1
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
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 B r THE AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME 
 
 ENTITLED 
 
 " TOGETHE R " 
 
 Price $1.35
 
 NEPENTHE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OP " OLIE." 
 
 " We get no good 
 
 By being ungenerous, 'Even to a book, 
 And calculating profits so much help 
 By so much reading. It is rather when 
 We gloriously forget ourselves, and plunge 
 Soul-forward, headlong, into a book's profound, 
 Impassioned for its beauty and salt of truth. 
 'Tis then we get the right good from a book." 
 
 BROWNINO. 
 
 CARLETOJV, PUBLISHER, 413 BROADWAY. 
 M DCCC LXIV.
 
 Entered , according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, 
 
 Br GEO.W. CARLETON, 
 In the Clerk's Offlee of the District Court for the Southern District of New York.
 
 TO 
 
 CLAUDIUS B. PEASE, 
 
 WHOSE KINDNESS SOOTHED, WHOSE CONSTANCY CHEERED, 
 WHOSE DEVOTION SUSTAINED, 
 
 TILL ITS LATEST HOUR, 
 
 THE LIFE OF OUR GENTLE ANNIE, 
 
 WATCHING 80 TENDERLY THROUGH THE NIGHT OF ANGUISH, 
 
 TILL ITS RADIANT DAWX, 
 
 THIS BOOK 
 3s Sffttiionattlj! an& (GtratrfuIIj ScMcattfr.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. Mr. Douglass finds a document not in his line * 
 
 II. Prudence Potter's Discoveries The Doctor's Comments 14 
 
 III Mr. Trap Holds Forth and comes to a Climax 24 
 
 IV. Mr. Stuart's Affairs suddenly close up 28 
 
 V. Mrs. John Pridefit'8 Murmurs, Perambulations, Charities 35 
 
 VI. Mrs. John Pridefit in the Dark 46 
 
 VII. Mrs. Pridefit 's Indignation and Consternation 51 
 
 VIII. Mrs. Pridefit takes a Course consistent with Personal Conve 
 nience and Pecuniary Liabilities 55 
 
 IX. A Chapter with Some Preaching in it 85 
 
 X. Dr. Wendon's Self-Denial 78 
 
 XI. The Midnight Visitor 83 
 
 XII Dr. Wendon's Dream 87 
 
 XIII. Excitement in a Parlor Up Town 3 
 
 XIV The Wendons talk about the Opera 109 
 
 XV. Impulses The Arrest 112 
 
 XVI. Fifth House in the block For Sale Inquire of John Trap .... 122 
 
 XVII. The Mountain Bide 131 
 
 XVIII. Carleyn at Work 147 
 
 XIX. The Convenient Crack Dr. Bachune's Wisdom Orthodoxy 
 
 White Cravats and Puritans 158 
 
 XX. Carleyn's Tiger in a Trap *.. in 
 
 XXI. Nepenthe on Exhibition 181 
 
 XXII Madame Future 189 
 
 XXIII. Carleyn's Journal 191 
 
 XXIV A bit of Philosophy about Husbands 195
 
 Viii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAQB 
 
 XXV. Nepenthe Writes -00 
 
 XX VI. Carleyn's Conceit 204 
 
 XXVII. Love, Jealousy and Rivalry 209 
 
 XX VIII. Nepenthe refuses a Self Made Man and Worthy Husband.... 220 
 
 XXIX. The Music Book Open at the Wrong Place 239 
 
 XXX. Mr. Nicholson resolves to be Intellectual 247 
 
 XXXI. Disclosures 252 
 
 XXXII. Darkness Without Light Within 258 
 
 XXXIII. Prudence Potter's New Discoveries 262 
 
 XXXIV The New Private in Company G 267 
 
 XXXV. Among the Missing 270 
 
 XXX VI. Baconian Philosophy Illustrated in a Literal Way 276 
 
 XXXVII. Carleyn's Ideal 284 
 
 X XXVIII. The Heart at Midsummer From the Life 288 
 
 XXXIX. Astrognosia 296 
 
 XL. Mr. John Pridefit goes to the AVedding 3fi2 
 
 XLI The Return The Surprise 305 
 
 XLII. Mystery Cleared Up 307 
 
 XLIII. What the Critics Say 315 
 
 XLIV. Compatibility 321
 
 NEPEN'THE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MR. DOUGLASS FINDS A DOCUMENT NOT IN HIS LINE. 
 
 " Life's like a ship in constant motion, 
 
 Sometimes high and sometimes low; 
 And we all must brave the ocean, 
 Whatsoever winds may blow." 
 
 " IF you will walk two blocks from Mr. Elden's, then turn 
 up a narrow street, the third door from the corner, on the 
 right hand side, you will see an old-fashioned house, with a 
 green front door, and on the door an old-fashioned plate ; 
 inscribed upon its brightly-polished surface in plain large 
 letters, is the simple word 
 
 ' STUAIIT.' " 
 
 " Are you sure that is the Stewart I want ?" said Doug 
 lass. 
 
 " I think so it is the only one I know of in the vicin 
 ity." 
 
 Mr. Douglass was a small, shrewd, busy, practical man ; 
 he hurried on in pursuit of the old house with the green 
 door, when a paper partly torn and folded, lying upon the 
 edge of the walk, attracted his attention ; fearing sonic of 
 his valuable law-papers might have escaped from his capa 
 cious pocket, he stooped and picked it up. It proved to be 
 the fragment of an old letter, written in a lady's hand, de 
 faced and torn by exposure to wind and rain. The first 
 legible sentence began with the words, " my heart." Yes, 
 yes, thought Douglass, every thing begins with the heart 
 but it ends in " lands, tenements, and hereditaments." 
 
 1* 
 
 -
 
 10 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Mr. Douglass adjusts his spectacles and reads on "My 
 heart, like too many human hearts, has one big joy in it 
 and like too many more human hearts, it has one big sorrow 
 in it. Were it not for the sorrow, I might be too happy. 
 Every day I see something new and delightful in this pre 
 cious joy, yet each night my pillow is wet with tears at the 
 remembrance of this my ever-living mysterious sorrow a 
 sorrow I cannot reveal to all" here the letter was torn and 
 soiled, and only a fragment remained legible. 
 
 Mr. Douglass adjusts his spectacles and reads on " You 
 know how romantic I used to be about large dark eyes and 
 long heavy lashes. I have now just such eyes and lashes 
 in the face of a cherub child I call my own the lashes are 
 like dark curtains fringing their lids, and the eyes are an 
 exact image of eyes that will haunt me forever they are 
 brilliant and soft, expressive yet mild, winning yet reso 
 lute; sometimes I think I see around her perfectly moulded 
 young head, a kind of halo of glory. In happier days I 
 should have called her Aureola, that beautiful name given 
 by the old painters to the crown of glory around the heads of 
 their saints and martyrs ; but now, I cannot call her any 
 such radiant name, my life is too dark every hour for 
 months, has sent up its prayer, that this shadow may be 
 removed, and one day in the agony of my supplication, as 
 my tears fell on her curl vailed face I gave her the name 
 Nepen the, praying that like the magic potion of the old Greek 
 and Roman poets, she might make me forget my sorrows 
 and misfortunes. 
 
 " This little joy-cup I hold in my hand so carefully, so 
 anxiously. If she sleeps, I fear she may never wake ; and 
 if she is ill, I fear she may die ; if she is out of my sight 
 a moment, I tremble lest some one take her from me, and 
 she return to me no more. 
 
 " Until my Nepenthe came, this old house seemed like a 
 prison I could not write you before ; how could I with 
 the weight of this great sorrow pressing heavily upon me ? 
 I have now much business to attend to. 1 wish when a girl 
 1 had learned a little of law ; I am now finding the difference 
 between law and equity in equity, I am entitled to a large 
 fortune, but in law, strict law, I don't know how matters 
 will end, but here comes Mr. Trap to see about that mortgage, 
 so I can only add the hope, that my little darling may be
 
 NEPENTHE. 1 1 
 
 as good and as happy as you were when I first saw you in 
 that dear little school under the shade of the old elms where 
 we passed together happy hours of our light-hearted child 
 hood." 
 
 " There that is all there is of it," said Mr. Douglass, 
 folding up the paper, " we have such windy days lately, I 
 suppose it must have blown out of somebody's window. Sor 
 row ! sorrow ! If these women lose a lap-dog, or freeze a 
 rose-bush they call it sorrow, if they are in trouble they 
 write a letter, if they are in deeper trouble they add a 
 postscript ; if Mary should see this, how she would puzzle 
 and sympathize over it. I'll drop this in her box of literary 
 curiosities," thought he, as he passed rapidly up street. 
 
 As he approached the old house with a green door, a 
 delicate looking woman stepped over the threshold, and call 
 ed gently, " Nepenthe, Nepenthe ; come here, Nepenthe." 
 
 " I wonder if there's more than one Nepenthe in the 
 world," thought Mr. Douglass, in his practical way, as a 
 bright-eyed child suddenly appeared from behind a corner, 
 and passed quickly into the house. 
 
 As he entered the house, a queer, haggard-looking woman 
 stood near the door, glancing back stealthily yet earnestly. 
 Her careless worn garments, manifested no extreme poverty, 
 only indifference to dress and manners. She had walked so 
 far that morning, without observing any thing, it was strange 
 she should stop so near that particular house, and look up 
 into that man's face with such an eager, curious expression. 
 Her nose was long and prominent, her eyes deep set, yet 
 full and piercing. As he entered the door, she muttered 
 between her half-closed teeth, " Yes, he is a lawyer." She 
 paused a moment longer as the door closed, and then passed 
 on with a hesitating step, muttering again as she tapped her 
 forehead with her left hand in an emphatic, violent manner. 
 " Yes, he must be a lawyer." Bright-eyed children, digni 
 fied men, beautiful women passed by, but she heeded them 
 not, her eyes looked ever forward, as if seeking something 
 in the distance. 
 
 A strange looking woman, whispered some who passed her, 
 as she walked on as in a dream, without moving to the right 
 or left to accommodate any passing pedestrian. At length, 
 starting as if seized and propelled by some sudden impulse, 
 she walked on with a hurried step, as if bent on accomplish-
 
 12 NEPENTHE. 
 
 ing something of immediate consequence, and passed out of 
 sight. 
 
 Five minutes after, a boy rang violently Mrs. Stuart's 
 door bell, and asked if there was a lawyer there ? that a 
 gentleman in Bleecker street wished to see him immedi 
 ately on business of great importance. He handed Mr. Doug 
 lass a name written on a slip of paper. 
 
 R. T. RIVINGTON, 
 
 126 Bleecker street. 
 
 " Rivington, Rivington," said Douglass, " why, yes, that 
 is my old friend Rivington ; he has returned from Cuba. 
 I'm afraid he wants me to draw up his will, he looked 
 like a ghost when he went away." 
 
 After some rapid walking, and long impatient riding, Mr. 
 Douglass was soon at the door of tbe house mentioned on 
 the paper. " Is Mr. Rivington within ?" he inquired, 
 almost out of breath after his hurry. 
 
 " No sir, there's no such person here, nor is there, as I 
 know on, in the neighborhood," said an old lady who opened 
 the door and looked at him crossly over her spectacles. 
 
 " That is what I call a complete sell," said Mr. Douglass, 
 frowning his heavy eyebrows. " I'll tell that boy to go to 
 thunder, the lying rascal 'there's some design in all this. 
 But I'll hurry back, I'll not be foiled by this scamp. 
 When was a Douglass ever foiled 1" Mr. Douglass put his 
 foot down determinedly and resolutely, looking at his watch 
 and exclaiming, " This paper shall be signed, and signed in 
 time it' I have to fly for it. I'd like to get one sight of that 
 young rascal, wouldn't I blow him up ? I'd put him through," 
 said he, as puffing and blowing, and frequently exclaiming, 
 " Thunder and Mars," the deities mentioned on all extra 
 ordinarily provoking occasions, he actually ran to the house 
 with the green door, exclaiming all out of breath, " Sign, 
 madam, sign, only sign ; there's just half an hour. I'll be at 
 the City Hall in time if you sign immediately." 
 
 " A fine form ; handsome eyes, yet careworn face," thought 
 Mr. Douglass, wiping his spectacles, as the lady, plainly 
 dressed in black, beut over the document he had requested 
 her to sign and wrote in a firm legible hand, " CAROLINE 
 STUART." 
 
 There was nothing unusual in her manner, only a quiet
 
 NEPENTHE. 13 
 
 tear dropped on the end of the word Stuart and blurred 
 the "T" a little. 
 
 Mr. Douglass was soon walking back and forth in his office, 
 " I paid about fifteen dollars costs," said he, " that must come 
 out of these scamps, they'll swear to all sorts of things. I 
 hate to pile up a big bill of costs, I always have to slide 
 down on it if I do. I'll make about fifty dollars out of this 
 Stuart operation it is an extra case," thought he, as he 
 walked back and forth, " 'tis an extra case, worth fifty 
 dollars. I'll get wifey a green silk dress, green suits her 
 complexion best, and twenty dollars I'll spend in ducking 
 and diving at Coney Island. Then there's that suit of Mor 
 gan's, it has been on the calendar long enough, I hope it'll 
 come on next week." 
 
 Mr. Douglass always walked back and forth when any 
 important matter absorbed his attention ; the more he 
 thought, the faster he walked. When a young man his 
 maiden aunt often preached to him about " saving his steps," 
 and " saving the carpet," but he walked at home, he walked 
 at school, he walked at college, North College, north section ; 
 he walked the office, he walked his wife nervous, he walked 
 his boots thin all his opinions were literally walked out. 
 He stopped a moment to give an advisory shake of the head 
 to the boy who sat before a desk strewn with paper, most 
 demurely copying writs he was ever prompt, correct and 
 exact when Mr. Douglass' shrewd face dawned on his ex 
 pectant vision but no deponent hath ever said how many 
 papers he did not serve at the right time, or how many small 
 bills he collected on his own account. 
 
 Mr. Douglass brushed his hair, caressed his whiskers, and 
 glanced at the calendar the calendar was full of Mr. Doug 
 lass : his thoughts were all available ; could such a test have 
 been applied they would have had a regular metallic ring 
 it was always quid pro quo, quid pro quo ; he was the party 
 of the first part, and Mrs. Douglass party of the second part, 
 and both these petitioners daily prayed in their hearts, if 
 not with their lips, that the house in Fifth Avenue might 
 soon be bought, furnished and occupied by Richard Douglass 
 and Ellen his wife. 
 
 He was saving his ideality, he owned and acknowledged, 
 for the aforesaid house. Now he seated himself by his 
 desk, quite tired after his his up-town journeying, and
 
 14 NEPENTHE. 
 
 commenced stuffing his pigeon holes with sundry documents, 
 collected during his morning tour, or left on his table while 
 absent. 
 
 Unless for business purposes, he was no close observer 
 of autographs or searcher of mysteries ; and this afternoon 
 he had a will to execute, a title to finish, and some money to 
 let out on bond and mortage, so he thought no more of an old 
 picked-up letter which by some strange coincidence had fallen 
 from out his other papers and was lying beside the one just 
 signed " Caroline Stuart." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PRUDENCE POTTER'S DISCOVERIES THE DOCTOR'S COMMENTS 
 
 " Through the closed blinds the setting sun 
 
 Poured in a dusty beam, 
 
 Like the celestial ladder seen 
 
 By Jacob in his dream." 
 
 NEPENTHE'S eleventh birthday came ; the old house 
 looked older still, the door-plate still bright, the shadow of 
 the maple swept gracefully over the stones without. The 
 shadow of a great sorrow rested within ; far above the maple 
 boughs, rolled the gloomy clouds ; down th-ough the waving 
 green shone the gentle stars. 
 
 The house was of faded brick no marble front attracted 
 carriages or callers. Now and then a rag-picker's estab 
 lishment passed leisurely by. The house looked neglected, 
 slats and shutters were broken, and the paint was worn off 
 the door, all the wealthy people had moved up town. In 
 that narrow, dull street, one cool autumnal morning, walked 
 an old lady who was carried by there a child the day the 
 house was finished. Accustomed for fifty years to daily 
 walks in the green fields about her country home, where 
 nearest neighbors were half a mile distant, this visit to her 
 city cousins was no trifling event in her hitherto eventless 
 life. 
 
 It was a long way hither, and now the hoarded savings 
 of years had paid her journey's expense. She must see all 
 to be seen, know all to be known. She might never come
 
 NEPENTHE. 15 
 
 again she had so long watched the growth of each tree in 
 the old apple-orchard and the coming and departure of each 
 venturesome fly in the old perpetually scoured kitchen. 
 
 She could better canvass particulars, thau comprehend 
 generals ; she was no lion-hunter, no star gazer, no searcher 
 of chief attractions ; she revelled in minute details. Her 
 favorite theme was exercise, upon it She theorized and prac 
 ticed. She always walked daily as far as the old elm tree 
 in the conntry, but since coming to the city, while riding 
 one afternoon in an omnibus she had lost her money so 
 carefully tied in her silk handkerchief, so that her subse 
 quent expeditions were on foot. But one day, led by curi 
 osity to join a pedestrian crowd in a procession to the 
 Tombs, she had lost her old pocket-book and her new spec 
 tacles from her pocket, and ever since that much lamented 
 catastrophe she only walked a short distance from home. One 
 morning, tired of looking down into her cousin's little yard, 
 on the weakly grape-vine, and closely-cut yellow gras, she 
 started out for a tramp. " Dear me !" thought she, " if I 
 only had my new spectacles," as she paused before the old 
 green door, to be quite sure from the closely curtained and 
 silent looking windows, that no eye was observing her cu 
 riosity, she spelled the letters, " S, T, U, A, R, T Stu 
 art nothing but Stuart. Couldn't they afford silver enough 
 for the whole name ? Is it Doctor, Captain, or Squire ? 
 James Jones married a daughter of one Mrs. Stuart. I 
 wonder if she is any kin to this Stuart. I'll find out some 
 time, and tell her, I know Mrs. Squire Jones ; my couisn's 
 brother's wife, called on her once, but she never returned 
 the call ! It may be the same family, they have a large 
 circulation of relatives in the States." 
 
 The old lady had three rules for action : 
 
 Never to go out in the rain. 
 
 To be always ready for her meals, 
 
 And to get her money's worth. 
 
 After many walks, she concluded there were no gentle 
 men about the house, therefore no name but Stuart. This 
 conclusion was satisfactorily established in a most natural 
 way. When looking down from her cousin's third-story 
 window into the rear of the old brick house through her new 
 spectacles one Monday morning and examining the clothes 
 on ihe line, a favorite amusement of hers ; she could tell
 
 16 NEPENTHE. 
 
 which were bleached, which unbleached, which new and 
 which patched, and how many sheets there were in the 
 wash, " No men, no children," said she, as she put in her 
 head and drew off her spectacles. 
 
 One day as she passed she saw a doctor's gig before the 
 green door. The door-plate was not as brightly polished as 
 usual, the Autumn leaves not brushed from the walk, and 
 the pot of violets always set under the open window was not 
 to be seen somebody must be sick, and she had lived in 
 that street two whole months, and not known who it was, nor 
 what was the matter she must call and see that afternoon, 
 going home first to dinner it was now twelve, by the old 
 clock on the brown church on the corner but it rained that 
 afternoon, and it rained for three days, and so her curiosity 
 waited. 
 
 Morning came again, and the sun shone through folded 
 curtains into Mrs. Stuart's room. It lingered upon her 
 pillow, as she turned uneasily after a restless night. In 
 her sleep she had murmured faintly, " Must I drink this 
 bitter cup " when all alone she drew from under her pil 
 low the letter brought by the postman the day previous. 
 Holding it in her trembling hand she read once more, the 
 most brief, the most cruel letter a strong man can write to 
 a frail suffering and helpless woman. 
 
 Another day passed and the invalid was a little better. 
 The violent pain in her head was soothed, she could sleep 
 longer. " I have nothing now but this poor child to live 
 for," thought she, " It is my duty to live. I must try to 
 trust." 
 
 She had awaked but recently from the delirium of fever, 
 she could not think long on any subject, but texts of Scrip 
 ture, and snatches of old hymns passed pleasantly through 
 her mind, as if some angel having charge, was giving her 
 famishing spirit morsels of comfort, as sho could bear them. 
 " Up to the hills for strength," seemed singing itself along 
 the chords of her soul, and her crushed spirit was becoming 
 wondrous hale and brave, as it climbed on eagle's wings 
 those sunny hills. 
 
 While her thoughts wore soaring upward for strength and 
 consolation, a tall form closely shawled and bonnetted, hold 
 ing tightly a green umbrella, emerged from her " cousin's "
 
 NEPENTHE. 17 
 
 house, and passed quickly up the street, and paused at the 
 green door. Looking up she exclaimed 
 
 " There isn't that providential, the door is open on a 
 crack, I will go in quietly as I would call on an old neigh 
 bor at home ; knocking always disturbs sick people ;" push 
 ing the door open and seeing no one, she walked as rapidly 
 up stairs as her new creaking shoes would allow, and stop 
 ping before the door of the room whose closely curtained 
 window had so long attracted her attention, she gave three 
 successive knocks with her umbrella handle, to save stretch 
 ing her new silk gloves and was answered by a feeble 
 " come in." 
 
 Going up to the bedside with a preliminary throat clean 
 ing, she exclaimed 
 
 " You are sick, ain't you ? very sick ?" 
 
 " Yes. I have been ill some time." 
 
 " You are more poorly than I thought for ; I saw the 
 doctor's gig before the door, and I thought it was heathen 
 ish not to come and see you but I didn't know how dread 
 ful poorly you was. My name is Miss Prudence Potter ; 
 I'm used to sick folks. My family died of consumption. I 
 took care of all of them. When I first went to take care of 
 brother Simon, he looked about as you do, he lived two 
 months after that. How long have you been so dreadful 
 miserable ?" 
 
 " I have been confined to my room about three months," 
 said Mrs. Stuart. 
 
 " Three months," said Miss Prudence ; " no wonder 
 you're wasted to a shadder. Did you inherit consumption 
 from your father or mother ?" 
 
 " From neither," said Mrs. Stuart faintly. 
 
 " Did you catch cold and get it ? I suppose the doctor calls 
 your disease consumption ; you look consumptive ; your 
 nails are hooked over, people always have consumption 
 when their nails are hooked. Then you are very thin 
 there are great holes in your cheeks, and I dare say you 
 would look worse if you were sitting up." 
 
 " My physcian says my lungs are not diseased. I believe 
 he thinks they are sensitive ; but with care I may recover." 
 
