Class __J? S > $$'OS ' OopigM J2££ COPYRIGHT DEPOSm The Little Marquise on the Wall and Miscella- nies in Verse and Prose By Laura G. Collins Pierre and Marguerite By M me - Rostan THE ROBERT CLARKE COMPANY CINCINNATI, NINETEEN HUNDRED AND TWO Copyright y 1901, hy The Robert Clarke Co. PRESS OF THE ROBERT CLARKE CO. CINCINNATI, U. S. A. DEDICATION TO MY DEAR FRIEND Miss Marie Patterson OF WASHINGTON AND PARIS COMMEMORATING IDEAL DAYS OF COMARADERIE Contents* POEMS. PAGE The Little Marquise on the Wall 7 Spring in Kentucky 17 Rome 19 An Appeal 21 Under Closed Eyelids 23 Christmas at the Old Woman's 25 In the Gloaming 29 What We Owe to Italy 32 Mother Earth 34 I'm Athinkin' 38 Unter den Linden 41 MISCELLANIES IN PROSE. A Munich Dream Fulfilled in Rome 43 Cloud Pictures in England 47 My Dog Blanc 50 The Double Portrait 59 Legend of Lent. A Translation from the French of Quatrelles 63 Part II. Winter Evenings in a French Pension 77 Pierre and Marguerite 79 Elizabeth of Hungary. A Legend of the XIII. Century 89 (v) VI CONTENTS. PAGE My Ten Feet of Letter. A Literary Vagary. . . 95 A Few Days' Intercourse with Miss Peabody. . 107 1 The President is Dead " 113 The Thistle Gatherer 116 On Reading a Christmas Letter 124 Rejoinder to "You Don't Love Him " 127 Letter to a Munchausen Correspondent 132 A Sacred Anniversary 134 Flowers for a Good-bye, from a Young Friend. 137 Non Semper Idem Floribus est Honor Venis. . 139 The Lieutenant-Governor's Christmas Gift 141 POEMS. 'Cbe Little JMarquise on the QlalU What strange freaks one's memory plays ! A flash, and long forgotten days Claim and cause us to live once more All the life of that vanished yore ; And old friends as we knew them then Greet us and welcome us again — But one I remember best of all, The Little Marquise on the Wall. Standing facing me with an air Sweetly conscious that she was fair, In her rich and splendid array — Satins, brocades and velvets gay — Not one of all assembled there Could, she knew, with herself compare — And I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. (7) 8 THE} UTTI.E MARQUISE ON THE WAIJ,. Easy to tell with but a glance She was born and bred in Sunny France, That ne'er her dainty feet had trod Other than her own native sod. That chateaux, palaces to her Kings and nobles familiar were — So I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. The blaze of diamonds in her hair That in her sparkling eyes did share, Such dusk of locks, such dusk of eyes — What depth of shadows in them lies ! So deep down soon we dizzy grow, If their secrets we seek to know. Yes, I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. "Before the War" — those good old times ! Ring out once more their gala chimes ! For in spite of wind and weather We '11 make the gay ' 'round' ' together, THK UTTI<3 MARQUISE ON THE WAU,. 9 As in the old plantation days, From house to house in old time ways — While I remember best of all The little Marquise on the Wall. From steeds and vehicles we sang, While our laughter merrily rang As through canebrake, mile on mile, A procession in single file, The tall, dense stalks on either side, All but the sky o'erhead did hide — Yet I remember best of all The Iyittle Marquise on the Wall. Rang more merrily when — bad luck ! A tree across the road we struck. With no help for us in our need, But in one way could we proceed ; — Making show of disdain for such halt — Over ! — with jolt and lurch and vault — Yet I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. IO THE UTTI,E MARQUISE ON THE WAU,. A picture in antique frame Of a young, lovely, high-born dame, With a diamond coronet On her dark tresses lightly set ; Neck, arms, bosom, hands, gown, train, Gleamed as if caught in diamond rain — Oh ! I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. "My great, great grandmother," low she said, Our stately hostess as she led Us to present as to a queen — A fairer sure was never seen ! Annals and chronicles her name Among those show, well-known to fame — Yes, I remember best of all The Iyittle Marquise on the Wall, Her cheeks — what rich roses they wore — And to bloom there forevermore ! Lips, like a bow shaped, cherry red, Smiled as at something she 'd just said ; THK UTTI,B MARQUISE ON THK WAU,. 1 1 Beauty, happiness themselves found With youth's brilliant radiance crowned — Ah ! I remember best of all The I^ittle Marquise on the Wall. Ancestry, France, the contrast strange Of old and new homes gave a range Of topics for rambling talk, When out-doors invited to walk, And bask in the sunshine and flowers, Where a sun-dial marked the hours, — Still I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. I linger now as loth to go As when that visit ended, though, Each with its imperative date, Many more for us were in wait ; And not one but knew we were bound To make that yearly social li Round," — But I remember best of all The little Marquise on the Wall. 12 THB UTTI,B MARQUISE ON THE WAI.lv. Those lovely homes ! and one by one Invaded till our l ' Round ' ' was done. From all the Bends to Bakalum Resounded the cry, " Come! " " Come! " "Come!" Needless to tell we went in throngs, Or of our pranks and gibes and songs, — But I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. One fair morn of the fairest day, We at sunrise we under way To a Bend on the coast below ; And we hugged the shore in a tow Of neighborhood skiffs that were manned By many a gay if unskilled hand, — But I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. Sunlight, sparkle, the air, each jest To the stroke of our oars gave zest. The " Father of Waters " we spurned, Its holes and its eddies we turned THE UT1%E MARQUISE ON THE) WAU,. 1 3 To ridicule in our wild mirth, But took care to give them wide berth, — Ah! I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. The fishing, the fish-frys, the spread- Magnolias and live oaks o'erhead — Of the cloths in their noonday shade, To the musical murmur they made With rustle of great glossy leaves Mid draperies the spider weaves — Still I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. The frolics, the glee and the fun, The yarns and the stories we spun, The strolls, horseback rides, buggy drives, The games in which every one strives To outreach the others, the rows On the lake where the China tree blows — But I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. 14 THE UTTI,E MARQUISE ON THE WAU,. I am eager to tell ere I've done Of another — the gayest one! Catholic-French, the old regime, On the banks of the mighty stream, Held o'er acres and slaves full sway, As was the custom of the day, — Yet I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. There were sons and daughters and wife, A home-circle with blessings rife. The Southern house embowered in vines, Porches round which lovingly twines Many a floral beauty and rare, In those old days naught was missed there - But I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. The sire, as French as French could be, Was from his France a refugee ; A brave soldier, Colonel le Under Napoleon won his rank; THE UTTI,£ MARQUISE ON THE) WAU,. 1 5 As nimble of foot as of tongue, He tripped in the dance, played and sung— Yet I remember best of all The Iyittle Marquise on the Wall. The ditties and troubadour lays Of his youthful, campaigning days ; His talk was all wit, flash and fun, Ne'er for long did his tongue cease to run ; At eighty — " I tell you again I am not one — of — your old men/* — Yet I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. And oh! how he did pirouette ! Making us one and all forget Everything but his lightness and grace, And the varying charm of his face, The charm of the man through and through — Till reluctant we bad adieu — Yet I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. 1 6 THK WTTI.B MARQUISE ON THE WAU<. Such revels from morning to night- Ah! just to recall what delight! With feasting and dancing, Time's wheel The days did relentlessly steal, Till aghast we suddenly found We had reached the end of our "Round!" — So I remember best of all The Little Marquise on the Wall. " Those good old days " — how better far The good days of the present are! For War, Peace, with their might sublime, Have wrought miracles since that time! And our merry, light-hearted band Scattered is in many a land — Still I remember best of all The Iyittle Marquise on the wall. AT Home, December 13, 1898. SPRING IN KENTUCKY. 