like a party of black crows (Made me think of some scene from Dickens, in our sombre mourning clothes), Followed the old man's body to its last resting- place ; And then I, seeing no reason to stay, turned my steps to retrace ; For I saw no need of my going back to hear the will Of my maternal uncle, who never seemed to thrill With an overflow of affection; in fact, sad as it may be, Sir Hugh and I had never been known on one point to agree. 82 ESSIE When a boy I was always treading on some of his gouty ways, And lie did not seem to admire the course of my manhood days. Then there were hosts of cousins who had hu- mored each caprice, So wliy did I want to hear what lieM left each ne[)liew and niece? So I was rather astonislied when nn^ uncle's legal man Beo'ored 'Td return to tlie castle" with the rest of the mourning clan. Indeed, he thought '' I had better,'' so of course what else could I do ? And we gathered in tlie parlor, looking as cold and blue As if from tlie bit ol paper the lawyer held in his liand We were to be perpetually blessed or irrevocably damned. Ye gods ! 'twas like a thunder-clap ! Some legacies (very small) Were left to others — to 7ne, Pliil, was given everytldiig — all ! Titles, estates, rank, fortune, on this condition, my friend, MiFJlERSON TO HIS FRIEND 83 " That I should marry a tvife^" Phil, '• before four weeks should e7id ! '' After the will had been read to my disai)pointed kin (A will right and tight as a rivet), I tell you I felt thin Over the stern proviso. Once I told my uncle that I Had forsworn women forever, and a bachelor should die. He never said pro or con, but hoarded it up in his head, To make me eat with a relish my words after he was dead. Oidy four Aveeks to choose a 2:»artner for my life — Only four weeks to court a girl, and get her for a wife ! I could not keep the secret; and the girl I asked would know That if she did not have me, I'd have to let all go. And in the sweet bj^-and-by, when differences should be Occasionally discussed between my chosen one and me, 84 ESSIE She (after the manner of her sex) would not hesitate to tell Me o'er again the story that I should know so well. Tell me '' I owed my title, my home, my wealth, my land. To her wearing my ring on her finger, to he?- giving me her hand." Then I thought over every woman known to me, liigh or low ; And to each ''Shall I ask her?'' my soul cried out loudly, ''No!" Did I say to everi/ woman ? There was 07ie, with soft bi'own hair, And wonderful star-like eyes that kept coming before me there ; A little childish creature, with a saucy, malicieiix face. By Jove ! Phil, there stood Essie ! and she seemed to fill the place Better than Lady Betty, better than Florence Bryne Whose wealth is rumored fabulous (she's con- sidered a diamond mine By fortune-hunting fellows), and she would give her hand Mcpherson to ins friend 85 To one called j\Ir. Mac Laiigley, Tve been given to understand. But wliat's lier wealth to the bright eyes of a little girl I know? And what jewel does her casket liold that my darling can't bestow ? What pearl so fine and priceless as the per- fect teeth that show Their Avhiteness in rare contrast to the red lips' rubv^ o-low? What diamond in the wide world can sparkle like the wit Of the dashing little woman, when her lady- ship sees fit ? I could string her into a chain of jewels worth far more Than ever mortal connoisseur had gazed upon before. Ah I I, Avho had hated all women, was suddenly brought to see That my only anguish now was, lest one woman cared not for me. I resolved to make the venture ; and if I did not succeed, Why, rd have to go in pell-mell and do the venturesome deed 86 ESSIE Of blinding my eyes, and taking the first one that came to hand ; So I gave my uncle's lawyer to thoroughly un- derstand That I accepted the arrangement, and, without any further delay, Would haste to ask the lady to speed the wed- ding-day. I stopped at Leiglicroft Manor to tell my parents the news ; To tell them of the bride I sought, and ask them not to refuse Their blessino^ if I won her. Imao-ine ! 