 " These doctors don't know much more than we do. 
 They are not sure," said Miss Prudence. " People used to 
 live a great deal longer than they do now, and they didn't
 
 18 NEPENTHE. 
 
 have much to do with doctors either. Have you ever lost 
 any brother or sister ?" 
 
 " Yes, one of yellow fever," said Mrs. Stuart. 
 
 " How long since he died ?" 
 
 " About a year," said Mrs. Stuart. 
 
 11 Where was he buried ?" 
 
 " In New Orleans, where he died." 
 
 " New Orleans ?" said Miss Prudence. " Buried in New 
 Orleans ! in the ground ?" 
 
 " We have not yet ascertained," said Mrs. Stuart. 
 
 " I hope not in the ground," said Miss Prudence, " for 
 I have been told you can't dig any where there without soon 
 coming to water they say coffins are often found floating 
 about the streets. I wouldn't have a friend buried there 
 for any thing ; I should never have any peace or comfort. 
 It's heathenish to bury a body so." 
 
 Miss Prudence didn't see that Mrs. Stuart's pale face 
 was growing paler, but after some more talk about New 
 Orleans, burials, etc., she suddenly took from under her 
 shawl a little cup, covered with a white paper. " I have 
 brought you some currant jelly of my own make, from 
 country currants, fresh and nice ; I thought perhaps you 
 would relish it. I didn't know as you could afford such 
 things. You can keep the cup carefully for it belongs to a 
 nice set of chany, my mother's wedding set. If you should 
 need a watcher, I'll come and sit up with you any time 
 except Saturday nights ; that child looks young and inexpe 
 rienced she don't know much about nursing ; I could give 
 her a few valuable hints, I know so much about consump 
 tion. But don't be discouraged, I've seen people look as bad 
 as you do, and live along quite a spell. ' While there's 
 life there's hope.' If your feet should swell, (they often do 
 in the last stages,) they should be bandaged ; I'll come and 
 bandage them, and you mustn't see much company, it's very 
 bad for you." 
 
 Miss Prudence had risen, and once more approached the 
 bed, exclaiming, " Why, what makes your hair so grey ? 
 you look as if you might be young," when Nepenthe came 
 in, and, starting as if surprised to see a strange face, placed 
 a bottle on the mantlepiece. Child as she was, she noticed 
 her mother's pale face, and wished the stranger would go 
 down stairs or somewhere else, and let her mother rest. But
 
 NEPENTHE. 1 9 
 
 looking down significantly on Nepenthe, as such faces only 
 can smile on a child, the old lady's critical eyes spied 
 the newly-arrived bottle, and she exclaimed emphatically, 
 " Is that real Port wine?" going up to the shelf. 
 
 " It is," said Nepenthe. 
 
 " I've no faith in wine, nor no kind of spirituous liquors," 
 said Miss Prudence Potter, " it never did our family any 
 good I never derived any benefit from it. It costs a good 
 deal, too," said she, looking expressively around the room, 
 as if in their apparently moderate circumstances, it was a 
 useless and foolish expenditure. " My cousin Susan was 
 carried through a severe fit of illness without it. I used of 
 a morning to beat up a raw egg in a clean saucer, with a 
 small tea-spoon and put in a leetle grain of sugar, about as 
 much as you put on the end of a knife, and give it to her 
 between meals ; it is the best Zo-nike you can take ; and the 
 wine may make you deli-rious, too. How much is this a 
 bottle ?" said she, taking it up in her hands, and examin 
 ing it as if with a microscopic eye. 
 
 The clock struck twelve very conveniently just then, so 
 she waited not for an answer to her last question. 
 
 Just as Nepenthe opened the street door for her egress, 
 Miss Prudence turned and said in a loud voice, " Your 
 mother looks poorly, very poorly. I shouldn't be surprised 
 if she didn't last long. Did your father die of consumption ?" 
 (determined to be sure of this fact.) 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am." 
 
 " What was the nature of his disease ?" persevered Miss 
 Prudence, thinking, as many others do, she could get all the 
 particulars by catechising the child closely. 
 
 " I don't know as he is dead." 
 
 " Not dead," thought Miss Prudence on her way home, 
 " where on earth can the man be ?" 
 
 Soon the doctor came and Nepenthe went to prepare her 
 mother's dinner. There were oysters to be slightly cooked 
 and poured over crackers. 
 
 " How is this ?" said the doctor examining the patient's 
 pulse, " more fever cheeks little flushed, temperature of the 
 room about right rest well last night ?" 
 
 " Yes, better than usual," said Mrs. Stewart. 
 
 " Pulse too quick," said the doctor, shaking his head. 
 " Pulse too quick eaten any thing stimulating ?"
 
 20 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " No, nothing but oysters." 
 
 " Oysters can't hurt you we must expect changes can't 
 be better every day we all have our ups and downs. I'll 
 leave you some lupulin pills, and drop in again this evening. 
 You must get some sleep. You mustn't think about any thing. 
 Lie still and count black sheep, or the leaves on the wall." 
 
 " How is this ?" said the doctor, as he met Nepenthe in the 
 .hall " any mental agitation ?" 
 
 " She^ad a call while I was out ; an old lady walked in 
 up stairs and staid a good while ; that might have excited 
 her. I'm afraid mother heard what she said in the hall, she 
 spoke so loud, she said mother wouldn't last long " 
 
 " She calls herself Miss Prudence Potter," said the doctor. 
 " She ought to be called Miss Impudence Potter. I'll not 
 have her going around visiting my patients, telling them 
 how miserable and dreadfully poorly they look ; she'll give 
 more fever in ten minutes, than I can cure in a month. I'd 
 like to feel her pulse and tell her she needs a change of air and 
 quiet, and I'd have her keep lier room a month or so. She goes 
 round like a raven, croaking, croaking in every sensitive 
 ear. I won't have it. Look at that sunshine, stealing in that 
 house over there, brightening everything that's dark so it 
 should be with those who visit the sick, they should make 
 every thing brighter. Your mother will get well yet. But 
 she must have nothing to excite her ; any great excitement 
 will place her beyond the reach of my aid. I tell you this, 
 child, though you are young, very young .yet you can 
 understand me." 
 
 As the doctor left, he said to himself, " That woman has 
 suffered so much, and is prostrated by long illness, one little 
 trouble one more care might yes, it might. 
 
 " What's the use of aggravating the world so ?" he went 
 on soliloquising, as he drove to the door of his next patient, 
 " if you do meet a man as thin as a rail, and pale as a ghost, 
 don't tell him he is thin ; if he is as white as a sheet, don't 
 tell him he looks miserable, don't tell him you shouldn't 
 have known him, he's changed so he'll go home and grow 
 thinner and paler, and worry himself sick. 
 
 " All these croakers that go around with their long wise 
 faces telling people how poorly, miserable and pale they look 
 I'd like to shut them up a while in Sing Sing they had 
 belter sing-sing than croak-croak there is a wonderful con-
 
 NEPENTHE. 21 
 
 nection between health and happiness, convalescence and 
 cheerfulness. That was very true, that translation from 
 Friederich von Somebody he knew something, if he did 
 live way back in the seventeenth century. 
 
 " ' Joy and temperance and repose 
 Slam the door on the doctor's nose.' " 
 
 Miss Prudence Potter was seated at the dinner table, 
 before a cup of strong black tea, unmitigated by sugar or 
 cream she could not be persuaded to taste of that poisonous 
 city milk, and the sugar was so mixed with flour, there was no 
 sweetness in it. " I told you, Priscilla," stirring the spoon 
 in her cup, " 1 would find out who was sick in that house ; 
 I don't believe in being so ignorant of your neighbors. How 
 are you going to love your neighbors as yourself, if you don't 
 know who they are. I think it is heathenish. I made a 
 call there this morning," said she, smiling and such a 
 smile ! Every muscle of her face was screwed up to make 
 that perpetual smile. I verily believe she would smile even 
 at a chicken if she stumbled over one on the walk. It was a 
 geometrical smile with an infinite series of grins. I have often 
 wondered if she really had that smile when she was all alone, 
 whether she went to bed with it and woke up with it. 
 
 Far more agreeable is the stern frown of a dignified man 
 or the thoughtful glance a of true-hearted woman than this 
 live-forever smile of one who at heart cares not if you are 
 living or dead, yet she will smile and smile as she just 
 touches your hand and says, " I hope you are well." 
 
 Such eternal smiles are only caricatures of those sunny 
 flashes, the play of the best feelings and kindest thoughts 
 as they ripple up from the clear depths of an innocent heart 
 only a stereotyped plate with which every look, tone, and 
 word of a shallow heart is issued. 
 
 ' She would look at you up and down, and then across, 
 measuring with sharp eye your latitude and longitude, 
 wondering about the probable cost of your dress, as she 
 looked over her spectacles to inquire how you were getting 
 on, seeming to say, " I could tell you a much better plan 
 than the one you are pursuing I could ^ave a great deal, if 
 I could manage for you." 
 
 With no idea of etiquette, she went right at a subject, 
 handling it with shovel, tongs or poker, using the nearest
 
 22 NEPENTHE. 
 
 weapon. She never skirmished around ideas with plausible 
 words. If she had never seen you before, she would walk 
 right up to you, and if you had on a good-shaped collar 
 ask you for a pattern of that collar. It was amusing to see 
 her approach all classes with so much assurance ; there 
 was no hinting her down, if she came to ask the price of 
 your new carpet. All dignity, reserve, elegance and 
 hauteur were wasted on her. " My pedigree is as good as 
 anybody's," she would say, "my father was deacon in 
 parson William's church, and my grandfather was a Baptist 
 minister." Were her royal majesty the Queen Victoria to 
 appear in full suit she would probably walk up before her 
 to shake hands, saying, " How do you do, Victoria ? I hope 
 you are well." 
 
 " That Mrs. Stuart is an examplarous woman," she said, 
 as she took up her ball of mixed yarn, and began setting up a 
 stocking for cousin " Susan's intended" " but I wonder what 
 she had that basket by her bed for. When she turned her 
 head to cough, I tried to raise the lid a little with my um 
 brella handle, and I could just see a whole row of little 
 stuffed Quakers, with real bonnets on, like the one Rachel 
 Strong had on when she came back from yearly meeting. 
 I wanted to take one in my hand, to see what they were 
 made of, but I thought I'd wait a spell. I forgot to ask about 
 them, when that child came in ; she had such a queer name, 
 it put the Quakers all out of my head. I never heard such a 
 name. Why, Priscilla, you might guess all through the spell 
 ing book, and you wouldn't guess it. I've looked all through 
 the Bible and can't find it, though I suppose it is somewhere 
 in the Old Testament among those strange Jewish names. 
 If Mrs. Stuart warnt so examplarous I should think it was 
 some heathenish name ; but it can't be, for she's a professor, 
 and I'm sure there's names enough, without going to forrin 
 parts for one. Nepenthe, Nepenthe I'll ask her next time 
 what part of the Old Testament she found that in, but I would 
 like to know what those stuffed Quakers were for," said she 
 again as she smiled to herself and went on with her knitting. 
 There was a slight variation in that smile a half an hour 
 afterwards, when Bridget actually brought up from the 
 ironing, her " span clean, bran new" handkerchief scorched 
 in one corner where Levi Longman had designed with in 
 delible ink the wreath of flowers inclosing her name. " Oh
 
 NEPENTHE. 23 
 
 dear !" she said dropping a stitch in her knitting. " Pru 
 dence did look so beautifully written in a round hand, and 
 now it is as yellow as saffron dye, it might as well be old as 
 the hills. I wish it had been my old silk one." 
 
 There she sat in her cousin Priscilla's best room, you could 
 see her smile and hear the click of her needles making their 
 rows of decades as she said to herself what she had written 
 in her copy-book years ago 
 
 " Never less alone than when alone." 
 
 On the page before she had written and copied well in 
 her head 
 
 " My mind to me a kingdom is." 
 
 What a mind ! what a kingdom ! what an independent 
 monarchy ! an absolute sovereignty ! 
 
 She always, if possible, spoke in set phrases which she 
 had used faithfully the last thirty years. If you knew her 
 well you could quite accurately guess her probable exclama 
 tion "in sundry times and divers manners ;" that is, given a 
 set of circumstances, you could guess her corollaries and 
 conclusions. She was not one of those who tit down and 
 grieve and sigh over words thoughtlessly spoken or deeds 
 wrongly done, wondering what she " did that for," while 
 her pride was writhing and torturing itself on the hot coals 
 of regret. She always did her best " Who could do 
 more." 
 
 In every affliction, dispensation, accident, the climax and 
 quietus of all her sentimental, ideal, and pathetic flights, 
 was this line also written in her copy-book. 
 
 " What can't be cured must be endured." 
 
 Oh, Miss Prudence, how delightful it must be to feel 
 that you always look well, always talk well, always think 
 well, always manage well, that however weak, foolish, and 
 wrong everybody else is, you are right.
 
 24 NEPENTHE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MR. TRAP HOLDS FORTH AND COMES TO A CLIMAX. 
 
 " Logic forever ! 
 That beats my grandmother, and she was clever." 
 
 " This lawyer, you know, could talk, if you please, 
 Till the man in the moon would allow 'twas all cheese." 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 MRS. TRAP was very restless, very first, she took the 
 evening paper and tried to read, then she went to the win 
 dow and looked out, and finally, taking that best of all seda 
 tives, her knitting, she seated herself in her rocking-chair, 
 occasionally glancing at Mr. Trap who, -with his hands full 
 of papers, bills, and receipts, sat doing them up in separate 
 packages. 
 
 " Mr. Trap," said she, s'uddenly dropping a stitch in her 
 knitting, " Mr. Trap, are you really going to foreclose Mrs. 
 Stuart's mortgage ?" 
 
 " It is my intention to do so ," said Mr. Trap, dryly. 
 
 " But, Mr. Trap, is it right to deprive a widow of her shel 
 ter, particularly in her delicate health, when a little money 
 paid down would save her a home, and perhaps keep her 
 alive ?" 
 
 " Right, right, madam, you're always preaching about right 
 what do you know about business affairs ? I shall do 
 nothing contrary to law. You do very well, madam, in your 
 own sphere, but you nor any other woman know anything 
 about business matters what do you know about law ? 
 Luw is law. I invited you, Mrs. Trap, to take charge of this 
 establishment, to rule in the kitchen and preside in the par 
 lor of my shirts, collars, clothes, and food, you have the 
 arrangement, the control, but you are not to interfere with 
 my business matters. I have made up my mind to be rich, 
 cost what it may. Law is law." Mrs. Trap sighed, and men 
 tally said, " Yes, law is law, and equity is equity." " Money 
 does every thing," continued Mr. Trap, " money does every
 
 NEPENTHE. 25 
 
 thing ; no matter how good you are, no matter how wise 
 you are, who can do without money 1 Money only gives 
 power, gives position, and position is every thing, Mrs. 
 Trap. There are men in this city, courted and flattered, 
 bowed to and fawned around, who if they were poor to-mor 
 row, would not be tolerated in any decent society. Might 
 makes right, and money is might. If women ruled affairs 
 I wonder how our agricultural and commerical interests 
 would prosper, or our government officials be paid ; how 
 many profitable investments made." Mr. Trap paused to 
 take breath, and Mrs. Trap said mildly, " Remember the ser 
 mon, my dear, last Sabbath morning's sermon, 'The love of 
 money is the root of all evil.' " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said he, " I could preach another from just 
 as true a text, money is the root of all good. What good or 
 goods can you get without it, 'tis not only the root of good, 
 but the tree, and the branches and flowers food, clothes, 
 houses, lands, every thing. I will be a rich man before I 
 die. In this city, we must make all the clear gain we 
 can. I got this house by just such another operation. 
 What a lawyer you'd make, madam ! If we'd get along 
 fast in the world, we must put people through, put 'em 
 through. These ministers why, they think just as much 
 of money as we do and they get it easy enough, too. If 
 they can get a fat salary in a more fashionable church, they 
 preach a farewell sermon to their beloved flock, and off they 
 go, as they say, ' to do more good in an enlarged sphere of 
 usefulness.' I'm going to enlarge my sphere of usefulness, 
 Mrs. Trap ! I heard the Rev. Dr. Smoothers say the other 
 day that proprietorship is inherent in man's nature. ' God 
 made gome to be above others.' 
 
 " You talk about Providence opening a door. I tell you 
 you've got to open fortune's door yourself, or you may 
 stand outside and freeze forever. I wonder if you had a 
 note to pay at three o'clock to-morrow, if this bank of Prov 
 idence would cash it. Put your bills in that bank of Prov 
 idence, or that famous bank of Faith either, you'll neither 
 get principal nor interest. There is a pretty heavy discount 
 on that bank. Then where's your certified check ? The 
 bank of Providence pays in bills of faith, hope and charity. 
 These are all shinplasters when you want hard dollars ; their 
 value on demand, situate lying and being in the moon. 
 
 2
 
 26 NEPENTHE. 
 
 There's no paying teller in that bank ; you may put in and 
 put in, and yet never get any thing out. What kind of a 
 legal tender would humility constitute ? You've had so 
 much laid up in that bank of Providence for years you 
 ought to be pretty rich now, Mrs. Trap. 
 
 " If I should ever fail, my assets would be in western 
 lands. I'll fail for about half a million. I shall pay you 
 over, madam, as the favorite creditor, about thirty thousand 
 for good advice and services rendered, and then you can 
 support me, you know. 
 
 " The land for which I paid three dollars an acre last year, 
 I can sell for eight hundred now. This Stuart operation is 
 a real streak of luck. Is Mrs. Stuart one of the silk 
 stocking gentry ? Is she the French china of humanity that 
 she shouldn't be put through according to law ? 
 
 " There's too much of this Presbyterian cant ; this ortho 
 doxy, tight as a drum, now in the world. You women jump 
 at conclusions, you make a 'twill do of every thing " 'twill 
 do, was Mr. Trap's favorite phrase when he wished to ex 
 press the height of inefficiency. " I shall keep my mascu 
 line prerogative, I shall get all the lands, tenements, and 
 hereditaments : I can, if all the women in creation keep up 
 an infernal charivari in my ears ;" charivari was the only 
 French word Mr. Trap knew, and it was a mystery to Mrs. 
 Trap how he learned that. Mr. Trap looked over his spec 
 tacles, as if his wife's arguments were annihilated by this 
 chef d'oovre of logic this last sounding, flourishing,, com 
 plimentary climax. 
 
 He sat in his chair and thus silently soliloquized : 
 
 " I am glad I dissolved the partnership with that squeam 
 ish Douglass, he never would jump into a case unless he 
 could be up to his eyes in honesty. This double refined 
 outrageous honesty is all perfect popcockery." 
 
 He sat about five minutes looking over some old accounts 
 of the firm of Douglass & Trap. 
 
 It disturbed the dignity of his masculine prerogative, to 
 speak so soon again after his recent powerful remarks. But 
 he did speak, for he wanted to see something in that day's 
 " law reports." 
 
 " Did the carrier come this morning? Where in thunder 
 is that paper ?"
 
 NEPENTHE. 27 
 
 " He didn't come this morning,"' said Mrs. Trap in a low 
 mild voice. 
 
 " Didn't come ! Well I want to see him to-morrow morn 
 ing. Do you understand ? and tell him if he can't bring my 
 paper earlier, I shall stop it. The lazy scamp goes moping 
 along puffing his cigar gets here about ten o'clock with the 
 outrageous iie ' that the steamer hadn't got in yet.' I'll 
 stop the paper, and if you don't blow him up, I will.'' 
 
 Mr. Trap believed firmly in the gunpowder suasion if 
 the cook was slow and careless, " blow her up," " breathe 
 the breath of life into her." If the biscuits are burned, or 
 a goblet broken, " Why don't you blow her up ?" So fond 
 was he of blowing people up, he might well be appointed to 
 construct and take the directing of a powerful magazine to 
 blow up all the evils in the country. Commander-in chief 
 of the gunpowder army, as if evil solid, substantial, heavy 
 as it is, if blown up, wouldn't come down larger, more solid, 
 heavier than ever. 
 
 If we could get some kind of philosophic glass, and take a 
 good look at Mr. Trap's conscience, 'twould be made of 
 something like gutta percha, it would stretch the whole 
 length and width of a Blackstone, and wouldn't be able to 
 take in these minor decisions, such as the ten statutes once 
 promulged on tables of another kind of stone" by a Hebrew 
 law-giver. The golden rule he used to say was nothing but 
 jeweller's gold, and only plated at that he never found it 
 of any weight in the scales of equal justice. His rule was 
 never to do any thing for any body, unless he was well 
 paid for it. 
 
 Mr. Trap was not always so cross, but he had been beaten 
 that afternoon in a game of chequers. He never would own 
 that he could be beaten in any game. He used to keep a 
 few chequers stowed away under his coat sleeve, ready to 
 drop down in the most desirable places, when his opponent's 
 back was turned. But this afternoon his defeat was owing to 
 some " disturbing cause." Then he had rolled ten pins, and 
 been beaten in that, too he declared this was because the 
 boy didn't set them up right, though the party of the second 
 part demurred from that opinion. 
 
 Then the truth must come out. He had lost a case in the 
 Superior Court, because, as he said, the witnesses didn't 
 swear to enough.
 
 28 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Mrs. Trap had her burden to bear, so had the carrier 
 up till half-past eleven at night, up at one the next morn 
 ing, walking fifteen zigzag miles that day, up all night on 
 Saturday. So he toils, while the grumbler sleeps on his 
 soft pillow, and if his paper is not by his plate at breakfast 
 to greet his sleepy eyes, there echoes in trumpet tones 
 through the dining room, " Stop that paper. I will not en 
 courage such laziness." 
 
 " Ah !" said the carrier, one morning, as he carried along 
 his head ache and his bundle, through wind, rain, and sleet, 
 " poverty is not a crime, but it's terrible onconvenient." 
 
 I wonder if he of all men couldn't agree with Southey 
 about the road of life, " There is a good deal of amusement 
 on the road, but, after all, one wants to be at rest." 
 
 Rest, rest, rest there's no rest for mortal burden carriers 
 on the rough road of life. 
 
 Chiming high up in the great tower of humanity, is the 
 yearning, soothing, unquiet refrain rest, rest, rest. 
 
 Rest, rest, rest, tolls the starlit clock on the stairs of time. 
 
 Higher up in the eternal dome, strikes forever the immor 
 tal horologe, rest, rest, rest. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MRS. STUART'S AFFAIRS SUDDENLY CLOSE UP. 
 
 " Weep for the voiceless, who have known 
 The cross without the crown of glory ! 
 Not where Leucadian breezes sweep 
 O'er Sappho's memory -haunted billow. 
 But where the glistening night dews weep 
 On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow. 
 
