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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 ifjap. .— Gtojujriglrt !§«. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 ■ 
 
3 a y^oD reair * s - 
 
 BY 
 
 ^X rdepi>es Topes * Tcoster 
 
READ 
 
 Broken % 
 ^ Barriers. 
 
 A POWERFUL ROMANCE 
 
 BY 
 
 Ardennes Jones-Foster. 
 
 A love-story of the period ; pure, 
 wholesome, fascinating. 
 
 Second 10,000 now ready. The book is 
 having an enormous sale. 
 
 Broken Batn*iet*s, 
 
 On Sale by all booksellers and at news 
 stalls. 
 
 BELGRAVIA COMPANY (Limited), 
 
 128, Broadway, New York. 
 
ANNOUNCEMENT. 
 
 "The Heart 
 
 of A Jew. 
 
 n 
 
 His publishers beg to announce that 
 Ardennes Jones ~ poster, Esq., has 
 ready for early publication a novel written 
 upon entirely new and original lines, en- 
 titled 
 
 "The Heart of a Jew." 
 
 In previous works of this kind, unscru- 
 pulous authors have taken occasion to scur- 
 rilously malign the Hebrews, holding them 
 up to cruel ridicule. 
 
 In making the history of this sect a 
 study, JVLi*. Jones^Foster has found so 
 many sterling virtues allied with the Semitic 
 race, that he has based his plot and created 
 his personages in the light of the commend- 
 able characteristics of the Children of 
 Israel 
 
 " THE HEART OF A JEW" will be sold 
 at 50 cents per copy on all news stalls and 
 by booksellers. 
 
 BELGRAVIA COMPANY (Limited), 
 
 128, Broadway, New York. 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 (Revised, Second Edition). 
 
 BY ARDENNES JONES-FOSTER, 
 
 Author of "Broken Barriers," "The Heart of 
 a few /" etc. 
 
 1/01 \v 
 
 1 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 IMPERIAL PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
 
 165 and 167, Broadway, Room 30. 
 

 Copyright, 1891, 
 
 BY 
 
 ARDENNES JONES-FOSTER, 
 
 AND 
 
 EDMUND DALTON COOPER. 
 
 A U Rights Reserved. 
 
ADDRESS. 
 
 88fcen tame tbtsr j&eberies, tabid) to mi babt 
 brrn a labour of gobe, anb bom in fconvs tbat 3 
 fcab« passeb in fonbest gag-gleams, it occurreb to 
 me to sincerela inscribe tfcera to one of tfce most 
 generous of noble toonun; sbt tobo abbeb toorbs of 
 enronragement, anb bonoureb me mitb. fcer patronage 
 at tfce time tfcat § most beeplg btsireb it : 'flu 
 frienb of all earnest biseiples of t&e arts, 
 
 Mrs. Frank Leslie. 
 
Day- Dreams. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Woman, i 
 
 To-morrow, 2 
 
 A Woman's Word of Honour, 3 
 
 A .Maiden's Vision, ......... 36 
 
 The Double Cross, 37 
 
 A Woman's Judas Kiss, 59 
 
 Sweet the Echo, 68 
 
 Midnight in London, 69 
 
 The Outcast, 77 
 
 A Morning Storm at Sea, 78 
 
 The Deserted Nest, 79 
 
 Pablo de Sarasate 81 
 
 Non-Equality, 82 
 
 Mother-of- Vine gar Natures, 83 
 
 An Actor's Scrap-Book, 84 
 
 The Storm King, 90 
 
 My Daisy, 91 
 
 Lament of the Rose-bush, 92 
 
 Stanley, 93 
 
 Edna, 95 
 
 Pamina, 95 
 
 Till Min Kara Mia, 100 
 
 Love at Sight, 100 
 
 My Lost Gipsy, 101 
 
 Bare Infatuation, 102 
 
 Not Age — Not Death, 103 
 
 Deluge of Conemaugh, 103 
 
 Jefferson Davis, 106 
 
 Entre Nous 108 
 
 vi 
 
Woman. 
 
 I regard a true woman as the best, the 
 grandest, of all of God's human creatures ; 
 a being of light ; immaculate in her chas- 
 tity ; paragon in her purity ; and capable 
 of ennobling the man of her liking. 
 Whilst I pity the wife who is too selfish 
 to aid in promoting the bent of her hus- 
 band's ambition, I the more sincerely grieve 
 for the man for having fallen into her wake. 
 A woman's bad temper is as fatal to the 
 heart's happiness as the clashing winds 
 that blow up from the hot-beds of hell. 
 The man has no alternative but to breathe 
 the poison that lingers about the plague- 
 spots of his blighted home. 
 
 A woman's gentle spirit is an all- 
 pervading virtue, whose influence softens 
 the.spell, and fills our life-niche with its 
 calm soul-fragrance. Her love-smile in- 
 tensifies our joys, and leads us to forget 
 the bickerings, the sins, the hard, angular 
 elbowing of the vulgar crowd, the rush, 
 the jealous, avaricious competition of a 
 calloused world, and opens our eyes to the 
 brighter, the better side of earth's para- 
 dise. For woman is our angel of redemp- 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 tion from an otherwise sorely barren, 
 groveling masculine state. Such tribute do 
 I pay to the memory of my mother. Why 
 not, then, to all other high-minded women? 
 
 To-morroto. 
 
 Who stand upon the brink of witching time, 
 Are nearest to to-morrow they will reach. 
 To-morrow keeps her skirts from 'neath the 
 
 scythe. 
 Thou sanguine soul, cease plunging ! Lull thy 
 
 hope, 
 For never canst thou stand abreast with her. 
 To-morrow, with her tempting golden Dawn, 
 Still beckons us to dangle in her trail, 
 But never halts, nor gives to us the race, 
 But faster runs and taunts us with her laughs, 
 And turns her saucy face, and quips and chaffs 
 At sight of us who double for the prize. 
 To-morrow is a vain, alluring flirt ! 
 At midnight we a hand upon her lay, 
 When Presto I like the skimming wind she flits 
 Far off and to the next, and leaves us here, 
 Like ninnies gasping for our slipping breath, 
 And staring in the face of bold to-day I 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 A Woman's Word of Honour. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 I will not say that I had scattered my 
 wild oats. In fact, I never had lived at 
 what the world chooses to call a fast pace, 
 although I had seen thirty years of life 
 and for the past ten years had been con- 
 stantly on the move. 
 
 It was not necessary that I should 
 give myself to any vocation, as my estate 
 near London, left to me by my father, let 
 me into something like twenty thousand 
 -a year. Snivins, my man of business 
 made it his duty to see that I got it ; an 
 undertaking for which I paid him, and 
 paid him well. 
 
 The theme of this tale embraces a 
 most vital affair of the heart. For I hold 
 that no matter how a person may chance 
 to find himself lodged in the great battle 
 of life, there is something wrong in the 
 composition of the man, whose heart has 
 never been touched with a pure passion of 
 love for a woman. I would distrust his 
 frozen nature, as I would the man who 
 makes his boast that he has never rubbed 
 against a sentiment in life that brought 
 his heart to tears. 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 I had traveled almost every mile of 
 the earth, and seen everybody and every- 
 thing worth seeing by the time that I was 
 thirty. Upon that particular natal day, I 
 found myself in Berne, Switzerland. No 
 sooner had I arrived, than a letter was 
 handed me. It came from my man of 
 business, asking me to return to London 
 at once, as Hodgson, my next-door neigh- 
 bour had died and there remained some 
 property matter to settle which needed my 
 personal attention. 
 
 It will be well to explain that 
 Hodgson's daughter, Louise and I had 
 been betrothed in infancy; a neat little 
 bit of forethought and diplomacy upon 
 the part of our parents (now all deceased), 
 whose desire ran in the direction of per- 
 petuating good blood, by uniting two of 
 the oldest families in Kent. I am candid 
 with the assertion that I had never felt 
 any vehement interest in Miss Louise. 
 Neither did my infatuation for her increase 
 a3 we swept on through childhood's merry 
 days, then past the time-posts of youth, 
 into the longings and ambitions of bud- 
 ding womanhood and manliness. To be 
 sure, I held the girl in the highest respect 
 and all of that sort of thing. And as I 
 opened my eyes to future and greater pos- 
 sibilities in life, I felt contented when 
 quite out of her presence. I fancied, too, 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 that her regard for me ran in about the 
 same groove and equally as deep. Then 
 came my series of tours and perambula- 
 tions, with now and then a flying visit to 
 the old homestead, where I always met 
 Louise, quite as lukewarm as ever. She 
 had traveled a bit, too, and, like myself, 
 had seen many new faces. I was just in 
 the act of replacing my agent's letter in 
 its envelope, when, without the least cere- 
 mony, in fact, with the most unbecoming 
 and brutal persistency, a Swiss gendarme 
 burst open my door and stared me bluntly 
 in the face ; and as I arose to confront 
 him, he called out : 
 
 " You are Leopold Renard, of Geneva. 
 I arrest you for the murder of a Swiss 
 officer in the Canton of Berne, last night ! " 
 
 I stood petrified like a rock. 
 
 My blood grew hot and rushed 
 through my veins. 
 
 " I am not Leopold Renard I " I pro- 
 tested. " I am Robert Toman, native and 
 citizen of Englaud. You dare not detain 
 me ! " and I bade him quit my apartment. 
 
 His Swiss temper resented that which 
 he considered the deepest sort of an insult, 
 and the resistance of a public officer. He 
 upbraided me for refusing to submit. 
 Words brought on something worse, and 
 .finally, he raised his weapon (I was un- 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 armed) and dealt me a blow that shattered^ 
 my hand. 
 
 Thus crippled and done for, the gen- 
 darme grinned at me, opened the door and 
 called in two more of his kidney, and be- 
 tween them they dragged me off to prison. 
 
 It is needless to say that by the aid 
 of the British Consul, I quickly established 
 my identity and in short order was al- 
 lowed to depart, to the crusty disappoint- 
 ment of my over-obliging guest. 
 
 The weather continued hot. Fever 
 set in, and thirteen days passed before I 
 began to realize where I was. The fever- 
 had forced its way over me at the begin- 
 ning, filling my wandering mind with the 
 heavy hallucination of thirteen great, thick 
 planks, which seemed to be bearing down 
 upon my weak body, boarding me over 
 from my neck to my toes. As the sun set 
 each day, I fancied that one of the planks 
 disappeared, and, beginning at my feet,.* 
 they went away, until, upon the sunset 
 hour of the thirteenth day, the last plank 
 slipped into limitless space. I raised my 
 arms from the covers and opened my eyes,. 
 to find gazing into them one of the most 
 strikingly beautiful creatures that I have 
 ever met. She had nursed me through 
 those thirteen days of danger ; and upon 
 inquiry, she was not slow in telling me 
 that I was at her father's inn, where the 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 gendarme had first insisted upon getting 
 satisfaction. 
 
 This girl was not above one-and- 
 t went y. Her eyes and hair were as black 
 as night ; her complexion was the richest 
 olive ; her teeth were white and beautiful. 
 Her oval, regular features told me that 
 she was of gentle birth. I had seen mil- 
 lions of women, but never before, had the 
 light of one's eyes shot into my soul as 
 did the fire of hers. She was of French- 
 Swiss blood and spoke the English tongue 
 with a broken accent that was most charm* 
 ing and fascinating. 
 
 uon- 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 A new world opened up to me the mo- 
 ment that Madamoiselle Amelie Lucerne's 
 bright eyes fastened their animated love- 
 light upon mine. Daily, she gathered fresh, 
 sweet flowers and placed them upon the 
 little table before me. She read to me 
 from the poets and the romances that she 
 had learned to love. And in the soft twi- 
 light, with her zither tuned to sweet 
 melody, she would sing, soft and low, the 
 Canton songs that she had loved in child- 
 hood days; songs so sweet and tender, 
 that their cadence comes back to me anew 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 and sends my tears gushing through the 
 mist of memory. And although I could 
 not hear the notes of the song-birds, or 
 wander out over the green, Canton sward, 
 I half contentedly reasoned that I would be 
 willing to forego all of the rivers of out- 
 ward joy that run through the hearts of 
 men and be satisfied with my fever-baked 
 pillow, if but for the privilege of having 
 the sun-light of that soul which seemingly 
 had become a part of my own, and whose 
 life appeared to be the other harmonious 
 half of mine. 
 
 Constant attendance upon me and a 
 ready fulfilment of my every wish, had 
 brought Amelie and me into close daily, 
 almost hourly conference. She was the 
 very soul of attention. And as she spoke 
 and her soft, black eyes rode upon mine, 
 I could read there more than an ordinary 
 wish to tend upon a sick man. 
 
 One evening, just as the serving-maid 
 brought in the candles, Amelie followed. 
 
 " The doctor gave me stout encourage- 
 ment in your case to-night, Mr. Toman, '' 
 she remarked, as tbe serving-maid left us. 
 " He told me that a week, at least, would 
 fetch you about, so that you might sit out 
 of doors and look at the mountains. But 
 you must not hope to climb to their tops 
 — not yet a while, at least," she added, 
 gaily. 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 I thanked her, as I had done a thou- 
 sand times before for her own and her 
 mother's endless deeds of kindness, and 
 expressed my delight at the good prospects 
 before me. 
 
 " I feel strong enough to gossip a bit 
 to-night/' I ventured. " Would you mind, 
 if we were to talk about yourself? " 
 
 " That will depend upon how personal 
 you choose to become," was her teasing 
 answer. 
 
 " Very good. You know enough ol 
 me and my past history, to feel certain 
 that I will not abuse a privilege. You 
 may be confidential." 
 
 The colour mounted to her cheeks. 
 
 " How much so ? " she requested. 
 
 " I will ask you to tell me if amongst 
 all of the tourists and people whom you 
 have met here, you have never seen that 
 person for whom you felt more than a 
 passing regard ? " 
 
 " But that is personal, Mr. Toman ! " 
 
 " True. All of the tender and better 
 emotions of our hearts are but personal. 
 May I insist ? " 
 
 She read my motive. 
 
 " But you are already betrothed ! " 
 
 "Yet 'there is many a slip,' you 
 know." 
 
 "After one has given one's word of 
 honour ? " 
 
10 DA Y-D REAMS. 
 
 " Yes. Promises are often made out 
 of regard for others than the parties di- 
 rectly concerned. Mine was made to 
 gratify the family pride of my father and 
 mother. At the same time, the fulfilment 
 of that vow would be the means of mak- 
 ing my whole life wretched ! " 
 
 u I will answer 3'our question, then," 
 was her decision. " I have met my fate ; " 
 and she looked at me as if her eyes would 
 drive their light through my soul. "Was 
 the dream of my past days of illness to be 
 realized ? She must have translated my 
 thoughts and not wishing to buoy me 
 with false anticipations, she spoke. Her 
 words drove me mad. " I have told you 
 that I have met my fate. Rather say that 
 I have given my promise. As in your 
 case, it may make my life wretched ; yet 
 I have promised and I cannot annul my 
 word." 
 
 " You, too are bound ! " I cried. 
 
 " Yes, I met my betrothed here. He 
 came, as you did, from England. He is 
 now upon the Continent. He will be in 
 Berne to-morrow." 
 
 Her words stifled me. 
 
 " Then it is not a case of heart ? " 
 
 "He was the first man who ever 
 spoke a kind word to me. We were to- 
 gether much during his last tour. That 
 was a twelvemonth back." I could see 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 11 
 
 the tears climbing to her eyes. Her voice 
 broke. She buried her head in the pillow 
 beside my own and sobbed like a child ! 
 " Robert ! " was all that she could utter. 
 
 Suddenly re-collecting herself, she 
 arose, drew away from me, crossed to the 
 window and wept as if her heart would 
 break. Gradually I begged her to become 
 seated again. 
 
 "If I were to tell you that I, too r 
 have read your heart. If I were to tell 
 you that you seemed a part of myself from 
 the moment that I first awoke and found 
 your eyes looking into mine. If I were 
 to tell you that I love you " — 
 
 " It would be as though you had not 
 spoken," she interrupted. " I hardly need 
 tell you that my heart, too, is human. 
 And it is because I feel certain that you. 
 will not betray a confidence, that I tell you 
 that yours is the only soul to which mine 
 has gone out to in quick and passionate 
 response. Yet back of it all, beneath it 
 all, above it all, rests my word of honour 
 to another man. Whatever may be the- 
 results that follow, I shall live by my 
 pledge ! " 
 
 She stopped. I begged her to go on. 
 
 " No I We must not think of it ! It 
 is wicked. I should be wronging an hon- 
 ourable man who truly, sincerely loves 
 me. We must not return to this subject,. 
 
12 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 Mr. Toman. After your recovery, we 
 must never see each other again ! " 
 
 I pitied her in her sorrow. Her heart 
 was doing battle. I respected her resolu- 
 tion. But I loved her as man never loved 
 woman. And though I may have erred 
 in my wish to bend her from her vow, my 
 mind was set. I felt that a fatal mistake 
 lay in my promise with Louise. 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 The following day brought Amelie's 
 betrothed to Berne. 
 