'twas not a surprise. My lady began to hug me, with tears in her dear old eyes, To tell me, "she hoped it luoidd he^ she had learned to love Essie so. And she did not think /^er little girl would say to Iter hig hog, ' No I ' " My lord had to wipe his glasses, said, ^' all he had to say. Was, when Little Sunshine came again, it would be a happy day." So I crossed the Channel, feeling 7nost mighty queer ; McPIIEESON TO IIIS FRIEND 87 Feeling queerer and queerer, the nearer I drew near. First I went to tlie guardian ; he looked like one perplexed, As if he very mucli wondered wliat was coming next. He said, " to tell me tlie trutli, he had very little to say On this, or an}^ matter. Miss Bruce would have her own tvau ; And that if he, her guardian, pronounced him- self content With me, as Miss Bruce\s lover, Dr. Bruce would give his consent." So we went to the school together. J\Iiss liruce was summoned in ; I shall never forget the saucy nod, as though she cared not a pin For her beloved guardian, still far, far less for me. And had not quite decided ivhom we had come to see. She nodded to her guardian, gave me her finger-tips. But her pink cheeks grew piidvcr when I pressed them to my lips. 88 ESSIE She snatched the white hand from me, saying, "Mr. Mac, do you know, Kissing saints' fingers, 7iot sinne7^s\ is in Paris ' all the go ' ? " (Slangy little Essie !) I bent, lest Guard}^ should liear, And Avhispered under my breatli into her sea- shell ear, '^ Kissing a sinner's forehead seems in Uuf/Icmd noiv the style. So wdiy should not sinners' fingers he kissed in France once in a while ? " Then Guardy found it ('onvenient to take him- self away ; And once alone, I hastened to say what I had to say. I don't know how I did. When I thought I had it to do, I pondered over the puzzle, wondering how in the deuce I'd o'et throuo-h. But, b}^ George ! it was not so hard to say, '' I love you, my dear ! " When the object of my affection was so very, very near ; Not hard to tell my story, when Essie's lovely eyes Mcpherson to his friend 89 Were looking kindly on me, in cliildisli, pleased surprise. She listened earnestly to nie, a shadow on her sweet face Of thought I had never seen before, adding new charm and grace. Her head drooped low when I asked her " to be my own for life " — Drooped lower still, when I called her '• my precious little wife ! " Then I took her in my arms, and she raised her pretty head — Pliil, these were the very words that my be- trothed said, — '' I've got plenty of money^ so I don't marry you for that ; And as for your yietv title I care no more than a cat! But you've got to marry some one, I very plainly see ; And I suppose, take it all in all, you'd do as well with me As you would with Lady Flora (or lady any- thing). For tills T know, your lordship, there is not one could bring 90 ESSIE In her dower the gift I cany ; and, Mac, Til tell you true, Fve tried all my mi f/ Jit to hate you, but I love you ; yes, I do ! Mac, I'll try to be better; but you must be better still, And if you are, old fello^y, I think we can climb the hill Of life very well together; and when we are old and gray, We may be glad we promised to be man and wife to-day. I am glad my lady loves me ; and Sir Charles is a darling, dear. And rd hug them both, I tell you, if they were only liere/' But I was a jealous lover ; I wanted the '• luigs " myself. Phil, I think / shall be slangy, when I get tlie pretty elf For a positive, life-long companion. We marry in two weeks' time. So, come on, old fellow, and liear our wedding- bells cliime. Essie is l)lithe as a bird. Tye promised the child, next fall Mcpherson to ins friend 91 If the gods are propitious, Ave Avill go and make a call On the land of the ^' Star Spangled Banner."' I wish you could hear Essie tell, The surprise slie expects to create, it wouhl pay your hearing well. She says they'll expect to see her, majestic, stately, and wise ; And when they find only Essie has come Ijack, their surprise Will exceed anything ever written, for she never means to be Anything but ^^ la belle Saiwage " to the whole wide world and me. l"ni happy ; yes, so happy, that earth seems to hold no cloud; I'm satisfied beyond measure, and very, very proud Of my blithe and bonny darling: and, Phil, how in the deuce Could I ever think '' Squmc'' or ^^ Sauvage'' in the least like Essie Bruce? 92 ESSIE FROM THE TIMES At tlie Legation, on Tuesday last, Avere married, McPherson Langley, Lord Crighton of Castle AVood, Thorn PI ill, and River Way, To Esther Carlton liruee, only daughter of Dr. Gates Bruce of New York City, in the United States Of America. The groom, Lord Crighton, stands High as a scholarly gentleman, and ever warmest praise commands. The bride. Miss Bruce, is beautifid, witty, accom- plished, refined ; Beloved by all who know her for both charms of heart and mind. Owing to recent bereavement in the family of my lord. And Miss Bruce being motherless, the wedding occurred abroad ; And was, we understand, a strictly private af- fair — FROM THE TIMES 93 None but liis lorclsliip's pjirents tuid a friend or two being there. We Avisli for my lord and lady all the blessings life can bestow; May peace and joy be around them wherever their footsteps go. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 785 938 9 #