 ' 0, hearts that break and give no sign 
 Save whitening lips and fading tresses, 
 Till Death pours out his cordial wine 
 Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses, 
 If singing breath or echoing chord 
 To every hidden pang were given, 
 What endless melodies were poured, 
 As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven !" 
 
 JUST a month after the conversation in our last chapter, 
 Mrs. Trap took up the morning paper ; as men say women 
 always do, she looked tirst at the marriages and deaths.
 
 NEPENTHE. 29 
 
 The paper fell from her hands, and she uttered an ex 
 clamation of surprise, followed by a long sigh. 
 
 " Poor Mrs. Stuart is dead," said she to Mr. Trap, who was 
 looking over his " Revised Statutes." Mrs. Trap took up 
 the paper again, and re-read, as if to be sure it really was 
 " Mrs. Caroline Stuart." 
 
 " Ah ! is she !" said he, rising suddenly. " I thought she 
 was one of those kind of people that never would die. I'll 
 have a title that'll do for any State in the Union ; there's 
 almost, as many changes in this case, as there is in the 
 nine bells. I've a pretty good legal claim to hang on to. 
 I won't let them kick out of the traces ; we'll want unanim 
 ity and concentration. Smith'll be as mad as a March hare. 
 I'll finish up this matter ; now we'll advertise. There's no 
 body to interfere, we can put that thing right through," and 
 he whispered to himself as he went out of the door, 
 " Mrs. Elliott is sure of a fortune now, but I'll make her 
 pay me well for it." 
 
 Mrs. Trap sighed again, as he closed the door. " Yes," 
 said she, " Mrs. Stuart was literally put through the world ; 
 but she's passed into the possession of a house not made 
 with hands. I'm glad there's no mortgage to foreclose up 
 there ; the title to that inheritance is certain, and well se 
 cured. But there'll be a pretty heavy judgment entered 
 up there. I wonder who'll pay the costs." 
 
 Mrs. Trap went around the house, polishing mahogany., 
 arranging drawers, and dusting out .the parlors, as she 
 always did when her heart was heavy ; she went about sing 
 ing with a trembling, mournful voice, stopping every now 
 and then, to wipe away a tear that would come : 
 
 " When I can read my title clear, 
 
 To mansions in the skies ; 
 I'll bid farewell to every fear, 
 And wipe my weeping eyes 
 
 " Let cares like a wild deluge come, 
 
 Let storms of sorrow fall, 
 So I but safely reach my home, 
 My God, my Heaven, my All. 
 
 " There I shall bathe my weary soul 
 
 In seas of heavenly rest, 
 And not a wave of trouble roll 
 Across my peaceful breast."
 
 30 NEPENTHE. 
 
 This dear old hymn, like a nightingale in the great heart 
 of humanity, has lulled many a weary soul to rest. Mrs. 
 Stuart, the night before her death, sat up supported by 
 pillows, and in a clear voice of unearthly sweetness, sung it 
 unfalteringly through. How the worn spirit gathers at 
 times, wondrous strength as it throws off its earth mantle, 
 to plunge in the swelling tide of the dark river. 
 
 While Mrs. Trap is singing her sorrow to sleep, like a 
 sobbing child, Miss Prudence acts ; she deliberately attires 
 herself for another walk to the old brick house. She gets 
 out from the closet the straw hat with the green ribbon, the 
 high-crowned cap with a frill all around, her brown shawl, 
 and the grey bag. She never went out without her " riti- 
 cule," she said, with her two handkerchiefs, one of silk and 
 the other of linen, to be kept round the suuff box filled with 
 choice Maccaboy. The shawl when taken off, was carefully 
 folded in the same folds it had when purchased eight years 
 ago. This was her invariable promenade costume. 
 
 " We must all die," said she to Nepenthe as she entered 
 the deserted chamber. " Your mother was sick so long, it 
 didn't take you by surprise ; I suppose you were ready for it ; 
 her sickness must have been a great expense. I was afraid 
 she might last all winter, and it would have cost a great 
 deal but I always thought if she'd had Doctor Brown, )ie 
 might have helped her. Cousin Priscilla says she ought to 
 have been taken out in the fresh air often, and not kept con 
 fined in bed all the time. I dare say you didn't know it, 
 but it was the worst thing you could have done. If / had 
 had the care of her, I'd had her walking all around long 
 ago ; but you'd better sweep out this room, some folks might 
 be coming in, and it don't look very tidy, and I'll take that 
 pot of Johnny-jumpers home out of your way. I guess 
 cousin Priscilla has room for 'em. I suppose you'll leave 
 here soon, and want to sell off some things. There's that 
 shawl of your mother's, it is old fashioned now. and a little 
 faded 'tisn't worth much, but I'd take it for three shillings 
 to accommodate you ; plain modest colors do very well for 
 me. I'll give as much as any one for it," said she, smiling, 
 and attempting to make her voice more persuasive, for she 
 really wanted the shawl. 
 
 " I cannot sell mother's shawl," said Nepenthe with quiv 
 ering lips.
 
 NEPENTHE. 31 
 
 " Well, well," said Miss Prudence rising, " you'll see the 
 day when you'll be willing to take a friend s advice." With 
 out formal adieus, she disappeared, emphatically closing the 
 door behind her. 
 
 " Pride and poverty," exclaimed Miss Prudence, as she 
 entered her cousin's door, " always together. There's that 
 child as proud as a queen, and my word for it, she's as poor 
 as a church mouse, and think of all the wine they've bought 
 that's no use now. I went there to give her some advice, 
 to help her, but I got my labor for my pains ; then she 
 wouldn't even give me those Johnny-jump-ups, to bring to 
 the children ; and to think of the interest I've taken in her 
 mother, too ; she is going to put them on the grave, as if 
 any body could be any better off under ground, with flowers 
 growing by their tombstone. It's heathenish !" 
 
 " I wish, oh, I wish," sobbed Nepenthe as she knelt by 
 the bed that lonely night, " I wish I could stay here always 
 and have every thing just as she left it." 
 
 At last she went to the window, as she had done for 
 weeks, to close the shutters, she could hear the moaning 
 night-wind as the black clouds moved gloomily over the sky. 
 Only one star could be seen, and that was soon covered 
 " The last star has gone out," sobbed Nepenthe as she rest 
 ed her aching head on the table she raised her head at 
 last, and opened her mother's bible, and read this verse 
 which met her eye 
 
 " I am the root and offspring of David, the bright and the 
 morning star." 
 
 Then she turned over the leaves, and read on the first 
 page in her mother's hand written with a pencil 
 
 " The path of the just is as the shining light, that 
 shineth more and more unto the perfect day." 
 
 Nepenthe read it over and over and as long as she lived, 
 these words would come every day to her mind ; she lived long 
 enough to know there is nothing on earth that grows brighter 
 and brighter but this shining path of the just. 
 
 Mr. Trap passed rapidly down the street that evening, to 
 the office of Mr. Douglass. Mr. Douglass was in his office 
 writing all the evening ; it was something unusual for 
 him. 
 
 V Douglass," said he, " you may put on your list of house? 
 to rent, Mrs. Stuart's possession given immediately we'll
 
 32 NEPENTHE. 
 
 have that thing put right through. It has happened right 
 after all ; it is a good time to rent houses now. We'll say 
 nothing about there having been a death in the house, for 
 some people are so superstitious. 
 
 As Mr. Trap was on his way home, a tall, stern looking 
 woman, with hollow eyes and prominent n >se, came in most 
 unceremoniously, upon Nepenthe's tearful silence. 
 
 " Child," said she, " don't sit here so long crying ; you 
 can never bring the dead back. There's worse off than you 
 are why, you might be dead yourself. Lie down on that 
 bed and sleep ; I'll watch to-night. There's no use crying 
 your strength away you'll need it enough yet." 
 
 Nepenthe sat motionless with grief, but with wide open 
 staring eyes. 
 
 The woman looked astonished at the still, resolute child, 
 keeping her sleepless vigil by her dead mother she looked, 
 and then walked quietly out, muttering. 
 
 In half an hour she returned with a plate and a cup, 
 saying, " I shouldn't wonder, child, if you'd eaten nothing 
 to-day ; here is a roll and a cup of tea try them, they'll do 
 you good." 
 
 Nepenthe sobbed again ; she had bought rolls last week 
 for he mother's breakfast. She shook her head mourn 
 fully. 
 
 " Then drink this tea. It will do you good. It would 
 please your mother," added the woman, in an imperative 
 tone. Half frightened, and really thirsty, Nepenthe drank 
 half the cup of tea, and soon sunk into in a deep, quiet 
 slumber. 
 
 Holding up a little bottle, which she drew from her pocket, 
 the woman exclaimed, " Well, that's done me good service 
 there's no fear now." She turned and walked to the bed 
 where the dead lay, and with a pitiless look, she muttered, 
 " She's gone at last." She gazed at the pale face, with an 
 expression of intense curiosity, as if closely scanning the 
 form and expression of the still features. " And she was so 
 beautiful once, they said. She is gone, and I am here, 
 there's grey in her hair, and she is young too, and he must 
 have loved her I wish, I wish," and the woman clenched 
 her hands, and then pressing her forehead closely, as if 
 forcing back some wild, deadly thought, she said, " I wish
 
 NEPENTHE. 33 
 
 jti 
 
 she never, never had been born and then what might I 
 have been." 
 
 She walked back and forth an hour, and then, placing the 
 light on the bureau, she cautiously opened the upper drawer, 
 and first looking back to see if she had disturbed the sleep 
 ing child, examined carefully each drawer. 
 
 She found in one corner of the lowest a box containing 
 an old package tied up with faded blue ribbon she turned 
 over some of the papers, as if seeking for something, and 
 nodding her head as if satisfied, she read them all, and then 
 tied them up very carefully, all but one paper, and putting 
 the package in the pocket which she wore tied round her 
 waist, under the skirt of her dress ; this one paper she hid 
 in the folds of her waist, which was buttoned up to her chin. 
 She replaced the articles in the bureau, putting up each thing 
 as she found it ; then gazing again at the dead woman, she 
 took from her pocket a small knife, and cut from the neck a 
 little locket, hidden under the folds of the night-dress. 
 Holding it tightly in one hand, and half covering it, with the 
 other, she kissed it over and over again passionately, and 
 tried to stifle the great sobs that would struggle for utter 
 ance. She looked wistfully at a diamond ring, glistening on 
 the emaciated left hand, and shook her head, saying, " Not 
 that ! no, not that !" She gazed at the locket again and again, 
 till an expression of quiet tenderness stole over her face, 
 but forcing it back, she looked up and a superstitious fear 
 came over her, till she thought she saw a smile on the cold 
 lips. 
 
 " Mother," said a low voice, " Mother, come here." The 
 woman looked uneasily around, but the child had only 
 spoken ia her sleep the sleeper woke not, and noiselessly 
 the woman stole away ; and as the midnight moon shone 
 down full on her resolute face, there were great tears roll 
 ing down those wan cheeks tears that had been frozen up 
 for thirteen weary years. 
 
 Only the next afternoon a head was stretched out of an 
 attic window in the next block, and a voice exclaimed, " Look 
 quick, Bridget, there comes a funeral." 
 
 " Why no, Margaret ! that's not a funeral there's only a 
 coffin in a wagon, and a girl sitting by it. Sec, there are no 
 carriages. Well !" added she, emphatically, " as long as I 
 live I'll not have such a funeral as that." 
 
 2*
 
 34 NEPENTHE. 
 
 The mother and child were taking their last journey to 
 gether, they were going through beautiful Greenwood, for 
 the undertaker had received- orders, in a letter enclosing 
 money and directions, to bury the dead in that spot. 
 
 Had Nepenthe raised her head, as she came out of the 
 gate, she might have seen the tall form of the watcher, as 
 she stood near the door of the nearest marble shop, mutter 
 ing, " Well, she is dead, she is buried. It is as well, after al 1 . 
 There isn't room enough in this world for her and for me. 
 The air choked me, while she breathed it. But there goes the 
 undertaker," she added in a whisper. " Yes, yes, he may 
 well be called undertaker, for he takes us all under." 
 
 The woman had a card in her hand, it was 
 
 " TRAP, FOGG & CRAFT." 
 
 " Well," said she, going on her way, " I've business 
 enough for them now." 
 
 Though Mrs. Stuart had been some time ill, her death 
 was sudden and unexpected ; so much so, that there was a 
 post mortem examination. She was heard to exclaim the 
 morning of her death, that her " heart was breaking." The 
 examination proved the correctness of her feelings. 
 
 The tremendous propulsion of the blood, consequent upon 
 some violent nervous shock forced the powerful muscular 
 tissues asunder, and life was at an end. Her heart had 
 literally burst open. 
 
 Some months after Mrs. Stuart's death a stranger passing 
 through one of the sylvan dells in beautiful Greenwood, 
 stopped to read this one word plainly carved upon a new 
 marble slab over a not yet grass-grown grave 
 
 "CAROLINE." 
 
 A lady elegantly dressed, stood a long time by the grave, 
 one pleasant morning, gazing intently^t the simple inscrip 
 tion ; she turned away, saying to herself, " She can never be 
 identified, from that stone or its inscription. No man 
 shall know where Caroline Stuart sleeps ' after life's fitful 
 fever.' She shall sleep well and undisturbed." 
 
 The lady was too much absorbed in thought, to notice 
 that a card had fallen from her half open card case, and
 
 NEPENTHE. 35 
 
 was lying on the ground. An old gentleman passing by a 
 few moments after, picked up and read 
 
 " MRS. CLARA ELLIOTT, 
 
 " Fifth Avenue, 
 11 Thursdays" 
 
 With scornful eye, firm step, and haughty bearing, the 
 lady passed out of the portals of Greenwood, and took her 
 seat by the side of a beautiful child, who was waiting in a 
 carriage outside for her mother. The beautiful child was a 
 perfect copy of the beautiful woman. 
 
 There was a gentleman in the carriage, and no one who 
 had once seen him could mistake him for anybody else. It 
 was Mr. John Trap, smiling and talking in his low tones, as 
 plausible as ever. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 MRS. JOHN PRIDEFIT'S MURMURS, PERAMBULATIONS, CHARITIES. 
 
 " If I have money, I buy books ; if I have any left. I buv food and 
 clothes." EBASMUS. 
 
 MRS. JOHN PRIDEFIT was trying to decide whether a 
 Tyrian purple, or a gay plaid ribbon would look the best on 
 her new spring bonnet. 
 
 She sat quietly thinking, it was very still outside nothing 
 but the oyster man's most melancholy cry, prolonged and 
 doleful, broke the unusual stillness of the night. " That 
 man's oysters must have a solemn taste," thought she, as 
 laying down the ribbon, and rocking impatiently back and 
 forth, she broke out into an emphatic " Oh ! dear ! ho, 
 hum !" 
 
 " What is the matter, my dear ?" said Mr. Pridefit looking 
 up from his evening paper, which he had been reading about 
 ten minutes, " is your neuralgia worse ?" 
 
 "I do wish," said Mrs. Pridefit, " that for one month at 
 least, there could be no newspapers."
 
 36 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Every woman finds out after marriage, that a man's first 
 love was his newspaper. 
 
 " Mr. Pridefit, you read when you are sick, you read when 
 you are well, you read before breakfast and after breakfast, 
 you read at dinner, you read in the cars. I'd like to know 
 when can I find you without a paper ; every mortal man 
 must have a paper in his hat, or in his vest or coat pocket ; 
 and the moment he sits down, there is his paper, like a 
 'shadow before him. You're always waiting for the last of 
 the Tribunes, the newest Herald or the latest Times. I'd 
 like to see the last of these Tribunes, and I wish some final 
 Herald would announce that the dull Times were over, and 
 that the last of Tribunes was about to appear. You say it 
 is in the way of business, to keep up with affairs there are 
 things of local interest, and general importance, national 
 politics, latest intelligence by telegraph, market, elections, 
 commercial affairs, bank dividends, public needs, quack 
 medicines, police reports, of all things these police reports. 
 Michael kills Patrick one day, and then the next day, some 
 other Patrick kills Michael. Then there's a supplement to 
 the Times, a journal extra, which men must say they've 
 read, of course. Handsome books with fashion-plates or 
 stories, are so much more attractive to look at than this end 
 less black and white. Then they don't litter up the house 
 so. The week you were away, John, I thought it was a pity 
 for the paper to come every day, and no body to read it 
 so one rainy morning, I resolved to read one all through for 
 once, and find out what was this wonderful charm. 1 read 
 every thing, even to the general markets. I can't see for 
 my life, how whiskey was quiet yesterday, and steady to 
 day ; that Timothy was firm I understand ; (that must mean 
 Timothy Titus, he's the firmest ma'n in town I ever saw,) 
 and that tallow was flat, that is why the candles run down 
 so in the kitchen last night. I can see how sugar is quiet 
 *. with a downward tendency but how rice is more animated, 
 and cotton dull how Scotch pig is quiet, I can't tell. It must 
 be an uncommonly taciturn pig, and then Jiow does Marsh 
 dry Caloric for three dollars and fifty cents ? I don't under 
 stand these general markets. I can't go into a car, but my 
 ears are stunned with the bedlam cries of noisy urchins 
 screeching out, ' Eagle, one cent,' ' Morning Herald,' or 
 1 Herald,' or ' Weekly Tribune.' Won't these newspapers
 
 NEPENTHE. 37 
 
 ever get out of fashion ? Why, yesterday morning when I 
 rode down with you, John, you actually had three sticking 
 out of your pocket, and were reading one besides. You 
 never said a word to me the whole way, and I kept nudging 
 you to look at Miss Gouge's new brown bonnet. A fan is a 
 good thing for a lady to flirt behind, and a paper is useful in 
 one way to a gentleman. When you are riding home at 
 night, tired, and get nicely fixed in a good seat, if you are 
 deeply absorbed in some leading article in the paper before 
 you, why, you need not see every lady who is standing up 
 in the car, glancing round for some gentleman's seat ! I 
 have seen such unconscious gentlemen. It is a great deal 
 of trouble to see all the Irish girls with big baskets, and the 
 fat colored women with their bundles! and the old ladies 
 with their bags ; then, when you are not reading the paper 
 in the evening, you are off attending some ' board meeting.' 
 I wonder what good ail these board meetings do ; so far as I 
 can find out, they might as well be so many boards laid to 
 gether, for any practical purpose. Why, men can't do any 
 thing for an object, but they must have a committee to draw up 
 resolutions about it, and then a committee to discuss the res 
 olutions ; and then to consummate their wise plans, they get 
 up these board meetings ! and form, perhaps, some charita 
 ble association just to have great dinners occasionally, and 
 see their names in the paper. If you go to them with any 
 application tfor some individual's relief, they'll be sure to 
 say that that particular case doesn't come within their organ 
 ization." 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Pridefit," said her husband, resignedly lay 
 ing down his paper, " you shall have a hearing ; you can be 
 the reporter for the evening." 
 
 Mrs Pridefit had been rocking restlessly back and forth, 
 as if anxious to reveal some newly-gathered information. 
 " Where do you think I've been to-day, John ?" said she. 
 
 " At Stewart's or Madame Flummery's, looking at fash 
 ions." 
 
 " No such thing, John, I've not looked at a bonnet, a 
 shawl, or a dress ; but I never walked so much in a day in 
 my life. I went up Broadway and down Broadway, and 
 across Broadway, and around Broadway ; through the ave 
 nues and over the squares. I visited all the Intelligence 
 Offices, the Bible House, and the Home for the Friendless.
 
 38 NEPENTHE. 
 
 I looked in the Times and the Herald at ' the wants ; 
 climbed up back stairs in the Bowery, and explored base 
 ments in Madison and Pearl streets. I've seen English, 
 Scotch, German and Irish of all ages, sizes and descriptions. 
 None suited me. All were respectable, and could do all kinds 
 of work ; and accustomed to have ten dollars a month, but 
 they would come to me for eight. Passing up Eighth ave 
 nue, I saw some fine sugar almonds in a small toy shop." : 
 
 " Of course," said Mr. Pridefit, knowing her failing in 
 that line, " you laid in a quantity." 
 
 " Yes, there's a pound to keep you good natured while you 
 listen," said she, handing him a small package. 
 
 Sugar almonds were the only thing in the confectioner's 
 line Mr. Pridefit cared any thing about. 
 
 " Well, well !" said Mr. Pridefit, looking wistfully at the 
 evening paper which had fresh news from England, lying 
 on the table before him " What have the almonds got to do 
 with the girl ?" 
 
 " You always talk like a lawyer, John. You want me to 
 state the bare facts of the case, just as if I were a witness 
 on the stand, and you cross-questioning me. You've been 
 away all day. I think you might have a few moment's 
 patience for once, and let me tell my story according to the 
 best of my knowledge, information and belief." 
 
 " Well, go on and state your case, and swear to it, too, 
 if you've a mind to." 
 
 " As I was turning to go out of the shop," said Mrs. 
 Pridefit, I happened to see on one of the shelves, some of 
 those comical little Quaker pin-cushions, like the one you 
 saw on Mrs. Trap's dressing table, which you admired so 
 much. That was the first I ever saw, and I've wanted one 
 ever since. There were only three left. The woman said 
 the last basket came in last week, and she couldn't get any 
 more, as the lady who made them had died a few days 
 since. While I was deciding which one to take, the one 
 with white, drab, or black bonnet, a woman came in. 
 
 " ' Susan," said the toy woman, ' have you found a place 
 for the girl yet ?' 
 
 " ' No,' replied the woman, ' she's a nice girl, and willing 
 though she is small, and she grieves so much after her 
 mother. She was in a swoon-like most of the time for a 
 week after she died. Her mother was an industrious smart
 
 NEPENTHE. 39 
 
 Woman, and she made hundreds of those Quakers for me to 
 sell. She sat up in bed as long as she could hold up her 
 head and sew. I didn't think she would die so suddenly. 
 She was gone just in a minute, as if somebody had killed 
 her. If I hadn't had so many troubles of my own, I should 
 have seen her oftener ; but with the children and William 
 to worry me, I did not do much for her; but I wish I 
 had carried her a little nourishment that morning 
 she died, it might have comforted her to think some body 
 thought of her ; but it can't be helped now ,' (and the woman 
 whispered so low I could hardly hear her ; but you know I 
 have uncommon good ears, John.) ' William carried on so 
 that morning, I didn't know what I was about. I had to 
 hide the children for fear he would kill them. He don't 
 get drunk so often as he used to ; but when he is drunk, he 
 goes on like a crazy man. I have to bear the brunt of it 
 myself, to keep him off of the children :' and as the woman 
 turned her head, I could see a fresh bruise on her forehead. 
 ' But,' continued the woman, ' I took the girl home with me 
 what else could I do ? There was no one belonging to her 
 any where around, as I know of, and I couldn't let her 
 starve. I've kept her two weeks, and it does the children 
 good to have her around she acts like a little angel dropped 
 down. I'd keep her until somebody claimed her, if I had 
 to work my fingers off to do it but William has carried on 
 so since she came, I'm afraid he will kill her if I keep her ; 
 but she don't cost him any thing, for he never brings a cent 
 to the house he drinks up all his earnings and most of 
 mine, too. Oh, dear !' and the woman actually sobbed. ' I 
 do believe I could do a little good in the world if my hus 
 band would let me.' 
 