 My surprise was the greater, when I 
 found in him an old acquaintance — John 
 Burlingame, M.D. and a member of my 
 club, at home. 
 
 Conscience began to fight against the 
 resolution of my heart. I worked myself 
 into a state of prostration The fever that 
 had so obligingly taken itself off, gave me 
 a sharp turn by paying me another visit. 
 A relapse set in. I became alarmed lest 
 my illness might cause long disablement 
 and knowing that Miss Hodgson was in 
 London, I wired her to come to Berne. 
 Three days brought her to my side. 
 And although she understood my pre- 
 carious condition, her heart seemed not 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 13 
 
 readily to respond, which led me to believe 
 that her former slight regard for me had 
 vanished altogether. 
 
 " I met young Holland at Lady Rock- 
 man's dinner party in London," Louise 
 informed me, after we had chatted a bit. 
 " You remember Tom, don't you ? " 
 
 Now I did remember Tom, quite well. 
 I had known him all my life. He and I 
 were school-fellows together and although 
 he had been abroad since he graduated 
 and I had not seen him for three or four 
 years, his family and mine were neigh- 
 bours, formerly. Good people they were, 
 too and I was rather charmed than other- 
 wise to learn that Tom was evidently 
 seeing the upper-crust of life and en- 
 joying it, and I so expressed myself to 
 Louise. 
 
 " How is Tom getting on ? " I asked. 
 
 "He seems to be prospering. His 
 father left him some money, you know. 
 But I fancy that he makes a lot besides. 
 In fact he told me that he had netted 4,000 
 pounds in the past three months." 
 
 "Doing what?" 
 
 " Managing some financial scheme, I 
 believe. You know that Tom was quite 
 a flame of mine, when we were at home ? " 
 
 " Serious ? " 
 
 M Oh, bless you, yes ! We were the 
 best of friends. He proposed to me once, 
 
14 DA Y-D REAMS. 
 
 but I told him that my hand was already 
 promised." 
 
 I noticed that she left out all reference 
 to the heart, in reminding Tom of her be- 
 trothal, but made no comment. 
 
 "Do you love Dr. Burlingaine?" 
 Louise asked Amelie, after they had grown 
 familiar enough one with the other, to 
 mutually confide, as the majority of girls 
 do in such cases. 
 
 " I respect him, I reverence him," 
 was the decided answer. 
 
 " And you would wed the man upon 
 the bare fact of a promise I " 
 
 "My pledge is my bond !" came the 
 sharp reply. 
 
 " I, too, gave my word, when I was 
 a mere girl," continued Louise. " But I 
 have made up my mind that I shall not 
 live bv it." 
 
 "Why not ? " 
 
 "Because I have found a person 
 whom I like better." 
 
 " And for that reason you would break 
 your promise ! " 
 
 "Better that, than break my heart 
 over a rash betrothal," was the resolute 
 rejoinder. " That is the whole trouble 
 with girls in this age. They are too abid- 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 15 
 
 ing, by half. They depend too much upon 
 letting others tie their hands for them, 
 whilst their hearts flutter free and subject 
 to every new infatuation that springs up. 
 Nobody shall make my match for me. No. 
 Far better follow one's heart, than be 
 traded off for a high-sounding name or a 
 purse of gold. Parents do that sort of 
 thing now-a-days, you know. It may suc- 
 ceed in France, where the girls, poor 
 creatures, are never allowed to say that 
 their souls are their own. But it is a 
 blessed thing that I was not born in that 
 country. Mr. Toman and I have been be- 
 trothed since childhood, — but that has 
 not hindered my heart from running off 
 in another direction and finding its true 
 aflftnity." 
 
 " But if your fiance were to look at it 
 in quite another light ? " 
 
 "Then I would say ' bother my fiance'!' 
 I do not propose to allow my heart to be 
 trammelled by any person. It is its own 
 free agent and must act at will. You 
 have heard me mention Mr. Holland's 
 name? We have loved each other pas- 
 sionately for five years. Why, then, should 
 I permit a bald, cold promise to stand in 
 my way as a stumbling-block to my future 
 happiness ? No I I came here at the re- 
 quest of Mr. Toman, because he was very 
 ill and we are old friends. I came upon 
 
16 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 a mission of duty, feeling that if anything 
 should happen, at least one of the friends 
 of his family ought to be near. He has 
 almost recovered, now. I shall return at 
 once to Loudon, with the same love that 
 I now bear for the choice of my heart — 
 Tom Holland/' 
 
 " How do you like Miss Hodgson ? " 
 I asked Miss Lucerne, after their confab 
 had ended. 
 
 " Socially, I regard her as a most 
 charming young person. But I do wish 
 that she might be more constant — for your 
 sake. You deserve the love of a truly 
 loyal woman ; one who in these fast days 
 of promising and forgetting, would prove 
 herself an anomaly: I mean a wife sin- 
 cerely, purely, devotedly in love with her 
 husband. Because, there are so many 
 marriages that are mere conveniences. 
 And love does make such a wide differ- 
 ence in one's married life, you know." 
 
 " You are contradicting your own re- 
 cent argument." 
 
 u So, I am simply telling you what 
 should be. I am not at war with my 
 promise. That is in another man's keep- 
 ing and I shall fulfill it." 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 17 
 
 "Has Miss Hodgson spoken about 
 our affairs ? " 
 
 " I offer no explanation. Besides, 
 that would be betraying a confidence. 
 But I leave you to draw your own infer- 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 The next morning's post brought the 
 London newspapers. Louise picked up 
 one and began to pore over its columns. 
 Something drew my attention to her. 
 Her face had taken on a deathly pallor. 
 Her hand trembled. 
 
 " Louise ! Are you ill ? " 
 
 " Merely shocked/' she said. " Read 
 this " and she handed me the newspaper, 
 pointing with her finger to a paragraph. 
 I read it : 
 
 4 * Diamonds and jewels to the value 
 of £3,000 have most mysteriously dis- 
 appeared from the house of Lady Rockman, 
 in Kensington Gardens. Her Ladyship 
 left the hou^e the day before yesterday, to 
 pay a brief visit to the home of Mrs. Cov- 
 erley, in St. John's Wood. The same day 
 that she departed, a messenger called at 
 her house with a letter addressed to Mrs. 
 Luton, the house-keeper. The letter read: 
 
18 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 ' I have made up my mind to stop at Mrs. 
 Coverley's house longer than I had origin- 
 ally intended, as she is to give a dinner- 
 party to-morrow night. I shall therefore 
 ask you, my dear Mrs. Luton, to kindly 
 hand my diamonds to the bearer, who is 
 Mrs. Coverley's man and he will fetch 
 them to me. Be sure that you give him 
 the box containing the tiara/ " 
 
 " The house-keeper delivered the jew- 
 els, as requested. Upon the following 
 morning (yesterday) Lady Rockman re- 
 turned home and was shown the letter. 
 Of course she at once pronounced it a 
 forgery. Scotland Yard has been notified, 
 but no trace of the clever swindler or 
 jewels has been found." 
 
 "What does it all mean?" I asked 
 Louise, who had revealed further signs of 
 distress. 
 
 " The tiara is mine — the present that 
 you gave me Christmas, three years ago ! " 
 she managed to say. u I feared to carry 
 my jewels and so entrusted them to Lady 
 Rockman's keeping. This for my pains ! " 
 
 I could do little to console the girl 
 — a difficult task under like circumstances. 
 She at once prepared to go back to London. 
 
 Fully recovered, I was able to ac- 
 company her to the railway station ; so 
 together we went, Miss Lucerne, Dr. Bur- 
 lingame and I, to see her oft* 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 19 
 
 Adieus were said and the train sped 
 out, carrying with it a heart that I felt 
 morally certain did not beat for me. And 
 I was doubly convinced, when, at the end 
 of the sixth day, I received a letter from 
 Miss Hodgson, in which she told me that 
 she would no longer hold me to my engage- 
 ment with her, adding that she had prom- 
 ised to become Tom Holland's wife. I 
 revealed the truth to Miss Lucerne, still, 
 wondering if the state of affairs could be 
 strange to her. 
 
 " The secret is out," she replied u and 
 by Miss Hodgson's pleasure. There, is no 
 harm, therefore, in telling you thjft she 
 confided the news to me and told me the 
 name of her fiance." / 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 The gist of my agenjfs letter again 
 occurring to me, I hurrjfd home earlier 
 than I might have done uflder ordinary cir- 
 cumstances and within#ve days I reached 
 London, after a few howrs' sojourn in Paris. 
 
 Theleaves werejjJst beginning toblush. 
 Old Man Winter h^f sent his first courrier 
 over the brow of Autumn, whitening her 
 lashes. As we were listening to the first 
 sound of Winter's footfall, society was 
 
20 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 preparing to leave the Autumn tints be- 
 hind and come up to town to make ready 
 for the season's whirl. A number of new 
 bads were announced to appear. Knowing 
 ones, amongst them the good dames who 
 devoted a share of their hours to marking 
 out the facial lines of Time, said that the 
 sets were to have an uncommonly brilliant 
 season. A multiplied number of weddings 
 were coming off, they said, and as I was 
 going about a good bit and seeing friends, 
 I found myself in the thick of gossip. A 
 number of persons had asked if my match 
 with Miss Hodgson was going to hang 
 fire forever. Other good moralists argued 
 that all respectable members of society 
 should be married and I realized that the 
 clever and only thing for me to do was to 
 make a clean breast of it, which I did, by 
 relating how my fiance had thrown me 
 over. 
 
 London society had learned the news 
 officially. The marriage was announced 
 to take place within a fortnight, at the 
 country house of Miss Hodgson's uncle, 
 with whom she had made her home since 
 the death of her parents. With the nois- 
 ing about of her coming marriage, also 
 came the news that two very prominent 
 persons in society had met with heavy 
 losses through a series of forged cheques. 
 The names that they bore, were so like 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 21 
 
 the genuine signatures, that rhe very vic- 
 tims halted for a time and tried to call to 
 mind if they might not have written them 
 during a spell of hypnotism. 
 
 The Holland-Hodgson marriage came 
 off with great pomp and the happy couple 
 ran over to Paris on their bridal tour, re- 
 turning within a fortnight. 
 
 Then came another morsel for society. 
 The cards were out for Dr. Burlingame's 
 marriage with Mis3 Lucerne. It was to 
 take place at the little church near the 
 doctor's country-house, not far from Lon- 
 don, for the reason that his professional 
 duties would not allow him to make an- 
 other journey to Switzerland. He had at 
 first intended to do that, but a most com- 
 plicated case now claimed his attention, and 
 prevented his absence from England. He 
 had at once advised Miss Lucerne of the 
 situation and wished to knOw if she 
 would consent to a postponement of the 
 marriage, or come to England and have 
 the ceremony performed here. She advised 
 him that she would come with her mother 
 to London. 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Holland had taken up 
 their home temporarily, in one of the 
 .houses in Elm Park Road. ]$o sooner had 
 
22 DA Y-D REAMS. 
 
 Miss Lucerne and her mother arrived, 
 than they were invited to pay the bride a 
 visit. 
 
 "You are still resolved, Miss Lu- 
 cerne ! " exclaimed Mrs. Holland. " What 
 a will you have, to be sure ! I sincerely 
 trust that you may never find cause to re- 
 gret your decision.'' 
 
 " Why should I ? " Miss Lucerne 
 asked. 
 
 " Well, you are not marrying for love, 
 that is one sure thing," came the half- 
 apologetic answer. 
 
 - " By what right do you question the 
 loyalty of my heart ? " was the sharp re- 
 proof. 
 
 " I am not disputing your loyalty, my 
 dear Miss Lucerne. I am speaking of 
 your sincere affection. True, you may~ 
 grow into it,'' she continued, aggravatingly. 
 u For example, I have a friend who mar- 
 ried under circumstances very much like 
 your own. She confessed to me that she 
 did not care a jot for her husband at the- 
 beginning. But now — after a year of 
 married life — she loves him to adoration.-. 
 I do not pretend to argue that other cases 
 of the same sort may not be cited. I dare 
 say that her's had its precedent and no- 
 doubt will have its successor. But you 
 will admit that such instances are few.. 
 The promise ought not to cheat the heart 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 23 
 
 of its natural inclinations. You remem- 
 ber our conversation in Switzerland ? " 
 
 "I do remember your words, Mrs. 
 Holland, — with regret. And I shall be 
 obliged to kindly ask you not to repeat 
 them," was the respectful, but firm rejoin- 
 der. " I am not a cbild. I know my duty, 
 completely — to myself and to others. I 
 am not unmindful of my obligations, and 
 realize that I am not tbe only person in 
 this world who has made a sacrifice. Mine 
 will make another happy and by so doing, 
 I shall at least have proven myself loyal. 
 Besides, what is our duty here, if not to 
 study the joy of our fellow-beings ? No. 
 I am but following the dictates of my con- 
 science," she concluded. 
 
 " My daughter has rightly decided," 
 added Mrs. Lucerne. " I honour her for 
 it. It shows that her word is worthy of 
 its author. Loyalty leads to love. It will 
 in Amelie's marriage with Dr. Burlingame. 
 I should a thousand times rather see her 
 as she is, than fickle — a fault too common 
 in this day, with many girls, who permit 
 their hearts to turn a somersault every 
 time they happen to meet a new face or a 
 new bank account that exceeds the last 
 one. Many a man of greater wealth than 
 Dr. Burlingame has sued for Amelie's 
 favour. Mr. Toman was one of the num- 
 
24 DA Y-D REAMS. 
 
 ber. But she has put them all aside out 
 of respect for her promise." 
 
 A most eccentric person was John 
 Burlingame, M.D. I never had been able 
 to quite make him out as long as I had 
 known him and I don't believe anybody 
 else had. He was a, wonderfully prosper- 
 ous physician, about thirty, well read, 
 capable of diagnosing the most complicated 
 eases ; and in spite of his youth, I have 
 known many eminent practitioners to es- 
 teem it a high favour to be brought into 
 consultation with him over the knotty 
 case of a patient. 
 
 Burlingame was an inveterate club 
 man ; a persistent first-nighter ; and a 
 noted man about town. Withal he was 
 an insatiable slave to the habit of betting. 
 !Nbt a gambler, do I mean, in the common 
 sense of the word, for I never knew him 
 to frequent gambling halls; but he was 
 for ever and ever again laying wagers. 
 True, I had seen very little of him since 
 my return home. In fact, I had rather 
 avoided meeting the man who, in my es- 
 timation had robbed me of the sun of my 
 life ; she from whose presence I had torn 
 myself and resolutely stopped away, that 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 she might fulfil a woman's word of 
 honour. 
 
 With a lot of other jolly fellows, I 
 was attending a dinner at the club upon 
 the night previous to Burlingame's wed- 
 ding. He had arranged it, he said, to 
 give a bit of a farewell touch to his bach- 
 elor days, before throwing off the joys of 
 celibacy to take upon himself the duties 
 of what we all wished might be his happy 
 married life. 
 
 Tom Holland was amongst the num- 
 ber of invited guests. For Tom was 
 asked everywhere now, and his friends 
 made quite a lion of him since his really 
 fortunate marriage with Miss Hodgson, as 
 they all termed it. Besides, there was 
 no person who did not enjoy Tom's com- 
 pany, for he was intelligent, well posted 
 and a jolly good soul we all considered 
 him. He was quite a traveller, too, and 
 that made him rather an interesting com- 
 panion for an hour's chat over a glass. 
 As for me, 1 felt that Tom had really done 
 me an excessively good favour by taking 
 Miss Hodgson off my hands ; an act of 
 friendship which I sincerely appreciated, 
 and told him so. 
 
 During the height of hilarity that 
 the wit of the club had caused whilst the 
 dinner was on, John Burlingame hastily 
 arose, rapped loudly for order, secured 
 
26 DA Y-D REAMS. 
 
 silence and launched this most extra- 
 ordinary challenge: 
 
 " I wager a thousand pounds and 
 the wine for the club, that the moment 
 the minister concludes the marriage cere- 
 mony to-morrow morning, I shall drop- 
 dead ! " 
 
 Thereupon, he resumed his seat at 
 the head of the table, whilst members and. 
 guests blankly stared at him and then at 
 one another. The challenge appealed to 
 us as being so utterly ghastly, that no per- 
 son ventured to open the shell of silence, 
 with the exception of Tom Holland : 
 
 " I will take that Avager, even money !" 
 he said. 
 
 The stakes were deposited with a 
 member of the club. 
 
 Despite the lateness of the hour, the 
 news spread like Avildfire. Reports of 
 Burlingame's reckless wager were hurled 
 from mouth to mouth, from club to club 
 and about town. 
 