1 7 Spring in Kentucky* The tenderest green That was ever seen Is the green of Kentucky's hills ; And its thousand hues Her woods suffuse And gleam in the flash of her rills. And the densest shade That was ever made Is the shade of her forests deep, Where the shadows hide In the woodlands wide And in glens and gorges sleep. And the bluest skies, With their matchless dyes, Are the skies that bend o'er her realm, With their crystal air And their cloud fleets rare Asail without helmsman or helm. 1 8 SPRING IN KENTUCKY. Oh ! the fairest earth That ever had birth Is this of Kentucky's domain. When flowery May Doth mingle her sway With the leafy June's vernal reign. June 2, 1899. [Suggested by the following passage from a private letter written at Gallipolis, Ohio : " Nature here is glorious ; the verdure and blossoms are far beyond what they usually are at this time of the year, and Kentucky, with her beautiful hills and fields, must be just as far advanced. u ROME). 19 Rome* Nowhere so lovely a sky bends over, Nowhere so brilliant a sun shines down, Nowhere, though one sought the wide world over, Can be found such an enchanting old town. Nowhere such revel of light, warmth and glory Fills the wide range of the wandering glance ; Nowhere such wealth in Earth's famed story, Of ruins whose value ages only enhance. Arch, column, palace, temple and church, Their sorcery of beauty and mystery fling, Bewildering, baffling the eagerest search That would their long -hidden history wring. 20 ROME). Nowhere such, reverent ravage of Time, Adding fresh interest with every fresh trace, Hiding the havoc of war, age and clime With mellowing tints or the vine's classic grace. Nowhere so tender, soft an air enfolds Such treasures of obelisk, tower and dome; Nowhere such vision transmutes all it holds Into loftiest musings, for — there is but one Rome ! Rome, January 31, 1886. AN APPEAR. 21 Hn HppeaL Awake in the eventide, soul of mine ! Shine thou within with light divine. Be supreme through one lapsing hour's flow. There is much between us each should know. What are we one to the other ? — say. Is it thou or I, spirit or clay, The life between us shared doth guide ? And in which path, the narrow or wide ? Is it thou ? is it I ? spirit or clay ? That wieldeth the fine, invisible sway L,ike sunshine in flowers adding grace to grace, Or venom as subtle, — the serpent's sure trace ? 22 AN APPEAR. Earth to earth — dust to dust— is it so? For answer why surges within me this throe ? I aspire ! — I aspire ! I^et there be Eternity — Immortality ! UNDER CIX)SKD EYELIDS. 23 Under Closed Gyeltds. Under closed eyelids they come and go, Pictures in Memory's magic glow — For we lived them all in the L,ong Ago. Nestled away like the brooding dove, Childhood's home and the mother-love, Type of that we shall find above. By some subtle con jury of that night Of eyelids veiling the outer light, Floats there a picture wondrous bright. Beautiful river flowing past, Arching sky so blue and vast, You have not changed since I saw you last. River and hillside, orchard and lawn, The sw 7 ing in the tree that caught the dawn, The stoop where we watched the sunlight fade, The daylight die, and the sky inlaid With the starry worlds by hands not made, 24 UNDER CI.OSKD KYEUDS. Bowers of roses and scented things, Trees that gleamed with flashing wings — Whose the hand this picture flings Under closed eyelids after long years? 'Tis gone — blotted out by blinding tears. CHRISTMAS AT THE) OLD WOMAN'S. 25 Christmas at the Old Roman's CClbo Lived in a Shoe* 11 There was an old woman Who lived in a shoe, And she had so many children She didn t know what to do." We don't care, no, not a bit, if we do, Mammy and all of us, live in a shoe, For Old Santa Claus has come to us, too ; Hurra for Old Santa Claus ! Ain't he true true? Hurra ! hurra ! hi, hi, diddle, diddle ! In holiday clothes we're fine as a fiddle. And we just bet that you can't guess our riddle : What's got if holiday's broke in the middle ? Oh ! it's as funny as funny can be ; Plainly the answer none of you can see, Because you haven't got it — it' s an i. d. Hurra for Old Santa ! he's winking at me. 26 CHRISTMAS AT THK OI.D WOMAN'S. He brought us all round new gowns and new suits, Bonnets, hats, jackets, caps, slippers and boots ; All kinds of candies, nuts, raisins and fruits ; — 'Rah ! for Old Santa, as down chimney he shoots. She calls us a diabolical crew ; Well, sometimes we have called her a horrid old shrew, When, from her frowns, we knew storms did brew, And over our heads that birch-rod she drew. But poor old mammy ! no wonder she's tried ; We banter, chaff, worry, mimic, deride ; We steal on her broomstick many a ride ; We've teased her and squeezed her till she has cried. CHRISTMAS AT THE OI,D WOMAN'S. 27 We're a terrible tangle of sisters and brothers, And it might be best did we have some more mothers, — One for these, one for those, one for the others, For tusslers and scufflers and 1 1 down hims ' ' and smothers. Sometimes we come to a penitent pause, Get all together and lay down stern laws Further worry about us to give her no cause, For we somehow feel sure that will please Santa Claus. Then how she smiles ; how the wrinkles depart ; What stories she tells with a mother's true art ! We seem to look right down into her heart. But, oh dear ! 'tisn't long till we make a fresh start. 28 CHRISTMAS AT THE OI,D WOMAN'S. Yet though we do make her such a hard lot, We have for her many a hard battle fought. She's just as good a mother as any one's got, And not the whole world shall say she is not ! You may be surprised to see us appear Dressed in our best — in this holiday gear. We're to have our picture taken, no matter how dear, For Santa Claus, Christmas, and the Yule time are here. IN THK GlyOAMING. 29 In the 6loanring* In the gloaming all alone, In the old familiar places Haunted by a shadowy host Of the old familiar faces, How the spirit shrinks and falters Where their consecrated altars Tell how human hearts atone- In the gloaming all alone ! In the gloaming all alone There are gay and happy creatures, With a tender, happy lovelight Making radiant their features. Ah! we know them, — childhood's treas- ures, — As they float in graceful measures — Dearest, little friends once known, — In the gloaming all alone ! 30 IN THE GLOAMING. In the gloaming all alone Glide shy lovers one by one, Just as in that lost Elysium They unconsciously had done. 1,0 ve that every joy enhances Beams in their enraptured glances — The old sweet ecstasy once shown, — In the gloaming all alone ! In the gloaming all alone Life's long pageant is unrolled ; Splendid men and splendid women, — Ah ! so soon their fates were told, — All alive they come to meet us, All alive so gently greet us — Just a dream from Old Times blown, - In the gloaming all alone ! In the gloaming all alone Bursts a spectacle divine ! Past and Present fade away, And a Future all benign IN THE GLOAMING 3 1 Sheds its solace as we gaze, For life finding cheer and praise To o'ercome all plaint or moan, — In the gloaming all alone ! 32 WHAT WE OWE TO ITALY. Slbat Wit Owe to Italy* First, for that funny little fellow Whose next of kin is Punchinnello — Man, organ and small monkey, The last such a winning, cunning flunkey. As a mimic soldier cap-a-pie He begs your nickels martially. There's often on our menu card A cake that 's eaten yard by yard. To give it name we Yankees have not far to go; The tilting lines each one of us must know. Sing then " Yankee Doodle/' all of you, The tune that shows you are "true blue." "He put a feather in his cap and Called it Maccaroni ;" Would I 'd been there to charge on him With war clubs of "Bologne !" WHAT WK OWE TO ITALY. 33 Now, some there be beyond a doubt Would put this summing up to rout ; They'd point to her famed men of yore, Her treasures vast, and count them o'er As misers do their precious hoard Of gold and gems in secret stored. The paintings, sculptures, curios rare, That her magnificence declare. Name with her own imperial air To prove none can with her compare ; And Byron's distich quote, maybe, To show his love for Italy. "Open my heart and you will see Graved inside of it Italy." Well, they are welcome, for Truth is free, And each for himself the Truth should see. So, whate'er our debts, small or great, None of us will repudiate ; And for her gifts ungrudgingly We '11 shout one and all, ' ' 'Rah for Italy I" 34 MOTHER EARTH. Mother Garth* To have lived more than three-score years and ten — From childhood through life's every stage On this beautiful Mother Earth of ours, And but now on the brink of old age — To a sudden exquisite sense awake Of a subtle kinship with all we see — Of a new experience strange and grand, Of hill, dale, river, mount and lea! A something unknown hitherto subdues, A something in the sky overhead, And too in the circumambient air, And in the earth under our tread — MOTHER EARTH. 