 " ' Susan,' said Nellie, for the toy woman's name was 
 Nellie, as they went out together into a little room next to 
 the store, ' people used to call you smart, but now all the 
 smart I can see, is you take your husband's part.' 
 
 " ' I was sure,' said Susan, ' when I was a girl, that if / 
 ever had a husband, he would kindly love, fondly cherish, 
 and tenderly protect me, I would make him as happy as I 
 could, by kind words, and soothing and sharing his trou 
 bles and bearing with his faults. His honor, reputation, 
 and even his mistakes, should be safe in my hands. I see 
 his faults as plainly as you do, but I believe it is a wife's
 
 40 NEPENTHE. 
 
 sacred duty not to speak of her husband's faults, not to re 
 prove or chide them before others. I may have done 
 wrong in alluding to them, even to you, but I shouldn't if 
 you hadn't seen him at all times and didn't know about it 
 yourself. But if I could hide every fault from human eyes 
 I would. I feel more grieved and disgraced by any error 
 of his, than if I had been doing wrong myself. I would 
 willingly die if my death could restore him to his original 
 manly dignity and integrity. I loved him once that love 
 is a broken dream like a plucked, withered rosebud, it 
 lies in my heart ; the stem is broken, but if you should tear 
 my heart out, you couldn't uproot the old love the love 
 lies bleeding. There'll be no more beautiful flowers, no 
 delightful perfume, but the root is there, down deep in the 
 heart. Marriage is a fearful partnership ; if one party fails 
 to fulfill his obligations, the responsibility still rests on the 
 other, ' for better or for worse.' The beautiful bridal 
 wreath may fade away in a martyr's crown of thorns ; it may 
 prove only an asphodel on the heart's early grave, or a 
 sweet amaranth in constancy's sunshine.' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes,' said Nelly, breaking in and interrupting 
 Susan, ' but I don't like to see a delicate and beautiful moss 
 rose planted right out in the middle of the dusty street, and 
 left alone to battle with wind and storm, or for the foot of 
 passing scorn to tread upon, when it might have filled a 
 whole arbor with fragrance, or twined around some manly 
 heart of oak. But I suppose that's what you call poetical, 
 and I don't feel poetical ; I feel in sober earnest.' 
 
 " ' I have given my heart once,' said Susan, ' and I can 
 never take it back. It may burn, or starve, or freeze, but 
 it must bide life's storm.' 
 
 " ' Susan, sister Susan,' said Nelly, ' I wouldn't live with 
 that man another day. I'd see myself in Greenland before 
 I'd slave myself to death for a good-for-nothing drunken 
 husband.' 
 
 " ' I took him for better or worse,' said Susan, as solemn 
 as if she was preaching, ' and I will stand by him till the 
 last. I must not cross his will, when I can help it. The 
 girl must have a place. I believe she's got the same grace 
 in her heart her mother had before her. Any budy to see 
 her would know she was a liltle Christian. She'll bear any 
 thing God puts upon her. She goes by herself and reads
 
 NEPENTHE. 41 
 
 that little Bible her mother gave her until my heart aches. 
 But in this world we can't all stop for feelings we've got 
 to live. I've laid awake night after night thinking about it, 
 but she's got to go, and to-morrow ; that I promised Wil 
 liam to-day, when he caught up that stick of wood ~nd gave 
 me this bruise my head aches so I have been dizzy ever 
 since but it is hard to know what is right, sometimes.' 
 
 " ' Yes,' said the toy woman, 'if you have a good-for-nothing 
 husband to order you around. I'd pitch him down stairs, 
 or I'd let him fall down any how some dark night, instead of 
 breaking my back helping the drunken scamp up. I'd find 
 out what was right and I'd do it, too. Why, Susan, you've 
 saved his useless life many times when he might just as well 
 and a great deal better been run over or drowned. I'd 
 leave him to Providence and himself a while, instead of 
 watching him as careful as if he were all diamonds and gold.' 
 
 " ' No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of Heaven,' 
 said Susan, slowly and with a kind of choked voice. ' I 
 could not see him die so. And then I took him for better 
 or for worse.' 
 
 " ' I'd give him worse,' said Nelly, indignantly, ' if I 
 should see him abuse you. I'd give him a good mauling with 
 poker or broomstick. Why should he have all the better 
 and you all the worse. You carry to a wonderful extent 
 your ideas of love's divine self-abnegation. Why, you had 
 as fine offers as any girl in the land. There's not a man in the 
 world too good for you. Judge Corlette has never married 
 or loved since you refused him. You are only twenty-eight 
 years old, with your grey hair, pale face and thin cheeks, 
 your hands browned from toil and exposure. I never saw 
 such a hand as yours was once. Bensonio copied it as a 
 model hand,' and the toy woman talked till the tears ran down 
 her cheeks ' why, if a man had married you, and carried 
 you all the way through this world and not let you walked 
 at all we girls wouldn't have thought it too much, he'd only 
 been carrying an angel. I never was a lady, I never was deli 
 cate, beautiful and refined, I was made for work, and endur 
 ance, and it suits me, but you, mother always thought noth 
 ing good enough for you.' 
 
 " ' That is all over now,' said Susan mournfully, coming 
 put into the shop again. I must get a place for the girl to 
 day.' Just then, John," continued Mrs, Pridefit, "I happened
 
 42 NEPENTHE. 
 
 to think what Charity Gouge said about getting so much 
 more out of a young girl than an old one, so I just sent for 
 that girl and engaged her to come to-morrow." 
 
 "What's her name?" said Mr. Pridefit. "Bridget? 
 They are all Bridgets." 
 
 " No, John ; why don't you pay attention ? Didn't I tell 
 you she wasn't an Irish girl ? Her name is Nepenthe 
 Nepenthe Stuart. It is a pity she has such an unusual 
 name." 
 
 " Nepenthe, Nepenthe," said Mr. Pridefit. " I wonder 
 how the girl got that name. That is rather an uncommon 
 name, but I suppose you'll like it, you'll think it stylish, 
 you like every thing stylish ; and," he added, in a kind of 
 undertone, " I hope you'll forget all your old troubles now 
 with Nepenthe in the kitchen." 
 
 Mrs. Pridefit looked puzzled as she said " Why, you 
 know, John, I never wanted a stylish girl." She didn't quite 
 understand her husband's last remark. She thought he was 
 quizzing her, so she pretended not to notice it. 
 
 " John," said Mrs. Pridefit the next night, after Nepenthe 
 had been installed in her new post a day Mr. Pridefit was 
 just closing his eyes " John," said she, " I think I have 
 done well this time. Nepenthe is a willing girl ; she'll do 
 many things a large girl wouldn't. She'll never answer 
 back. Then she's never lived out, and sho never says she's 
 tired, and goes muttering round the house. She has no 
 precedents to establish, no " cousins," to come and visit her. 
 I don't believe she has a relative in the country, and that's 
 worth every thing. I'm sure I don't care how many 
 mothers they have in Ireland. You know Bridget wasn't 
 accustomed to do this, and wouldn't do that. New Year's day 
 she had as many calls as I had. I'll begin with Nepenthe 
 and not favor her ; she shan't burn much kindling wood, 
 waste so much soap, and give away so much tea, as Bridget 
 did. I found bundles of tea, sugar, and coffee, hidden away 
 in her carpet-bag, and she always saved the best ear of corn, 
 and the sweet-bread of veal in the oven for heiself. This 
 Nepenthe'll black your boots for you, too, I guess, John." 
 
 " What wages do you give her ?" 
 
 " I sha'n't pay her any thing now. I'm going to clothe her, 
 you know. I can fix up the old things I have got for her."
 
 NEPENTHE. 43 
 
 " Well," said John, sleepily, " I hope we'll hear no more 
 about girls; it is an awful stale subject of conversation." 
 
 " John !" said Mrs. Pridefit, waking up her husband who 
 was just getting into a man's profound slumber, " I'd tell 
 you something else, if I thought you wouldn't laugh at, or 
 scold me ; however, I guess I'll keep it to myself." 
 
 Mr. Pridefit promised to listen without reproof, ridicule 
 or exhortation ; so Mrs. Pridefit went on. 
 
 " I saw that elegant Mrs. Elliott to-day I'd give any 
 thing to go to one of her receptions and I met Mrs. Brown 
 (you know I have not seen her since she lived in Fifth ave 
 nue, in that splendid house, they say it is a perfect palace,) 
 well, she treated me cordially as ever ^invited me to co 
 operate with her in a little deed of charity. Of course I 
 was willing to write Mrs. John Pridefit's name under Mrs. 
 Theophilus Brown's. It is policy for you and I both, 
 John, to be a little benevolent. Then who knows but you 
 may get all Mr. Brown's business yet ; he'd be a first rate 
 client. I mean to cultivate Mrs. Brown's acquaintance. 
 Are you asleep, John ? Do you hear ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes. I hear go on." 
 
 " A poor woman called on Mrs. Brown for some money 
 She had a large family the father had died suddenly, and 
 they had no means to buy a shroud or coffin. We concluded 
 we would buy a coffin ourselves and send it there, and not 
 furnish means as we first intended. Some time after send 
 ing the coffin, we called to see the afflicted family. We 
 knocked, and after some moving about in the room, we were 
 admitted. We saw the man in the coffin, looking not much 
 emaciated, probably on account of his sudden death. We 
 only stopped a few moments. Just as we left the house, 
 Mrs. Brown missed her elegant mouchoir, so we went back 
 to the house and walked in quietly without knocking, and 
 there the man sat in his coffin with Mrs. Brown's mouchoir 
 in his hands !" 
 
 " 'Tisn't every body that can afford to have his coffin laid 
 in beforehand," said Mr. Pridefit. " I hope it suited him. 
 How much did you contribute towards this most charitable 
 purpose, Jane ?" 
 
 " Five dollars," said Mrs. Pridefit, deliberately, " I could 
 not do less. Mrs. Brown was so very liberal, she furnished 
 the shroud, too. I don't know how much money she gave
 
 44 NEPENTHE. 
 
 she thought I would give 'about eight dollars. She gave her 
 1 services ' you know." 
 
 " Services !" said Mr. Pridefit, contemptuously. 
 
 " John, you needn't laugh about services. I know you 
 think there are no services but lawyer's that ought to bring 
 money. 1 wonder how you'd get along without services." 
 
 " But, Mrs. Pridefit, my services are very different from 
 Mrs. Brown's." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose they are. You sit in your office and 
 talk half an hour to a man about some case of distress war 
 rant, and ask him ten dollars for it, and Mrs. Brown will 
 talk all day long about some case of real distress, and get 
 nothing for it that's the difference ; and then she walks 
 miles and miles. She said to-day she was tired out, and to 
 morrow she's going all around again, to get subscriptions, to 
 get up a fair to pay off the church debt," 
 
 " Yes, I know, and wants you to make a lot of ice creams 
 and jellies. She'll give her services." 
 
 " You know, John, every body must do something for the 
 demands of charity. I am sure I am very economical. I 
 save all I can. I shall make that set of sable do this win 
 ter, and for this fall 1 had no new bonnet." 
 
 " Ah ! yes !" said John, laughing, " but you sent your 
 last year's bonnet to Madame Flummery's. She gave it on 
 ly a professional twitch, a professional glance, put in inside 
 n'xins and strings, and sends me in her bill of eight dollars, 
 when the whole extra fixings wouldn't cost two. She values 
 her services highly, you see." 
 
 " Well, John, I only paid six dollars for all the material 
 for my new morning dress." 
 
 " Yes, that was reasonable ; but your dress-maker sent 
 me in her bill, yesterday ; a bill of eight dollars for her ser 
 vices in making it. But I suppose she furnished the sewing 
 silk as you always say, and that must be French silk, too. 
 I can't see but Mrs. Douglas's dresses fit just as handsome 
 ly, and she makes them herself." 
 
 " John, you men don't know any thing about these mat 
 ters. It s every thing to have a French fit, and Madam 
 Fixeria says my figure is so stylish it ought to have the 
 best fit, and you know, John, you pay thirty-six dollars a 
 dozen for your shirts, and they can't cost any thing like 
 that. You care so much about the fit, and twenty dollars
 
 NEPENTHE. 45 
 
 for that Imperial Dictionary that was really extravagant 
 Twenty dollars would buy so many nice little things for my 
 etagere. Why, Webster's dictionary was good enough for 
 my mother, and it is good enough for me. I should never 
 think of paying so much for a book. There are ever so 
 many things I should think of buying before I bought that 
 and then, ten precious dollars for those dull quarterlies, 
 with those long-winded articles about assimilation of law, or 
 Prophetical Literature or Tithe Impropriation, or India 
 Traditions, or Chineese Aphorisms, or some subject or 
 place no body cares any thing about." 
 
 " Well/' said Mr. Pridefit, without noticing his wife's 
 sage criticisims, " I hope you won't give any thing more in 
 charity without going to see for yonrself. It was a dastard 
 ly imposition, and although that man escaped the grave, he 
 ought to be consigned to the Tombs in earnest." 
 
 Next door to Mrs* Pridefit lived two single ladies. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you 1" said Miss Susan Simpson to Maria, 
 (Susan was the elder, and the spokesman for the two,) " that 
 Mrs. Pridefit would cut off that girl's curls, and she has, all 
 those beautiful ringlets ; she has bobbed them off close, and 
 see, her feet can almost walk about in Mrs. Pridefit's gait 
 ers. I say it is a sin and a shame," added Miss Simpson, 
 shaking her head emphatically, " I'd like to give her a piece 
 of my mind." 
 
 " 1 think you'd find she had mind enough of her own, if 
 you should undertake to give her a piece of yours," said 
 Maria, quietly. 
 
 Susan and Maria got along finely together one always 
 kept cool when the other was out of patience. " And do 
 you know," added Maria, " that Mrs. Pridefit told Mrs. 
 Venner yesterday, that the doctor had advised her to take 
 more exercise for her health she should keep but one girl 
 for a while, and do a little sweeping herself, though M' 1 . 
 Pridefit was much opposed to it. But I know how it is. 
 Mr. Pridefit bought lots of Mr. Trap way up in Fifth avenue, 
 expecting to sell soon at great advance. Hard times came, 
 and he couldn't sell I know he's had to rake and scrape to 
 pay for those lots, and Mr. Trap waits for no body, so 
 they are obliged to economize. They came over here, Mrs. 
 Pridefit says, because it was pleasauter ; but you know, 
 Maria, it was because it was cheaper."
 
 46 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " Yes, all for appearances," said Miss Maria, dropping off 
 to sleep. 
 
 Venus looked down clear and bright, out from the cold 
 sky, through the uncurtained windows of Mrs. Pridefit's 
 attic ; furnished with a broken bowl, a cracked pitcher, and 
 the shattered remains of an ancient looking-glass, and a 
 table with three trembling legs. The night wind whistled 
 through the broken window pane over the old feather bed 
 which lay on the miserably corded bedstead, covered by a 
 single, faded, tattered spread, ornamented with little tufts 
 of escaping cotton. 
 
 As Nepenthe repeated, " Our Father who art in Heaven" 
 there was her mother's Bible open on the table and there 
 clear and bright as ever, on the first page were the words, 
 " The path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth 
 more and more unto the perfect day," that glorious truth 
 mounted like a sky lark into that lonely comfortless attic, 
 and was singing its consolation song as Nepenthe closed her 
 weary eyes with " Now I lay me down to sleep," the first 
 rays of the shining light were dawning in her soul. The 
 mild stars looked serenely down on that young head, nestled 
 on the single straw pillow, the glossy brown hair waved on 
 a cheek, not yet paled by want. 
 
 " Mother ! mother !" broke out from the slightly parted 
 lips as she started uneasily in her sleep. 
 
 Sleep calmly, Nepenthe, on thy hard pillow. One bet 
 ter than thou was cradled in a manger. Let the mild stars 
 keep watch, and "He will give His angels charge concerning 
 thee." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MRS. JOHN PRIDEFIT IN THE DARK. 
 
 " Oh, charming realm of Nothingness, 
 
 Which Nowhere can be found. 
 While Nothing grandly reigns supreme 
 O'er Nobody around !" 
 
 MRS. JOHN PRIDEFIT was in fine spirits. She had pur 
 chased that day, an elegant coiffure, mouchoir, and" brocade. 
 They were all bargains she had saved enough on these ar 
 ticles to pny for the poor man's coffin. It was evening 
 Mr. Pridefit had gone out to draw up a will for a sick man.
 
 NEPENTHE. 47 
 
 Mrs. Pridefit sat with her satin slippers resting on the 
 register on her lap lay a mouchoir fragrant with millefleurs, 
 and the last new novel was open in her hand. She had 
 drawn up the table adjusted the shade over the gas care 
 fully arranged the folds in her dress, and fixed herself for a 
 good comfortable evening. 
 
 She was becoming deeply interested in the plot, and 
 weeping over the pathetic passages, when the letters began 
 to look uncertain and dim the room to grow dark, and in a 
 minute more, perfectly dark. Groping her way to the bell, 
 she soon summoned Nepenthe, whose dishes were yet un 
 washed, to the rescue. 
 
 " Nepenthe, you ought to keep the metre covered with a 
 flannel blanket you have put me to a very great inconveni 
 ence by your carelessness." 
 
 " I did cover it, ma'am," said Nepenthe, timidly. 
 
 " You thought you did," said Mrs. Pridefit, sternly. 
 " Now bring me some sort of a light immediately the lamp 
 you use in the kitchen will do." 
 
 Nepenthe soon returned with a large junk bottle, from 
 which arose a dripping tallow candle. 
 
 " I am sorry, ma'am," said she, " but Mr. Pridefit broke 
 the lamp the other evening in the cellar." 
 
 " Well, well," said Airs. Pridefit, " you must have cracked 
 it then, you are so careless " (looking dismally at the new 
 luminary, shedding a ghastly light on rosewood, velvet, and 
 brocatel.) " You saw Mr. Pridefit fix the metre the other 
 night you can put in a little alcohol, as he did." 
 
 Half stumbling over the enormous rat which guarded the 
 entrance, by the aid of a duplicate bottle luminary, Nepen 
 the found the way into the cellar, and without shutting off 
 the gas, commenced operations to illuminate Mrs. Pridefit's 
 parlor ; knowing as much about gas and gas metres as she 
 did of the climate, soil and productions of Liberia. 
 
 Into the first orifice she opened, she poured the alcohol, 
 while some of the gas escaping communicating with the 
 blaze of the candle, which holding at least a precarious posi 
 tion in the old bottle, had fallen forward into the valve. 
 
 " Fire ! fire !" shrieked Nepenthe, at the top of her voice, 
 and in such terrified tones, that even the immovable Mrs. 
 Pridefit hurried down stairs as quickly as possible. 
 
 Shutting off the gas, she poured over the metre and Ne-
 
 48 NEPENTHE. 
 
 penthe the contents of a pail of water, which erst her deli 
 cate hands could never have lifted. 
 
 " How could you be so stupid ?" said she, in angry tones. 
 " Didn't you know enough to shut off the gas before putting 
 in the alcohol ? You have done quite enough for one night 
 you have half frightened me to death you can put up 
 the alcohol, and wipe the floor " and Mrs. Pridefit sailed 
 away up into her sepulchral-looking parlor, illuminated by 
 the poorest and darkest of tallow candles such as she only 
 allowed in her kitchen. 
 
 "Stupid thing," thought she, "I'll never let John go 
 away again until I am sure of a light then the Rev. Dr. 
 Smoothers may call this evening ; and how dull and common 
 every thing will look, with nothing but this old candle. My 
 new picture and this dress would light up so well. I de 
 clare I'd like to pound her. No light in the hall, either ! 
 How provoking ! 
 
 Poor Nepenthe was walking the floor and ringing her 
 hands, both of which were badly burned. Poor child, it 
 was her first blister. She knew not that a little sweet oil 
 from the castor, could have eased so soon her agony, and so 
 she walked up and down the kitchen floor the whole evening, 
 moaning with pain. 
 
 Mr. Pridefit came home late, cold and tired, and bewilder 
 ed with perplexing suits, claims and counter-claims. Ne 
 penthe's swollen eyes and hand bound up in an old handker 
 chief, attracted his attention. As a matter of policy, Mrs. 
 Pridefit was induced by her husband to bind up with sweet 
 oil and cotton, the poor blistered hand. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you, John," said Mrs. Pridefit, as she was 
 hunting up some cotton, " to get a dry metre ? If you had 
 taken my advice, all this trouble would have been saved. 
 1 wish you would pay some attention to my wishes. What 
 should I do if Dr. Smoothers were to call now ? He is so 
 fastidious and refined. He said he would certainly call this 
 week, and there's only one more evening this week when he 
 will be at liberty. It looks as if we were nobody and nobody 
 lived here." 
 
 There was a great hubbub in Mrs. Pridefit's house for a 
 week or two. She had kept dinging at Mr. Pridefit, until 
 he had promised to have all the modern " conveniences" in 
 troduced. So up stairs and down, everything was remodelled.
 
 NEPENTHE. 49 
 
 Nepenthe was just getting able to use her hands again, when 
 Mrs. Pridefit went into the kitchen one morning to give her 
 directions. " That's the hot water, and that's the cold," said 
 she, putting her hand first on one faucet and then on the 
 other, " and there is the boiler. There is a pump, from 
 which the boiler is supplied. Up in the bath room is a tank ; 
 when that is full of water there is no danger, but if the tank is 
 empty, and you should use up the hot water in the boiler, 
 the boiler would burst." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said Nepenthe, timidly. 
 
 " Now, every morning," continued Mrs. Pridefit, " you 
 must pump plenty of water up into the tank, and that will last 
 you all day. I am going out this morning, and you can stand 
 here by the sink and scour all these tins," and Mrs. Pridefit 
 piled up pails, pans, and tin-ware of all sizes and descrip 
 tion, all sadly in need of polishing. 
 