 Upon the following morning, the par- 
 ish church was crowded from chancel-rail 
 to gallery. Fashion, friends, upper-tendom, 
 strangers and curiosity-seekers were out in 
 force. The church was piled with flowers. 
 The choir sang with new vigour. At last. 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 27 
 
 the contracting parties appeared before the 
 altar. 
 
 How angelic the bride looked ! I 
 had taken my position in the furthest dark 
 corner of the church where I could see, yet 
 not be seen. I had carefully refrained 
 from meeting Miss Lucerne since her ar- 
 rival in England, fearing that my old love 
 might get beyond proper bounds and 
 manifest itself in impetuous speech. Be- 
 sides, I held the girl in such high regard, 
 owing to her loyalty to her promise, that 
 I felt that I might sin against her, if, at 
 the last moment I were to thrust myself 
 and the pangs of my heart upon her. 
 Therefore I had stopped away altogether. 
 
 The organ's mellow, dreamy notes 
 died away — in mocking echo, it seemed 
 to me. Every spoken word cut into my 
 heart like a knife. The solemnization of 
 the marriage had proceeded to the min- 
 ister's crowning sentence : 
 
 " I pronounce you man and wife 1 " 
 
 John Burlingame dropped dead at 
 the feet of his bride ! 
 
 She swooned and they had to carry 
 her out of the church. 
 
28 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 It was a matter of days before the 
 bride of this distressing episode recovered. 
 The shock proved a frightful load for her 
 to bear. The obsequies over the remains 
 of John Burlingame, M.D., went on with- 
 out her. 
 
 As for the members of the club, they 
 were completely stunned. The incident 
 harrowed up a profound sensation ; not 
 the least regretful feature in this connec- 
 tion being the fact that Tom Holland had 
 the assurance to apply for the payment of 
 the stakes. Not one of us had so much 
 as surmised that Holland had not an- 
 swered his host that night in pure jest. 
 Equally, we all supposed that he would 
 immediately withdraw his own deposit 
 and then and there let the matter drop; 
 and we felt doubly sure of it, after the ter- 
 rible realization of what seemed to be no 
 less than the ghastly fulfilment of what 
 must have been Burlingame's premonition 
 regarding his own early fate. 
 
 At the same time two or three other 
 reports set people by the ears. Half a 
 dozen instances came to light in which 
 forged cheques had been uttered. This 
 time the victims were all prominent club 
 men. Detectives were set to work upon 
 the cases reported. Word was received 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 29 
 
 from Scotland Yard, that a cine had been 
 found to Lady Rockman's diamonds, 
 about £100 worth of the jewels and also 
 the tiara having been recovered. 
 
 One night, a stranger presented him- 
 self at the house of the Holland's, with a 
 note of introduction bearing the signature 
 of one Oliver Benton, a French officer, 
 with whom Tom had been on friendly 
 terms whilst in Paris. The note contained 
 the request that Holland should extend 
 the courtesy of host to the bearer, Yinton 
 Senoj, Esq., who was a life-long friend of 
 Benton's. Senoj explained that he de- 
 sired to be shown about the city with the 
 view to future possible investment of cap- 
 ital in the interest of a French syndicate. 
 Holland and Senoj dined out that even- 
 ing, and at a late hour, Tom was brought 
 home in such a bewildering state of in- 
 toxication, that he had to be lifted out of 
 the cab and carried, bodily, into the house. 
 
 Early the next morning, an officer 
 arrived at the house and placed Holland 
 under arrest. 
 
 The incident raised a cloud of sur- 
 prise. Conjecture ran chaotic. Tom was 
 brought into court and his case postponed 
 until the following day to give him time 
 to find counsel. Everybody fell to talk- 
 ing about the case. Society above stairs 
 and in Bohemia knew Tom so well, that 
 
30 DA Y- DREAMS. 
 
 his name was common property. As a 
 -consequence, when he presented himself a 
 second time for a hearing, the court-room 
 was thronged, amongst the number being 
 his old acquaintances. By the side of the 
 prisoner sat his young wife, completely 
 bent beneath her burden of sorrow, whilst 
 directly back of him sat Vinton Senoj. 
 
 The charges against Holland em- 
 braced the utterance of forged cheques in 
 London ; the forgery of the Lady Rock- 
 man letter; and the theft of the jewels. 
 
 The enormity of these accusations so 
 •completely bewildered Tom's counsel, that 
 he asked for additional time to prepare his 
 client's defense. The court granted a week 
 and committed Holland without bail. The 
 news swelled the sensation. The case at 
 once developed into a casus celebre. The 
 sad occurrence so affected the young wife 
 that she took to her bed. 
 
 The bereaved Mrs. Burlingame still 
 remained in London, and at once made it 
 her duty to call upon Mrs. Holland, for 
 whom she did all in her power, being in 
 ■constant attendance at her bedside. I met 
 her there twice, each time accidentally, 
 and an embarrassing accident it was at 
 first, too. But like Mrs. Burlingame, I 
 felt that it was my duty to lend Mrs. Hol- 
 land all of the consolation possible. 
 
 The day for the trial arrived. A mass 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 31 
 
 of damaging testimony was presented, in- 
 cluding the now famous letter to Lady 
 Rockman and the forged cheques. Vinton 
 Senoj made a sworn statement that during 
 his tirst visit to Holland, upon the night 
 that he had brought him home so badly 
 under the influence of drink, that the 
 prisoner had confessed his crime. Addi- 
 tional evidence was presented. Experts 
 were sworn, who had examined the 
 cheques and letters by comparing these 
 with specimens of Holland's writing and 
 declared that the same hand had uttered 
 the forgeries. The web was slowly, but 
 perceptibly chaining Holland in its meshes. 
 At the same- time, his seemed to be the 
 coolest head in all that fetid, crowded 
 court-room. In spite of the officers, there 
 arose a constant buzz of excitement. A 
 dozen times the spectators had to be 
 rapped to order, with the threat that 
 quiet must reign, or the scene would be 
 cleared and the doors locked. The pros- 
 ecutor having exhausted his witnesses, 
 announced that he rested the case. The 
 prisoner was permitted to testify upon 
 his own behalf. As predicted, he made 
 a sweeping denial of all of the charges. 
 His wife's deposition was read (she was 
 too ill to attend) pleading her utter ig- 
 norance of her husband's complicity in 
 any crime and adding that until the 
 
32 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 present, she had believed him incapable 
 of any immoral act. This closed the tes- 
 timony for the defense. The case was 
 summed up. Counsel upon both sides 
 made ringing speeches. The judge charged 
 the jury. Its members returned the ver- 
 dict without leaving their seats : 
 
 " Guilty upon every count." 
 
 Holland, appearing not a jot crest- 
 fallen, was remanded for sentence. 
 
 Three days passed, during which time 
 Mrs. Holland was kept unacquainted with 
 the result of the trial. 
 
 At eight o'clock, upon the evening 
 of this day, a rumour startled the town 
 with the news that Holland had been set 
 at liberty two hours before. The report 
 seemed incredible. However, the guard 
 at the prison confirmed the report. The 
 authorities exhibited evidence proving 
 that by a bond, duly executed, Holland 
 had been admitted to bail. Immediate 
 investigation showed the bond to be a 
 forgery^ 
 
 The public talked about it, marveled 
 at ir, dined over it. The signature was 
 as clever a piece of work as one might wish 
 to find. 
 
 Holland's counsel caught his share of 
 the blame. It was proven that he had 
 secured the blank. He was placed under 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 arrest, tried and sentenced for aiding in 
 the escape of a prisoner. 
 
 The newspapers of the following 
 morning contained the account of a fright- 
 ful railway holocaust in Northern England. 
 The details were harrowing. The train, 
 whilst running at a pace of fifty-five miles 
 an hour, jumped the track and plunged 
 headlong into an ugly ravine. The rail- 
 way carriages were torn into splinters. 
 The havoc grew hot with the spread of 
 outbursting flames. The moans of the 
 crushed and dying filled the wreck with 
 eerie, aggravated horror. Men, women 
 and children lay wriggling, pinned to the 
 ground by great, cruel, ragged wedges torn 
 from the timbers, their shrieks and cries 
 piercing the ears of other victims bound 
 to the ground by massive loads of crushing 
 debris — appalling funeral pyres, beneath 
 whose bulk the human sacrifice lay slowly 
 burning to death. Night, that commis- 
 erate Goddess spread her black wings 
 over the awful spectacle. The list of the 
 wounded and dead was flashed over the 
 wires. The search brought to light the 
 scarred remains of the person whose deeds 
 had created the recent sensation of the Me- 
 tropolis — Tom Holland. 
 
34 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 
 Poor Louise ! 
 
 Of course we were obliged to break 
 the terrible news to her, sooner or later. 
 
 Her only reply came from the recess 
 of her bleeding heart : 
 
 " My broken promise ! Robert ! For- 
 give me ! Forget me ! " 
 
 The warm rills of April month began 
 to unlock the jaws of winter. Since learn- 
 ing the fatal news, Louise had never left 
 her room. The breath of the opening 
 roses came in through her window where 
 the eglantine rambled over the casement. 
 The budding of springtime brought the 
 blushes to her cheeks. But they were 
 those hectic advance heralds, that only 
 make the after-pallor seem the more de- 
 cided. 
 
 So when the violets and the grasses 
 came, we planted new, green sods over the 
 silent mound, and bade the broken-hearted 
 sleep on, whilst the willow-tree swayed 
 and fanned the little narrow place of rest. 
 
 Do hearts break ? 
 
 Ask if they love ! Ask if the pure 
 soul spurs its possessor on to better and 
 higher things in life. Ask if the mind 
 fills us with the desire to reach ambition's 
 highest rung! Ask then, if the being 
 who is made sick with sorrow, does not 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 35 
 
 brood over it, dream over it, wake from 
 fitful sleep at the touch of it ! With this 
 train of pondering, come the ills that fol- 
 low in the wake of black despair. 
 
 The tortured heart breaks beneath its 
 load. 
 
 Flowers by the wayside are never 
 wasted. Their sweet narcotics refresh the 
 heart of some lone passer-by. The balm 
 of the forest pines sweetens nature's breath. 
 
 The old love that had flitted through 
 the sick-room of the little Swiss inn had 
 not been forfeited. Like the fragrance of 
 the spring-time blossoms, it had been car- 
 ried along upon the wings of the time- 
 current. 
 
 True love never forgets. 
 
 The bells rang joyfully, sweet and low 
 upon that June morning of calm, as we 
 all wended our way to the little church 
 that stood upon the hem of the lawn near 
 the old homestead. A blithesome mar- 
 riage party filled the country-house. The 
 strains of the wedding march joined the 
 voice of the soft south-winds as they sang 
 through the tree-tops, where the giant 
 oak's_green leaves lulled the melody. 
 
 " e sealing of the vows was consum- 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 mated, as Amelie stood by my side and in 
 turn we repeated : 
 
 " Thereto I plight thee my troth ! " 
 
 THE END. 
 
 **$& 
 
 A Maiden's Vision. 
 
 All humanity loves a lover, — from 
 the King in high and regal splendour, 
 down to the decrepit old mendicant who 
 hobbles into her dismal garret, burdened 
 and doubled beneath her bundle of faggots 
 for the gloomy grate. The living, throb- 
 bing pulse, the very life-glow, the spiritual 
 essence, the essential soul of all the world, 
 hinges upon that one divinely-human fac- 
 tor, love. Ever hovering by the side of 
 life's material surroundings is that silent, 
 hidden, seductive Something, possessed of 
 a power sufficiently pungent to infuse the 
 bosom with an inspiring drop of heart's- 
 ease; an alluring, heaven-born balm, ever 
 ready to lull into a spell of delicious lan- 
 guor, the romantic imagination of the 
 dreamy maiden. Her supine meditation 
 suggests the possibility that she may have 
 caught a glimpse of Cupid in his flight. 
 
 The maid loves. 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 37 
 
 The Double Cross. 
 
 (Copyright by American Press Association.! 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 Cesca is my name — Cesca Melin. I 
 was bom at Westerns, Sweden, not far 
 from Stockholm, in 186 — . My father, 
 Grefve Carl Melin. was an officer of high 
 rank in the King's army. My mother, 
 Grefvinna Carlotta Bertha, descended 
 from one of the* oldest families about 
 Waxholm. 
 
 Before I arrived at the importance of 
 sixteen years, my parents died. 
 
 Olef Olsen, the only son of a barrister, 
 was fiance to me. He begged me to stop 
 longer at Westerns ; but I had come into 
 possession of the 100.000 kronor left to 
 me by my father in his will ; and being 
 possessed of a desire to see the world and 
 all that there is in it. I uttered a cry of 
 delight, when, upon the morning of the 
 31 of June, 18S — . I received a letter from 
 America . postmarked New York, jointly 
 written by my great-grand-uncle Ivan 
 Trolsky and his wife Vera, who had gone 
 from CronstaMt, Russia, to the States two 
 years previous. 
 
 I Lad frequently been a visitor at 
 their house at Cronstalt. my uncle and 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 aunt both being natives of Stockholm. 
 And being readers of the Swedish news- 
 papers, Ivan and Vera had come upon the 
 announcement of my succession to my 
 father's fortune — a fact which seemed to 
 highly impress them, for they congratu- 
 lated me upon it, at the same time ex- 
 tending a pressing invitation to pay them 
 an early visit, underscoring the assurance 
 that I would be most affectionately wel- 
 comed. 
 
 Of coarse I read this letter to Olef, 
 who, now that my parents were gone, 
 found no other person sufficiently inter- 
 ested in me to interpose caste objections 
 to our suit of wooing. 
 
 From the very outset, Olef seriously 
 opposed my uncle and aunt's invitation. 
 But in spite of his protests, early in 
 August I departed from Scandinavia by 
 one of the Thingvalla line of steamships, 
 arriving in New York upon the 28th day 
 of the month, when I was most profusely 
 welcomed by Ivan and Vera. 
 
 Upon the following morning, whilst 
 the breakfast was progressing, a messen- 
 ger was admitted, bearing a dispatch, 
 addressed to my aunt. Nervously she 
 received it, raggedly tearing it open, as 
 one unused to the receipt of messages. 
 
 "Who is it from?" Ivan asked as 
 the messenger departed. 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 39 
 
 M Sara's mother." 
 
 "From Pittsburgh?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What news ? " he earnestly inquired, 
 noticing his wife's dangerous whiteness. 
 
 " Sara is sick unto death ! Poor cou- 
 sin ! I must go to her at once. How sad ! " 
 she exclaimed, turning to me. "And you, 
 Cesca — I dread to leave you. But Sara is 
 so dear to me. I love her as a sister, and 
 duty calls me to her. But let us hope 
 that she will brave it, that I may soon 
 hasten home. Your Uncle Ivan will do 
 all for you in the world while I am away." 
 
 Before nightfall we had been to the 
 railway station and seen Aunt Vera enter 
 safely upon her journey. As the train 
 sped out, the tears rushed into my eyes, 
 and I felt myself buoyed homeward upon 
 the wave of desertion. And once alone I 
 felt a reluctance in accepting even the 
 kind offices of Uncle Ivan, wishing all 
 the time, from the bottom of my crying 
 heart that I might but cast one glance 
 into Olef's fond eyes ; my dear Olef who 
 was all the world to me. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 A week had gone by before Ivan re- 
 ceived a letter from Vera. In this she 
 
40 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 told him that her cousin Sara was im- 
 proving. 
 
 But fancy our mutual discomfiture 
 when, within the next three days, another 
 letter came to Ivan, signed by Sara's mo- 
 ther, Esther, saying that Vera had sud- 
 denly been taken seriously ill with the 
 same malady that had prostrated Sara 
 — a type of fever which the attending phy- 
 sician pronounced very malignant; and 
 so reduced in strength had Vera already 
 become that fatal results were feared. 
 
 An immediate consultation followed 
 and it was agreed that Ivan's duty lay in 
 a quick visit to his wife, an obligation 
 that I insisted was his first sacred debt. 
 He quite readily agreed with me and by 
 the next train started for Pittsburgh. 
 
 The weary hours dragged on. By the 
 second morning's post I received a brief 
 note from Uncle Ivan telling me that 
 poor Vera was rapidly sinking : in fact, 
 the family physician had given her up al- 
 together. Eminent medical counsel had 
 been called in — but their deliberation only 
 went to confirm the opinion of the fam- 
 ily's medical adviser. 
 
 What was my surprise and joy, how- 
 ever, upon the third day after Ivan's 
 departure, when I received a letter post- 
 marked Stockholm. I tore open the en- 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 41 
 
 velope as if expecting to disclose a gem of 
 the rarest worth : 
 
 "You have but just set out on your 
 voyage," Olef ran on, " as I begin to write 
 you. No doubt this will reach the New 
 World quite as soon as you do, for I 
 direct it ' via England/ But do not make 
 light of my haste, my anxiety to com- 
 mune with you, I beg. When you went 
 away, you took my heart with you. 
 Cesca ! why did we part ? God grant that 
 it may not be for long. Do not let the 
 glamour of life's new phase lead you to 
 forget me. Sleep in my heart. Let your 
 faith awake with mine in the love-jeweled 
 morning of our meeting. * * * Ever 
 your betrothed, Olef." 
 