35 That seems to embrace in a clasp divine, To put us in touch everywhere With this home we have never known be- fore, With this mother so dear and fair. No form does she take to our straining gaze, No visible arms does she show, But we feel her enfolding no less firm and sure, See her countenance with love aglow. Oh! the comforting tender thoughts that come When w r e dwell on her loving care, And understand all she* bestows on us, Demanding, nor pleading, nor prayer. When she folds us so gently to her breast, We feel every throb of her heart, And realize that we have, how we know not, Become of Great Nature a part. 2,6 MOTHER EARTH. The perfume of flowers, the light of stars, The flash of love's divine glance, The low, sweet music of affection's voice, These but her great love enhance. The tiniest flower abloom at our feet, The tenderest blade of grass That so gently pierces the sod, it's brown, Turning to green as we pass, Have tendrils of kinship outstretching thought To Creation's utmost bound, Through countless systems of worlds that with the Music of the spheres resound. Oh! the sublime, voiceless thoughts that surge Through teeming brain, heart and soul! Oh! the twofold anointed vision that grasps The Universe as a whole! MOTHER KARTH. 37 Eyes of both body and spirit that gaze In rare exaltation where The myriads of worlds revolve and blaze, And thus her glory declare. And w r hen at the last life's night doth de- scend, While Death, the stern reaper, waits Till old Father Time his fatal wheel turns That decides our human fates. She — the great Mother — makes room in her breast For these poor bodies of clay To be one w T ith herself in the sod, in the air — A something to exist alway. 38 "I 'm a Onnfun" [The little, old museum keeper of Nantucket.] Reader, have you ever struck it That museum at Nantucket, With its queerest of collections Placed around in queerer sections ? There are shipwrecked whales and whalers With the fragments of the sailors ; Whitened bones of men and fishes Mixed with rare old China dishes ; Spars and bits of some old dory- Tell of its disastrous story ; Shells full of the sea's adorning With the colors of the morning ; Shaped by winds and waves for ages In old ocean's fiercest rages ; Painted by unseen con jury Of nature hid from human eye ; "i'm a thinkin'." 39 Filled with music as by magic, Soft and low or weird and tragic ; Saddest murmurs, wails and dirges Caught alike from ocean's surges. The present, I am certain, Falling round you like a curtain, Made you seem another being Linked to the past and seeing As an-ti-di-lu-vi-ans In the vanished dim, lost eons — Till you shook yourself and queried, " Where is the oldest? I am wearied — Such a lot of old-time lumber To keep track of ! What 's its number ? Find the oldest. Don't you know it ? Or do n't you want to show it ? Can't you answer?" — "I'm a thinkin." And he stood there just a blinkin'. His black beads of eyes all glitter, Till you felt none could be fitter Than himself, the wizard keeper, Raking memory deep and deeper. 40 While the gimlet eyes grew narrow, Boring to your very marrow ; And you turned and left him blinkm* Still repeating "I'm a thinkin'." What you've missed, if you never struck it, That queer museum at Nantucket ! UNTER D£N UNDE)N. 41 Outer den Linden* Unter den I^inden wrapt I stand, With palaces on either hand. Some with their pomp of king and state, Some with a prestige far more great ; Scarce a stone's throw across the way Science and art hold rival sway ! One palace doth a window show Called the "The Historic, " where doth go Each noonday to gaze forth a man Whom force of fate placed in the van. The victor in a mighty war Came forth king, kaiser, emperor ! Now all burned out the martial fire, His people's gentle, gray-haired sire. He watches his "Changed Guard" pass by With childlike smile or tear-dimmed eye. Below packed masses fill the square, And heads are bared, shouts rend the air, 42 UNTER DEN UNDKN. Kerchiefs are waved, liats flung on high, In a wild burst of loyalty. In the vast throng an alien I Glow too and thrill in sympathy ; Give feelingly the homage due To one so simple and so true ; Yet turn with head erect and proud When melts away the curious crowd, Dismissed by kindly wave of hand, And bless anew my native land ! Junk, 1899. A MUNICH DREAM FUI,FII,I,BD. 43 H Munich Dream fulfilled in Rome* In the dream I was walking; had just passed through the Gate of Victory when a lady friend, with whom I had grown up, confronted me. The surprise and greet- ing over, she began a tirade against Mu- nich. "Why," said she, "there is nothing in- teresting here. It is just a great overgrown city without inhabitants enough to people the streets. It is as quiet as a cemetery. How do you stand it?" " What ! " I indignantly exclaimed ; "nothing interesting! What have you been doing ? What have you seen ? or rather, what have you not seen? " "Oh! I have seen about all there is to be seen." 44 A MUNICH DREAM FUI,FIIJ,BD. I did not wait to hear her, but began impetuously a regular catechism. "Have you seen the Glyptothek, the Old Pinakothek, the New Kaulbach Mu- seum, the Royal Library, National Museum, Palace Basilica? Have you?" but I was breathless. "No," she replied, indifferently. "Come then and let me show you these, and I think you will have a change of mind." We had a round of all these grand at- tractions, and stopping for a rest, I tri- umphantly challenged her opinion. For reply she burst into a merry laugh, saying, "Oh! I knew all about them; but I just wanted to make you take me around and tell me of them. You know you are such an enthusiast. ' ' In a moment she was gone, and I was in Rome. I had never been there. I realized at once that I was standing in front of the Grotto of Egeria. How this realization A MUNICH DRKAM FUI^FIIXED. 45 came to me belongs to the mystery of dreams. It was in a shallow valley; a cave, or grotto, with the fountain trickling low down in its farthest corner. Vines were trailing over the front of the cave and all about the fountain, the waters of which slipped over its floor and through the grass under my feet. It was a cool, quiet, rest- ful, retired little vision of beauty. I looked for the Grove. It was near by, on a gentle ridge, a dark clump of ilex. The excitement of the spectacle awoke me. My heart was throbbing violently. Several months later found me in Rome. One of my earliest excursions, it may well be believed, was to that "Sacred Spot." Self-control was impossible. Part of the way was a walk through rough fields, scrambles over dilapidated stone fences, and wrenches from bramble thickets. Curi- osity made me reckless. My heart was beating a tattoo. Then presently the 46 A MUNICH DREAM FUI,FII,I,BD. longest breath I ever drew — a gasp — a low cry. There was the Grotto of Egeria, the very counterpart of that of my dream. CLOUD PICTURES IN ENGLAND. 47 Cloud pictures in GnglancL BETWEEN LONDON AND WINDSOR CASTI/E. There was a chasm in a bank of gray storm clouds. Cut in the outline of the southern side was an immense profile of a man. In a moment it rolled away like a scroll, revealing two perfect busts. The farther one of the gray cloud, outlined against a faint blue sky beyond, was a fac- simile of a view of the Sphinx, the pyramid Cheops, in gigantic proportions. The other, apparently touching the shoulder, only a little behind and lower, of a more pearl- hued gray, outlined against the Sphinx, was that of a colossal goddess, helmeted and of the purest Grecian type, an ideal Minerva, with chiseled features of such ex- quisite delicacy as to be almost transparent, and an expression of impregnable dignity. 48 CLOUD PICTURES IN ENGLAND. The expression of the former was that of the grave majesty, the martyr patience, equal to bearing the haunting memories of centuries of unbroken silence. Another moment and a curtain of im- penetrable cloud descended, gradually hid- ing them from view. As it were with the wave of a conju- rer's wand, another form appeared — a ne- gress fat and comfortable-looking, half-risen from a couch and seemingly partly resting on her farther arm. She was looking towards the west. A sunset glow of the most ethereal pink and gold lit up her un- couth features. Her head - kerchief was awry, and one end stood straight up from her forehead like a battered plume. Slowly this receded to the back of her head, the features changing in perfect time till it was resolved into a Highland chieftain in full Tartan plaid, prone on the brink of a lofty cliff, stretching backward, carelessly resting on his near elbow, with his farther leg CIX>UD PICTURES IN KNGl^AND. 49 thrown over the hither one, and looking off into some vast distance, whither my gaze could not follow. There he was, clear as reality, just while you caught your breath, and then nothing but shapeless cloud. Yet within the moment another rift opened — you did not see when or how, but there it was — with a span of cloud like the Natural Bridge in Virginia, or the Arched Rock at Mackinac, and standing out clear and sharp, midway, was the blasted trunk of a great tree, with one long, naked branch, on which sat a wild turkey. I watched it "melt into air, thin air." V/hen it was quite gone, a shower swept up that lasted into the night. 