 The hours moved slowly along pints, quarts, and two- 
 quarts, pails, funnels, and graters, were all assuming un 
 wonted brilliancy as they lay on the table awaiting Mrs. 
 Pridefit's arrival. " Only one large pail more to scour," 
 thought Nepenthe, as she bent her head over, and tried to 
 remove the cover, which was pressed down very tight. 
 
 There was a sudden whizz and report, and then, over 
 neck, shoulder and arm, came the hot water, as Nepenthe 
 rushed frightened back, while the angry water hissing and 
 sissing, burst over the floor. 
 
 "Oh!" said Mrs. Pridefit, coming in just then, for she 
 had taken the key of the front basement door with her and 
 had come in very quietly, as she thought to find what the 
 girl was about, she might be up stairs rummaging. " Oh !" 
 paid she, shaking Nepenthe fiercely, "you've burst the boiler. 
 There's fif f y more dollars gone. This is the way you abuse 
 my kindness. Out of my sight, you good-for-nothing crea 
 ture ; you ought to be in prison." Seizing poker and tongs 
 Mrs. Pridefit, then rushed to the range and with all the skill, 
 energy, and rapidity of which she was capable, poked and 
 scraped and raked the fire out, dashing on cold water to 
 extinguish the last lingering glowing coals. " Up stairs with 
 you ! Out of my sight, girl !" said she, giving Nepenthe 
 another push out into the hall. 
 
 With face flushed with fatigue, vexation and excitement, 
 Mrs. Pridefit hurriedly ascended the stairs to assume some 
 
 3
 
 50 NEPENTHE. 
 
 costume better fitted for removing the water from the kitchen 
 floor, when a new and still more startling sight presented 
 itself to her excited vision. 
 
 The bath-room was nearly flooded with water. The 
 basin was full and overflowing ; towels, soaps and sponges, 
 were swimming upon its swelling surface. Pomades, pumice 
 stone and tooth powder were floating out into the hall, about 
 to make their democratic way down Mrs. Pridefit's new 
 Wilton stair carpet. 
 
 No wonder the the tank was empty and the boiler dry. 
 There was a faucet turned and the water must have been 
 running off" a long time, and the unwelcome truth forced 
 itself upon Mrs. Pridetit's unwilling conviction that she her 
 self had left the faucet turned, and carelessly forgotten to 
 shut it off. The fault was hers, and hers alone. But after 
 once making a charge, she would never apologize, never 
 retract it was not her nature. She tried to say to herself, 
 that the girl might have looked, or examined, or prevented the 
 catastrophe in some way, though she had positively ordered 
 her not to leave the kitchen until she returned. 
 
 John Pridefit never knew why or how the boiler burst 
 but he did know that he himself had that identical morn 
 ing pumped the tank full, fearing the possibility of some 
 accident. Three weeks of lonely, suffering days and pain 
 ful nights, passed on. Though still sore and tender, Ne 
 penthe began to use the lame arm and delicate hand. 
 There was no boiler in the kitchen yet, and the pump was 
 out of order, and though the weather was severely cold the 
 big stone was moved off of the cistern in the yard and all 
 the water used in Mrs. Pridefit's kitchen had to be drawn 
 up from this open cistern, by a pail attached to a rope. 
 
 Mrs. Pridefit began to feel that six shillings a dozen was 
 an enormous price to pay for putting washing out, and 
 when Monday morning came again, she thought Nepenthe 
 could do it if she tried ; so Nepenthe's little benumbed 
 hands had drawn up five pails of water when the rope 
 broke, and down went the pail. 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! dear me !" cried the frightened Nepen 
 the, " 'tis Mrs. Pridefit's new pail, with the gilt band on. 
 What shall I do 1 ? What shall I do?" bending down and 
 looking over into the cistern, and then came that fearful
 
 NEPENTHE. 51 
 
 cramp she had so often in her right shoulder, ever since it 
 was scalded. 
 
 The wind blew violently, there was almost a hurricane ; 
 the next morning's newspapers reports told of high houses 
 unroofed, tall trees prostrated and eveu persons thrown 
 down by violence. There were two columns in the next 
 morning's Herald filled with damages from the gale in dif 
 ferent parts of the country. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MRS. PRIDEFIT'S INDIGNATION AND CONSTERNATION. 
 
 " He who for all hast found a spot, 
 
 Wind, waves, and tempest dread, 
 Will find a place, oh, doubt it not ! 
 Thy foot can likewise tread." 
 
 GERHART. 
 
 SUSAN was the oracle of the two sisters Simpson, and 
 Maria never expressed an opinion, without ending by say 
 ing " Shouldn't you think so, Susan ?" 
 
 Seated in her pet corner by her back chamber window, in 
 her comfortable rocking chair, Miss Susan was reading the 
 twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew from her mother's old Bible, 
 and had just finished the twenty -fifth verse " I was a 
 stranger, and ye took me in," when she paused suddenly, 
 and exclaimed, 
 
 " Hark ! Maria, hark ! Isn't that a child's voice I hear ? 
 Hark ! I've heard it twice." 
 
 " I guess not," said Maria, who was a little deaf. " It 
 must be rags, or lemons, or soap fat." 
 
 " No ! no ! There it is again !" said Miss Susan, throwing 
 tip the sash. " It is in Mrs. Pridefit's back yard. Quick ! 
 quick, Maria ! See that old bonnet on the snow by the cis 
 tern !" 
 
 Miss Susan Simpson, though a lover of ease, could move 
 quickly enough when occasion required, and tearing a board from 
 the fence, she and Maria were soon in Mrs. Pridefit's yard. 
 
 A little hand was holding tight the edge of a loose stone 
 which projected over the cistern. There were no more 
 screams the poor child was too much exhausted.
 
 52 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " Keep hold of me, Maria," said Susan, seeing the little 
 hand relaxing its grasp. " We must pull her up." 
 
 Miss Susan's form was of masculine proportions, tall and 
 muscular. With superhuman strength, she rescued the 
 half-frozen, terrified child from her perilous position, and 
 finding Mrs. Pridefit out on some morning expedition, car 
 ried the almost senseless girl into her own house, and laid 
 her on her own bed. 
 
 " There, Susan Simpson," said she, while rubhing the 
 girl's cold limbs. " You've done one good deed now, if you 
 never did in your life before." 
 
 Nepenthe was speechless for half an hour. It was an 
 hour of rubbing and stimulating, before she was able to 
 move. Her limbs were partly frozen, and she would not 
 have lived many minutes longer in the water. 
 
 About an hour later, Mrs. Pridefit stood at her door, ring 
 ing with all her might. She was getting quite impatient, 
 though well protected from the cold by her mantilla, muff, 
 and cuffs of Russian sable. " I declare I shall perish," 
 thought she, " if i stand here much longer. What can 
 Nepenthe be about ? I'll give her one good shaking when I 
 get hold of her." 
 
 " Let her ring a little," said Miss Maria. 
 
 Down the stone steps at last, she impatiently flew to the 
 basement door, where her succession of emphatic thumps 
 waked no spirit from within, but burst open the thumb of 
 her tightly-fitting new white kid. " The girl must be 
 asleep," she exclaimed. " I'll give her one good shaking 
 when I get hold of her, for keeping me waiting till I am 
 tired to death. I shall have the neuralgia a month after 
 this. It'll surely go to my heart now." 
 
 ' Let her knock a little, "'said Miss Maria, peeping out of 
 her front window. " It will do her good. She'd no busi 
 ness to set that young thing drawing water out of the cistern 
 with that old rotten piece of rope, too, while she herself is 
 all rigged up skylarking around town." 
 
 Five minutes more, and Miss Simpson's Bridget, who'd 
 had all her Irish sympathy enlisted in the tragedy, opened 
 Mrs. Pridefit's front door, and told her, with true Irish 
 pathos, the whole story. 
 
 It was very provoking to Mrs. Pridefit that her neighbors
 
 NEPENTHE. 53 
 
 had interfered thus with her affairs, yet under the circum 
 stances, they could hardly be blamed. 
 
 " Tell Nepenthe I wish her to come home," said she, dig- 
 nifiedly to Bridget 
 
 " Indade, ma'am," said Bridget, " an shure she's not been 
 after spaking the whole blissed hour." 
 
 This was an emergency for which Mrs. Pridefit was not 
 prepared, and she had invited the Rev. Dr. Smoothers to tea 
 that very afternoon. 
 
 Taking it for granted that the Misses Simpsons had done 
 what was necessary for the present, Mrs. Pridefit allowed 
 herself a few minutes' soliloquy : " Nepenthe had got so 
 she was doing quite well she wasn't so quick as some, but 
 she was active, and learning to do quite well. What if she 
 should be sick, there would be a doctor's bill, a good round 
 one, too. Then she half frightened me to death, most set 
 ting the house on fire the other night, and now to cap the 
 climax she has drowned herself, and my new pail, too, 
 (dear me ! how many pails I've lost.) Just to think of Mrs. 
 John Pridefit's turning nurse and getting a new girl. Why, 
 dear me ! it's one o'clock already, and I told Dr. Smoothers 
 to come early, and I'm sure I can never wait on my own 
 table. Perhaps Nepenthe'll get along well enough I sup 
 pose she's scared a little, but that won't kill her, and she 
 may be a little deceitful, and try to make the ladies believe 
 she is seriously hurt." 
 
 Mrs. Pridefit had always found cards of great use in any 
 sudden emergency; they could express sincere regret, if she 
 desired not to accept any invitation ; they could take the 
 place of ihany civilities and it was often said of her when 
 in wealthier circumstances, that when she could not attend 
 church, she sent her card to the sexton and had it laid on 
 the altar but here was one instance where cards would be 
 of little use. She could not exchange calls with the Simp 
 sons, those parvenu, plebeian, common people. Should she 
 go now, it would be the beginning of civilities. She would 
 rather receive and acknowledge a favor or kindness, from 
 any quarter than " those Simpsons," she had so long ignored 
 that vulgarly descended, vulgarly connected family. Then 
 their father, she had understood, was nothing but a retail 
 grocer. 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Pridefit lectured Nepenthe about
 
 54 NEPENTHE. 
 
 her stupidity and carelessness in falling and thus ruining 
 her only valuable dress, but these lectures could not quiet 
 the pain Nepenthe felt. When she tried to stand erect, she 
 could not, move without the most acute pain. Mrs. Pridefit 
 said, " Perhaps she might have sprained her shoulder." 
 She applied some Mustang liniment, judging from its use 
 fulness when applied to horses that it might be of equal 
 benefit to Nepenthe. The third day Nepenthe was still more 
 ill. She tried hard to stand erect and seem well, but she 
 had apparently lost the use of her left arm, and the left collar 
 bone was inflamed, and the wounded integument was swollen. 
 Some course must be taken consistent with their personal 
 convenience and pecuniary liabilities. 
 
 " You might have known, John," said Mrs. Pridefit, " that 
 that old rope would break. I told you it was not strong 
 enough for that careless girl to use. Who knows but this 
 may lead to rheumatism, that is, inflammatory rheumatism ? 
 Who knows but it is catching ?" and she looked disconsolately 
 at her right hand, as she said dolefully, " here I've two big 
 warts, I caught at the industrial school, the day I went with 
 Mrs. Brown. I had to take hold of the hand of one of those 
 ragged young ones. I wish^I knew how to get rid of them 
 they do look shocking on a lady's hand. If Mrs. Brown 
 had Nepenthe she would feed her fat on the milk of human 
 kindness, and wrap her up in the garments of holiness, band 
 age and poultice her, and make toast and gruel for her to 
 resuscitate her constitution. I can't waste my sympathies 
 on beggar children if you begin there's no end to it. I 
 believe as Dr. Smoothers says, ' God meant there should be 
 classes in society.' The best way, if you know a girl is 
 getting sick, is to get rid of her before she gets down sick. It's 
 not politic to be caught with a pauper on your hands and me 
 left with my neuralgia, too but we could not help this any 
 way, John." 
 
 The next morning Mr. Pridefit was walking in the yard. 
 He stooped to pull up a weed, growing by the cistern, and 
 as he stooped he saw a penknife with the blade open, and a 
 piece of rope lay near it. He brought the rope and the 
 knife into the house. " Jane," said he, to Mrs. Pridefit, 
 " was this a piece of that rope I fastened to the pail ?" 
 
 " Yes," said she, taking it and examining it, " yes, it was 
 a piece of the clothes line with that very knot on the end "
 
 NEPENTHE. 55 
 
 ! Tis strange,'' said Mr. Pridefit, " that it should have 
 broken with only the weight of that pail. It is quite a strong 
 piece of rope" and after a moment's pause he added, 
 " Whose knife is this ? I found it by the cistern. 
 
 " 'Tis a good knife," said John. " It is very strange ; it 
 was close to our cistern ; it looks like a lady's knife just 
 see, on one corner of the blade are the initials ' H. S. T.' " 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MRS. PRIDEFIT TAKES A COURSE CONSISTENT WITH PERSONAL 
 CONVENIENCE AND PECUNIARY LIABILITIES. 
 
 "Long the old nurse bent her gaze 
 On the God illumined face ; 
 Marvelling at its wondrous brightness ; 
 Marvelling at its fearful whiteness ; 
 YVhy, amid her deep divining 
 Did she shudder at the shining 
 
 Of that smile 
 
 On her lips, and in the eyes, 
 Looking up with strange surprise ? 
 Why, in terror, turn her head ?" 
 
 IT was Monday again, and windy, dusty, cloudy nobody 
 would call on Mrs. Pridefit, certainly such a morning. She 
 had washed her own dishes in her leg-of-mutton sleeves, 
 slip-shod slippers and curl-papers. She was completely ex 
 hausted she would get the morning paper and rest awhile 
 on the lounge in the drawing-room. 
 
 There lay her velvet coiffure, and her new robe de chani- 
 bre with cherry facings her satin slippers, ready to be put 
 on at a moment's warning they were all so stylish and be 
 coming, she would just peep out of the door and see if that 
 carrier had brought the paper , but there was not the paper 
 there was the elegant Mrs. Theophilus Brown alighting 
 from her carriage, radiant in smiles, satin, and velvet. 
 There was no chance for retreat. 
 
 After her smiling recognition, the leg-of-mutton sleeves, 
 fearful sack, and frightful curl papers, had to escort the el 
 egant Mrs. Brown into the undusted parlor, whose wide 
 open staring shutters gave to Mrs. Pridefit's toilet a full 
 eclaircissement. Mr. Pridefit was always tearing the shut-
 
 56 NEPENTHE. 
 
 ters open. Why do gentlemen like so much light ? If a 
 room does happen to be undusted, and a dress not quite 
 d la mode, or even en deshabille, up go the windows, and 
 out go the shutters. 
 
 " Is there any one like a man for letting the cat out of the 
 bag ? Why must they have every thing so light ?" thought 
 Mrs. Pridefit, as she tried to talk blandly, and smile agree 
 ably, and bend her head gracefully. 
 
 Mrs. Brown's stay was short. She wanted assistance in 
 making out a subscription for enlarging the Rev. Dr. 
 Smoothers' already large library. Mrs. Pridefit couldn't 
 refuse, so down went ten precjous dollars under Miss Simp 
 son's five. 
 
 She smilingly bowed out Mrs. Brown, and then frowningly 
 returned, and looked in her full length mirror at the other 
 end of the parlor. There stood Mrs. John Pridefit without 
 collar, without coiffure, without adornment. She would 
 have given ten dollars more to have Mrs. Brown seen her 
 in her new robe de chambre, or rather not to have seen her 
 in that " horrid dress." It was all owing to that careless 
 girl, who ought to have been well and in her place. 
 
 Mrs. Pridefit was one of those people, who, when in trou 
 ble, reproach the nearest, perhaps the most innocent 
 cause. Pride was the strongest elemeni in her nature 
 this pride was piqued, and she hated Nepenthe. 
 
 If you've had a sleeplesss night, reader, with a sick child 
 or a toothache, and you get up in the morning feeling like 
 letting every thing go for once, and Bridget seems to feel 
 like it, too ; if it is the only day in the annals of your house 
 keeping, when the furnace fire goes out, the parlor is not 
 dusted, your dress en deshabille, you sit down with a for 
 midable basket of inevitable mending or a most bewitching 
 book ; maybe Bridget has taken it into her head to slip off 
 and get married, or go and see some cousin, all the fires un 
 accountably go out. Then, surely, some high bred, elegant, 
 fastidious caller comes in her carriage to make you her annual 
 fashionable call, and you so distracted in your deshabille 
 and cold dusty parlor, only heighten the contrast of her 
 self-possessed blandness. You can think of nothing suitable 
 to say, and after looking critically around, and saying a few 
 elegant nothings, your caller gracefully makes her exit, and 
 says to her dear friend at home, that Mrs. has
 
 NEPENTHE. 
 
 57 
 
 grown old and negligent since her marriage she's not a 
 nice housekeeper. Her circumstances must be very limited 
 judging from her plain dress and cold parlor. Or if you are 
 literary, it may be because you are a blue, you are so neg 
 ligent, and then at last in comes Bridget who has really 
 greatly aggravated your embarrassment by her sudden ab 
 sence. " She has just been out at the corner to see her 
 cousin " if you don't scold, it is because you are very good 
 natured. 
 
 Reader, before you condemn Mrs. Pridefit for her undig 
 nified and foolish impatience, think of the many times when 
 you have been excited, angry, or unreasonable, for some 
 equally trivial cause something of which you are afterwards 
 heartily ashamed. 
 
 When we are sailing off on the high tide of self esteem, 
 self respect, conscious of our all sufficiency to meet all life's 
 little and great ills, some foolish breeze of circumstance, lit 
 tle and weak, will lash up the spirit till it frets and fumes 
 and irritates itself into a kind of madness, foaming with sud 
 den rage, and writhing with impetuous pain. 
 
 Let the kind voices of our good old grandmothers still 
 echo in our ears, " Handsome is that handsome does." This 
 voice is an uncertain response for the modern world. The 
 world says, practically, " Handsome is that handsome 
 seems," The first bow of deference will be paid to the agree 
 able exterior, which is the first passport to the stranger's 
 eye and hand of welcome. It is an instinct of the warm 
 heart, an impulse of the refined mind to make house, fur 
 niture, and dress, beautiful and symmetrical. We associate 
 beauty with Heaven itself. 
 
 Our ideas of upward climbing and onward advance are of 
 rising to something more beautiful and perfect, and paradise 
 wouldn't be paradise to us if in our beautiful imaginings 
 there were no starry crowns, pearly gates, and golden 
 harps. There is even a kind of beauty in perfect order. 
 Simple and plain beautiful arrangements and elegant adorn 
 ments, are sought for eagerly by all cultivated human eyes. 
 We turn wearily from a hard granite hill, with its wondrous 
 trinity of quartz, feldspar and mica, to gaze admiringly on 
 the beautiful prairie, bouqueted with sapphire cups and ruby 
 bells. 
 
 When Mrs. Pridefit descended the kitchen stairs, after 
 
 3*
 
 58 NEPENTHE. 
 
 looking into her truth-telling mirror, there was in her face 
 an expression which may be summed up in one dark word 
 -Retribution. 
 
 Giving Nepenthe another lecture on past offences, Mrs. 
 Pridefit was soon transformed into an elegantly-dressed 
 lady in promenade costume, and on her way whither ? By 
 the aid of the directory she was soon in the office of a 
 physician, and after some preliminary and plausible pream 
 ble, she said, ' I will be much obliged to you, doctor, if you 
 will inform me of the requisite preliminaries to getting her 
 admitted. I am exceedingly sensitive, and my health is 
 extremely delicate, my servants very inefficient, and I wish 
 to consummate some arrangement as soon as possible.*' 
 
 " When did the accident occur, madam ?" said the doc 
 tor. 
 
 " Day before yesterday, sir." 
 
 " Then it will be necessary for you to procure the services 
 of a physician, and get his certificate as to the nature of the 
 accident, and the suitability of the patient for the institution. 
 If you had taken her directly to the hospital on the day of 
 the accident no certificate from a physician would have been 
 necessary. But as it is you will be under the necessity of 
 procuring a certificate from some respectable physician, which 
 certificate you must present to the Commissioner or Superin 
 tendent of the Alms House, at the Rotunda in the Park, en 
 trance Chambers street, and he will give you another certifi 
 cate which will entitle her to admission." 
 
 " What do you charge per visit, doctor ?" 
 
 " Well, seeing the patient is a poor little orphan, I will 
 visit her and make out a certificate for two dollars." 
 
 " Very well, doctor, you will please call at my house im 
 mediately." 
 
 " I will be there in two hours, madam." 
 
 (Mrs. Pridefit makes her exit.) 
 
 " Good morning, doctor. 5 ' 
 
 " Good morning, madam. '' 
 
 Mrs. Pridefit on her way home soliloquizes : " What a 
 fool John Pridefit was that he did not know enough to have 
 that little brat sent to the hospital on the day of the acci 
 dent, and thus saved the payment of an exorbitant doctor's 
 fee. Is't possible ? Two dollars ! Who ever heard of 
 such an outrageous charge ? The doctor has no conscience
 
 NEPENTHE. 59 
 
 he is a real old extortioner. I wish he could pitch into a 
 cistern himself." 
 
 Some hours after, passing up through the main entrance, 
 through hall after hall, and room after room, lined on each 
 side with rows of cot beds, upon which in all altitudes were 
 suffering invalids, Dr. Gunether came to the surgical ward 
 in the rear building, where were a group of students 
 receiving medical instruction from an old surgeon. The 
 nurse announced the arrival of a new patient in the ward. 
 
 " Well, my little girl, what is the matter with you ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Pridefit thinks, she says, that I have some of my 
 bones broken or out of joint." 
 
 Surgeon " Nurse, remove the patient's dress from the 
 left arm and chest." 
 
 " Stand up, my little girl. Ah! gentlemen, there is a 
 language in that patient's attitude and in the deformity of 
 the injured part that tells you distinctly and unequivocably 
 the nature of the accident. What is it, gentlemen ?" 
 
 Several voices respond : " A compound fracture of the 
 left clavicle, sir." 
 