 I at once answered this letter, telling 
 Olef all that had happened, and went out 
 to post it in time to catch the first steamer. 
 
 I had no sooner returned to the house, 
 than a messenger brought me a dispatch. 
 I opened it and read these words : 
 
 " Vera is dead 1 " (Signed), " Ivan.*' 
 
 ■yy: 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 A week went on with no further tid- 
 ing from my uncle save one letter, in 
 which he said that it had been decided to 
 
42 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 lay poor Vera at rest in Esther's family 
 plot. 
 
 Within ten days Ivan came home. 
 He was attired out of severest respect for 
 his departed wife, and as I tried to console 
 him daring our conversation, the tears 
 rushed into his eyes and he cried as if his 
 heart would break. Endeavour as I might, 
 my words seemed to afford no soothing. 
 Upon the following day and for a week 
 longer he steadily refused to go to his 
 office, declaring that life had lost all at- 
 traction for him, now that poor Vera had 
 gone. 
 
 The season flew by. Olefs letters 
 came and mine went, and before I realized 
 it, May month was upon us. Nature had 
 put on her warm, green robes. The flowers 
 never smelled sweeter, the leaves never 
 looked brighter — and but for the absence 
 of the music of Olefs dear voice, the 
 warble of the bird-notes would never have 
 rung out in more delightful harmony. 
 
 I had already begun to look for an- 
 other letter from Olef. I remarked to 
 Ivan that it was quite time. And I also 
 told him that upon receipt of that letter 
 I should return to Stockholm, having in- 
 formed Olef to that end. 
 
 What was my surprise when Ivan at 
 once began to wean me from the notion of 
 going home ! 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 43 
 
 " Why, do you know," he exclaimed,, 
 "that I had fully made up my mind to 
 ask you to write Olef to pay us a visit 
 that he might be enabled to go back with 
 you? I like Olef very much. He seems 
 a capital good fellow, and I am heartily 
 glad that you have set your minds upon 
 each other. And now," he resumed, 
 " let me offer you a bit of advice. Olef is 
 getting ready to enter the profession of 
 law, is he not ? " 
 
 a He has been admitted to the bar," 
 I replied. B 
 
 " Quite to my notion, then. If I am 
 not mistaken your dot, left to you by your 
 father, Grefve Melin, amounted to one 
 hundred thousand kronor — about twenty- 
 eight thousand dollars in American 
 money." 
 
 " Yes," was my answer. 
 
 "Could your fortune be converted 
 into ready money ? " he bluntly asked. 
 
 "It is invested in securities which 
 can be negotiated," I returned. 
 
 " Very good. Of course you want to 
 double your fortune. It is quite natural 
 that you should. Olef, being a barrister, 
 can readily accomplish the preliminaries 
 for you. If you will write to him and 
 instruct him to fetch over — well, say, 
 twenty thousand dollars of that money, 
 I, through my brokerage office, can invest 
 
44 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 it for you in 2sew York Stock Exchange 
 listed securities that will yield you 100 
 per cent, profit. In fact, I know of such 
 an opportunity to-day. Do as I advise you 
 and 1 will double your tor tune and give 
 Olef a permanent place as manager in my 
 office. His legal learning will stand him 
 in to great advantage and he will find 
 twice the amount of profit in stocks that 
 he will in the law.'" 
 
 Being a woman of inexperience, I of 
 course, gave harbour to Ivan's advice. 
 Twenty thousand invested would yield me 
 an additional twenty thousand — besides 
 giving Olef a start in life ! How happy 
 we could be upon our little fortune ! 
 
 And so by the outgoing steamer I 
 sent Olef a letter, instructing him to carry 
 out Ivan's suggestion. 
 
 I will mention here that for a fort- 
 night I had experienced the strangest sen- 
 sations — a feeling of languor stealing over 
 me and spells of morning dreariness. At 
 times my limbs seemed stiff, almost dead. 
 My back ached. I felt giddy. Twice I 
 stumbled over the fioor when an ugly 
 power swayed my head. I looked at my 
 skin. It was growing parched, colorless, 
 lifeless! I could not'make it out. My 
 exercise and habits were regular. My 
 mode of living was perfect. I took plenty 
 of baths, fresh air and good, wholesome 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 45 
 
 food ; and yet I grew weaker day by day. 
 I consulted the old housekeeper about it. 
 We called in Ivan. At first he suggested 
 the advice of a doctor, but finally con- 
 cluded that the cause mio-ht lie in the 
 tin-poisoning from certain imported fruits, 
 — a Swedish brand, of which no other 
 member of the family had partaken. 
 
 It happened that his surmise tallied 
 with the cause, for I put aside the fruits, 
 took certain remedies, including a power- 
 ful tonic, and within a few days my 
 physical strength began to mend. My 
 cheeks reddened like the blush of the roses 
 and I got on without the least hint of my 
 former failing. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 The Thing vail a, which was expected 
 to arrive at the end of the following 
 month, would have given Olef time to 
 convert my securities and reach New York. 
 
 Just eighteen days after posting my 
 letter, I received a cablegram dated at 
 Stockholm which told me that Olefs 
 father had died, and that a visit to the 
 States would be impossible. This cable- 
 gram bore Olefs signature, and as I read 
 it my spirits fell beneath their load of 
 
46 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 sorrow. I refused all offers of consolation 
 and resolved to return home at once. 
 
 " I hardly think that I would be rash 
 about it," argued Ivan. " Besides, Olef s 
 detention can be but momentary." 
 
 I remarked that it was strange that 
 I had not received my regular weekly let- 
 ter from him. But Ivan soon turned my 
 course of thoughts by saying that no 
 doubt Olef's duties at home had crowded 
 upon him so fast that he could find no 
 time to write, and especially whilst 
 watching by the bedside of a dying father. 
 This argument won me over. 
 
 " Bide your time, Cesca," Ivan went 
 on. " The next steamer ma} 7 fetch good 
 news." 
 
 I waited a week. 
 
 One morning Ivan handed me a letter 
 postmarked Stockholm. It was in Olef's 
 handwriting and yet it did not seem the 
 same. 
 
 M Here is a double cross made with a 
 pen upon the back of the envelope. I 
 wonder what he could have intended that 
 to mean ? " I asked, showing the cross to 
 Ivan. 
 
 He could suggest no reason why it 
 should be there. 
 
 I tore off" the envelope and read : 
 
 '"Do not let your heart split upon the 
 rock of this, my final adieu. Brevity 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 47 
 
 must be my parting message. Cease to 
 hope. My heart is lost to you. 
 
 "'You will ask why I have not kept 
 my troth. I can but say that my father's 
 will, opened after his death, has reversed 
 my life, into which now shines the beam 
 of a new love. 
 
 " 'I am to marry the daughter of Lieut. 
 Bodine to-morrow. Olef Olsen.' " 
 
 My heart, torn with the anguish of 
 my own sad life, I could only sob and 
 weep over it. And then, as a woman some- 
 times will do, I tried to lull my sorrow to 
 sleep by the strains of melody. As I 
 played softly, I followed the lines of that 
 plaintive song, " Drifting Apart," that I 
 had so often read in " Broken Barriers " : 
 
 Drifting apart ! as the cruel shades 
 
 Of the years rise up 'twixt you and me ! 
 
 Drifting apart !— two separate tides 
 
 Carry us out o'er the wide, wild sea ! 
 
 Drifting apart ! for another love 
 
 Has blinded you to the love I planned. 
 
 Drifting apart ! for that alien love 
 
 Has frozen your heart and chilled your hand ! 
 
 Drifting! Drifting and further astray! 
 
 My God ! will we ever again one day 
 
 Meet in the passion of life's hottest fray, 
 
 And love, as we did in the good old way? 
 
 For the first time since my arrival in 
 America — nearly one year now — my Un- 
 
48 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 cle Ivan began to show me warm atten- 
 tion. Imbittered, weighed down, galled 
 by Olef's cruel letter, I let myself drift in- 
 to closer communion with Ivan, and — yes, 
 I confess it — to avenge the past I gave 
 him to understand that his ministry was 
 not rejected. 
 
 We walked a good bit, Ivan and I. 
 And by this time his affection had grown 
 to fire. It was no mere assumption, that 
 love of Ivan's He was deeply in earnest. 
 I am not the woman to read a man's heart 
 amiss. The name of his wife, Vera, had 
 faded into a mere memory now, and I re- 
 ceived certain proofs that Ivan would 
 have stripped his heart of all else in the 
 world for me. 
 
 I must say that I returned the pas- 
 sion measure for measure. I had come to 
 honour, respect and love Ivan. His image 
 grew daily brighter and holier in my heart. 
 And as we walked together, wrapped in 
 each other's confidence, the very soul of 
 joy lighted our pathway. 
 
 One night and once again, as we 
 walked beneath the heavy screen of the 
 trees, a shadow fell in front of us — the 
 figure of a woman it appeared to me — and 
 as quickly it flitted away again. I re- 
 member having twice remarked it to Ivan. 
 On the second occasion the shadow came, 
 just as we were replighting our troth and 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 49 
 
 naming the day. I started, considerably 
 frightened. Ivan calmed me. 
 
 " It was nothing," he remarked ; " on- 
 ly a branch of that tall tree swinging 
 across our pathway." 
 
 " But if it could have understood — 
 if it could have spoken" — 
 
 " What then ? " he asked, softly. 
 
 " Perhaps nothing, Ivan. But I am 
 a creature of such silly superstitions, you 
 know. My people — my dear Swedish 
 people — are imbued more or less with 
 a belief in 'eerie things/ as the Scots 
 say. It may be a fault, but it was born in 
 me. Even when I was a child my old 
 nurse used to tell me strange tales of 
 gnomes and hobgoblins that swarmed 
 about us, and the lesson seems to have 
 followed me. So do not chide me 1 " 
 
 His answer was that which he always 
 gave when I pleaded for grace. 
 
 He kissed me. 
 
 The shadowy figure faded into space. 
 
 As it was Ivan's custom to confide 
 all of his little adventures to me, he 
 found it quite in his turn of fancies one 
 evening to relate a little incident that had 
 just leaped into his life. It happened 
 fully a fortnight after my receipt of Olef s 
 
50 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 letter. Ivan had returned home long after 
 his usual hour. 
 
 " What kept you so late, Ivan ? " I 
 asked as he came down to dinner. 
 
 a A most peculiar circumstance, my. 
 Cesca," he answered. "On my way to 
 my office this morning, I met face to face 
 with a young man who evidently had 
 just arrived from a journey. As our eyes 
 clashed, he stopped suddenly, shocked, it 
 seemed, by a pang — vertigo, I fancy — 
 threw up his hand, quickly passed his fin- 
 gers over his brow, clutched at his throat 
 as if he would tear open his collar to re- 
 lieve a strangling sensation, and losing 
 consciousness, he reeled and fell. As he 
 came to the ground I supported him, and 
 with the aid of a passer-by, carried him 
 into a tradesman's shop. But as he re- 
 mained in a stupor, I had him conveyed 
 to the hospital." 
 
 " But that did not keep you all day. 
 Come, Ivan, confess now." 
 
 " Ah," he answered, "it took up three 
 or four hours of my time, and as my 
 office duties require a measured amount of 
 attention each day, I was obliged to stop 
 there until I got through with my cor- 
 respondence." 
 
 I accepted his explanation. 
 
 u But the man's name ? " I asked. 
 ■" Did you learn that ? " 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 51 
 
 " How could I ? He had not recovered 
 his senses when I left him.*' 
 
 " But he must have carried papers ? " 
 
 " If he did they were locked in his 
 bag.'' 
 
 " How old was he ? " 
 
 " Perhaps five-and-twenry." 
 
 " American ? "' 
 
 " A foreigner, I fancy." 
 
 " A foreigner ! " I cried. My head 
 reeled. " What if it had been — but such 
 nonsense ! It could not have been Olef ! 
 You know Olef, of course ! " 
 
 "What put that thought into your 
 little head ? " he laughed. " Besides, this 
 will dispel your presentiment," and he 
 handed me a letter addressed to him, re- 
 ceived that morning, postmarked Stock- 
 holm. I read it. 
 
 " Ivan Trolsky : 
 
 " Sir — As I have failed to get an answer 
 to my letter to Mile. Cesca Melin, I have 
 my fears that she might not have received 
 it. I believe that she still remains in 
 America. If you should see her kindly 
 sa3 T that I made no effort to arrange her 
 business affairs, and that her securities 
 still remain with her solicitors. My bride 
 and I start on a tour of Norway to-morrow. 
 Please give my best wishes to Mile. Melin, 
 
52 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 for whom I hope the richest of life's bless- 
 ings. 
 
 " Most sincerely, 
 
 "Olef Melin." 
 
 And so I dried my tears and set an- 
 other seal of hate upon my heart, to lock 
 out forever the image of the one who in 
 my girlhood days I had learned to love. 
 
 zjOO 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 The sun upon the morning of the 
 third Sunday in June, gold-tinged nature's 
 greenest garb. I have never witnessed a 
 more perfect dawn. It was the beauty of 
 that morning that caused Ivan to invite 
 me to take a run over the Palisades. Ivan 
 had been making a day of it every Sab- 
 bath for a month past, and his descriptions 
 of the scenes had so awakened me to the 
 anticipation of a jolly outing, that I 
 gladly consented to go. 
 
 Ten o'clock found us high upon the 
 cliffs overlooking the grand old Hudson. 
 
 It must have been an hour past mid- 
 day when a cloud, a mere dot appeared 
 like a freckle upon the face of the sun. 
 A nervous breeze sprang up, more active 
 than the calm, farming wind of the morn- 
 ing. The cloud cast a shadow upon the 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 53 
 
 tree-tops, and for a moment its limbs 
 formed the outlines of a doable cross upon 
 the white cloth beneath our little banquet. 
 I started as one out of a dream and looked 
 at Ivan. My face must have been as color- 
 less as the spread, for he asked if I were 
 ill. 
 
 " Look ! " I exclaimed. " That double 
 cross !" 
 
 He seemed not to understand. 
 
 " It is only a shadow," he said. 
 
 " But I have seen it before. Don't 
 you remember — upon the back of my let- 
 ter?" 
 
 He laughed outright, called me a fool- 
 ish woman and told me that I must not 
 cling to superstitions. 
 
 "A strange trait, that, with you Swe- 
 dish people," he added. " They swear by 
 signs. Upon my word, Cesca, if you go 
 on like this, you will be telling me that 
 you see those funny little men popping 
 out of the rocks yonder, akin to those 
 that your Swedish peasants declare dwell 
 in the forest. And whilst I think about 
 it, Rip Van Winkle's little gnomes did 
 use to play at tenpins not far up the river 
 — over in Sleepy Hollow, you know," he 
 jested. 
 
 He had no sooner spoken than a huge, 
 thick cloud flung its black mantel over 
 •the face of the sun. The wind arose, 
 
54 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 higher, madder, faster. The waters of 
 the Hudson rose and pranced and stood 
 upright. A great, roaring noise of threat 
 and chaos, deafening in its force, filled the 
 air. The waters below dashed and foamed. 
 Small sails were picked up, tossed and 
 hurled shoreward. 
 
 The outing parties made for the shel- 
 ter of cafes and the village near by. Con- 
 fusion reigned. The sky grew dark, black- 
 Imps of evil seemed to rise out of the very 
 earth beneath our feet. Agents of fury 
 and warning dangled from the sky. A 
 brilliant flash of lightning crossed the 
 scene, quickly followed by a crash of thun- 
 der. I clung to Ivan who was quaking 
 with fright. The flash had told me that 
 he was deathly pale. 
 
 u Too late to move now!" was all 
 that he could say. 
 
 " It is hardly upon us. We might 
 reach the nearest cafe. Besides, this tree 
 is a dangerous conductor," I protested. 
 
 " The whole scene is shrouded," he- 
 whispered. " We are as safe here as any- 
 where ! " 
 
 Another flash came! In the direc- 
 tion of the bushes to the West I noticed a 
 figure stealing towards us — a woman. 
 
 " Look ! She has lost her way. Come- 
 nearer to me — closer, Ivan, closer ! I fear !. 
 I tremble ! " I cried as he clasped me in 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 55 
 
 his arras. But the woman only quickened 
 her pace, as we discovered by the frequent 
 flashes of light. Faster and faster she 
 ran toward us. 
 
 The woman was now upon us ! For 
 an instant a bright flash illuminated the 
 spot. I looked ; I saw a face. 
 
 Great God ! Vera ! 
 
 " Ivan ! " I cried. M Do you see ! A 
 spirit ! Her spectre ! Yera's ghost ! " 
 
 The man strove to speak. His tongue 
 was lashed to the roof of his mouth. He 
 moved — confronted her, the phantom-like 
 figure, as a daredevil might face a harbin- 
 ger of death ! 
 