50 MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. ]My Dog Blanc and !♦ "Would you like to have Blanc? Moving about as I shall be for some months I cannot take him with me, and I cannot give him to a stranger. ' ' That is the way I came to have him. Blanc and I were already warm friends. He was a canine Adonis, pure, snowy- white hair, long and thick, with a large wave in it till near the end, where it twisted into great loose curls. Very dark eyes, and so full of expression looking into them, the conviction could not be thrust aside that " beyond the sky Your faithful dog would keep you company. ' ■ He was medium in size according to dog standard, but for a Spitz he was quite large. He had a dignity of bearing that MY DOG BLANC AND I. 5 1 did not invite familiarity ; in fact, not a few were afraid of him till they became well acquainted, when they acknowledged his amiability and many graces, and were proud to be friends with him. His dis- tinguishing characteristics were general amiability, affectionateness, an amusing timidity and air of helplessness in trying circumstances, a strong dash of obstinacy in trying to have his ow r n way, and an in- genuity in devising and carrying out ways and means to succeed, that set one thinking there might be truth after all in the doctrine of the transmigration of souls. The query would arise, might not he have been a human being once upon a time, and up to tricks, the artf ulest of all "artful dodgers.'* Whereupon atonement was made forthwith for such suspicion by extra petting. We became inseparable friends. When in the country we scoured hilltop and hill- side, hollow and meadow, and gathered wild flowers ; that is, he was ready to 52 MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. stretch himself on or roll over them while I gathered. He went through deep clover fields in vaults, making himself into white festoons as it were over their expanse of dainty green tufted with red tops. He always took a rest in shallow places. Once there was a long tramp after some way- ward peafowls. They would not be whistled or wheedled into returning home ; but just as we thought to turn them they floated off to still more distant perches, with their beautiful tail feathers making a thousand eyes at us as they spread them on the air. After two or three repetitions of such aggravation, his disgust and anger became comical, and he turned his back on them and fairly tore homeward. Were it a walk to the near city or a drive about the country-side, he was on the alert to see if he was included. Taking the former, he was all barks and leaps and capers and frolics as long as no cow appeared on the scene. The merest glimpse of one ap- MY DOG BLANC AND I. 53 proaching brought him to my side trembling or made him cower behind me. This timidity was as unreasonable and un- manageable as the nervousness of a woman. A favorite drive was that of a new avenue, bordered by many fine trees and pretty tasteful homes, the drive-way being a splendid dirt road. There was but one drawback : at the midway home there was a lot of curs — snarling, spiteful, quarrel- some — always ready to fight anything they dared. They were six or seven to Blanch one. Had he studied the odds against him and admitted to himself the hopeless- ness of trying to fight ? Who can tell ? What he did was this : he would gambol along the road, sometimes under the vehicle like a trained coach dog, or trot along first on one side and then on the other, or take a scurry ahead and back again; in a word, doing everything pos- sible with might and main as if his whole heart was in it, till we neared that par- 54 MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. ticular house, when he would bound to the carriage and bark furiously to be taken in. As soon as we were well beyond them — those dreadful curs — he would jump out and be off again. It is impossible not to believe that one of his most vivid memories was that of the one time he started to enter into friendly relations with them and the pack of them set upon him, dancing round him, barking in mad chorus, snapping at him, biting his ears, catching his tail and shaking it, and finally — the last and most triumphant indignity — throwing him down in the liquid mud and rolling him over and over in it. When at last he was rescued, there was not so much as a single white hair or gleam to his whole body ! It took several baths and bars of soap to restore his pristine splendor, and it was weeks before he resumed his usual stately deportment. The most prominent episode of our com- radeship was a dog fight, in which there MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. 55 were four principals, he and another dog, and I and that dog's owner — she was a neighbor. The dog was known to be vi- cious and kept chained in the daytime. I had some business with her one forenoon. Blanc went with me, We crossed the high- way, opened the gate, but had no sooner entered than the dog came rushing at us. The two grappled each other, and we, too, without so much as a greeting, grappled each her own dog and began the squabble to separate them. We were soon outside the gate on the highway; now on one side, then the other; next, in the middle; some- times tugging at them on our feet, in the next moment dashed to our knees and dragged here and there in the dirt till as suddenly hurled to our feet again, not one of the four relinquishing the clutch of teeth or hands. It seemed that it would indeed be a fight to the death, and that all would be torn to pieces — Blanc was almost, before some passersby succeeded in parting us. 56 MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. The role of invalid was never more per- fectly played. He did not even attempt to do anything for himself ; would not lift his head, move himself, or stir in any way, but just waited and looked, his expectation to be nursed and attended to. But if there was ever a more unique dog fight — two dogs and two ladies, on the most traveled road leading from a city at high noon — where is its history ? We became denizens of a large city. Blanc soon accustomed himself to the change, and I am obliged to confess not only grew to like it but took rather too readily to some of its fascinations. He became dissipated. He and a number of the neigh- borhood dogs seemed to form a club. They had a rendezvous where they met at set times, at odd times, at all times, especially of evenings, where they barked, howled, scurried about over fences, on porticos, around houses and the like, singly or in a body, or engaged in a general tussel, far MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. 57 into the night, finally scattering each to his own home no matter what the hour, which, however, was never early and often midnight or later, on reaching which Blanc for himself barked and scratched to be let in, till opening the door was the choice between two evils. The cool assur- ance with which he shot past, sprang on to his bed and curled up in instant sleep, looked not a little like dog depravity. Who can say it was or was not? The morning, however, showed him so hand- some and innocent looking and so over- flowing with dog blandishments, the first thing you knew you were petting him more than ever. Many dogs grin. Blanc could cry. Once I said to him, "Blanc I am going where I cannot take you, you will have to stay at home." Starting to the door he followed quickly. I looked at him, shook my head, and said decidedly, "No, you cannot go." He set down, fixed a most 58 MY DOG BI,ANC AND I. mournful gaze on me, and ' ' the big, round tears coursed down his innocent nose," in very truth. He always cried as the last means to secure his own way. Would come sit close by me, whimper if I took no no- tice of him, the tears rolling down as he looked at me out of the corner of his eyes to see if I was observing him. We were at a friend's house. At the six o'clock dinner — it was winter and the ground covered with snow — he was in the dining-room and restless to get out. Fear- ing he would annoy the host and hostess, I went to the door, opened it and stepped out on to the piazza with him for a moment. He bounded away in great leaps and soon vanished in the distance. I never saw him again ; never heard of him. Is it a wonder if I have never had a pet since ? the; DOUBI.K portrait. 