 " You are right, gentlemen this is a compound fracture 
 of the clavicle. No trouble in the diagnosis. It is a com 
 pound oblique fracture of the clavicle and notwithstanding 
 the amount of tumefaction which exists in the parts, our di 
 agnosis is about as easy as if it were made upon the dry 
 skeleton. The wound is a lacerated one, passing directly 
 up over the left breast and clavicle, with which it slightly 
 communicates at the fracture. You perceive, gentlemen, 
 that motion from before or backwards can only be per 
 formed with the greatest difficulty and suffering, and the pa 
 tient is rendered incapable of performing rotary motions 
 with the arm. The great pain produced by the weight of 
 the arm stretching the injured parts, causes the patient to 
 incline her body to the affected side. The support thus 
 given to the arm by the inclination of the body, generally 
 alleviates the pain. By tracing along the upper surface of 
 the bone, you will detect a depression at the point of frac 
 ture, and by grasping the two fragments with the fingers of 
 each hand and moving their broken surfaces on each other, 
 you will find the crepitus very perceptible. You will ob 
 serve that by thus moving her shoulder upwards, backwards 
 and outwards, that I reduce the fragments to their natural
 
 60 NEPENTHE. 
 
 position with the greatest facility. Now gentlemen, the in 
 dications of treatment in this case are to retain the arm and 
 shoulder in the position in which I now hold them, and with 
 your assistance we will proceed to apply apparatus for that 
 purpose." 
 
 After an application of a healing and emollient nature, 
 Nepenthe was bandaged with long strips of muslin passing 
 these rollers over each shoulder, and crossing them in the 
 form of a figure eight, acting in a manner similar to an ordi 
 nary shoulder brace. 
 
 Hanging over her little bed a board bearing her name, 
 age. birth-place, date of admission and name of injury, the 
 old surgeon and his disciples passed into another ward. 
 
 " Dr. Gunether tells me," said Mrs. Brown to Mrs. Pride- 
 fit, whom she happened to meet while shopping, " that one 
 of the patients at the hospital is one you sent there.'' 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Pridefit, blushing, " it is rather a painful 
 topic to me. The other day I found a poor penniless orphan 
 girl who had no home. My heart would not permit me to re 
 fuse her a temporary asylum beneath my roof. I brought her 
 home with the intention to protect and watch over her as a 
 parent until I found some good religious family, willing to 
 adopt her ; but the other day while I was absent for a little 
 exercise, in the exuberance of her sportiveness, while play 
 ing around the cistern, she stumbled over its margin, and 
 was only prevented from drowning by a projecting stick of 
 timber which fortunately caught into her dress by means of 
 a spike driven in its extremity. After watching her with 
 intense solicitude and finding my own health failing, and my 
 neuralgia being so much worse the doctor was afraid it 
 might go to the heart Mr. Pridefit and myself concluded 
 that she ought to have the close watching and careful and con 
 stant attention of old and experienced nurses usually found 
 at the hospitals. I am exceedingly sensitive my health is 
 'extremely delicate, and my servants uncommonly inefficient. 
 This is a trial, but as Dr. Smoothers says, ' We are often 
 called upon to make great sacrifices in the path of duty.' " 
 
 Mrs. Pridefit wiped her eyes with her new embroidered 
 mouchoir, and bowing gracefully bade Mrs. Brown good 
 morning. 
 
 " I feel so relieved, John," said Mrs. Pridefit that even 
 ing when Mr. Pridefit came home, " now Nepenthe is off
 
 NEPENTHE. 61 
 
 our hands. I wish I never had brought her here. It makes 
 my neuralgia so much worse to think about hospitals," said 
 she, sitting down to finish some embroidery. 
 
 By Nepenthe's bed that night, sat a strange-looking woman 
 that gaunt form, those hollow eyes, those muttering lips 
 she turned uneasily on her pillow ; was it a dream ? No ! 
 no ! she had seen her once she was the watcher by her 
 dead mother. Did this strange woman always come to sit 
 by the dead ? would she die too ? 
 
 No, it was only a nurse at the hospital, and Nepenthe fell 
 into an unquiet, feverish sleep. 
 
 " It is the twenty-fourth to-day, and to-morrow will be 
 the twenty-fifth," said the nurse, as she stood gazing at the 
 sleeping Nepenthe. " Yes. to-morrow will be the twenty- 
 fifth." The morning dawned ; it was the twenty-fifth ; well 
 might the old nurse at the hospital remember it. 
 
 " It is the twenty-fifth to-day it is your birthday," said 
 Dr. Grunether to his little nephew. " You may go where 
 you like. This is your day. We'll examine all the balls, 
 tops and marbles in the city if you like." 
 
 " And can I go where you do, uncle ?" 
 
 " Yes, and what will you do first ?" 
 
 " Let's take a walk in Broadway." 
 
 Dr. Gunether had so often paced with weary feet this 
 crowded thoroughfare he preferred a walk in some quiet 
 street where he might go along leisurely without 
 taxing his attention in steering straight. But Broadway 
 sights and Broadway sounds, omnibusses, hand organs, shows 
 of toys and confectionery, bright windows and gaily dressed 
 ladies, all attracted Frank's curious eye, and as each new 
 bright object attracted his attention the boy kept giving an 
 extra tug at his uncle's coat. 
 
 They were soon at the florist's, where japonicas, helio 
 tropes, roses, and pansies bloomed in elegant profusion. A 
 bouquet o*f rare flowers was Frank's first birthday gift. 
 
 " Uncle, now take me to the hospital," he said, " I want 
 to see where you go every day." 
 
 Clinging close to his uncle's coat, the child passed the portal 
 of the building, and was soon by the row of little cot beds, 
 upon one of which Nepenthe was lying, and her pale suffering 
 face attracted his quick eye. While his uncle was convers 
 ing with one of the attendant physicians, Frank stole away
 
 62 NEPENTHE. 
 
 from his side and laid the flowers on her pillow. His uncle 
 called him at that moment without waiting to observe his move 
 ments. Frank followed him, trying hard to keep up with his 
 uncle's quick step and look back at Nepenthe. 
 
 As the massive door closed behind them, Frank drew a 
 long breath once more, as he said with a tearful eye, " Has 
 she no father, no mother, Uncle ? Who kisses her good-night, 
 ,nd what is her name ?" 
 
 " Nepenthe." 
 - " Isn't it a pretty name, Uncle ?" 
 
 " Just like his mother," thought the doctor, " always 
 looking after pale faces. I'm afraid he will never do for a 
 doctor he is too tender-hearted. It is true enough the boy's 
 heart will often take its mother's fine stamp ; he might be a 
 poet, author, artist. He is uncommonly sensitive for so young 
 a boy. I thought he valued those flowers too highly to dis 
 pose of them so quickly." 
 
 The strange-looking nurse watched the child as he laid 
 the flowers on Nepenthe's pillow, and said not a word, but, 
 bringing a tumbler of fresh water, placed them carefully on 
 a shelf in sight of Nepenthe, muttering between her half- 
 closed lips, " It costs me nothing it costs me nothing." 
 
 A shrinking, painful feeling, an anxious dread, seized 
 Nepenthe, as she gazed on the unknown but remembered 
 watcher. But the heliotropes, rose buds and japonicas 
 brightened up the gloom of the hospital. She slept and 
 dreamed of the violets under the window of the old brick 
 house, and now blooming on a grave in a Green-wood dell. 
 She turned and awoke. There were those eyes still looking 
 so cold and unfeeling. 
 
 " The Stuart hair, 'tis the Stuart eyes," the woman mut 
 tered, contemptuously and bitterly, " but she has an ugly 
 name, and it is well she has no pretty name, with the life 
 she has before her. What will you have, child ?" said she, 
 harshly, as she came suddenly and stood by the bed, draw 
 ing the sheet over the hot hands of the feverish patient with 
 an almost choking closeness. 
 
 The next week Mrs. Pridefit was again at Stewart's. There 
 was a new assortment of chen6 silks and she was looking them 
 over. She heard a voice in the next room say to another 
 lady, " Mrs. Pridefit and I do not exchange visits ; she does 
 not move in our circle. Pridefit is a respectable lawyer, I
 
 NEPENTHE. 63 
 
 believe, and I get small subscriptions from her occasionally ; 
 every little helps. When our church was first organized 
 I called on her. The church was small then, and we wished 
 to draw iu all the new comers. She is a weak-minded woman ; 
 and flutters in every new fashion that comes out, and if she 
 were really high-bred or well-bred I could not make a friend 
 of her. She must lead her husband a merry kind of life." 
 
 Mrs. Pridefit bought no dress that day and that night 
 she was so quiet and yet so cross, Mr. Pridefit thought she 
 must have a severe attack of neuralgia. 
 
 I cannot tell you why, reader, because I do not know, but 
 Nepenthe Stuart was in a few days removed from that hos 
 pital to another, and that other not half as comfortable. 
 Behind her pillow was a window one of the panes was 
 broken, and through the broken pane the wind blew roughly 
 in on the pale cheek of the .sufferer. Her fare was miserable, 
 she was much neglected, and many an occasional visitor at 
 the hospital has said, " How can the child get well there ?" 
 
 CHAPTER IX. ' 
 
 A CHAPTER WITH SOME " PREACHING " IN IT. 
 
 " I hurry up heaven's viewless stairs, 
 And casting off life's weary cares, 
 Open the pearly gates of prayer." 
 
 ALAR. 
 
 " And some fell among thorns. 
 
 " And other fell on good ground, and sprang up and bore fruit an 
 hundred fold." LCKE vm. 7, 8. 
 
 " Dr. Wenden," said Mr. Douglass on their way to church 
 one Sabbath morning, " I should think you would have the 
 blues all the time ; you see the saddest sights of humanity 
 wounds, bruises, agonies and broken limbs. I couldn't 
 have the nerve to be a physician." 
 
 " Get used to it get used to it," said the doctor. 
 
 " Yes, but every terrible scene must make a wound in 
 the spirit, and there'll be the scar there's the scar." 
 
 " Have to get used to it, Richard, have to get used to it. 
 When I first commenced practice, I took to heart every
 
 64 NEPENTHE. 
 
 broken limb I saw. If I lost a patient, I felt as if I were 
 going to my own funeral ; and every interesting destitute 
 child, I was for taking home, feeding and clothing. Had I 
 followed my early professional impulses, I should have had 
 five hundred in my house to provide for. There are few 
 things done in this world half as well as we think we could 
 do them ourselves ; the hungry starve, the sick are neglect 
 ed, the convalescent hopelessly put back by harsh and in 
 different treatment. When I first came from the country, 
 and walked through the streets of the city, I was inexpress 
 ibly pained and exceeedingly shocked at the sight of the 
 first pale, half-starved ragged baby, held in the emaciated 
 arms of its wan-faced ragged mother, and in those thin pau 
 per hands I dropped a half eagle, and passed on, wonder 
 ing greatly that such a case of forlorn destitution should 
 have stood at that corner so long, empty handed, ragged and 
 hungry, while velvet and diamonds passed by unmoved ; 
 but as I walked on, I saw ragged mothers and white faced 
 wailing infants at every corner and now I find these sad 
 visions are a part of the daily city programme, which 
 every body expects to see as they pass along. We even 
 think them impudent for standing and shocking our delicate 
 and cultivated ^vision with their unsightly pauperdoin. 
 Only a little kindness would do so much-, I would say to 
 myself, and sigh as I theorized about elegant schemes for 
 ameliorating the condition of the race. If I only could get 
 up a phalanstery where all could have equal right and priv 
 ilege to enjoy life, liberty and happiness. But with a great 
 part of the world, life is half death, liberty half servitude, 
 and the pursuit of happiness only a struggle for to-day's 
 bread and to-morrow's clothes. If some body would, if 
 people would do something, why the world might be set up 
 on its heels and go on right ; but I am not people, I am 
 only one man with more wants of my own than I can 
 gratify, so now I meet with interesting cases all the time 
 but I say to myself there's wrong all around that I can't help. 
 1^11 try and mend the broken legs then they must walk for 
 themselves. I row them over the river of health they 
 must help themselves up the bank though it is steep enough 
 the road of life is rough to all of us. We walk it till our 
 feet'are sore and bleeding. Struggle, struggle, struggle, 
 rich and poor climbing for something. If you stoop to pick
 
 NEPENTHE. 65 
 
 up the weak behind you, one loses one's own footing who'll 
 pick us up. I go home, put on my slippers and don't think 
 about patients but I must confess there's one little patient 
 at the hospital who has unusually excited my sympathies. 
 For three long months she has been an example of patience. 
 If there ever was a waif on the world's wide sea, she is 
 one she has a child's innocent helplessness, and a woman's 
 patient self-control but we must walk faster ; the bells are 
 tolling, and we have half a mile yet to walk we might stop 
 at Dr. Elgood's, but I prefer going on ; I feel more at home 
 in my own pew. I like to sit in the same seat in church. 
 I am so driven round during the week, I like a few nodes 
 in my orbit through which I may pass, and recognize some 
 thing quietly familiar. Last Sabbath morning, that agent 
 from Constantinople refreshed our imaginations with a whole 
 chapter of statistics, relieved by a few bald, bare, dry facts. 
 If I had had his rare opportunity for gathering information, I 
 I think I could have got up something without bearing so 
 much on the dates. If I only preached once a year to a congre 
 gation, I'd try and write one wonderful sermon that wouldn't 
 keep them yawning two hours, and looking at their watches. 
 When the sermon was half through, Mr. John Trap got up 
 and walked out, an exceedingly rude thing for a man to do. 
 In the afternoon we had a sermon about ' those who go down 
 to the sea in ships.' I saw Trap slip a sixpence into the 
 box. That's a pretty close Trap ! and we all had an opportu 
 nity of giving. These precious opportunities are coming pret 
 ty often and we have to put something in the box, it looks so if 
 we don't if I don't go any other Sunday, I am sure to go 
 when the agents preach. Wouldn't it be a good plan, Rich 
 ard, to have an agent for the relief of hard-working doctors 
 and bewildered lawyers ? We might as well have help as 
 the destitute heathen in Farther India. If we give them 
 more light and they still sin, they sin against more light, and 
 their condemnation will be greater. ' That law written in 
 their hearts ' often puzzles me. Are these myriads of peo 
 ple with souls as precious as our own, and having no Bible, 
 are they all hopelessly lost ? We may talk about the utter 
 selfishness of that man who prayed 
 
 " God bless me and my wife, 
 My son John and his wife, 
 Us four and no more. 
 
 Amen.
 
 60 NEPENTHE. 
 
 It is the unuttered prayer of half the world. Do we not all 
 therefore practically pray ? It's a great deal to discharge 
 one's duties as a husband, father, doctor. If I do this well, 
 how can I do more in this age when we begin housekeeping 
 in the style in which distinguished men lived in the zenith 
 of their prosperity fifty years ago. How are we to meet 
 expenses, pay debts, live generously, give bountifully, walk 
 successfully with men, and humbly before (?od. If each 
 man would take care of himself and family, the world would 
 wag on well enough, but we have to help some poor stick or 
 other, all the time, or else we are called selfish, and close, and 
 heartless. As to disinterested benevolence, if there is such a 
 thing, it is a century plant, blooming in the heart of humanity 
 once in a hundred years, /can't find it, and I see human na 
 ture in its every day and natural face. I saw a half starved 
 beggar child, the other morning on a door step, sharing its 
 last crust with another stranger beggar child ; that was the 
 only shadow of a type of it I could find. I've about made 
 up my mind, I've seen so much selfishness, that I shall take 
 good care of myself, and get as healthy, wealthy, and wise 
 as I can." 
 
 " You can't attend church often, doctor," said Mr. Doug 
 lass, " you skillful physicians have few days of rest." 
 
 " Yes, I am often professionally engaged, or professionally 
 tired, and many a Sabbath morning the sofa is tb best 
 church for me, and as for Dr. Smoothers, he is so often 
 perched up on the frozen heights of theological speculation, 
 or soaring off in some transcendental balloon, overlooking 
 or examining some barren field of conjecture, that he sur 
 rounds me with a metaphysical fog, or drags me through 
 a perpetual swamp, as he rings the changes on his infinite 
 series of doctrines. There's no knowing on what wild ocean 
 we'll land if follow him in his thought balloon over the sea 
 of conjecture, and his tone I really dread. I can't see why 
 a man speaking to men from behind a pulpit should talk in 
 a different tone than from behind a chair or table. As 
 somebody who once heard Dr. Smoothers said, there is the 
 same key note at the begining of each sentence, the same 
 monotonous level through the middle, be the middle long or 
 short, the never-failing dactyl and spondee at the end, and so 
 on until seventeenthly. ' A few words more, and I've done/ 
 and off he starts again on the track of monotones for half an
 
 NEPENTHE. 67 
 
 hour longer. He reminds me of one of those little electro 
 magnetic railcars going round and round on the top of. 
 a table, and never getting any where. No accident of 
 feeling, no sense of danger, ever occurs on that track. A- 
 thought must be incarnate, have a shape, form, dress, before 
 we give it a reserved seat in the private box of our heart. I 
 like this pictorial preaching, illustrated by familiar images, 
 planted with flowers, studded with stars, where thoughts 
 marshalled on the mind, costumed and vivid, move before the 
 rolled-up curtain of the soul like a bright panorama. Such 
 sermons take us by the hand and talk with us, and years after 
 they'll come again in some lonely hour, and pass in full 
 review. In the open cage of memory such bright winged 
 thoughts nestle and perch ; at early morn and still twilight 
 they'll come out like musical birds, and hover and warble in 
 the drooping branches of the shaded soul, singing their 
 matin and vesper hymns, chanting their midnight mass for 
 the repose of the unquiet spirit." 
 
 " Yes," said Richard, " long elaborate essays, dull learned 
 disquisitions, dry profound researches (not of human life, 
 but of Hebrew lore,) are all in keeping with those old 
 pictures of ministers in square frames, white cravats, Bible 
 open exactly in front, and exactly in the middle of the Bible, 
 fore-finger raised, so that the observer could see, and know 
 and feel in the top of his bump of reverence, that that is a 
 minister. Modern hurried and worried humanity is not 
 always sitting erect in pews, docilely waiting to be admon 
 ished by the fore-fingers of men in angular framed notions, 
 in immaculate cravats.'' 
 
 " No," said the doctor, " the police walking about the 
 ecclesiastical walls, may do a vast amount of good, these 
 metropolitan soul police in citizen's dress, taking us by the 
 hand and helping us safe across the muddy, crowded thor 
 oughfare of evil. Why should they stand in life's picture- 
 gallery, a series of moveless portraits. In God's great 
 Academy of Design they are living artists, moulding our 
 rough-hewn souls into God's great pattern. Why keep 
 those souls idly rolling over vague conjectures like balls of 
 clay, till we gather not even the moss of veneration or the 
 form of worship. We each of us think in some particular 
 favorite avenue. Into that familiar avenue a spiritual guide 
 may come, walking on before, and not standing at the locked
 
 68 NEPENTHE. 
 
 portals of the soul, ringing gently, and waiting politely 
 to enter at the front door of thought, but stealing through 
 some by-lane or side path, into the soul's cozy sitting room 
 or climbing the winding back stairs of feeling, into the attic 
 of the heart, where are laid away musty bundles of old hopes 
 and old opinions which need to be rummaged and overhauled, 
 well assorted, and laid open for careful inspection and repair 
 ing." 
 
 '' Dr. Smoothers," said Douglass, " airs once a week the 
 nice sets of doctrines in his own head, beating them, and 
 turning them over on the line of his sermon, just as the 
 housekeeper beats and airs her furs, to keep out the moths. 
 These good strong doctrines will last long enough without 
 airing them so often. Of all things deliver me from these 
 doctrinal preachers. Crossing the long bridge of forms, 
 why not ford the stream of feeling, stoop under the gate of 
 sympathy, and steal in at the 'citadel and take by storm of 
 powerful eloquence, ' the sin beleaguered soul.' I don't 
 know why," continued Richard, " religion must be so gloom 
 ily represented. We get the idea that it's a good thing for 
 Sundays, for sick beds, and for the superannuated. If all 
 these Christians are really bound for the port of peace, why 
 don't the light of the shining shore break on their faces ? 
 This solemn cant, serious drawl, sanctimonious look, if spir 
 itual, was never imparted from the bright spirit-land, never 
 borrowed from a heaven of bliss. Last Sabbath we had a 
 sermon from the text, ' Blessed are the merciful, for they 
 shall obtain mercy ' there goes John Trap ; he might 
 preach from the text, ' Blessed are they that take care of 
 themselves, for they shall be taken care of.' ' 
 
 " I must tell you the anecdote of an elderly Scotch 
 woman I read this morning," said the doctor. " The 
 Scotch woman gave her son the newspaper to read aloud. 
 The only reading he had been in the habit of hearing was 
 at the parish kirk. He began to read as he had heard the 
 minister read. The good woman was shocked at the boy's 
 profanity, and, giving him a box on the ear, exclaimed, 
 ' What ! dost thou read the newspaper with the Bible 
 twang !' I know much of this professed religion is mere 
 'Bible twang.' I can't see that Christians live any dif 
 ferent from other people. They are just as anxious about 
 the world, and just as absorbed in its cares. They all
 
 NEPENTHE. 69 
 
 prate about self-denial, but there's hardly one of them 
 knows what it means. They load their persons and houses 
 with luxuries, and if they happen to have a few loose pence 
 left they give them to some beggar to get rid of him. To 
 increase their reputation they head some long subscription 
 list with a respectable sum, and pinch some household char 
 ity a little closer to make up for it, so ministers often 
 smooth over the points in their discourses. If they do 
 lay the sermon out plain and clear, they line and wad it 
 afterwards with the cotton of plausibility. A minister must 
 have clear ideas in his own head before he can make them 
 clear to others. And then they do poetize so exquisitely 
 about self-denial. I don't see any of it. But here we are at 
 the church door, but the hymn has been sung, and the ser 
 mon commenced. I hear a strange voice in the pulpit, but 
 I'm used to being late." 
 
 In a clear, solemn tone they heard, as they entered the 
 church, " Self-denial, self-denial no man enters Heaven 
 without that ; from every land, however remote, there is 
 one straight road to Heaven, the one bridge over which all 
 we emigrants to that better country must pass the safe 
 suspension bridge over the selfish rapids of this tempestuous 
 life is self-denial. Plant yourself on it once and you may 
 hold direct communication with Heaven. The bridge spans 
 the eternal shore. Self-denial is the one line underlying 
 the waves of life, reaching over the plateau of principle, con 
 necting remote friends, aye, and distant enemies. Form 
 this line of life, it may break once through some tempest of 
 passion, some undercurrent of feeling, the spirit's bark may 
 drift off on some selfish tide, the chain may part, but it shall 
 triumph at last, and out pass miles of arguments, and oceans 
 of theories. 
 
 " Cozily you sit in life's easy chair, and bolt and bar and 
 curtain the chamber of your heart lest some mendicant pity 
 creep in, or starving sympathy ask alms. Poor silk-worm 
 soul, crawling on softest medallion, garlanded with ruby 
 and emerald, you're weaving there, shut up so closely, your 
 heart shrouds. The good within you is dying out. You 
 may be good husbands and fathers, models of professional 
 skill and business talent. These are praiseworthy excel 
 lent. But each of these duties is in itself remunerative in 
 money or happiness.
 