 " At last ! " the woman cried. 
 
 "Vera!" screamed Ivan, and fell 
 upon his knees before her. 
 
 " It is here that I find you ! " she con- 
 tinued. " I have followed you many times, 
 thinking that you were but building our 
 plans as we agreed." 
 
 " As who agreed ? " Ivan cried. 
 
 "You, Ivan Trolsky, my husband, 
 and I, Vera, your wife ! " she answered, 
 as her hot temper fired her. " Yes, as we 
 agreed ! I have crossed your path a score 
 of times. Under the trees I heard you 
 plight your troth. In the lover's seat I 
 have heard your passionate words of love. 
 I have watched and waited patiently, be- 
 lieving that you schemed as we had pro- 
 
56 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 mised. But you have gone too far. Your 
 words are no longer empty sounds. You 
 love that girl ! Deny it not ! Trust to a 
 woman's eyes to read the perfidy of a 
 man's heart ! " 
 
 " Vera ! " he protested, as I crept fur- 
 ther into the shade to miss the flash of her 
 temper. 
 
 " Out upon it ! " she exclaimed. u The 
 farce has gone far enough ! You would 
 have made it a tragedy I I know ! The 
 girl's failing health, your attempts to poi- 
 son her I It is too true ! And where is 
 the stranger you found fainting in the 
 street ? Olef — where is he ? " 
 
 "God! Olef!" I screamed, as the 
 frightful truth darted to my brain. " The 
 stranger, the accident, the hospital ! " I 
 bent my tortured heart to listen. 
 
 " Where is he ? " she repeated. " You 
 have told me in your letters — the forcible 
 detention of Olef at your friend's house 
 — now confess it ! And the securities that 
 you stole from his bag and sent to me! 
 You would have killed the girl for her 
 fortune, as we agreed I But your heart, 
 even blacker than mine, turned false to 
 your wife ! You ruined the plot by your 
 perfidy ! Jealousy drives me to confess it ! 
 You love her ! You would have wrought 
 a tragedy — till your mind turned topsy- 
 turvy, and then you planned to wed the 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 57 
 
 girl, deceiving her into the belief that I 
 was dead ! But it is my turn ! We will 
 end it here ! Aye, and with a tragedy in- 
 deed ! Now pay for your sins ! " And 
 with the stout arms of a maniac Vera 
 bound him in his tracks ; then, with giant 
 force she pushed him towards the cliff. 
 My heart stood still ! The ground whirled! 
 
 At last Ivan found his speech. 
 
 " Woman ! what would you do ? " and 
 he struggled with her, as one of his feet 
 slipped over the rock. He was falling ! 
 
 " Vera ! : ' he gasped. 
 
 " Xo words, man ! Over, I say ! " And 
 as she gathered strength to force him 
 down he clutched a bush. " Your false, 
 lving tongue shall deceive no more ! Down 
 I say ! " 
 
 " Stop ! " cried a voice, and to Ivan's 
 aid came a strong arm, dragging him back 
 to the green turf, where he lay exhausted 
 and speechless. 
 
 The dense clouds hung heavier. A tre- 
 mendous flood of fire swept down. A deaf- 
 ening crash instantly followed and a hewn 
 bolt of thunder fell at our feet. The rag- 
 ged clouds parted. The light swung over 
 the scene. 
 
 "Olef!" 
 
 And I leaped into the arms of my 
 boy-lover ! 
 
 *• Your wor:hless life is spared I " cried 
 
58 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 Vera to Ivan. But he spoke not. The 
 sun broke forth from the edge of a ragged 
 cloud, lighting the up-turned face of the 
 defenseless man. 
 
 AVe looked. Vera had been speaking 
 to the dead ! 
 
 The forked light left the seared mark 
 of a double cross upon his brow ! 
 
 "Cesca dear, can you not speak?" 
 cried Olef. 
 
 " Yes, — that is all that I can do. You 
 find me here, the withered bush that you: 
 have made me— a heart without a green 
 leaf upon its twigs; a dead tree, upon 
 which you hung your cruel letter, your 
 message of adieu, your declaration to be- 
 come the husband of another ! " 
 
 " Cesca I " was all the protest that he 
 could make. 
 
 " Cesca ! " cried Vera. " It was my 
 wickedness ! I wrote my own death-letter. 
 I went to Stockholm, and from one of 
 Olef's letters that he sent to you, forwarded 
 back to Sweden to me by Ivan Trolsky, I 
 forged Olef's hand ; and, that Ivan might 
 recognize it, I marked the letter with the 
 1 double cross/ a symbol agreed upon by 
 us. It was I who sent the cable dispatch 
 and the last letter to Ivan, signed 'Olef.' 
 I released him from his bondage with 
 Ivan's false friends. I have saved your 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 59 
 
 securities," she concluded, handing me a 
 packet. 
 
 The sun beamed brighter. The fresh- 
 ened trees and grasses held up their green 
 heads with pride as they drank from na- 
 ture's cup. The daisies never looked more 
 beautiful. I saw the fond, dead hopes of 
 the past spring into new life. The birds 
 sang again their sweet carols as my boy- 
 lover's hand crept into mine and our fond 
 lips met. 
 
 " You have not forgotten 1 " I cried. 
 
 "INej, min lilla kara Cesca, I have 
 never forgotten ! Af allt mitt hjerta Jag 
 alskar dig ! " 
 
 " I, too," I repeated, translating his 
 fond words, " 4 With all my heart I love 
 
 you.'" 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 ^ 
 
 A Woman's Judas Kiss. 
 
 An incident of the War of the Rebellion. 
 
 The tragedy at Old Oak Plantation 
 has long since passed into local history.. 
 Many of the blanched faces that I saw at 
 the threshold of Minard Harder's mansion 
 
60 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 on that balmy, but fatal October night in 
 1863, have gone out through the wide 
 gate that opens to Eternity. 
 
 The Harder family numbered two 
 persons besides old Minard, namely, his 
 children: Alexandra, aged twenty, a proud, 
 defiant daughter of the South, radiant 
 with health's roses; dark, with night-black 
 hair, fiery black eyes and a heart burdened 
 with a temper quite as fierce as the most 
 violent that I have ever met ; and Delia, 
 a sweet, nestling, trusting lass of seven- 
 teen ; one of those lithe, willowy, win- 
 some blonde creatures, with soft, blue eyes, 
 whose every glance threw a beam of love 
 into the soul. 
 
 I was the overseer of the Harder 
 plantation, on the Bayou Mason, not far 
 from Trinity at the time, and that is how 
 I came to have a personal knowledge of 
 transpiring events. An old, tumble-down 
 church on the border of the little hamlet 
 still bears the marks where a Federal 
 shell ripped its way through the timbers 
 and exploded, tearing into shreds a dozen 
 worshipping negroes. 
 
 Amongst the dwellers about the vil- 
 lage, none were louder in their cries for 
 revenge than Alexandra, one of the most 
 irritating, rabid little rebel thorns for 
 miles around, whose personal servant had 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 61 
 
 been killed by a bit of shell during the 
 fusilade. 
 
 After nightfall, and within four-arid- 
 twenty hours from the time that the de- 
 structive missile had crashed into the 
 church, Joe, one of Harder's servants, 
 staggered breathlessly into the house, bear- 
 ing in his arms our pretty Delia, wholly 
 unconscious and as pallid as death. Ten- 
 derly placing her upon a couch, he called 
 for his master and Alexandra, who hur- 
 riedly ran into the room and demanded 
 an explanation. 
 
 At that instant, Delia opened her eyes, 
 looked about the room and muttered : 
 
 "It was"— 
 
 The words died upon her lips. 
 
 "What does she mean?" cried Alex- 
 andra. 
 
 "She means dat Yankee Colonel,, 
 sah," Joe answered, looking up at Har- 
 der. He then went on to relate that his 
 young mistress had ventured out upon the 
 lawn, when Colonel Lane, who was in 
 command of the Federal forces at Trinity, 
 had surprised her, frightened her into si- 
 lence, and finally — 
 
 " Treachery ! Betrayal " hissed Alex- 
 andra. 
 
 " Yes, missy. I done heard her cry 
 for help and dats what fetched me out ob 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 de quarters. I done run out and when de 
 Colonel heard me comin', he made off." 
 
 Harder's face turned as white as a 
 ghost whilst he waited for Joe's explana- 
 tion. Alexandra knelt beside the pros- 
 trate girl, and murmured the name of her 
 sister. Then rising and confronting Joe, 
 she raised her voice like a madwoman. 
 
 "His name!" she cried. "Who is 
 he ? " as the servant cowered before her. 
 
 "I will bid him," interrupted Har- 
 der. And then to Joe: "What is the 
 officer's name?" 
 
 " Colonel Lane, sah, ob de Tenth 
 Volunteers, Joe replied. 
 
 " The viper! " cried Alexandra. "He 
 is the officer who ordered his Yankee dogs 
 to shell the church last night ! My ser- 
 vant's death is due to his command. He 
 murdered her, with those other poor ne- 
 groes. And now he attacks my poor, 
 sister within sight of her own door ! " 
 
 " Do you know him ? " her father 
 asked, sadly. 
 
 " I shall ! " was her only reply. And 
 bidding us quit the room, she devoted her- 
 self to the comfort of her sister. 
 
 Inquiry at the headquarters of the 
 Tenth Volunteers on the following morn- 
 ing resulted in the information that 
 Colonel Lane had just departed for Wash- 
 ington obeying a call from the War De- 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 63 
 
 partment upon important military busi- 
 ness, but that he would return within a 
 fortnight. 
 
 Meanwhile Minard Harder had sent 
 Delia to his brother's plantation near 
 Monroe. 
 
 Within the prescribed time, Colonel 
 Lane returned to his command at Trinity. 
 Harder had at once announced this fact to 
 Alexandra and also informed her that he 
 should institute an investigation. But 
 the girl took him wholly unawares, by de- 
 claring that she had made up her mind to 
 adopt quite another course, her first step 
 being to declare a temporary truce and in- 
 vite Colonel Lane to pay them a visit. 
 Her father protested, but to no degree of 
 success and at length agreed to let the 
 headstrong little rebel have her own 
 way. 
 
 Her plans took sudden shape and not 
 -a week had gone by, before Colonel Lane 
 found himself not alone a guest at Min- 
 ard Harder s table, but a consummate 
 victim of Alexandra's fascination. Within 
 a fortnight, the whole parish was loud 
 with gossip about the new love-match; 
 and love at hazard, too, the neighbours 
 all declared. 
 
 Meanwhile, through Alexandra's en- 
 ergy, a secret league of Confederates had 
 been formed, whose object it was to under- 
 
64 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 mine every effort that hore the semblance 
 of a Federal scheme. 
 
 Colonel Lane's visits to the Harder 
 family grew more frequent day by day ; 
 and by the middle of June, the whole 
 parish awoke from its war-trance at the 
 report of Colonel Lane and Alexandra's 
 betrothal. This announcement, coupled 
 with the fact that Minard Harder had 
 given his consent, created a sensation 
 amongst the conservative Confederates ; 
 and many an oath of vengeance was sworn 
 at the Yankee Colonel who had dared to 
 press his suit, quite as many equally de- 
 nouncing old Harder and his daughter as 
 traitors to the great cause. 
 
 So many times had Colonel Lane and 
 Alexandra walked together, breathing the 
 sweetened air beneath the old moss- 
 covered oaks, each heart seeming to live 
 only for the other and drawing nearer to 
 its affinity, as the lovers whispered their 
 vows, and longed for the angel of peace to 
 spread her wings over the contending 
 forces, quench the hot flame of factional 
 hate, and proclaim the wicked battles at 
 an end. Often did Colonel Lane relate 
 his future hopes, his ambitions, his love, 
 and as often did he declare that as soon as 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 65 
 
 his Government had freed him from his 
 task of duty, he would bear Alexandra 
 away to his quiet. Northern home, where 
 a white-haired, praying mother daily 
 watched and waited for the dying out of 
 the last cruel report of guns that should 
 settle the appalling dispute, and send her 
 loving son safely back to the paternal 
 roof. 
 
 "Are you confident that yours is 
 nota bare infatuation ? n he would ask 
 her. 
 
 k -Yes. Robert, confident. If mine 
 were not love, would I risk reputation. 
 life, everything, and face the prejudices of 
 these Confederate haters, that I might be 
 near you? ^Vould not the single charge 
 connecting your name with my sister's 
 sad misfortune, be quite enough to fill my 
 heart with malice toward you. if I did 
 n Jt worship you ? Have I not jeopardized 
 my own life in begging others to spare 
 yours ?" 
 
 ••Yes, child. I am not chiding. I 
 have too great faith in you for that, f real- 
 ize the sacrifices that you have made for 
 me. My prayer is that we may soon be 
 privileged to realize the great measure of 
 our true happiness. That shall be when 
 we meet at the altar of marriage."' 
 
 "Love and trust, Robert. Trust and 
 
66 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 love ! " was her answer as they strolled 
 beneath the oaks. 
 
 Time rolled on until the beginning of 
 October, when a grand military ball was 
 announced to take place at the Harder 
 mansion. Invitations were sent out to 
 every important family in the parish ; the 
 officers of Colonel Fletcher's Confederate 
 Staff; and also the officers of Colonel 
 Lane's Volunteers. A temporary truce 
 had been proclaimed and it was agreed 
 that for one night, foe should meet foe, as 
 friend and friend, and mingle as brothers 
 upon a common peace footing. 
 
 A great assemblage met upon the 
 night of the ball. It was manifestly a 
 success as to the number of beautiful wo- 
 men, fine toilets, gorgeous uniforms and 
 gold braid and epaulets. Many a brave 
 Federal met a like gallant Confederate 
 and gravely hinted that God's peace-angel 
 would be a welcome visitor to North and 
 South. 
 
 At midnight, I happened to enter the 
 crowded rooms whilst the intoxicating 
 waltz was at its height. Just as I passed 
 through the door leading from the east to 
 the west parlour, I heard a murmur of 
 confused voices ; at first low ; now rising 
 
DA Y-DREAMS. 
 
 more turbulent ly ; again angerly swelling, 
 until the whole assembly seemed possessed 
 -of the spreading disquiet, and uneasily, 
 nervously shifted about as if panic-stricken. 
 The same idea, whatever it was, evidently 
 had clutched the entire number of guests, 
 instantly, simultaneously. 
 
 There were epithets like " Traitors ! " 
 "Yankees!" " Now's the time — up and 
 let 'em have it ! Now — ready ! " 
 
 A whistle, shrill and sharp, sounded 
 in the west room, where Alexandra was 
 receiving the flattery of her guests. 
 
 A second time the whistle sounded. 
 
 The music died suddenly as if the 
 power of the players' arms had stopped. 
 
 A third time the whistle. 
 
 In an instant, fifty Confederate offi- 
 cers and men bore down upon Colonel 
 Lane and his staff, holding them in sub- 
 jection. They roughly dragged Colonel 
 Lane to the threshold of the west door, as 
 a shot echoed upon the night-air, and sent 
 him prostrate to the ground. At the same 
 moment, the Federal officers were thrown 
 into irons and hurried away. 
 
 Alexandra ran to the door, holding in 
 her hand a lighted lamp, as she peered 
 into the pale face of her lover. He turned 
 his dying eyes upon hers in passionate 
 pleading. 
 
 " Conquered ! " hissed the woman. 
 
DA Y-DREAMS. 
 
 " My sister's wrong is avenged in his ig- 
 nominious death ! " 
 
 " Innocent ! " arose a voice. 
 
 All looked about to meet the ashen 
 face of Delia who had that moment re- 
 turned to her home. 
 
 " Sister ! Explain ! " demanded Alex- 
 andra. 
 
 " John Temple is my betrayer. Lookl 
 The man who has slain your betrothed, * 
 she added, pointing to the murderer. 
 " He wore a Colonel's uniform." 
 
 " Mine — stolen from me. He tried to 
 enter our lines as a spy! And you, wo- 
 man," he concluded, to Alexandra, " you 
 have betrayed me with your Judas kiss ! '" 
 And he died as she fell upon his breast. 
 
 " I have done this ! I have won his 
 love — and killed him!" she cried; and 
 they bore her away, as Colonel Fletcher 
 placed John Temple under arrest. 
 
 ae 
 
 -* xx JK- xx * 
 
 Street the Echo. 
 
 Those green spots in the valley of our 
 youth ! How we romped in the hay-loft, 
 hunted the Easter-eggs, breathed the odour 
 of the new-mown meadows, ran to the 
 jolly autumn nuttings and drew our chairs 
 
HAY-DREAMS. 69 
 
 around the sparkling fire in the old- 
 fashioned grate, on the long winter nights, 
 and listened to the creepy ghost tales. 
 These are bare recollections, now, however 
 sweet the echo of the dear home-voices 
 and the patter of tiny feet upon the floor. 
 