59 Cbe Double portrait* My little boy — mine. That is his pic- ture on the wall. I/x>k at him. He is looking at you, but does not see you. He is in a revery. Often the picture is called just that — " Revery. " The picture is a double portrait. I painted it. There were two children, brother and sister, who called me ' f Aunt Violet.' y The sister was a golden blonde ; the brother a flaxen. Each was a wonder of child beauty. Golden and flaxen curls ; flesh, skin and color of such texture and tints as constantly called forth exclamations of amazement and admiration. In every point, models of physical perfection. In the studio, when I was painting my picture, teacher and pupils would stand over and watch me. Many said, " You are 60 THE DOUBLE PORTRAIT. painting some one you love. He is a little boy, to be sure, but there is something of a little girl, too, about him." The little girl was the older. I put her golden curls on his head, but the dream in his eyes was his own. HKRK IS THK PICTURE. It is life size — the life size of a child be- tween four and five years old. The head is pillowed on the left arm, which rests on the edge of a table, over which hangs the hand, clasped at the wrist by the right hand. The hands are shapely, plump and dimpled. The hair is parted, boylike, at the side, and the curls are tossed back carelessly and lie in a picturesque heap on the neck. The eyes are radiant blue, and they look straight out of the picture at one, but, seeing, take no note, being lost in a dream. He seems so real, so alive, I sometimes try to rouse him, to make him smile, to make him look at and speak back to me. He has never THE DOUBI^K PORTRAIT. 6 1 stirred. Never so much as an eyelash has quivered. They grew up ; she a dazzling beauty, full of vivacity, wit, and the graces of cul- ture and society, and with a heart tender and true in a thorough womanliness. He, as one said of him, "Almost an ideal.' ' Su- perb physique ; rarely educated, brilliant, versatile, marvelously gifted, sensitive as a young girl, quick to feel for others, and as swift to try to help and comfort. Presently girlhood's romance — love and a lover. In a fortnight they were to be married. It was winter-time. A fall on the ice, an injury that developed to a fatal issue, a few days of agonizing fluctuations of hopes and fears — then the end. She faced her fate without a murmur; had only words of courage for herself and love and cbeer for the dear ones she was leaving. His career was brilliant and as brief. Just a meteor flashing on the gaze and gone. 62 THE) DOUBI^ PORTRAIT. When I look at the picture, I see them both. The many years between now and then fall away, and I have them again — my dear little ones. i 1,0 vkd them so. THK I.KGKND OF IJSNT. 63 XZhc Legend of Lent* [From the French of Quatrelles.] " I say, papa, in the Bible you gave me there is one thing I don't understand." II Only one?" " Only one." ' ' Fortunate child ! What is it ? ' ' I I I see that mankind having been very wicked, the good God sent a deluge to de- stroy all there was on the earth. The rain fell for forty days, then only the highest mountains remained above the water ; finally everything was drowned. Well ! What about the fishes ? ' ' The mother began to stir the fire. The father was silent for a moment, then, wav- ing the child away, said, — ' ' You always ask questions destitute of common sense." " Because I do not understand." 64 THB IvKGBND OF LKNT. "Go to your mother ; I must read my paper. ' ' " Go to your father ; don't you see that I am busy? " The father felt the great wrong that he was doing. He recalled his son, who was going away pouting. " Come back, Maurice ; sit down there. Since you are so anxious to know, I will tell you what took place in the 6ooth year of Noah's life, on the seventeenth day of the seventh month." The attentive child sat down, leaning against his mother's knee. ' ' In those days men lived nearly a thou- sand years, and spent their time in evil. They were a strong race ; giants of many cubits, tamers of mastodons - , and fishers of whales. They used their strength only in slaughter and destruction. Then the Crea- tor became very angry. If the anger of man can sometimes influence the world, it is frightful to think what the anger of God THE I.KGKND OF LKNT. 65 would be ! Happily for the human race, there lived one worthy family, of which Noah was the head. God decided to spare it, but resolved to destroy all the rest of creation.' ' ' * So if Noah had been wicked the world would have come to an end right then ? ' ' " It is more than probable. God went to see Noah, and said to him : * The more I examine the earth, the more improve- ments I see that should be made. Man, whom I have preferred above all else, neg- lects and outrages me. I will exterminate him, and I wish the earth to bear the im- pression of his punishment forever. All that walk, all that creep, all that fly, shall die.'" " The good God was pretty mad, wasn't he?" " He had reason to be. You might have walked a thousand miles without find- ing an obedient child." "Oh !" 66 THE) LEGEND OF I,ENT. " You know the story of the ark, so I shall not tell you about it." 1 c Yes ; but why did Noah allow such ugly things as the spider, scorpion, and bug to enter it ? " "As to the bug, it was not Noah's fault. As it was entering after all the rest, he wished to push to the door and shut it out ; but it was already half way in, and was caught in the closing door and crushed. Ever since it has been flat." 1 ' What a pity that it could not get through ! But since the good L,ord saved one family because it was good, and de- stroyed all the rest, why didn't he select good lions that would not have eaten men, and good wolves that would never have frightened me ? ' ' ' ' You slander the wolves and lions, my child. When they came out of the ark, they were the best of animals ; it is man who has made them ferocious. But if you THE LEGEND OF LENT. 67 continue to interrupt me I shall never reach the end of my story." " I shan't say another word." "When everything was ready, as God had ordered, the wind began to blow fierce- ly, very fiercely. The mountains rocked and burst asunder. The waters rose and overflowed their limits instead of keeping their usual channels. The sun was the color of blood, and great black clouds chased each other madly across the sky. The earth shook, and every time it shook craters yawned, from whence escaped sometimes flames, sometimes boiling water." "It is I who would not wish to have been there ! ' ' " Indeed, I think not ! The men made fine promises. But it was too late. The sea hurled its waves upon the land — and such waves ! " 1 ' As high as houses ? ' ' * ' Higher. Some were a league in height." 68 THK LKGKND OF I^ENT. 11 Oh, no ! that could not be." " The animals that could not speak and tell falsehoods stretched themselves on the ground and never stirred." 11 Were not the spiders furious ?" " Yes ; and the lions, too, I can tell you. First the sea engulfed the valleys, tearing up the forest, carrying off houses and towns, and sweeping away in its waves the crum- bling mountains. Still the waters rose higher and higher, pursuing the human race as it clambered up their sides. That day even the lame and impotent reached heights, impelled by their terror, that man will never reach again. Birds flew about in wild affright, beaten by the storm, till, find- ing no place to rest, they fell into the seeth- ing waters.' ' " Canaries, too? " " Canaries, too, except the pair Noah had carried with him in his little cage." " And butterflies?" "And butterflies." THE) I^GEND OF I.KNT. 69 " The butterflies had been very wicked, then?" "Very." ' ' Swallows were drowned last of all, were they not ? ' ■ 1 1 Of course. At the end of a hundred and fifty days, w 7 hen the last man had cried out as he sank beneath the waters, the rain ceased as if by enchantment, and everything resumed its usual state. The sky became a fine turquois blue, and the sun shone as in the past. Then Noah sent forth the dove that returned in the evening because he found no place to rest his feet. M * ' And because his mate was still in the ark ? " "Possibly. Seven days afterwards the dove was sent forth again, and again re- turned, but this time with an olive branch in his beak. ' ' "How an olive branch, when the olive grows in the valleys and only the mountain tops had appeared above the waters ? ' ' 70 THE) LEGEND OF I,EN?. "Because the olive is a symbol of peace.' ' " Besides/ ' added the mother, "as the uprooted trees were floating on the surface of the calmed waters, the dove could easily take a branch. ' ' " But that would not show the earth had appeared/ ' "Stop your quibbling, Maurice, or I shall be displeased and not finish the story. Finally, seven days afterwards the dove went forth and returned no more." ' ' But its mate — what did she do when she found he did not return ? " " The Bible does not say." "What next ?" 