 70 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " These give you no pass to the celestial kingdom you 
 shall never plant your foot on the eternal shore, without this 
 self-denial. 
 
 "To be honest, honorable, successful is not all of life. Is 
 not the body more than meat, the soul more than raiment ? 
 
 " Keep not your stinted self-denial, a sickly hot-house 
 plant, under glass in the conservatory of your souls, where 
 you go on sunshiny days to take a look ; or a gold fish in a 
 small globe to move round and round, and never move on. 
 It must live with you inspire you week long and life 
 through. 
 
 " Cultivate self-denial you will not relish it at first, tho 
 taste is not natural. Cultivate it ; it will be a delightful 
 luxury yet the calisthenics of daily self-denial will keep the 
 soul warmer than if wrapt in a thousand luxuries. Folded 
 in the ermine mantle of self-esteem, you may look out and 
 shiver as you think of this cold hard self-denial. So De 
 cember night is cold and cheerless, go forth and brave it, 
 and the bright far off stars, will shine down cheeringly. 
 Aurora may fold around you her glorious lights. Selfish 
 monks cloistered in the convents of your hearts no star 
 light of love, no sunshine of conscience, no smile of God can 
 kindle your spirit's sky roofed over with the sheet-iron of 
 selfishness. Come out under the clear sky of duty open 
 doored to God. Close closeted with self through time's re 
 fracting misty medium, objects look large and bright that 
 are tame and common place after all. Come out and get a 
 glimpse of the upper air where high in the everlasting zenith, 
 truth and duty, shine full orbed and radiant. 
 
 " Let not pride come between you and the humblest duty. 
 Pride, pride, pride, poor mortal that can't go with you to 
 Heaven. 'Tis a heavy armor for the frail spirit to bear, it 
 may drag you down. 
 
 " This poor body you are glorifying, cherishing, magnify 
 ing, beautifying, is only an old tenement house wearing 
 away ; the keepers of the house are trembling, the windows 
 are darkening, the panes broken, the shutters swinging, the 
 wheel is breaking at the cistern you are stuffing the win 
 dows with rags of self-righteousuess they can't keep out 
 the winds of remorse ; you yourself, your lease expired, must 
 soon move out of it. God grant you may move up out of it, 
 into the purer air and more delightful locality of the celes-
 
 NEPENTHE. 71 
 
 tial city, on the heights celestial, near the broad avenue of 
 perfect bliss. 
 
 " In life's frail hammock, on trouble's stormy pillow, over 
 the rough billows of care, rocked by a Father's hand, sing 
 this sweet lullaby to your tired soul 
 
 " ' Within this body pent, 
 
 Afar from thee I roam, 
 And nightly pitch my moving tent, 
 A day's march nearer home.' 
 
 " How the great heart of the city throbs with starving 
 agony. Do something for somebody, by hand, or purse, or 
 prajer the next wave in the tide of life may wash you up 
 wrecked on the shore. Plant yourself like a flower in the 
 heart of poverty, lean your head for sympathy on sor 
 row's stony pillow hard by is some unseen Jacob's lad 
 der where nightly angels troop. 
 
 " You may have wealth, and fame, or noble ancestors. 
 What are rank, position, nobility 1 Are they fetters to bind, 
 barriers to close the full heart's outgushing tide of blessing ? 
 We are all children of one Great Father in Heaven. If we 
 do good, there is no promotion in the celestial army to which 
 we may not aspire we may be kings among peers. There 
 is no musty mortal word exclusive in the archives of Para 
 dise. Once laid on the earth pillow, once passed the last 
 billow, there will be no circles but stars, no laws but love, 
 no haughty airs those airs of upper Palestine. Worship 
 pers of grace, grace in form, manner, surroundings thirs- 
 ters for glory, know you not, there soundeth out in richest 
 melody, this beacon promise, echoing evermore in the ears 
 of grace-lovers and glory-seekers ' The Lord our God will 
 give grace and glory to them that walk uprightly.' 
 
 " You are following the bent of your own wishes, the 
 promptings of strong ambition. ' Hark ! struggling soul, 
 hear you not those strong head winds of avarice and pride 
 that are blowing off the immortal shore ?' 
 
 " Let not your soul sit idly looking out of its windows and 
 waiting for vagabond thoughts, ever strolling by and prating 
 away the hours. 
 
 " The bark of the soul is full of such passengers, crowd 
 ing its cabin, deck, and steerage ; wasting its energies 
 which should be employed in fitting out for life's voyage, 
 with a crew of hardy principles.
 
 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " Let conscience watch at the wheel of life, safely steering 
 the spirit bark along the coast of danger, off the dark shore 
 of error, through rough rocks and sandy bars, and shallow 
 channels of temptation, lest, worn out and wasted, the 
 dismantled soul be stranded lost off the eternal shore in 
 sight of the safe harbor of the port of peace, all hopes on 
 board missing. Once leave the current of right, once dashed 
 against the sharp rocks of temptations you may whirl in the 
 eddies of remorse forever. Spring the leak of one fatal 
 error, down the dark depths the soul will sink, lost ! lost, 
 lost. Then what will it profit a man if he gain the golden 
 freight of this vast world and lose his own soul ?" 
 
 Prof. Henry had an abrupt way of closing, yet it impressed 
 the last thought on the hearer's mind, and left him usually 
 trembling at the door of conscience at that door the sermon 
 closed. 
 
 Said Richard, as he passed on homeward by the doctor's 
 side, " He seems to me like a man who has waded through a. 
 sea of sorrow and reached the shore of peace, and found there 
 his baptism of eloquence. He has a very earnest manner, 
 and most solemn yet winning voice. Ministers talk too often 
 as if ' orthodoxy meant my doxy,' as Dean Swift says. But 
 I do like his doxy I wish from my heart it was my doxy. 
 1 like to hear a man say what he feels and believes, even 
 though I don't agree with him in sentiment." 
 
 The congregation moved on Mrs. Pridefit said, " It was a 
 very nice sermon, but not as pretty as Dr. Smoothers, nor 
 was his prayer as splendid, nor his toilet as exquisite. He 
 didn't look at all stylish, and then he didn't wear a gown, and 
 Dr. Smoothers' gown was so becoming to him ! I don't like 
 him as well as Dr. Smoothers," said she, " he is so abrupt. 
 But I was so glad Mr. Trap was there, it was just the kind of 
 sermon for him. I wonder if the professor didn't have him 
 in his eyes when he wrote it -he is so selfish and miserly. 
 He got it this morning. He hardly ever goes to church, but 
 his wife's brother is there on a visit and fte is a great church 
 goer ; probably he got him out. I don't think the man has 
 ever been confirmed. He always reads the service, though." 
 
 " He's pretty well confirmed, now," said Mr. Pridefit dryly, 
 " and as to services, the only service he cares for is the law 
 yer's liturgy, ' service rendered.' "
 
 NEPENTHE. 73 
 
 " Perhaps his conscience may have been touched," said 
 Mrs. Pridefit. 
 
 " Ther.e's been too much game caught in that Trap ever to 
 be sprung by any force of eloquence. Peace of conscience 
 is a kind of ' satisfaction piece' he cares nothing about.'' N 
 
 If every heart chord that morning touched could have turned 
 into audible melody, what a miserere of penitence, what a 
 diapason of joy would have struggled out and swelled 
 upward on the still air. If every tear that morning shed 
 were impearled, how radiant with pearls the pale brow 
 of the speaker. 
 
 Miss Susan Simpson walked on with a quick, nervous walk 
 she threw off her hat, cloak and victorine, and exclaimed, 
 " That was a real gospel sermon. How much better we'd all 
 be if ministers never talked without saying something, and 
 stopped when they got through. What are we two old 
 maids living for just to take care of ourselves, like two silk 
 worms trying to make each day our home warmer, pleasanter. 
 I think we'd better call it Cocoon place. If we should 
 die to-day people would say, ' Those old maids Simpsons 
 are dead. I wonder who's sorry. Who'll get the property 
 now those old maids are gone V That self-denial bridge 
 why, I've never put my foot on it yet." 
 
 " Well, if you don't get to Heaven, what'll become of Mrs. 
 Pridefit ? She's a member of the church." 
 
 " The church isn't responsible for its members. If you 
 and I get on the other side of the dark river it will be no 
 comfort to find fashionable professors there with us. Mrs. 
 Pridefit is naturally ugly ; she must struggle hard to cross 
 the grain, to be decently good. We should do right just as 
 constantly as if our names were written on church books. 
 She is a very susceptible woman, not exactly a hypocrite, 
 though she really feels solemn in church. I have seen the 
 tears roll down her face when something affecting was said. 
 Then on Monday she'd be blowing up servants, scolding the 
 dress-maker, and putting her whole soul, mind, and strength, 
 in finishing the myriads of tucks in her new silk dress, 
 and bewailing over that neuralgia of hers. She has streaks 
 of good sometimes she'll attend morning prayers for a 
 week, and express great gratitude for the privilege of 
 coming, and then that's the last you'll see of her for a year. 
 She may come to preparatory lecture every body goes to 
 
 4
 
 74 / NEPENTHE. 
 
 that. We have our own life lease and an annual debt of 
 gratitude to answer for. Just three years ago to-day, Mary 
 died. Her last words were ' Susan, live for God.' You used 
 to say the hobby she rode was self-denial she talked about 
 it so often. If it was a hobby, I believe now like a chariot of 
 fire it bore her straight to Heaven she crossed the self-denial 
 bridge. What if I should die ; my fit epitaph would be, ' Here 
 lies one who took the best care of herself, rose early, dressed 
 well, and retired late daily for fifty years, and died in afflu 
 ence.' I am too old to be loved, but I do want to be remem 
 bered here, and remembered when Christ comes to his king- 
 dom. There are no old maids there we shall all be young, 
 immortally young nor lonely nor solitary there ; there will be 
 an innumerable company," and Susan wept, as if the sermon 
 broke up the depths of her long closed heart. She looked 
 at sister Mary's portrait, that sweet, patient face, <and ex 
 claimed, " ['11 walk over every paving stone in this city until 
 I find where Mrs. Pridefit has hidden that poor child. I have 
 dreamed about her often since I felt her little hand clinging 
 to that icy cistern. Mrs. Pridefit says she is out in the country 
 recruiting, but I don't believe a word of it." 
 
 Miss Charity Gouge said in her precise way to Mrs. 
 Edwards, as thev walked along together, " It was the right 
 sermon for the times. She hoped it would raise the standard 
 of piety. Christians hadn't come up to the gospel standard 
 yet. Zion was in a very low state." 
 
 The tall woman with the long nose and hollow eyes 
 moved along behind the crowd of church-goers muttering to 
 herself, " Yes, yes, let him preach. I believe in practice. I 
 would tear him out of the pulpit if I could," she added 
 with suppressed rage. 
 
 John Trap did groan in his sleep that night. Mrs. Trap 
 hoped the sermon might have made some impression. He 
 tossed about restlessly as if his mind was disturbed, but at 
 last he muttered in some exciting dream, " Put him through. 
 Put him through." 
 
 It was a problem that kept her awake many a night how 
 she could bring up John Trap, Jr., now only four years old, 
 to be an honest, just, equitable man more than all, a Chris 
 tian. The little fellow walked in the light of his father's 
 example. He imitated his look, tone, manner, and only that 
 morning came to his mother, saying, " Mother, that Aleck
 
 NEPENTHE. 5 
 
 Stevens is a scamp. He ought to be put through. When 
 I get to be a big man, I'll put him through." 
 
 John Trap sat in his room writing three names he was 
 getting out some new cards. Those three men for shrewd 
 ness, skill, and cunning could not be surpassed in the coun 
 try. Trap was a good office lawyer, Fogg a sage counsellor, 
 and Craft a skillful pleader. Reader, I wish I could intro 
 duce them to you " Mr. John Trap, Mr. Serenus Fogg, and 
 Mr. Savage Craft. Whoever takes their card and gives 
 them his business will have all his affairs put through." 
 
 " I have taken good care of Dr. Wendon long enough," said 
 ihe doctor, as he walked slowly home, his eyes fastened on 
 the ground. " I must do something for some body." 
 
 "I'd like a more aristocratic-looking minister," said Mrs. 
 Elliot, as she passed along. " Dr. Smoothers makes such 
 splendid prayers." 
 
 There was a poor lonely French gentleman in Mrs. 
 Edwards' boarding-house who was trying to learn our lan 
 guage. He went to church and somehow understood much 
 of the pure English of Prof. Henry's sermon. It deeply 
 impressed him, and that night he knelt by his bedside and 
 offered this simple and eloquent prayer : 
 
 " 0, Dieu, donnez moi des paroles non de celles qui flattent 
 les oreilles, et qui font louer les discours, mais de celles qui 
 penetrent les coeurs, et qui captivent 1'entendment." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DR. WENDON'S SELF DENIAL. 
 
 " Place at thy lattice a flower, and ne'er 
 Will it let an evil thought enter there ; 
 Bear on thy bosom a posy, and lo, 
 Wherever thou goest will angels go." 
 
 RUCKERT. 
 
 " Two miles would cover all wherein I have a part, 
 But all the great blue heaven could never fill my heart." 
 
 VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 " WALTER, was clear carried away with that sermon," sol 
 iloquized Mrs. Wendon, on Monday morning as she sat by 
 her window grouping some flowers for a vase on a little
 
 76 ' NEPENTHE. 
 
 table before her. " When Dr. Smoothers preaches, Wal 
 ter generally takes a good nap he never knows much 
 about the sermon ; but he repeated almost the whole of this 
 after he came home. The text was nothing uncommon 
 Dr. Smoothers preached from the very same text about a 
 year ago ; but he made a very elaborate thing of it ; he is 
 the most elegant sentence-maker I ever heard. I never 
 think of the ideas when I hear him ; I only watch the state 
 ly march of words, as they move along grander and higher, 
 like an army of golden clouds. He'd be a very good man 
 if he were converted, for it don't seem to me he was ever 
 converted, though I wouldn't like to speak such a thing out. 
 Mrs, Pridefit says his preaching is very elevating, but it 
 seems to me if a lawyer in court should wander so from the 
 evidence, or so desert his client's cause, the judge would 
 stop him and tell him that had nothing to do with the case. 
 He couldn't convince an intelligent jury by such a style of 
 speaking. I imagine, though I never was in court but once 
 in my life, that if a minister would address his congrega 
 tion as if they were all jurors waiting to decide from his 
 pleading, whether they were guilty sinners or not, he would 
 be more successful. I wonder if half the clergymen try as 
 hard to win a .soul to Christ, as a cunning, clever lawyer 
 does to win his case. I heard a celebrated lawyer once 
 talk to a jury, and I verily thought he could make them 
 believe, if he chose, that a cat had six feet, and he'd make 
 them almost see the cat, and hear it purr. It is horrible 
 for a man talking to dying men to spend an hour in wreath 
 ing words with graceful flowers, and decking thoughts with 
 tinsel stars. I never could go to Dr. Smoothers for advice 
 or prayers ; I'd as soon go to a star to warm myself but 
 there comes Walter I hope he has not brought any body 
 home to dine, for Bridget has one of her nervous attacks, 
 and little dinner we'll have to-day of her getting and I 
 have cut my finger so badly, cutting that tough baker's 
 bread, holding it up to my waist. I can do nothing with it 
 every time I try to use it the wound opens again." 
 
 Mrs. Wendon left the window to put some more geranium 
 in her bouquet. The doctor stole quietly in by the back 
 door, went softly into the parlor, and then came up stairs. 
 
 " Minnie," said he, rubbing his hands together, while his 
 eyes sparkled rather mischievously, " I've got a present for
 
 NEPENTHE. 77 
 
 you I laid it on the sofa in the parlor it must be carefully 
 handled, as it is delicately made, and I think very pretty. 
 I thought it would amuse you sometimes when I am gone, 
 and you are all alone. I hope you can keep it always, no 
 matter what the fashion is. 1 think the style will always he 
 good, it is one of those things that improve as you keep it- 
 indeed, I think I shall always like it." 
 
 " 'Tis a new piano," thought Mrs. Wendon, rising, and 
 eagerly going towards the door. " Walter is always getting 
 me some pleasant surprise. I'm sure, he has such exquis 
 ite taste, I'll like whatever he gets." 
 
 She went down stairs, and paused a moment before open 
 ing the door, wondering what it could be ; and then with the 
 eager impetuosity of a child, pushed the door open, and 
 there were a pair of beautiful, bright young eyes gazing tim 
 idly up into her face, and a graceful young form, startled as 
 a timid fawn when she met Mrs. Wendon's gaze while a 
 blush of bright crimson suffused the pale cheek. 
 
 Mrs. Weudon looked at the lovely apparition, and smiled 
 as she went up to the sofa, and sat down by her side. It 
 was a cold October day she removed the shawl from the 
 shoulders of the young girl, and taking her hand, drew her 
 to the register. Her bands were cold, and her eyes had a 
 weary look, as if the child had just recovered from a long 
 illness. 
 
 Having seated her in a low rocking-chair by the register, 
 she asked no questions to embarrass the young stranger, only, 
 " What is your name, child ?" 
 
 " Nepenthe," said the girl, in a low voice, " Nepenthe 
 Stuart." 
 
 " Were you named for any one." 
 
 " I don't know," said the child, " it was the name my mo 
 ther gave me." 
 
 " Have you no mother, my dear ?" said Mrs. Wendon, 
 tenderly. 
 
 " No," said she, bursting into tears. The new face, the 
 new place, the kind words, the excitement of leaving the 
 hospital while still an invalid, were too much, and any allu 
 sion to her mother always overcame her. 
 
 "I will be your mother, child," said Mrs. Wendon, throw 
 ing her arms around her. " You shall be my dear child 
 you shall be mine as long*as I live," and she kissed the pale
 
 78 NEPENTHE. 
 
 forehead, the quivering lips, and drawing back the curls 
 from her face, wiped away the tears. 
 
 Just then the doctor peeped in at the door and called 
 out 
 
 " Minnie, are we to have any dinner to-day ? the cook 
 has gone aloft, and the brandy-bottle is empty." 
 
 We leave Mrs. Wendon to burn her fingers broiling the 
 steak, and toast her face browning the bread, and we'll talk 
 a little about the doctor. 
 
 There was a pleased benevolent look in the doctor's face 
 as he stood by Nepenthe's bedside that morning at the hos 
 pital with his new purpose radiant in his eyes. But the 
 nurse, as he left the door, whispered something in his ear 
 which did not change his purpose, but made its accomplish 
 ment a far greater act of self-denial. The whisper haunted 
 him, as with a heavy heart, he bore the lonely Nepenthe to 
 his home, and for long months wherever her smile rested, 
 there was the shadow of this dark whisper. The doctor 
 went back to the hospital to ask one more question of the 
 nurse, but she had suddenly disappeared. He returned 
 disappointed, and sat quietly thinking, and then he suddenly 
 exclaimed 
 
 " Minnie, we must get Nepenthe well first, before we set 
 her about any thing ; till then, she may be my page and 
 your cup bearer. Homeless young girls in story, books all 
 get to be governesses. What else can an educated poor 
 woman do ? I saw once a very sharp review on a new work, 
 and the point of the critic's sarcasm was aimed at the fact 
 that the heroine was a school-teacher, but this resort to 
 teaching is no more common in books than in real life. 
 1 Wanted a situation,' is written on many a fair young face. 
 I'm glad there is a world where people can live, and 
 breathe, and move, without struggling for a situation." 
 
 While the doctor and his wife were talking that even 
 ing, Nepenthe had fallen asleep. Haunted so long by a 
 living, watching ghost, her rest had been troubled, her wak 
 ing anxious, the sheet was drawn tightly over her face, 
 "Mother, mother," she called out wildly, as if in a night 
 mare sleep. 
 
 " Poor child ! Perhaps her mother was the only friend 
 she ever had," said Mrs. Wendon, tenderly, drawing away 
 the sheet, and gently moving her head.
 
 NEPENTHE. 79 
 
 " Too true," thought the doctor, though he said nothing, 
 for that whisper came in his mind, and that troubled look in 
 his face. 
 
 " How proud and fond her mother would be of her," said 
 Mrs. Wendou, " and how pretty she looks in that new blue 
 merino. I have bought her a blue silk and a blue de laine, 
 and the inside trimmings and strings of her bonnet are blue. 
 I am glad blue is so becoming to her, it is a color of which 
 I never get tired. The loveliest of human faces, the most 
 graceful of human forms, look more lovely and charming in 
 blue. It is a color that will never be out of style. Magen 
 ta, Solferino and cerise, visible black and invisible green, 
 immaculate white and imperial purple will rival it in vain 
 Each coming spring, as long as blue violets open their eyes, 
 or blue forget-me-nots close their starry petals, the fairest 
 blonde will choose its etherial folds, and the sparkling 
 brunette will adopt its deeper hues. Tn every festive hour, 
 some first stars of fashion will be adorn^ with blue. The 
 King of Kings has adopted it for His full-dress evening 
 color ; every magnificent gathering of stars, every resplen 
 dent reception of courtiers around His throne, are robed in 
 radiant blue. The illustrious Creator, and magnificent Pa 
 tron of Art, Author and Artist, has made it the color laure 
 ate. His golden psalm of night, His ^rand proem of crea 
 tion, His illuminated manuscript, His brilliant vignette, 
 His Bible of the Ages, is electrotyped in blue, bound in ce 
 lestial ultramarine. I suppose it is true, because every 
 body quotes it so often, that beauty unadorned is adorned 
 the most, but I think beautiful hair looks more beautiful, 
 smooth and glossy when becomingly arranged, complexion 
 and eyes grow fairer and brighter, when the person is taste 
 fully dressed. The best artist hangs his picture in a good 
 light, with a handsome frame, and near some object to height 
 en its tone or soften its coloring. The charm of many agreea 
 ble forms and faces is in the affluence and elegance in which 
 they are set like gems put them in a log house, in a plain 
 coarse dress, the beauty might be gone. Surrounding happy 
 and fortunate circumstances give a strange charm to many 
 see them elsewhere, in ordinary and uncongenial circumstan 
 ces, the illusion is gone. Every good-looking person well 
 dressed, is at times pretty. If people would only adopt the 
 fashion that becomes them, without trying to shine and appear
 
 80 NEPENTHE. 
 
 in every extreme and new style, how much better they 
 might look." 
 