 In my musings, there comes to my 
 mind's eye the vivid picture of a green 
 mound, on the west slope of a simple 
 burying-place, where the trees and grasses 
 grow and the sheltering pines sway at the 
 touch of the wind's soft wings and sing 
 the song of eternal rest. What feeble 
 tributes were all of mine, indeed, in re- 
 turn for a mother's love ! One tender vine 
 climbs up and hugs the marble tablet, 
 whilst the index finger of a white hand 
 points to the Golden Gate above. 
 
 Thou enchantress, youth ! Sweeter 
 to me is the drop of pure water from the 
 cup that hangs in the homely well-curb, 
 than all the high-wines that sparkle in 
 the goblets of the world ! 
 
 Midnight in London. 
 
 There it lies before you. Take a peep 
 within. Wonderful surprises are going 
 on, down in that nio;ht-robed town ; that 
 
70 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 moving panorama, that ever-shifting ka- 
 leidoscope, dazing, bewildering in its 
 myriad of mystic changes. Startling ro- 
 mances stride over the vast scene like 
 pawns upon a boundless chess-board. Ex- 
 amples of wealth and poverty, jostling 
 side by side in the great highways. Mil- 
 lionaire and beggar touching elbows in 
 the surging crowd. Money-kings in car- 
 riages, riding past hunger-haunted hovels. 
 Women, mothers, children, dying of cold 
 and destitution. Everywhere bustle, pele- 
 mele, confusion ; city arteries throbbing 
 with agitation ; the rush, the race, the 
 hurry of women and men; droning of 
 countless wires, carrying electric messages 
 of life, death, sorrow, peace, joy, happi- 
 ness, engagement, battle, loss, victory, for- 
 tune into the home, the public house, the 
 counting-room, the offices of the great 
 journals. 
 
 But ho ! there without ! Shadow of 
 the rumbling tram-car, carrying home the 
 belated dozing passenger ; cabbie, ur- 
 gently rousing his groggy fare ; cautious 
 landlord, artfully closing the shutters to 
 cheat the excise law and accommodate the 
 all-night toper; screech of boatman's 
 whistle ; river pirates lugging away their 
 booty ; prison deputies guarding their 
 sleeping charge; condemned, penitent 
 criminal, with feverish anxiety clutching 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 71 
 
 the crucifix and making peace with God, 
 as the golden sun dawns upon his execu- 
 tion day; glum doctor bobbing about, 
 post-haste in answer to his patient's call ; 
 crafty, designing solicitor drawing up the 
 last testament of the old miser; modest 
 maiden kneeling beside the couch of in- 
 nocence, entrusting her pure soul to the 
 keeping of her Maker ; Sister of Charity 
 speaking words of cheer to a fallen sister; 
 a life-lamp going out in a near-by garret ; 
 child of nobility opening his eyes to the 
 world in yonder palace ; child of poverty 
 born within the lowly manger; rake of 
 humanity with brain tangled in the 
 meshes of debauche, reeling home to his 
 pallid, starving martyr-wife, who fondles 
 in her trembling arms her puny babe, so 
 like a parcel of unwelcome death ; jolly 
 company trippling to the strains of merry 
 music ; gay thespians clinking glasses 
 and toasting public favourites in rousing 
 bumpers; sly, treacherous burglar helping 
 the lad through the window ; courtesans 
 of the street, plying their nefarious all- 
 night trade and hob-nobbing with the 
 guardians of the law ; ribald revelry of 
 the dance-house; highwaymen, foot-pads 
 waylaying the lonely traveller ; a cry in 
 the night, a struggle, sharp crack of the 
 robber s pistol, a shriek, murder, escape ; 
 damnable libertine decoying to her ruin, 
 
72 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 the unsuspecting maiden ; faithless, un- 
 worthy wife hurrying home from secret 
 rendezvous with her betrayer ; deceitful 
 wine-laden daughter, clandestinely creep- 
 ing beneath her father's roof — there to 
 sleep, to dream, over the momentous sen- 
 sation of her initial crimson sin ; bold 
 elopement of lad and lassie thwarting the 
 stern parental protest ; tell-tale moon-beam 
 betraying the lover, as he steals the good- 
 night kiss from his betrothed ; tips£ seren- 
 ades waking the welkin with laughter 
 and song. Clang ! Clang! Clang! the fire- 
 bells ! Bing ! Bing ! Bing ! the alarm ! 
 In an instant quiet turns to uproar — an 
 outburst of noise, excitement, clamour — 
 bedlam broken loose ! Bing! Bing! Bing! 
 Rattle, clash and clatter. Open fly the 
 doors ; brave men mount their boxes. 
 Bing! Bing! Bing! They're off! The 
 horses tear down the street, like mad. 
 Bing ! Bing ! Bing ! goes the gong. 
 
 * k Get out of the track ! The engines 
 are coming ! For God's sake snatch that 
 child from the road ! " 
 
 On, on, wildly, resolutely, madly 
 fly the steeds. Bing ! Bing ! the gong. 
 Away dash the horses on the wings of 
 fevered fury. On whirls the machine, 
 down streets, around corners, up this ave- 
 nue and across that one, out into the very 
 bowels of darkness, whiffing, wheezing, 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 73 
 
 shooting a million stars from the stack, 
 paving the breath of startled night with 
 a galaxy of stars. Over the house-tops to 
 the north, a volcanic bulge of flame shoots 
 out, belching with blinding effect. The 
 sk^s ablaze. A tenement-house is burn- 
 ing. Five hundred souls are in peril. 
 Merciful Heaven I Spare the victims. Are 
 the engines coming ? Yes, here they are, 
 dashing down the street. Look! the 
 horses ride upon the wind. Eyes bulging 
 like balls of tire ; nostrils wide open. Can 
 the animals read ? To them, there is dan- 
 ger in every licking, curling tongue of 
 fire. What a furnace of flame. A palpi- 
 tating billow of blaze, rolling, plunging, 
 bounding, rising, falling, swelling, heav- 
 ing, and with mad passion bursting its 
 red-hot sides asunder, reaching out its 
 cephalopodic-like arms, encircling, squeez- 
 ing, grabbing up, swallowing everything 
 before it with the hot, greedy mouth of an 
 appalling monster. 
 
 Bless us, how the horses dash around 
 the corner. Animal instinct, say you ? 
 Aye, more. Brute reason. 
 
 " Up the ladders, men ! " 
 
 The towering building is buried in 
 bloated banks of savage, biting elements. 
 The forked tongues dart out and in, dodge 
 here and there, up and down and wind 
 their cutting edges around every object, 
 
74 DA Y-D REAMS. 
 
 boring through stoutest things of resist- 
 ance, piercing the remotest corners of the 
 hugh pile. Then comes a crash, a dull, 
 explosive sound and a puff of smoke leaps 
 out. At the highest point upon thej*oof 
 stands a dark figure in a desperate strait, 
 the hands making frantic gestures, the 
 arms swinging wildly — and then the body 
 shoots oft* into frightful space, plunging 
 upon the pavement with a revolting thud. 
 The man's arm strikes a by-stander, as he 
 darts down. The crowd shudders, sways 
 and utters a low murmer of pity and hor- 
 ror. The faint-hearted lookers-on hide 
 their faces. One woman {enceinte) swoons 
 away. A child breaks into tears. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! Dead ! " exclaims a 
 labourer, as he looks upon the man's body. 
 
 " Aye, Joe and I knew him well, too. 
 He lived next door to me, five flights 
 back. He leaves a widowed mother and 
 two wee bits of orphans. I helped him 
 bury his wife a fortnight ago. Ah, Joe,, 
 but it's hard lines for the orphans." 
 
 A ghastly hour moves on, dragging 
 its regiment of panic in its trail, and leav- 
 ing crimson blotches of cruelty along the 
 path of night. 
 
 " Are they all out, firemen ? " 
 
 " Aye, aye, sir ! " 
 
 " No, they're not ! There's a woman 
 in the top window, holding a child in her 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 75 
 
 arms — over yonder in the right-hand 
 corner ! The ladders, there ! A hun- 
 dred pounds to the man who makes the 
 rescue ! " 
 
 A dozen start. One man more supple- 
 than the others and reckless in his bravery, 
 clambours to the top rung of the ladder. 
 
 " Too short ! " he cries. " Hoist an- 
 other!" 
 
 Up it goes. He mounts to the win- 
 dow, fastens the rope, lashes mother and 
 babe, swings them off into ugly emptiness 
 and lets them down to be rescued by his 
 comrades. 
 
 " Bravo ! Fireman ! " shouts the crowd. 
 
 A crash breaks through the uproar of 
 crackling timbers. 
 
 44 Look alive up there ! Great God t 
 The roof has fallen ! * 
 
 The walls sway, rock and tumble in 
 with a deafening roar. The spectators 
 cease to breathe. The cold truth reveals 
 itself. The fireman has been carried into 
 the seething furnace. An old woman, 
 bent with the weight of age, rushes 
 through the fire-line, shrieking, raving 
 and wringing her hands and opening her 
 heart of grief. 
 
 " Poor John ! He was all that I had ! 
 And brave lad he was, too! But he's 
 gone, now. He lost his own life in savin* 
 two more and now — now he's there, away 
 
76 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 in there ! " she repeats, pointing to the 
 -cruel oven. 
 
 The engines do their work. The 
 flames die out. An eerie gloom hangs 
 over the ruins, like a formidable, black- 
 ened pall. The polyglot mass breaks up, 
 disperses, disolves. The last shriek of the 
 engine's whistle expires in echo. The 
 rumble of the belated, heavy cart dies 
 away. The din of street-rabbles is hushed; 
 the mirth of public-house gatherings 
 comes to an end. Night reigns supreme, 
 disturbed only by the measured leaden 
 tread of the watchman on his beat. Then 
 follows the deep, dread silence of night's 
 after-birth ; that lifeless, sordid hour, when 
 the mighty city sleeps in her awful calm. 
 Again, the spell is broken by swelling mur- 
 murs, stealing, creeping over the sluggish 
 scene. 
 
 Night, the sable Goddess, lifts her 
 frightful head and shakes her disheveled, 
 raven locks. Earth's human drudges 
 stretch their legs and yawn ; the slaves of 
 earthly toil steal forth ; voices rise and 
 multiply upon the greyish air; new life 
 springs up. The rumble of freighted carts 
 is heard on the way to the market ; again, 
 the coster-monger's coarse shout to his 
 donkey ; the clumsy tramp of labourers ; 
 the advent of shop-keepers ; the rattle of 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 77 
 
 shutters ; the straggling home of the be- 
 wildered, all-night debauche. 
 
 And then all hail ! to the birth of the 
 cooling, balmy breeze; the rustle of the 
 leafy trees within the parks ; the quick- 
 ening of nature's pulse; the opening of 
 the deep, blue eyes of rosy morn, and the 
 twitter of sweet song-birds that come 
 down to bathe at the city fountain's, and 
 baptize the rays of the invigourating sun. 
 
 W* 
 
 The Outcast. 
 
 A cold, bitter history has the outcast 
 —short and dark! He hugs the cruel 
 world, as the slimy snail hugs the stone. 
 Like the loathsome lizard, he draws his 
 hated length over the jagged^ rocks of 
 time and dies there, with as little cere- 
 mony as nature will allow. And then, 
 along comes the grave-digger, who flings 
 his body into a chilly hole in Potter's 
 Field. Heap the coarse, cold clods upon 
 his rough-nailed box. Set no mark above 
 his resting-place. Plant no flower above 
 his plebianistic mound. Even the rocks 
 over which he crawled, shrink within 
 themselves, as they rub against the elbows 
 of his poverty-eaten memory. 
 
78 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 A Morning Storm at Sea. 
 
 The water had stood wonderfully 
 calm, all the morning. Suddenly, a 
 mighty gust of wind struck our boat. 
 We realized the full force of the hurri- 
 cane, as its battering-rams punched our 
 ribs. Quicker than I can write it, an- 
 other broadsider struck us. Black clouds 
 instantly blotted out the sun. The sky 
 grew as dark as night. Coming up from 
 the south-west, we could see a hideous 
 mountain of storm rolling towards us, 
 bounding at us. The dense, frowning 
 clouds hung split by forks of blinding 
 lightning. In a moment, the storm tow- 
 ered like a wall of death before us! The 
 treacherous sea reared and bucked and 
 pranced like a mad monster. The winds 
 raved and tore and shook the boat as if she 
 were a toy, heaving her high on the crest 
 of a frantic wave. Back we sank, with a 
 swift and sickening lunge, into the valley 
 of the waters, and the sea that had reared, 
 now pounced down upon our deck and 
 broke with the thunder of a million guns. 
 Every ventilator was forced air-tight. 
 But the efforts appeared like driving nails 
 into the face of Providence. Another 
 wave, almost scaling the sky, it seemed, 
 washed up and fell to pieces on our deck, 
 crashing through all barriers. 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 79 
 
 Scarcely five minutes did the hurri- 
 cane last, when off it dashed in a north- 
 erly direction, permitting us to speed out 
 from beneath the crook of its elbow, as 
 the death-dealing monster whipped the 
 foaming sea with its dreaded tail. 
 
 &> 
 
 -*-**Hjb XXX - 
 
 The Deserted Nest. 
 
 As I walked amongst the struggling 
 brambles and the clinging vines and looked 
 upon the poor little hay-woven home that 
 the mother-bird had forsaken, something 
 about it appealed to my heart as being 
 most touchingly sad. 
 
 The dingy wool-lining of the nest, 
 partially disarranged, completed the soft 
 cradle, where lay two lovely, blue-coated 
 ■eggs, whose shells were slightly cracked ; 
 and peeping through them came the yel- 
 low beaks of two dead birdlings, in mute 
 solicitation. 
 
 "Deserted !" I muttered. 
 
 And the mother ? Perhaps mangled 
 by the shot of a ruthless hunter; or 
 Atoned to death by cruel boys : It might 
 be that she had been beaten and slain by a 
 king-bird of the forest-retreat. 
 
80 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 And as the winds sang their ceaseless 
 lullaby in the tree-tops, my mind flew 
 back to many another dismantled home, 
 whose love-god had been attacked and 
 routed. Of one of these firesides, I knew 
 the pitiable history ! 
 
 Two fair-haired, babbling babes hud- 
 dled and sobbed in the disheveled, torn 
 nest, whilst a broken-hearted husband and 
 father wailed over the shattered hearth- 
 stone. The love-star had set behind the un- 
 compassionate night-cloud. The tempter 
 had stolen into the domestic circle, lured 
 the heart of the young wife and broken 
 the love-anchor which held her to the 
 shrine of honour, peace and home. Vir- 
 tue took on the wings of blackness and 
 flitted into the shadow of sorrow, to weep 
 over the failure of her ministry. 
 
 But there still remains the sagging 
 gate, the untidy pathway that winds 
 amongst the flower-beds, the crumbling 
 cottage with its tottering fireplace, the 
 ashy, heartless embers and the glossy, 
 silken webs that the ugly spiders have 
 spun from mantle-piece to blackened crane. 
 The gossips of the homely country-village 
 point to the Ponson cottage, as the 
 Deserted Xest. 
 
 ^ 
 
m DAY-DREAMS. 81 
 
 Pablo de Sarasate. 
 
 Modern Paganini ! Pablo Martin Me- 
 liton de Sarasate. As if it were a charmed 
 and breathing instrument, and sacred, — 
 the necromancer of those soul-entrancing 
 notes — he grasps that miraculous bow and 
 hugs his violin, fondles it upon his breast, 
 caresses it, like unto a gentle child he 
 loves. And as the tender winds of sum- 
 mer play upon the yielding reeds and sway 
 them till they sigh and sing in mellow 
 cadence, so this wizard of instrumental 
 song waves beneath the all-seductive spell 
 of each sweet concord, rocked in the cra- 
 dle of his own inspired music-soul ; a con- 
 jurer of lithe, fantastic harmonies, moved 
 by the gentle touch of the linger of magic 
 melody. Verily, doth he woo his instru- 
 ment, court it, like a lover, until the bril- 
 liant strains burst forth and scatter and 
 fill the air with musical meteors. 
 
 I had heard all of the other great 
 players. But when I listened to Sarasate, 
 comparison left a bare glint of their grand 
 eloquence. I became lost in the labyrinth 
 of his genius. Such ardour of mastery. 
 I felt the charm of transport. He had 
 spoken to my soul, out of the inspiration 
 of his own. A wordless song melted my 
 heart and the tears rushed into my eyes. 
 
82 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 Non- Equality. 
 
 I hear you declare that " all men are 
 born equal ! " 
 
 What rubbish, to be sure ! 
 
 I deny this assertion of equality ! 
 And tell me : Do you with all of the can- 
 dour of honesty, expect to awake at the 
 sound of Gabriel's horn and find the en- 
 tire complement of humanity's unwashed 
 carbuncles, sitting upon the right and up- 
 on the left of you, robed in finest purple 
 and linen ? 
 