1 ' Noah went forth and stepped on the ground.' ' " It must have been awful muddy." " No ; the sun had dried everything." " And it was not unhealthy ? " ' ' You can well think it was not, as Noah lived three hundred and fifty years TH3 I^GEND OF I,ENT. 7 1 longer. Then God, to reassure men who were filled with fear, set the rainbow in the sky as a sign of pardon and good faith. After that he had the animals to go forth before him, and they dispersed themselves here and there, each according to its own tastes and instincts." "Oh, how I wish I could have seen them!'' "When they had all passed out, Noah shut the ark. ' Stop ; that is not all," said the Creator. ' The fishes are still to come.' " l Not a fish went into the ark. Oh, Almighty Father ! where would I have put them?" ' " ' Indeed ! you have made a pretty piece of work, Mr. Noah. So, you hear — all the fishes to make again.' " ' 'Just then a small voice made itself heard a few paces away. A track of foam, a head was passing, a little depressed head with eyes placed sidewise, the mouth large and 72 THE) I.KGKND OF I,KNT. having great jaws that reached to the very throat. " ' TH£ WTTI,E FISHKS ARK UVING YET,' said the voice, laughingly. And imme- diately millions of heads, of every color, form and size, appeared at the surface, re- peating in chorus, 11 * The little fishes are living yet* "God, in the first moment of anger, blew upon the water, and there was such a shaking up, down to the very bottom, that everything was topsy-turvy. From that time date the first flat fishes. They were flattened upon the rocks. This flash of anger over, the eyes of the Creator fell upon the rainbow, and recalling himself, he said : ' * ' Come forward, you that was first to speak.' "The codfish — for it was the one — tremblingly lifted its head above the water. How changed it was ! Its eyes protruded THE I^GEND OF I^NT. 73 from its head, and from being round had become flat as a cheese of Brie. "'What have you done during the deluge ? ' " 'Almighty Father, we kept ourselves quietly in the very deepest water, waiting till your anger would be appeased. The calm being restored, we took advantage of the high water to visit the mountains that we never had hoped to explore. We passed some days among them, part among the Pyrenees, the rest on Mount Caucasus.' " " ' By my beard, you are mocking me ! ' " ' ' ' We have neither the wish nor the courage to do that.' " ' ' ' After having deluged the earth, will I have to dry it up ? ' " "'You have forgiven, O Almighty Father ! ' entreated Noah, as he with his family fell at the feet of the Great Creator. ' ' The good God took a middle course between the promises contradictory that he had made — that of exterminating all crea- 74 THE I^GEND OF I,KNT. tion, and that of pardon. He conceived Lent, during which there is made every year a St. Bartholomew of fishes, and in- spired man with the idea of fasting twice a week. As the codfish was the one to speak first, it is the one that had to suffer most. 1 * Now, Master Maurie, you know what you wish to know. I^et me read my paper, and give your arm to your mother, who is waiting for you." part IX. TRANSLATIONS, ETC. WINTKR KVKNINGS IN A PENSION. 77 Stlintcr evenings in a frencb pension* Just a half dozen of us under the home- like roof of Mme, Rostan, in a beautiful quarter of Paris, in the year 1884. Three were Americans, and three French. We gathered in the salon of evenings when we were not going out. There were games, French conversations, stories, improvised or remembered, or adapted. This last furnished infinite amusement. Sometimes there were recitations and readings of original poems. The hostess had many in her portfolios. None had as yet been given to the public. She entrusted the following two with me for that purpose. Mme. R. merits a brief biography. Her grandmother was a duchess at the Court of Louis XVI. Her father was a refugee to this country when she was seventeen years old. Her education fitted her for the de- 78 WINTER EVENINGS IN A PENSION. mands their reduced circumstances exacted. She opened a school for girls in New York City. It became a great success. In the meantime she lost her parents and was left alone, having no brothers or sisters. She accumulated what was considered a fortune at the time, out of which she was defrauded b}' a brother member of the church. This so wrought upon her that she gave up her school, went to Paris and opened a pension. She took with her an adopted daughter. She was a woman of extensive culture and many gifts ; a linguist, speaking several languages and familiar with their literature; quite a traveler ; a fine conversationalist, with an ease and distinction of manners that made her at home in any circle. As a com- panion I have known few equal to her. The pleasure of these evenings passed with her is indeed l ( one of the pleasures of memory." PIERRE AND MARGUERITE. 79 Pierre and JMarguertte* A LEGEND OF THE TIMES OF PETER THE GREAT. In the Rhone's fertile vale, a quiet, pleasant spot, Iyies the village of Salin. What traveler has not, Attracted by something which he could not explain, Sighed and wished that his lot had been cast on the plain, Where, free from ambition, from care and from strife, In these simple abodes he could have passed his life, Where true love weaves the thread which affection has spun, And the blessed affection of Heaven has begun ? 80 PIERRE AND MARGUERITE. The night had been lovely, and the first rays of light In the east were now dawning, while clear, pale and bright, The morning star rose, glad forerunner of day, And night's pale constellations with shame hid away From the splendor of him who with purple and gold Was now decking the landscape with glories untold. But hark ! Bells are now ringing a clear, merry chime ; Youthful voices are singing as in festal time ; Bands of youths and maidens in fairest array, With banners and ribbons and fresh gar- lands gay, PIERRE AND MARGUERITE. 8 1 Issue forth from each road, from each path, from each street, On this bright summer morning the bride- groom to meet, For Pierre, of the sons of the valley the rarest, Is Marguerite to wed, of its daughters the fairest. Listen to their joyous song, Singing as they march along, il Happy, happy, happy day ! " From the hillside far away, Echo answers, " Happy day ! " And now at the altar the young couple is kneeling ; O'er the bride's snowy veil the sunbeams are stealing. Oh ! thrice blest be the tie which will bind them to-day ! And ever the sunbeams on their life's path- way lay ! 82 PIERRE AND MARGUERITE. There ! the words have been spoken — the twain are made one ; The bravest and truest the fairest has won. 1 ' Thrice then hail this happy day ! Come and join our bridal lay, Happy ! Happy ! Happy day ! ' ' From the hillside far away, Echo answers. "Happy day ! " All then to the bride's simple cottage repaired, To partake of the feast her fair hands had prepared. In the orchard the table was tastefully set, And many were the friends who around it there met. No rich vases of silver or gold decked the board, But roses and jasmines their sweet incense poured, PIBRRB AND MARGUBRIT^. 83 While joy and contentment filling every breast, Gave plain wine the flavor of the choicest and best. Some small friendly offerings which she with simple pride Accepts, smiling sweetly, and to each in his turn Gives a bud from the flowers at her side in return. "And now will you kindly forgive/ ' the bridegroom cries, 4 ' If for an instant the bridegroom from this banquet hies ? To my beauteous bride my heart longs to present A gem of rare beauty by Heaven truly sent!" With a mischievous look and a smile Pierre left them, leaving all w r ondering what good luck had brought the gem. 84 PIKRRK AND MARGUERITE. When a half hour had passed, they began, every one, To ask what the bridegroom with his gift that morn had done. Yet in vain they still wait. Time speeds on, but no Pierre, With his fair, blushing bride, comes his treasure to share. Their anxiety can now no longer be con- trolled, And for him all are seeking, the timid, the bold. The youths over the village, the hills and the dale, And throughout the whole country, have spread the sad tale. Twice the lake has been dragged, and the forests resound With the cries of ' ' Pierre ! Pierre ! ' ' for miles around. But no answer returns to their anguished call, And many are the tears that for him long shall fall. PIERRE AND MARGUERITE. 85 In the quiet village church burn the tapers every day ; On the steps of the altar poor Marguerite doth ever pray : " O, Pierre, my beloved, in peace may est thou rest, In that fair, happy land of the pure and the blest, Till the glad morning dawns when again thou wilt come, To take thy own Marguerite to Heaven, our happy home." PART II. Sixty years had passed away Since that mournful bridal day. Again o'er that village fair Floats the balmy summer air. Again roses blushing bloom, Jasmines shed their sweet perfume, And the miner's joyous song Echoes from the hill among. 