 Admitting that one so low as the 
 robber upon Calvary repented, it must 
 likewise be acknowledged that he pos- 
 sessed a grain of noble character that won 
 the confidence of One as great as the 
 Prince of God. Besides, the robber was 
 capable of repenting. 
 
 There are persons who are born too 
 low to rise above their surroundings. 
 And when they happen to appear con- 
 trite, (if ever by any chance they do), 
 their repentance carries with it a pungent 
 odour of sin-fusty sulphur. It is their 
 business to enlist recruits for the stuffy 
 realms of Pluto. 
 
 jhhm|£-*#* 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 83 
 
 Mother-of-Yinegar Natures. 
 
 Bless us ! what a shock some persons 
 receive, at the braying of charity's trum- 
 pet. With the birth of the suggestion 
 that they ought to do a good deed for 
 some person other than themselves, their 
 whole nature sours upon their stomach. 
 There are, besides this class, myriads of 
 persons who are born with a vinegar- 
 coated caul. They inherit their acidulous 
 qualities and faithfully keep them on 
 dress parade, throughout the whole course 
 of their lives. Sour-born parents rear 
 sour-born children on a sour bottle and 
 fire them out into scenes of bustle, pele- 
 mele, strife for wealth, place, reputation, 
 before their bow-legged bones grow hard. 
 In this atmosphere of push and hurry, 
 rush and worry, men read as they run. 
 None stop to tie a shoe-string. It is a 
 tread-mill, from birth down to the gate 
 of Eternity. The method weans men from 
 all notions of deliberation, consideration, 
 repose. The mere suggestion of laughter 
 drives them into the icy embrace of frozen 
 terror, in the anticipation of laughter cost- 
 ing them a moment of time. They sour 
 in the constant process of shaking up; 
 and, finally, by rule, evolve into typical, 
 walking pickles, incessantly drinking in 
 life's puckering acids. And dying, they 
 
84 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 go down to oblivion, wrapped in a shroud 
 of the mother-of-vinegar. 
 
 An Actor's Scrap-Book. 
 
 If you are an actor, the terms, " pub- 
 lic favourite " and " public patronage" will 
 appeal in many ways to your heart. Look 
 — the evidence of the public's past appre- 
 ciation of your work, stowed away in 
 your albums and scrap-books, amongst 
 those time-stained casts of characters and 
 in that parcel of old, mildewed play-bills : 
 One of which tells of the night that you 
 made your first bow to your public. 
 They name, too, so many men and women, 
 time-honoured, beloved associates. Yes, 
 and of these, the second and third, the fifth, 
 seventh, tenth and one or two others, have 
 passed from death unto Life. Ah, those 
 intrinsic records ! Rosy reminders of days 
 long gone. But what staggering rows of 
 cruel exclamation points you read betwixt 
 the lines: Unimpeachable witnesses of 
 your years of struggle, months of self- 
 sacrifice, days, weeks of hunger. What 
 wonderful truths those clipped notices 
 contain, what romances, too ; what libels, 
 what lies, what tell-tale marks of bare- 
 faced favouritism. 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 85 
 
 You remember the night that you 
 made your debut, don't you ? To be sure 
 j'ou do. It was the event of your life. 
 Your friends felt certain that you would 
 win. Others had played the role before 
 and scored success. 
 
 Would you? 
 
 Did you ? 
 
 Follow on a bit. The night came, 
 that famous night. The house was 
 •crammed. Boxes and stalls were studded 
 with lovely women, society's beautiful 
 charges, jeweled and diamond-bedecked. 
 First-nighters, men-about-town, club-fre- 
 quenters ; all of the critics were out. 
 
 Ring in ! 
 
 Ring up 1 
 
 You stood in the wing, waiting for 
 your cue. " There, you have it 1 Take it ! 
 *Gto on, go on, I say ! The stage waits. 
 The audience grows impatient ! Go on! " 
 You entered and took the stage, greeted 
 by the applause of the house. "Your 
 line, man — speak your line ! Eh ? Can't 
 remember it ? What a pity ! " 
 
 "So-and-so, so-and-so, so-and-so," whis- 
 pered the prompter. 
 
 And still you faltered. 
 
 " What are you waiting for ? Come 
 nearer to the prompt-side. Now go on. 
 Well, well ! what's the matter now ? Wing 
 jour lines, man ! Stalled, eh ? Egad ! 
 
86 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 It's too bad ! You've ruined the scene 
 already. The audience won't stand this 
 sort of thing much longer, you know. 
 Speak, I say ! " 
 
 Speak ? Impossible ! Your lips were 
 clamped with silence. You stood screwed 
 to your tracks, — mute, dumb. Through 
 the cloud of shimmering heat that curled 
 above the footlights, you pictured a black 
 and yawning gulf. In this dark hole, you 
 outlined a myriad of up-turned, human 
 faces, nothing more. A daze, a prostrat- 
 ing daze crept over you and you dashed 
 your fingers across your eyes. 
 
 "Retire!" thundered the prompter. 
 The voice startled you and you stared 
 about upon all sides. The stage swam. 
 You grew dizzy — but attempted to speak, 
 muttering an inaudible mass of something, 
 nothing anything but your lines. You: 
 reeled. The very house ebbed and rocked 
 before you, like the unstable billows of an 
 intoxicated ocean. The audience waited 
 in piteous doubt. Instinct told you that 
 and to spare your patrons and yourself 
 from further embarrassment, you would 
 have given the world to have sunk through 
 the boards. 
 
 " Stage-fright," you heard a score of 
 voices whisper in the front of the house. 
 
 Then a wave of charity rolled up 
 from the vast crowd in waiting, spreading 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 87 
 
 its soothing wings over the scene. You 
 felt the balm of sympathy as it fanned 
 your cheeks. 
 
 A multitude of voices cried " Cour- 
 age ! " 
 
 That word checked the paroxism of 
 your fright. You felt the lessening of the 
 load as it slipped from your imagination. 
 
 Presto I the burden had gone. And 
 from the dark purgatory of self, you lept 
 into the light of your own free will. 
 
 This siege of stage-fright had lasted 
 thirty seconds. To you it seemed like 
 thirty hours. 
 
 You took your cue. Lines followed 
 upon lines, crowding, pushing, tripping, 
 tumbling over each other with rapid pace. 
 The character stood before you like a boul- 
 der. Inspiration goaded you. Success 
 chased every effort. The scene over, the 
 climax reached, loud "bravos" greeted 
 you. 
 
 You had scored. Curtain. 
 
 A call. Hark ! A double call, by 
 Jove ! 
 
 In these modern days, when spec- 
 ulators, vile amateurs, shopkeepers'-clerks, 
 society swells and "star" adventuresses 
 (using the stage to cover their sins), — in 
 these modern days, I say, you rake the 
 
88 DA Y-D REAMS. 
 
 dying embers in your grate, light your 
 pipe, straighten your legs, and sit musing, 
 whilst you brush the dust and tarnish 
 from the bright spots of the good old long 
 ago: Days when the merits of the actor 
 were gauged by dint of talent ; not by 
 his multitude of tailor-made suits, or the 
 latest bit of her putrid scandal. 
 
 The curling heat rises above the foot- 
 lights of your fancy, like a curtain, divid- 
 ing your present from your romantic past. 
 You add up your years of histrionic 
 triumphs and stir the grate-fire again. 
 What a round of successes you enjoyed, 
 to be sure ! Can it be such a long time 
 ago, that you made your debut ? Aye, full 
 half a century, my dear fellow. Hark ye ! 
 A faint vibration of applause. Louder 
 and louder it grows, as down the corridor 
 of time it rolls. You catch the sound of 
 the plaudits, the " bravos," the thumping 
 of sticks, the clapping of muffled hands. 
 You hear the uproar. You see the audi- 
 ence " rise at you," as in days gone by. 
 " Bravo ! Bravo ! " You listen again, 
 and once more rake the grate-fire, to the 
 music of the echoes of acclamation that 
 shall cease only when you go on to play 
 your last great role, at the ringing up of 
 the curtain of Eternity, in a character Im- 
 mortal, — a star amongst the stars, — and 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 89 
 
 take jour cue from the All-Ruling 
 Prompter. 
 
 Players all ! The Infinite Stage waits ! 
 
 " "What about his private life ? " one 
 person whispers, as he reads these lines 
 over my shoulder. 
 
 The player's private life ! 
 
 Egad ! 
 
 What is that to you ? The player's 
 private life is his own private property (or, 
 God's property, rather) and he has the 
 same right to enjoy it that any other per- 
 son has, free from interruption. 
 
 Keep your inqaisitiveness out of the 
 player's private yard, lest he may, in turn, 
 -cast a stone at your window. 
 
 Drop the curtain ! 
 
90 DA Y-D REAMS. 
 
 The Storm King. 
 
 Wake, winds, blow, 
 
 Over the plain and the hill. 
 
 Skip, stream, rush 
 
 Over the wheel of the mill. 
 
 Shake, winds, rage, 
 
 Whip the mute race through the locks. 
 
 Lash, stream, leap 
 
 Over the rough jutting rocks. 
 
 Rise, storm, swell 
 
 Set all the natives to wonder. 
 
 Fume, storm, roar ! 
 
 Lock arms with lightning and thunder. 
 
 Earth, clouds, winds 
 
 Are willing to spur your battle. 
 
 Howl, storm, swoop ! 
 
 Down through the valley you rattle ! 
 
 Lunge, storm ! Charge 
 
 Over the forest and dell. 
 
 Sweep, storm, burst — 
 
 Scatter your agents of hell ! 
 
 Rear, strike, slay ! 
 
 March with grim death at your head I 
 
 Hold, storm ! Fade. 
 
 Let the dead bury the dead ! 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 91 
 
 My Daisy. 
 
 The leaves swayed softly and bent on the boughs, 
 
 To listen, it seemed, to the time-told vows 
 
 We'd made 'neath the tree where the rivers meet. 
 
 The vines crept over, whilst under our feet, 
 
 Lay the sweet clover that morning cut down ; 
 
 Heads peeping out from the folds of her gown: 
 
 The gown of my Daisy, my rustic queen, 
 
 My girl -love — the bonniest lass I ween. 
 
 In all of that land where the brambles grow. 
 
 A beauty she was ! and I loved her so. 
 
 As she picked the stems from the clover-bed, 
 
 And twisted a garland of green and red. 
 
 A twelvemonth thence, and the marriage bells rang, 
 And chimed with the notes that the robin sang. 
 The echoes woke in the neighbouring hills, 
 And wedded the strains of the rippling rills. 
 We rambled again where the rivers meet. 
 The vines crept over, whilst under our feet, 
 Lay the sweet clover ; and close by my side, 
 Sat my queen. Daisy, my queen and my bride. 
 Her voice was like music, mellow and low. 
 A beauty she was ! and I loved her so, — 
 As she picked the stems from the clover-bed. 
 And twisted a garland of green and red. 
 
 A month went by, when the voice of alarm 
 Roused men to fun\ The cry: " Men to arms ! " 
 Rang through the nation. The torches of war 
 Blazed, whilst the bugle call sounded afar. 
 I flung off my scabbard. My bride shed tears. 
 I carried her kisses, carried her prayers. 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 To fields of hot battle her missives flew: 
 
 "Come home ! " she wrote. " Love, I'm yearning 
 
 for you ! 
 I miss you ! In God's name, why did you go ? " 
 Her words burned my heart, for I loved her so, — 
 And dreamed of the stems from the clover-bed 
 She'd twined in our garland of green and red. 
 
 When facing the cannon, I heard her words. 
 I heard the rills ripple, and songs of birds, — 
 And wished the war over. * * * Peace came 
 
 at last, 
 And healed up the wounds of war of the past. 
 Then homeward I flew — to the clover-bed ; 
 My Daisy ; our garland of green and red. 
 I echoed her words : "I'm yearning for you ! " 
 And longed to embrace her, I loved her so. 
 
 I went to the tree where the rivers meet. 
 The vines crept over, whilst under my feet, 
 Lay the sweet clover, that morning cut down, — 
 Piled with the daisies that dotted her mound. 
 
 Lament of the Rose-bush. 
 
 Nobody cares for me, now, 
 A rose-bush, asleep by the wall. 
 Nobody lives for me now ; 
 No, nobody — no one at all ! 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 93 
 
 I blossomed and blushed for a day, 
 In my innocent, maiden way. 
 I courted bright life, as became my right, 
 Till the Love-winds, going astray one night, 
 Nested and purred in my limbs till day-light, 
 And plucked my lone rose-bud from me, 
 Then flung me a taunt for a fee — 
 And flitted off over the sea. 
 
 But nobody's cared for me, though, 
 
 Since the Love-winds came long ago, 
 
 And played through my limbs, and piped on the 
 
 And set the tongues of the gossiping weeds [reeds 
 
 Agog with the falsehoods of my misdeeds — 
 
 And flitted off over the sea. 
 
 My rose bloometh not unto me, 
 
 And nobody wants the bare tree. 
 
 Stanley. 
 
 No war-guns boom, with wild, saluting breath,. 
 No drums of war roll out their rumbling cheer. 
 No vengeful tempers greet a war-like Sheik, 
 Nor even name of "Captain" bearest thou ; 
 Thy mission one of prime and sweetest peace. 
 But every human who can speak the tongue, 
 Sends bravos to thee, bolder than the guns 
 Of all the nations in report combined. 
 For praise of hearts speaks louder than the mouths 
 Of belching giant cannon on the hills ! 
 
94 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 Not priest, nor mission-man ; not royal born, 
 
 A plain, but grand example of a man ; 
 
 And though a preacher not, yet even thou 
 
 Hast more than mighty sermons taught the world, 
 
 By digging into that black Congo heart, 
 
 And letting in the cheering sun of God, 
 
 To warm the sordid souls of savage men. 
 
 God's will hath made a man of destiny — 
 Made thou that man, and clasped the arm of fate, 
 The arm of gladdest fate about thy neck, 
 And garbed thee with the mantle of the great ! 
 
 Men plan, men fight, men cry for war, for peace ; 
 Men carve their names upon the highest peak 
 Of that strange mountain that we call renown. 
 Their names cleave unto every speaking tongue. 
 And when they sink to rest behind the cloud 
 Of Death, who throweth his dust into their eyes, 
 The public, being worshippers of men, 
 Fall down and kiss the tracks they once have trod. 
 
 But why are these called great ? What have they 
 
 done ? 
 Lo ! when we look, we read thy rising name, 
 As written 'tis within the palm of One 
 Who held thee in the hollow of His hand, 
 And heard thee cry: " Thy will be done, O God ! " 
 Years like thine are the golden links of fame, 
 That bind thy past with future greater deeds. 
 Mourn not for scudding years. Drink to their flight ! 
 
 ^ 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 95 
 
 Edna. 
 
 (Particularly inscribed to Jennie O. Neill Potter.) 
 
 Where the waves touch lips, as the zephyrs blow, 
 We planted our rose-bush, Edna and I. 
 We sat by the water, and watched it grow, 
 And clucked to the swans, as they sailed us by. 
 
 That was in June, when the silvery lake, 
 Fed by the showers, and rills, and the springs, 
 Seemed of the sweetness of earth to partake, 
 And whiten the white of the swans' white wings. 
 
 We plighted our troth when our rose-bush grew, 
 And Edna, with life's new joy, named the day. 
 The Autumn-time came and the Winter-time flew. 
 With them the light of me flitted away ! 
 
 * * * # * •* 
 
 The swans sail up and feed out of my hands. 
 The old elm weeps, and the tide comes and goes. 
 And Edna ! Sweet Edna ! Under the sands 
 Sleeps, where the laving tide waters our rose. 
 
 £& 
 
 Pamina. 
 
 The widow Victor's cot near Ashford Town, 
 
 Slept on the border of a flowery dale, 
 
 Where at the peep of dawn the red cock crowed 
 
 In stately pride and grand solemnity, 
 
 And bade the slothful village souls awake. 
 
96 DA Y-D REAMS. 
 
 At turn of mid-day strode the warm sun in, 
 And roused the dreamy hamlet in its bed : 
 Then glided off behind the western hill, 
 To kiss the boulders, and the chilly cloves. 
 
 A spacious meadow spread from barn to wood ; 
 A winding pathway crept down through the grass, 
 All sprinkled with the dots of richest dew- 
 King Morning's jewels, glistening in the sun. 
 
 Anon, the cattle from their stanchels loosed, 
 Stood lowing at the edge of forest shade, 
 Where twining vines and thorny bushes grew, 
 That fondly nursed the blushing, red wild rose. 
 The pursy sheep came with their tinkling bells ; 
 And, of a sudden breaking from the trail, 
 Would ramble off to south, and through a lane 
 That ran quite to a dawdling, vagrant brook, 
 Where flocks and herds alike went down to drink ; 
 And tended by the widow Victor's child, — 
 By name, Pamina, belle of Ashford Town, 
 With not her match for many leagues around. 
 
 With birth of Easter-tide, a guest arrived ; 
 A city kinsman — Mina's cousin, Tom, — 
 An artist who had lit the lamp of fame, 
 And won renown, until his choice repute 
 Rang through the houses of the noble-great, 
 Where genius finds seductive patronage, 
 Whilst patrons worship at the lion's shrine. 
 
 The sober Goddess Night had set her calm 
 Upon the lazy homes of Ashford Town. 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 97 
 
 The cousins, seated by the lamp's soft glow, 
 Gave hard the spur to interchange of thought : 
 Whilst Tom, relating tours by land and sea, 
 And naming countries he had journeyed o'er 
 From pole to pole, declared that in his jaunts„ 
 He ne'er had spied a face as fair as hers, 
 And whispered that a secret he'd to tell : 
 Then pressed her hand ; but faint heart foiling him, 
 He found no tongue to further press his suit, 
 And like a bashful lover, quitted her. 
 
 But when next day, at dawn, she started forth 
 To drive her thirsty flock down to the brook, 
 She glanced behind — and Tom ran after her. 
 
 Come to the stream, she drove her flock knee-deep. 
 And sat upon the bank to watch them drink. 
 Tom knelt beside her, with new birth of grace ; 
 And whilst the nervous runnel gurgled past, 
 He cast his hidden secret from his breast, — 
 Told her his tale of love in fervid tones, 
 And, all enraptured, pressed her to his heart. 
 
 Her great, black, melting eyes rode out on his ; 
 And overcome with flushed embarrassment 
 That drives confusion to the girlish cheek, 
 And shakes her with a slight, hysteric force, 
 She burrowed in his breast and sobbed aloud. 
 And when the crimson tinge had died away, 
 She raised her pretty face, and dried her eyes. 
 Nor could she quit him, e'en how hard she tried, 
 But thrilled with maiden's quickest passion-throb, 
 She answered Tom's embrace with clinging flame, 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 
 
 And kissed him with her hot lips on his own ! 
 And then! * * * * * * 
 
 The red thrush hid his mate beneath his wing. 
 
 The wailing willows chanted plaintively. 
 
 The flowers on the banks hung down their heads, 
 
 And, blushing, gave the signal not to speak. 
 
 The bells of conscience tolled a bitter dirge. 
 
 A modest silence clutched the warm spring winds 
 
 As nature bowed her head upon her breast, 
 
 In judgment brooding o'er the tangled spell ! 
 
 Upon the Christmas Eve, a twelvemonth thence, 
 And in the house of one of social fame, 
 The cheering city lamps blazed brilliantly, 
 And shed their glare upon the merry guests, — 
 All mindless of the raging storm without, — 
 And thoughtless of the homeless, aching hearts 
 That plodded through the streets and, shelterless, 
 That envied e'en the street-lamp's sickly warmth : 
 Nor spied they on the chill, frost-bitten steps, 
 A feeble, wan and God-forsaken form 
 There peering through the window, on the guests, 
 A woman, bearing beauty's traces rare, 
 But now so wasted ! And the glinting light 
 That bared the cruel ravage of distress, 
 Crept back, as if through sense of charity, 
 And left the sad face in the gloom of night. 
 Thus, as she bent to see, yet be not seen, 
 She fell upon her halting, stark-bare knees, 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 99 
 
 The bleak winds playing through her nakedness : 
 And linking tight her cold, transparent hands, 
 She fixed her eyes on God and prayed aloud. 
 
 A guest came gayly out and hurried by. 
 
 A gleam of light revealed his handsome face. 
 
 " Tom ! Tom ! for God's sake pity ! " cried the girl. 
 He turned, in abject terror at her voice. 
 " I have no faith in love that veers ! " she cried, 
 ''And like the fickle vane a breath doth move ! 
 Have I been but your toy these empty years ? 
 Quick, man ! For God's sake, speak ! Tell me 
 the truth!" 
 
 Hate's cold discourtesy his sole reply, 
 He bade her not so much as live, or die. 
 And as he strove to free himself from her 
 Whose loathing lashed itself into a flood, 
 And swallowed up her girlish love of years, 
 She rose and fell, and died within his arms ! 
 
 A vine-clad pillar marks Pamina's mound. 
 Her mother sleeps beside her — gone before, — 
 And knew no word of her frail, tattered life. 
 Yet others learned the truth. Show pity, they ? 
 Would human creatures all were human kind ! 
 For thy condolence seek thou 'neath the sod, 
 Where tangled ills once born, are hid from view. 
 To those whose gossip rusts the silken wing, 
 A woman's fall from grace is heard by God ! 
 
 H^fc 
 
100 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 Till Min Kara Mia. 
 
 Down my life-path came a daughter, 
 Child from land of Midnight Sun. 
 Near the verge of Baltic water, 
 Norse and Saxon met as one. 
 
 How we prized our happy childhood ! 
 Oft I kissed thy silken hair, 
 As we scampered through the wildwood,. 
 Hand-in-hand. All love is fair. 
 
 Years have gone, yet love reposes 
 In our hearts as did of old: 
 Thine, still sweet as June's new roses;. 
 Thine is maiden. Mine is bold. 
 
 Go on romping through the flowers. 
 Dance down through the valley wild. 
 Live once more those rosy hours, 
 Kara Mia, Sweden's child ! 
 
 3HHHS ~XX"X 
 
 Looe at Sight. 
 
 How could we help it ? 
 
 I looked in her eyes, 
 
 And she looked in mine. 
 
 And then, as the shaggy oak stands for the vine 
 
 To creep up, and nestle, and softly entwine 
 
 Herself round his great limbs, his trunk to bedeck, 
 
 So clung she around me, 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 101 
 
 And kissed my rough brow, 
 And hung on my neck. 
 I feel her lips now. 
 I kissed her sweet hair, 
 As she raised her head. 
 Such eyes ! Black with fire. 
 
 "It was love at first sight ! 
 Was it not, Love ? " she said. 
 
 My Lost Gipsy. 
 
 "When last we parted, love, whither did'st go ? 
 I've still the lock of hair given by thee. 
 Art thou now hidden deep under the snow ? 
 No ? Where, then, buried love, hidden from me ? 
 
 Under the sea, 
 Where never soul 
 Ventures to thee ? 
 Not under snow ? 
 Not undersea? 
 Where did'st thou go ? 
 Where can'st thou be ? 
 Where huried thou ? 
 Send me thy heart — 
 At least in part — 
 That I may know- 
 It is thy heart, 
 And I will go 
 Straightway to thee. 
 
102 DA Y-D REAMS. 
 
 If not under snow, and not under sea, 
 Where, then, my love-heart, where did'st thou flee? 
 Why thus did we part ? Why came grief to me ? 
 Who came betwixt us ? Why must woe be ? 
 Fly home, lost Gipsy ! I'm waiting for thee. 
 
 •)£ 
 
 Bare Infatuation. , 
 
 There is bliss in sweet love-making. 
 There's a heaven in the word; 
 But in this grand undertaking, 
 Has the thought to you occurred, 
 That the longed-for answer, "Yes," 
 May betoken wretchedness : 
 Clamp your heart as in a vise, 
 Wring it once and wring it twice, 
 Tie its tender chords in knots, 
 Dry its hot blood into clots, 
 Make it quiver, make it quake, 
 Make it swell with tears, and break ? 
 
 In this world of mad love-making, . . 
 Has the thought occurred to you, 
 That two hearts may go on quaking 
 Till one heart is made of two ? 
 That the love-star, Inspiration, 
 Lights a Paradise begun ? 
 Whilst a bare infatuation 
 Is a hell without a sun ! 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 103 
 
 Not Age— Not Death. 
 
 He's dead, say you ? And pray you what is death ? 
 I've lived these years, nor yet the monster know. 
 He must, forsooth, have been a shrunken man, 
 One wrinkled to a puny, withered state, 
 To fade and die; for great souls perish not. 
 
 And age ? Fie, fie ! I know me not that word. 
 
 To me all noble men are ever young, 
 
 Whose deeds perpetuate eternal youth. 
 
 What simple folly, then, when naming men, 
 
 To say, " He died," or, " This one bent his head 
 
 In weakness, 'neath the load of creeping age? " 
 
 A truce ! There are no banes like age, and death. 
 
 Youth is eternal ! Whilst the going out 
 
 From mundane sphere — the process misnamed 
 
 death — 
 Is but the fleeing to the star-gemmed realm 
 Of one more bright, earth-fettered, yearning soul, 
 To an eternal, free and scented field. 
 'Tis but the passing to a Higher Life. 
 
 .— i V V V JJC _ Y V V ■ 
 
 Deluge of Conemaugh. 
 
 Jaws of the Death-devil yawned at wide gauge ! 
 Freed from his holdings, with fury of beast 
 The Conemaugh leapt in torrents of rage, 
 Bent for the carnage-field ! Hot for the feast. 
 
104 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 Pestering, teasing and swelling the tide, 
 Roaring and thundering out the death-knell, 
 Raving and bounding from side unto side, 
 Crushing each building as if but a shell, 
 Razing the valley for vast acres wide, 
 Sweeping the town into chaotic hell ! 
 
 No time for good-byes, or fond caresses. 
 No time for the lover's hot, clinging kiss. 
 Time to cry only, " For God's sake save us I " 
 Down they went — into the foaming abyss ! 
 
 Strong men weeping. Faint women wailing. 
 Crazed women wildly dancing, singing. 
 In the vortex thousands are sailing ! 
 Hard to the straws of wet death clinging ! 
 Hark ! The voices of victims ringing ! 
 
 Up the tide tosses them like a mad bull ! 
 See ! The river with martyrs is full ! 
 They shriek and they clutch at the empty air, 
 And cry for loved ones in lost despair ! 
 
 When came the deluge 
 Who were found ready ? 
 How were they living? 
 What were they doing ? 
 Were they forgiving ? 
 What were they saying ? 
 Were any sinning ? 
 Were any praying ? 
 
 How many dead ? And how many passed through ? 
 Read the short roll of the sad, living few, 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. 105 
 
 Who drag the marsh for the slumbering ranks 
 That the torrent drowned by his fiendish pranks, 
 And heaving them up by furious throes, 
 Left them there, bleaching, in long, ghastly rows. 
 
 The green hills that tower and kiss the blue sky, 
 All wept as they looked on the carnage below, 
 Their tears trickled into the cool, crystal rills 
 That feed the sweet waters of Lake Conemaugh. 
 
 Those stricken homes ! Pity them ! Fate had her 
 
 sway. 
 An army of souls blotted out in a day ! 
 Grand, growing city ! So peaceful, so proud ! 
 God ! How she wept 'neath her watery shroud ! 
 
 Dense is the pall o'er the tear-wetted dale. 
 Fate grew ashamed, as the living waxed pale. 
 Night, the swart goddess drew down the black veil ! 
 
 Blanched the sore sacrifice ! Frightful the end ! 
 Bow to the scene of the tragedy's birth. 
 Strewn are the sands with the thousands of dead ! 
 Proud city ! Swept from the face of the earth ! 
 
 *)& 
 
106 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 Jefferson Dams. 
 
 (a northern tribute). 
 
 Ye men ! Behold this man ! Pay homage due 
 To one who fought for principles he loved ! 
 Spread wreaths of green upon his catafalque, 
 And e'er ye journey to his tomb of rest, 
 Knell ye the bells in tenderest respect. 
 
 Let drums be clad with muffling garb, as march 
 In solemn phalanx to the sepulcher, 
 The lines of men abreast with heads bowed down- 
 And treading to the slow notes of the dirge, 
 That set the swaying pines to swinging low, 
 As in their limbs they catch the plaintive wail 
 Of those who mourn the passing of a friend, 
 And echo their sad pibroch through the land. 
 
 A proud, defiant tree of tropic soil, 
 
 Who bravely scored on Buena Vista's field, 
 
 And won his spurs as there became the brave. 
 
 A soldier to the soul, of courage rare, 
 
 Who fought and plunged into the battle's mouth,. 
 
 And won the stars that decorated him ; 
 
 Baptised his heart with fire in the siege ! 
 
 We, North, may differ with the chieftain's course, 
 
 And fight the issue till the sabre bends, 
 
 And glows and scintillates with sparks of hate. 
 
 And whilst our causes clashed and left deep pangs ■ 
 
 Of sorrow in our hearts for loved ones lost, 
 
 We must forget the past. The chieftain's gone, 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 107 
 
 Whom we opposed. Factional hate is dead ! 
 
 And his, a soldier's burial shall be, 
 
 With guns and caissons lending solemn aid, 
 
 To lull the soul into a soldier's rest. 
 
 So let the mighty chieftain sleep in peace ! 
 
 A nation lifts her hat in courtesy : 
 
 The hands of wives and daughters weave the 
 
 wreaths, 
 And sons of North and South bedeck the tomb 
 Where sleeps the leader of the Southern cause, 
 And plant the branch of love upon his mound, 
 From whence shall spring forth naught but vines of 
 
 peace, 
 And knit the souls of brothers closer kin, 
 Till there's no North, no South, no East, no West, 
 But one vast plain of common charity, 
 Whose sweetest cadence wafted o'er the land, 
 Shall dull all hate and tune the strings of hearts 
 And play upon them softening songs of love. 
 And nature, touching thus our hearts, makes kin, 
 In this memoriam to the passing chief! 
 
 New York, ii Dec, 1889. 
 
108 DA Y- DREAMS. 
 
 Entre Nous. 
 
 Silver door-plates are ofttimes the lids 
 of misery. 
 
 Poverty stows her victims in garrets 
 at nightfall, that they may sleep nearer to 
 God. 
 
 Possibly you are well able to draw 
 your cheque for one, three, five, twenty 
 millions. 
 
 That is to-day. 
 
 You are the Croesus. 
 
 I am the pauper. 
 
 To-morrow, you die. 
 
 You are the pauper — a consummate 
 beggar, emploring Mother Earth to afford 
 your mouldering tenement a cave in which 
 to hide from the ravage of time and the 
 jackals. 
 
 I am the Croesus, because I still hold 
 the lease upon life. 
 
 Our cases have been reversed — that is 
 all. But you would willingly exchange 
 places with me to-morrow, I'll be bound. 
 
DAY-DREAMS. 109 
 
 Be proud — as proud as Lucifer ! For 
 in the wealth of your pride, lies your am- 
 bition to attain to a loftier, a nobler, a 
 grander personality. As you walk abreast 
 with the surging crowd, cast a bold glance 
 backward and ascertain if another and 
 higher wave of pride is sweeping down 
 upon you. If you spy one, rise to the oc- 
 casion by keeping your personality to the 
 fore. Impress every person whom you 
 meet with the intense richness of your in- 
 dividuality and character. 
 
 Be not in too great a hurry to get on 
 through life. Life is an accommodation 
 train, and will wait for you. I do not 
 mean that you shall cast your mantle of 
 ambition to the sloth, but season your life 
 with the dignity of repose. Do not rush. 
 God will give you time to accomplish all 
 things. So will the number of your days 
 increase, by virtue of the laxity of your 
 pace through life ; and, as to the lengthen- 
 ing of your span of years, so shall be your 
 power to complete your every task. 
 
 The law without a penalty is worse 
 than bare advice ; it is a prize upon crime, 
 for the reason that it merely arrests, and 
 
110 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 permits the culprit to mock in the face of 
 justice. It is a living lie, because it fails 
 to keep its compact and crush out exist- 
 ing evils. 
 
 Ask not "where was the man born ? " 
 but " where and how did he die ? " 
 
 Some men begin life with an interro- 
 gation point ; and after death, it is used 
 -as a head-stone for their graves ! 
 
 A beautiful tot of a child, blue-eyed, 
 with locks like the corn-silks, placed her 
 soft, pure hand in mine, looked child- 
 wisely into my face, and handed me a 
 blade of grass that she had picked from, 
 the turf. 
 
 " Tan 'oo make one like 'at ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 "No, my darling, I cannot," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 M Zen 'oo aint as bid as Dod, is 'oo ? " 
 
 I wondered if any man bent upon 
 blotting out all of the credit due to the 
 Omnipotent for the existing universe, had 
 -ever met with a more convincing bit of 
 argument as to his own utter littleness, 
 
DA Y-D REAMS. Ill 
 
 when compared with the Power that 
 creates ? 
 
 Mind is not life. The soul is the 
 life from God. Thought is the child of 
 the mind, an agent inferior to the soul ; 
 which in turn, is a live jewel in the hand 
 of God. The soul, after passing from this 
 earthy death to the higher life, has a mind 
 of its own. It re-echoes that which the 
 mind conceives. The soul sings, the mind 
 prattles. The soul is poetry, the mind is 
 prose. "Whilst the pure mind is ideal (by 
 that expression I mean perfect), the soul 
 is immortal ; — likewise is the soul-mind, 
 — with God over all, and independent. 
 
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