86 PIKRRK AND MARGUERITE. In the mine they swift descend, Turning to the further end, When a sudden cry is heard, Checking every joyous word. There had been a slide that morning in the mine, And startling to see, a young man they there define, Standing on the broken salt blocks which are piled In their pathway in confusion vast and wild. His dress is old-fashioned, but of festal array. On his lips is a smile, at his side a bouquet. His right hand is still a small box clasping tight, On which his blue eye seems to rest w r ith delight. But silent those lips and the eye motionless, And the hand cold and stiff which the miners would press. PI^RRK AND MARGUKRITB. 87 Ah ! whence came the stranger so young and so fair? Sure none in their village e'er such costume did wear. On the grass they have laid him, in his youthful prime, In the cool, friendly shade of a wide-spread- ing lime, Where all press around him, the young and the old ; Yet his name and his country by none can be told. ' ' Room ! Make room for the oldest among us, ' ' some cry. "Room!" for slowly advancing old Mar- guerite draws nigh. By the side of the stranger an instant she stands, Then she falls on her knees, clasps her cold, trembling hands, Exclaiming, " Pierre ! oh, Pierre ! I knew that thou wouldst come, To take thy own Marguerite to your blessed home. 88 PIKK.RE AND MARGUERITK. See, I faithfully have waited, and now thou art here, And nothing more can part us, my husband so dear ! ' ' She bent over the body — her lips its lips pressed, And the poor, long-tried heart was forever at rest. The box contained a string of pearls and a small diamond cross, a present from Peter the Great, whose life the young miner had saved the preceding year, when the Czar was visiting the mine. ' ' This is a true story. ' ' I,. F. Rostan. 'ELIZABETH OF HUNGARY. 89 ettzabetb of fiungary* A I^GEND OF THE XIII. CENTURY. 'Twas early morn, but o'er the parched earth No cooling dew distilled — no fragrant shower ; The grass lay brown and dry, the young shrubs drooped Their fainting heads, and the leaves lifeless hung Upon the trees. The very atmosphere, With noxious vapors thick, seemed like a pall Over Nature's face to lie, while in the east The rising sun, as if with pity touched, Stood still, and long and mournfully gazed In the poor stricken earth. For months no rain The thirsty ground has steeped. The streams are dry ; 90 ELIZABETH OF HUNGARY. The brook no longer leaps in joyous glee Adown the mountain side, and from the plain No busy sound of happy life ascends. Iyone, on the rough and dusty road, we see An aged man, in pilgrim garb, draw near. His step is slow — his feet no sandals wear ; His face is wan — his gourd no water holds. He's traveled far, and weary, sore, and faint, With anxious eye he scans the landscape o'er, Some cooling stream to find, his parched lips to moist ; But 'tis in vain. "And must I die? " he cries ; "Father have mercy now! Yet not my will But Thine be done, as it was in that hour When on the Cross, high raised on Calvary, Thine only Son for guilty men expired! " KUZAB^TH OF HUNGARY. 9 1 'Tis mid-day now ; a goodly cavalcade Slowly along the mountain path descends ; A noble dame and her attendant maids, A holy priest, a page who missal bears, Are on their way to a most holy shrine, From which no prayer unanswered ever rose To Him whose heart compassionate still throbs In sympathy for human woes. And now They near the place where a rude stony cross By the road stands. No costly monument ; No gilded spire ; this simple sign alone, This sacred legacy of dying love Which Christ the Saviour left His followers here! They come — but see! Stretched on the burning earth, His arms around the sacred symbol clasped, An old man lay. Lifeless he seems. Yet mark ; Some drops of vital blood are oozing still 92 KlylZABKTH OF HUNGARY. From out his wounded side. All stop amazed, All but the noble dame. E'er foremost, she Already kneels the dying man beside ; Her fair, soft hand his matted locks now part ; Her tears his temple bathe, and from the vase Of holy water she a few drops pours On his dry, burning lips, then binds his wounds, And straightway has him borne with gentle care, On her own palfrey, to her abode, Her proud lord's princely hall, the fortress strong, Where she, Elizabeth of Hungary, For years has dwelt, angel of light to all, Though slave to him whose love to her was pledged, But whose wild, jealous fears a tyrant make. KUZABKTH OF HUNGARY. 93 He's absent now, and tenderly they lay The dying man upon her snowy bed, While all devoutly kneel around and bow Their heads in silent prayer. — Slowly life ebbs; One sigh, and all is o'er! But hark! the clang Of hastening steed in the courtyard re- sounds! A hurried step, and at the chamber door The proud lord stands. His eyes with an- ger flash, And wild with rage his lips are ope to curse. All tremble now ; the stoutest heart with fear Doth quake, save hers alone — his noble wife's; Undaunted she calmly before him stands. " Down on thy knees, my lord," she cries, " For Death is here! " And to the bed she points. 94 EUZABETH OF HUNGARY. When lo! Oh! wondrous sight! Transfig- ured see The humble mendicant no more, but Him The Saviour blest, whose features radiant shine With light divine! The guilty man, amazed, Would still his sight distrust — in vain. The words Above that hallowed head, inscribed in light, No doubt can leave: " For verily I say, That inasmuch as ye these things have done Unto the least of these, my brethren here, Ye unto me, your L,ord, have done the same. ,, MY TEN FEET OF LETTER. 95 My Ccii feet of Letten A VAGARY. You want a long, letter, and I don't like to write a long letter. An idea that a long letter is expected often prevents me from writing at all. I can't write a long letter, and I won't write a long letter. I don't object to the mere labor of writ- ing ; that I am doing all the time. The truth is, I am like Canning's Needy Knife- Grinder — "Story, God bless }^ou ! I have none to tell, sir." Stay, I've an idea ! Capital, ain't it? — not the idea, but the fact that I have one. I can write a long letter after the fashion of the French feuilleton — fool-ye-town — a rivulet of reading in a meadow of page. I will write a long letter, answering your letter, seriatim. Can you remember what you wrote ? Keep your eye on me \ 96 MY T£N FEET OF BETTER. C , April 17,1867. Cousin Laura : Yours of 14th inst. received. Your opening alarmed me. I thought I had done some I had trampled on your tender feelings, I^ike a donkey on daisies ! . It was like reading my sentence — A long sentence. Your sentences are all long. I took a long breath and plunged in, And came out breathless. What had I done ? Next to nothing. I had written a short letter ! It said all that was needed. Not a word more. Suppose I had written none— What then ? Nothing ! * * # My ' ' conscience pricked " me! What if it did? MY TEN FEET OF BETTER. 97 Haven't I got used to tliat? That confounded conscience will prick me, Somewhere — All the time. I am riddled and riddled, through and through. If I were to constantly cry, i * Come, riddle me, ris, and riddle me right, ' y It couldn't riddle me — More ! * * * You say I may kiss her. Humph I don't know You say she is 19. I hadn't figured up so much. Isn't that a few too many moons? I might get moonstruck. . How time flies ! Last night I heard a blue bottle-fly ! That meant summer. And heat ; And rain ; 98 MY TEN FEET OF BETTER. And sirocco winds ; And morocco faces ; And sickness ; And laziness 1 don't like lotus eating. I hate summer. And I hated that Blue-bottle ! How I glared from my couch ! . . * « « M — mtn — oomm — mm — m. ' ' But I couldn't see him, Till he wheeled near the gas— Ha, the gas ! I waited. . . . ' ' M — mm — ■ oomm — mm — m — wizzp !- dump. ' ' So much for Blue-bottle. If summer could only dry up as quick— As quick — As blue-bottle sizzled ! But that would sink half a year. Well, who'd care ? Not I. . . . Where was I ? Oh, She is too old MY T33N FE^T OF I/F/TTER. 99 But you said I might 'Twouldn't be my fault I bet I would I will ! ! * * * Major C is in Kentucky. We were invited together, And we can't come together. * * * One word. Do not think me utterly careless. I never allude to a gloomy sub- ject, if I can avoid it. Perhaps I may have a gloomy side, but I take care it shall not be on the outside. I do not believe in en- couraging the gloom of others, and I fight my own. * * sfc You enclose a note, Open. Why open ? Do you think I will read it ? Not any ! But she will think I have read it. LofC. IOO MY TKN FEKT OF LETTER. You may say, " Then close it yourself.' ■ I say, "That would be meddling." I never meddle. I shall hand it to her just as it is, and sim- ply say, "I haven't read it." Will she believe me ? Sooner — perhaps not ; Later — she will. ^ * $ I have read your letter Through. I haven't " skipped half." I haven't skipped a word. So you have nothing to " forgive " — On that score. % * ^ I wish you wouldn't write on chequer-lined paper. Somehow, it reminds me of — I can't help it — MY TEN FEET OF BETTER. IOI The sentimental young lady. HERE SHE IS. "The sentimental young lady has a heavy epistolary correspondence. This is the serious business of her life. On coming down stairs in the morning, she darts upon the basket on the hall-table like a bird of prey. At other post-hours, she watches at the parlor window. She has learned to in- terpret the physiognomy of the postman, between whom and her there is gradually developed a masonic intelligence. Some- times he shakes his head, and says, "No, Miss," with a deprecating look; and, at other times, he puts the looked-for letters into her hands confidentially, and passes on as if relieved from a responsibility. "What is the subject of these letters? We dare not conjecture ; but we have a dim impression that they relate mainly to meta- physics, and contain the true key to ever so much of the philosophy of life. But we must here advert — and not without indig- 102 MY TEN FKKT OF IyETTER. nation — to the practice this young lady has of crossing her letters. This she perpe- trates not only vertically, but often diagon- ally to boot ; thereby converting the letter into a dense congeries of scratches, as unin- telligible as the Rosetta Stone would have been, if its three inscriptions had been jum- bled together. It was our intention, we may hint to those concerned, if a certain borough that shall be nameless had not un- accountably rejected our proffered services in Parliament, to introduce a bill bringing this offense — at present reckoned a mere immorality — into the category of criminal misdemeanors, visited by lengthened impris- onment, bread and water, and the depriva- tion of pen and ink." Whew ! didn't that carry me comfort- ably over a long, bleak stretch of barren blank paper ! * * * That does for your letter. Have you kept your eye on me ? MY TEN FEET OF LETTER. 103 Have I fulfilled ? You bet ! * * * After all, haven't we made some little mis- take? If this young lady is coming, Why don't she come along ? Why don't she write? My visits to the P. O. are absurdly frequent. I get frequently absurd letters ; But not hers. Not that hers would be absurd ; It would be kind o' scar't — Not absurd, No! What can I do ? Telegraph ? Where ? You say D . Laura thought S . But to whom ? Dunno. If I could, 104 MY TKN F££T OF I^TTER. I would let her know, I am always waiting, When the D boat comes, Which it is 5 o'clock— A. M. ! And I'm singing, " Vake, lady, vake ! I am waiting for thee." But this vaiting And vaiting Is aggyvaiting ! • . . Somebody must suffer. I'm a dragon. If I lay claws on her — She'll catch it. If I don't— You'll catch it. 'Ware, all ! * * * See what you have done ! That ain't my work ; It is yours. You wanted long letters. By ' ' you ' ' I mean everybody. MY TKN FKET OF I^TTER. 105 I thought possibly you might thiok, " He don't write long Because he is — Surly.' ' Therefore have I, out of nothing, Evolved this seeming something, Which attentive examination Must involve to — Nothing, And leave me Looking like a — Fool! * * # Now : My letter was short, But good. / don't claim it was good. I don't believe it was good. Only, good enough for you — Because you said it was good. Why not prefer Short good To long bad ? 106 MY TEN FEET OF LETTER. . . . Excuse me ; I am interrupted. I did design to give you ten feet of letter. However, if you find this too short, I assure you that it will be long enough before you get another. JOTTINGS, ETC. 107 FROM A EEW DAYS' INTERCOURSE WITH MISS PEABODY, SISTER OF MRS. HAWTHORNE. Sunday, April 2d, she read letters from the Hawthornes, who are in Europe. Some were from Mrs. Hawthorne ; some were from her daughter Una. In one of Mrs. Haw- thorne's there is a description of the il Mis- erere ' ' in one of the churches in Florence, quite as fine as anything I ever saw on this wonder of musical performance. One ex- pression struck me particularly — "Such a commingling of sound, one voice falling into another like lapsing waters." She gave in- teresting descriptions of the people they met with, among others the Brownings. I quote at random whatever struck me most. "Mrs. Browning's body is the slenderest sheath I ever saw for a soul." "A striking contrast in their manners ; he having all the quickness and impetuosity of his im- 108 JOTTINGS, ETC. pulsive temperament, she still and contem- plative. Mrs. Browning is a firm believer in Spiritualism ; he, very much opposed to it, sweeping right over her gentle defense, like a river with its arrowy rush sweeping away some slender streamlet." "Mrs. B.'s father recently dead, having died without Word or sign for her. She married in oppo- sition to his wish, he being opposed to his daughters marrying, wishing to retain them with him out of sheer selfishness." She writes beautifully of her daughters. The family must be really extraordinary. Of one little one, six years old, she tells some very interesting things. It seems that "Rosebud," as they call her, has quite a talent for sketching. She sketched one day, on a slate, an "Annunciation." All the Annunciations are represented with Ga- briel in front of the kneeling Virgin, an- nouncing her coming glory. Rosebud has a different idea. In hers, two sister angels float behind the kneeling Virgin. Mrs. H. JOTTINGS, ETC. 109 was so much struck witli the sketch, she had her copy it on paper, and sent it to Miss P. , who showed it to us. The conception is both beautiful and original, and she has executed it wonderfully well. The Angels really seem to float. It is done in mere out- line, but it tells its story. Her reason for having the Angels behind the Virgin was, that the Virgin was praying to God, and it would be irreverent in the Angels to come between her and God, as they seemed to do when they came in front. Rosebud is fond of prayers, and she teaches her little dog to kneel. One morning she told her mother she had had a splendid dream, but she could not tell it to any one in the whole world. Mrs. H. said she thought she might tell her own mamma anything. Then the little girl said, ''Well, if she would guess." From the little girl's countenance, she guessed it was something very pleasa?zt. ' ' Oh ! yes ; and good," she said. " I think it was the prayer you said last night made me have IIO JOTTINGS, ETC. it." "Then," said Mrs. H., "it must have been about Jesus. " " Yes, and the garden. ' ' ' ' Something about the lilies ? ' ' " No ; but I cannot tell any more to any one, indeed. ' ' Perhaps you can write it," suggested the mother. Then she went behind the bed and wrote it, asking her mother occasion- ally how to spell a word. Una's letters remind me of Margaret Fuller's diary. There is the same self-con- sciousness and self-watchfulness, and the same unerring indications of an extraordi- nary soul and life in its incipient dawnings. She gives an enthusiastic account of Mr. Browning. ' ' His coming among us is like the breaking of the sun from the clouds." < * His features, except his eyes and fore- head, are not fine ; yet you forget that di- rectly, which shows of how little importance mere features are for the purpose of a noble soul. His face is very expressive, being the very mirror of himself, and in his case JOTTINGS, BTC. Ill having only noble and beautiful things to reveal.' ' She met Leigh Hunt several years ago in London, l ' before I was too old to be kissed by gentlemen. I felt sure he would kiss me, as all the rest did, to my supreme disgust ; instead, he took my hand, bent down and kissed it, and I have loved him ever since.' ' Here Miss P. remarked, 1 ( She is like her father ; there is an atmos- phere about her." Of Powers she writes : * ' He has the largest eyes I have ever seen, and so penetrating they seem to look right through you. He is quite interesting in conversation, but sometimes, from being too particular in explaining every point, is a little prosy. He says color has no ex- pression. We all exclaimed at that ; but he glanced at us with an expression that seemed to say, ' Hold on, and I will prove it,' and indeed he made us look at it very differently. His son Preston is a fine young man, with the mechanical genius of his father. A few days ago he brought me an 112 JOTTINGS, ETC. easel of his own manufacture for my table, which keeps me from bending while I draw. It is very ingenious, and my drawing teacher admires it very much.'*