 " Nepenthe doesn't seem like a jewel in a new setting," 
 said the doctor, when she had been with them several 
 months. " She acts as if accustomed to all the refinements 
 of life." 
 
 " I like to watch her," said Mrs. Wendon ; " she stands 
 and looks at pictures as if entranced, she listens so absorbed 
 if I play any pathetic air, and she arranges flowers with ex 
 quisite taste. The other day I saw her with a bunch of 
 roses in her hands, crying as if her heart would break. I 
 did not disturb her. She came in an hour afterwards per 
 fectly composed and that picture of the dying mother in 
 the library, I had to put away, she seemed to be so fascin 
 ated with it, and was so agitated as she gazed at it. 
 There*s another thing that seemed strange to me : when I 
 arranged Nepenthe's room, I put that little Quaker pin 
 cushion on her x *> *eau. I thought it would please the 
 child's fancy. There were pins up and down the skirt like 
 buttons. She had it in her hands once when I went in the 
 room, and was crying. She put the cushion down as I came 
 in, and then she asked me if I would let her lay it away in 
 her drawer. ' Why,' said I, ' not let it be on the bureau, 
 and use the pins who--, you want them ? It is only a pin 
 cushion.' ' I would rather let them be as they are,' said 
 she, quietly. I wondered at this strange wish of the child, 
 and since then I found the cushion laid carefully away in 
 her drawer ; not a pin was touched." 
 
 " She has very strong feelings," said the doctor, " and 
 some early associations may still be very fresh in her 
 mind " 
 
 "Walter," said Mrs. Wendon, laying her hand on the 
 doctor's arm, " I think the child may prove an angel to us 
 both. She has almost made you perfection in my eyes, and 
 I have had many feelings since she came I never had 
 before. If I disliked at first the idea of you brinjring home 
 
 / O tJ 
 
 a hospital patient about whom we knew nothing, she has 
 cured me long ago of all these feelings. I believe when we 
 do any thing for pity's sake, joy is brighter, sorrow lighter, 
 duty clearer, and all through life's mingled tide, is an un 
 dercurrent of melody." 
 
 " Minnie," said the doctor, suddenly, after writing the
 
 NEPENTHE. 81 
 
 name in a new Bible he had been getting for Nepenthe, 
 " don't you think Nepenthe rather a long, positive name 
 for a child ? Can't we make some contraction of the 
 word ?" 
 
 " Did you hear Levi Longman ask me when we were in 
 the country," said Mrs. Wendon, " why you call me Minnie ? 
 ' Why,' said I, ' Mr. Longman, don't you think it a pretty 
 name ?' ' I never like contractions,' said he. ' I was al 
 ways thankful I had a name that could not be trifled 
 with.' " 
 
 " Nobody would think of contracting him or his name 
 either," said the doctor, with a curious twinkle in his eye, 
 " he would keep stiff and starched, in the folds nature gave 
 him ; but then there isn't much nature about him he is one 
 of those human petrifactions washed up on the shore of 
 creation and furnished with the fossil remains of some 
 antediluvian heart. No matter how warm the day is he 
 cools me when he looks at me. I really believe, as Dr. 
 Holmes says, he would reprove his kitten, if he found her 
 playing with her tail, for useless experiments and idling time, 
 and for undue lightness of manner. I would like to look into 
 his school ; his scholars must have their mouths fixed for 
 saying ' prisms and prunes ' all day." 
 
 " Then those children in the family where we boarded all 
 had such long names," said Mrs. Wendon. " James Richard 
 Henry, etc., and no matter how young the youngster was, 
 the whole of his long name was distinctly uttered every 
 time he was addressed." 
 
 " I would nofgive my child an ugly name if all my ances 
 tors way back to Adam had them," said the doctor. " In 
 my grandfather's family there were three brothers Jonah 
 Jonathan, Abiathar Benajah and Nehemiah Nicodemus. I 
 wonder why my sister Mary wasn't called Mehitabel Jerusa 
 lem. The name is the first association we connect with an un 
 known individual. Think of an artist getting along well under 
 the name of Job Smith. People are so fastidious about names 
 that musical characters go off to Italy and come back celebri 
 ties with some new suffix to old names oi' an entire new 
 cognomen. Had Jenny Lind been Peggy Snooks, we would 
 not have liked her quite as well. Think of Peggy Snooks 
 Polkas, Peggy Snooks bonnets. The name never would have 
 been the rage. You may say fudge ! Minnie, but you must 
 
 4*
 
 82 NEPENTHE. 
 
 acknowledge it to be true. All the Carolines are Carries 
 now Janes Jennies, and Minervas Minnies," he added 
 laughing. " But see that child look out of the window, she 
 is arranging a most beautiful boquet.'' 
 
 " Doctor ! John says Mrs. Cherrytree has broken her 
 limb on the railroad," said Margaret, coming up the base 
 ment stairs as Dr. Wendon stood in the hall putting on his 
 overcoat. 
 
 John Trap has heard of Mrs. Cherrytree's misfortunes, 
 and has gone around to get Cherrytree to sue the company 
 for damages, for six thousand dollars. 
 
 "Mrs. Cherrytree has a fortune in her own right, so she will 
 probably recover heavy damages," thought the doctor. " If 
 she were a poor washerwoman two hundred dollars would 
 be enough. Trap will get a large fee, and so he will get a 
 big verdict. He'll talk to the ' intelligent jury' until he 
 makes them believe anything. He is as cunning as a fox." 
 
 As the doctor drove hastily around the corner, he saw 
 John Trap and the hollow-eyed, long-nosed nurse of the 
 hospital crossing a street together. They seemed to be in 
 earnest conversation, and she handed Mr. Trap just as they 
 passsed out of the doctor's sight, a small roll of bills. She was 
 looking really quite angry, and almost cross. They seemed 
 on very familiar terms. " I kept back the letters," said the 
 woman in a low tone, " and so the property could not be 
 redeemed." 
 
 " The Stuart estate is worth a fortune now," thought Trap, 
 though he said nothing, but looked all at once pleased and 
 satisfied with his shrewdness and success. "Mrs. Elliott shall 
 pay me two thousand for my services for her."
 
 NEPENTHE. 83 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR. 
 
 " While powers unjust and guilt prevail, 
 Stone 1 would be, and sleep I hail. 
 To see or feel would each be woe ; 
 Oh ! wake me not, and whisper low." 
 
 MICHAEL A.XGELO. 
 
 NEPENTHE had been at Mrs. Wendon's about a year when 
 Mrs. Wendon's cook was ill quite ill. It was the recur 
 rence of some constitutional malady. She asked leave of 
 absence a week meanwhile, one as competent as herself 
 should supply her place. 
 
 The request was granted the new cook was installed. 
 Nepenthe went down one day to get something in the 
 kitchen it was only the day after the new cook came. She 
 was tall and thin, with brown false hair parted low over her 
 forehead. She wore a closely fitting cap with a plain 
 border. She looked very cross at Nepenthe, and muttered 
 something as she stole back quietly up stairs, as if escaping 
 the presence of a disagreeable object. 
 
 The next evening, Mrs. Wendon had a severe headache. 
 Nepenthe remembered having seen the camphor in the 
 cook's room on the table. It was about nine o'clock; the 
 cook had retired early. Nepenthe walked softly up into 
 the room, her cap was hung on a nail at the foot of the bed, 
 on the table was the patch of brown hair, and on the bed 
 lay the cook, fast asleep. A lock of heavy black hair bad 
 escaped through her nightcap, and hung in a half curl over 
 her face. The hair was long, fine, black and glossy. The 
 forehead was high and white. 
 
 " Why," thought Nepenthe, " does she wear that ugly 
 patch of faded brown hair, when her own is so full and black 
 and her forehead so white and high ?" 
 
 She walked softly to the table, took the camphor, and 
 Btole out, shuddering as if she had seen a ghost. MM.
 
 84 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Sharp, as the cook called herself, was taciturn and pecu 
 liar, yet respectful to the do'ctor and his wife. 
 
 One day Mrs. Wendon was ill. Nepenthe wished with 
 her own hands to make some oat-meal gruel. Mrs. Sharp 
 turned as she saw her standing hy the range stirring the 
 meal, and looked at her witb a fierce look, saying something 
 in an undertone ahout her not being mistress of the house 
 she worked in a kitchen once. 
 
 Nepenthe was timid, and was really afraid of this harsh 
 woman, who seemed to have taken a strange dislike to her. 
 She hreathed more freely as she went up stairs again, glad 
 to escape from the region where the new cook reigned. 
 
 She said nothing to the doctor about the cook's strange 
 manner he might be angry and scold and send the woman 
 away, she might seek some revenge, she evidently had a 
 great dislike to her it was best not to trouble the doctor 
 with these little annoyances, it would end soon, when the 
 old cook came back. Nepenthe, though young, acted with 
 remarkable prudence. She had learned patience and con 
 sideration at her mother's sick bed. That mother's patient 
 endurance of suffering had made an indelible impression 
 upon her, and given a cast and tone to the whole of her fu 
 ture life. 
 
 As in every house, there are days when everything seems 
 to go wrong the bread will burn, the milk sour, the fire go 
 out, or the cake be heavy so at Mrs. Wendon's things 
 went wrong the whole week, as if an evil genius presided 
 over the establishment. 
 
 As the doctor drew up his face when he tasted the 
 muddy coffee one morning, " It takes a week for a new girl 
 to get used to a strange house," said Mrs. Wendon, apolo 
 getically, " and my not having been about has made it 
 harder for her," but yet that night she wrote a letter to a 
 friend of hers, a young housekeeper like herself, and pathet- 
 icalty described her troubles. We make this extract from 
 the letter, though she will hardly justify us in publishing 
 one of her letters : 
 
 " I left the care of the lower regions yesterday to bells 
 and speaking tubes, till a peculiar odor ascending into the 
 upper regions, prompted my speedy descent about nooti. I 
 found my new tea-kettle high and dry on the red hot range, 
 the potatoes roasting in the bottom of the pot, whence
 
 NEPENTHE. 85 
 
 issued clouds of angry gas, hissing and sissing. Bridget 
 was in the yard talking with Bridget next door. My new 
 keeler, for which I paid so many second hand clothes last 
 week, had been hastily washed and put on the range to dry 
 clean. Bridget says she ' always generally ' fills the kettle 
 full of water, and as for the keeler, she only just put it 
 there. One of my new goblets lay on the table in sundry 
 fragments that, she said, had been broken ' this long time ' 
 though I am quite sure it was on the breakfast table in a 
 good state of preservation. The elegant glass pitcher 
 given me by mother when I was first married had been left 
 out on the stone steps for the milk- man to fill. When filled, 
 some wandering tabby in taking a drink had upset it, and 
 the handle was broken. In the centre of the bottom of the 
 keeler was a suspicious-looking dark spot, which will 
 probably soon need a tuft of rags to fill an incipient perfora 
 tion, and the next week she'll be coming and saying with a 
 bland smile, ' If you plase, ma'am, will you be so good as to 
 get a new keeler, for it lakes. Sure it was very poor tin ; 
 folks says them old clothes women allays generally gives 
 poor tin, ma'am, and we want a new tub, too.' Sure enough, 
 the tub had split its sides for want of hoops, and lost its 
 foundation for want of water. I can't make Bridget under 
 stand that a tub is an aquatic animal, and must have water. 
 The tub lies in the cellar, its different sides hopelessly sev 
 ered, for two of them had been burned that morning for 
 kindling ' it was so convanient ' now we have the tubs 
 set, I suppose we won't have that trouble. The clothes are 
 all washed and ironed, but not thoroughly aired, and she 
 has put them on the beds damp. Nepenthe has taken a 
 violent cold, which resulted in a violent attack of influ 
 enza." 
 
 We take this little account from something she wrote her 
 self long afterwards. Says Nepenthe : " I lay wrapped in a 
 pile of bed clothes one night, as I thought, fast asleep. It 
 was about midnight when I was certain my door opened, 
 and some one walked softly in, and yet I thought I was 
 dreaming. Nearer she came to the bed there was a bowl 
 of flax-seed tea on a little table by the bed, and lemons cut 
 up in it. I heard the rustling of a paper, as if the tea was 
 slightly stirred, and yet I dared not open my eyes. Spell 
 fcound I lay, almost afraid to breathe. I thought I was in a
 
 86 NEPENTHE. 
 
 horrid nightmare. I could neither scream nor stir. I knew 
 I heard the click of a spoon in the bowl of tea. I moved as 
 1 felt a handkerchief over my face and some strong odor al 
 most choking me. A dog barked under my window I 
 never heard a dog near the house at night before. I start 
 ed, and I know some one stole hurriedly out. It was a 
 cloudy night, but the moon looked out suddenly from the 
 clouds and shone full through the open shutter on my bed. 
 I could just see through the crack of the open door a kind 
 of dark shadow moving along through the hall. The shadow 
 was taller than Mrs. Wendon. It was not a man I have a 
 sure feeling it was not. The clock in the hall struck the 
 hour of twelve. It had never been wound up to strike 
 since I came to Dr. Wendon's. I had never heard it strike 
 before. I know not how it happened to strike that night. 
 By. some strange phenomenon of dreams, the bark of the 
 dog may have awaked me and caused the dream. I have 
 since thought it might have been an optical illusion, but yet 
 I can still hear, when I lie awake at night and think of it, 
 the rustling of that paper the click of that spoon. 
 
 " I have a vague remembrance as if the shadow had the 
 cook's long black hair. When I think of ghosts I think of 
 her. She might have come in to see how I was sleeping, to 
 taste of the tea, to sweeten it, to see if I were really ill but 
 ic would be very strange and unusual for her to show any 
 interest in me. 1 threw away the tea the next morning. 
 The cook left the next day did she not like my awaking or 
 did she not know it ] When, and why, and wherefore, 
 was that mysterious visitant ? Since that night, I sleep 
 with my door locked, and I always shiver when I hear a dog 
 bark at midnight. It was not a dream I am sure it was 
 not for the next morning there was a little piece of white 
 paper, which had been folded like a paper for powder, by 
 the bowl on the table. There was nothing in it. I threw it 
 into the fire. This dream, vision, apparition whatever it 
 was I never told. We have impressions, foolish yet fixed 
 we may be in false or real danger, but the wisest and 
 strongest have often a little superstition. Then nature has a 
 dread of the supernatural, and I would walk miles to get out 
 of the way of that cook, never to see her more. I would 
 rather such an eye as hers would never rest on my face. I 
 Loked out of my bed-room through the half-closed shutters
 
 NEPENTHE. 87 
 
 the next morning as I saw her walking off rapidly, and I felt 
 really glad that 1 should see her no more." 
 
 For weeks while Nepenthe slept in fchat room, night after 
 night in succession she was visited by this same figure 
 walking through the room at midnight. 
 
 Some would ascribe this to supernatural causes, or to the 
 activity of the imagination. A scientific physician has said 
 this kind of spectral illusion is always the renewal of actual 
 impressions made on the sensorium. It is, he says, a pecu 
 liar disease of the internal optical apparatus, the effect of 
 which is to produce a repetition or an imitation of former 
 impressions. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 DR. WENDON'S DREAM. 
 
 " One of those passing, rainbow dreams ; 
 Half light, half shade, which Fancy's beams 
 Paint on the fleeting mists that roll. 
 In trance or slumber round the soul." 
 
 " We can dream more in a minute than we can act in a day " 
 
 RANT. 
 
 " IT is foolish to talk of dreams," said Dr. Wendon, one 
 morning, when Nepenthe had been with them some time, 
 " but I had a dream last night, and as I dreamed it the 
 night before, too, it made so vivid an impresssion I could 
 hardly convince myself when I first awoke that it was noth 
 ing but a dream. It was as if I had seen a panoramic 
 painting unrolled before me. I thought I sat on a lonely 
 rock by the ocean, and above me were radiant clouds. It 
 seemed early in the morning before sunrise. Suddenly 
 the clouds over my head parted, and a glorious form with 
 shining wings descended, approached me, and gave me a 
 half-open bud with snowy petals edged with ruby. As ho 
 handed me the bud, a delicious fragrance perfumed the air 
 about me. ' Take this,' said the angel, ' watch it carefully 
 till it blooms : years shall pass, it will be planted in 
 another's garden, when rough winds will blow upon it, but 
 it will become more beautiful and fragrant than ever.' I 
 turned suddenly, and standing almost close to me by the
 
 88 NEPENTHE. 
 
 rock was a form, all black not black like a negro, but black 
 as charcoal. He had in his hand, a huge ball of fire ; he 
 looked so ugly I thought he must be the devil. I looked 
 down, and I could see one cloven foot. He reached forth 
 to take the flower from my hand. I shivered with fright, 
 and tried to utter the name of Christ. I thought if I could 
 only utter the name of Christ I could keep my flower, but 
 some night-mare spell seemed on me. Suddenly the whole 
 sky was black. I could see nothing. I could hear the 
 waves dashing against the rock, and a great storm coming 
 on. It seemed dark for a long, long time ; my flower was 
 gone. Then the scene changed. I was in Italy there 
 were groves, and fountains, and vines, and such a clear sap 
 phire sky ; I sat by a fountain ; I could feel the cool winds 
 on my face. I looked up, the angel was by my side again : 
 ' The flower you reared is fresh and beautiful,' said he, 
 1 and some one will pay a great price for it.' Again the 
 scene changed. I was in my own land once more ; L walked 
 by an artist's studio ; I looked up at the window and there 
 was my flower in a golden vase, more beautiful than 
 ever. 
 
 " The dream is no sphinx, no poetic myth, no mystery or 
 riddle I cannot solve. Some little Daniel walking about 
 my heart tells my kingly reason that the dream and inter 
 pretation are one. I will not waste my time or puzzle my 
 brains with settling the question whether coming events ever 
 do cast their shadows before them on the shore of dream 
 land ; whether real deeds and words are ever thus fore 
 shadowed. I did have the dream ; but it is the first dream I 
 ever had that I repeated to any one, and it made a vivid im 
 pression. My dream seemed to think, and feel, and imag 
 ine, and reason all at once. It is photographed on my soul, 
 and who shall dare to say that the picture may not be repro 
 duced hereafter on life's unfolding canvass. Dreams are 
 only the chaos of our thoughts, but out of the world's first 
 chaos came living light, and solid land. Out of the ark of 
 sleep, dreams may glide over the future, and, like the dove, 
 bring back olive-leaf tokens of subsiding billows and cleared 
 up skies, bidding the heart safely go forth on life's rainbow 
 spanned pilgrimage. 
 
 " Nepenthe is my flower, and who knows some one yet 
 may pay a great price for her, if now she is carefully culti-
 
 NEPENTHE. S9 
 
 vated and kindly watched. How I would like to educate 
 her myself, but I've no time in my absorbing profession. 
 She has read some history and poetry, writes well, has a 
 sweet voice, gentle manners and warm heart. But she must 
 have a systematic and thorough instruction in some school. 
 I believe with Jean Paul Ritcher, ' L'Education doit mettre, 
 au jour F ideal de F indtndu.' There is a circular Mr. 
 Brown handed me last evening. He says it is a fine school. 
 I'll read a little to give you some idea of it. 
 
 " ' The admirable location of the Institute, magnitude, 
 adaptation and beauty of the edifice, the arrangements which 
 have been made for thorough systems of instruction, &c.' " 
 the doctor skips over a little and reads on " ' Its large 
 patronage, ample means enable the trustees to avail them 
 selves of all the educational improvements of the day, and it 
 is believed that this Institute can furnish facilities for a 
 thorough female education, at least, equal to any in the city.' 
 Here is a long string," said the doctor, " about ' resources, 
 quietness, beauty, and healthfulness.' I in&ist upon it, 
 Nepenthe mustn't learn more than six histories at once. 
 Miss Kate Howard came home from school the other day 
 with American History, Natural History, Modern History, 
 History of Literature, History of England, History of 
 France, and all these she was actually studying. I want 
 Nepenthe to spell well ; as for me, I have no eye for spell 
 ing. I could read Latin long before I could spell correctly. 
 I never can remember whether there is a double p in 
 opportunity, a double I in immortality, or how many s's there 
 are in possession. I can't think whether the e or i comes 
 first in piece or niece, and just as I get a few words right 
 side up with care in my head, out comes Mr. Webster with 
 a new dictionary, bobbing off venerable consonants and 
 shortening ancient syllables sacred in the memory of the 
 oldest inhabitant's spelling-books from time immemorial. 
 That word theatre, with its illustrious Latin and Greek 
 origin, I am told is descended from the theatrum family on one 
 side, and the theatron family on the other, and yet it is 
 changed now to theater, so that it is almost impossible to 
 trace its ancient descent, or find its old coat of arms. If I 
 belonged to the theatre family I should think it a disgrace. 
 Among the old Greeks and Romans it is said that the 
 theatre family was thought a great deal of, but now even
 
 90 NEPENTHE. 
 
 a venerable Greek wouldn't recognize the name. I have a 
 scientific friend, who was educated at Oxford he has the 
 noblest of hearts, and wisest of heads he is quite indignant 
 about this changing illustrious names. Besides, an r looks 
 more elegant and classic, before an e than after one. I don't 
 believe in taking a word out of its patrician classic attic, and 
 putting it under cover of modern dictionary, with such a new 
 plebeian face you wouldn't know it. If anything is entitled 
 to unchanging respect it is a word that has lived in the best 
 families of words for years. There are so many of these 
 old fossilized words dug up and new-fangled over that my 
 bad spelling is becoming a chronic difficulty ; it is chronic 
 and constitutional. I call it spellingetis ; no pathy or 
 catholicon can cure it. To look in the dictionary is the 
 only polychrest I know of. When I write anything important 
 I peep into that, but it is a great trouble always to have a 
 dictionary by your side. 
 
 " But, Minnie, suppose we send Nepenthe to Madame 
 Largadoo's, she is all the rage ; she will teach, so the maga 
 zine states, ethnology, embroidery, philosophy, natural and 
 moral, geology, anthropology, scripture exegesis, music, 
 vocal and instrumental, the languages, French, Italian, 
 German, Spanish, dancing and Christian evidences ; all for 
 four hundred dollars a year, invariably in advance ; extras 
 not included. Wouldn't Nepenthe make a Largadooviau 
 paragon ? A young friend of mine lately engaged as a 
 governess in an illiterate family, and the anxious mother 
 told her at first she wanted her to teach the children every 
 kind of manners. I wonder if Madame Largadoo couldn't 
 teach every kind of manners. The rule for her school, as a 
 French author says, is, ' Be handsome, be polite, people see 
 you, be gentle, submissive, cure no evils, conceal them, peo 
 ple hear you, change not, only disguise.' We have profes 
 sors to study a flea, to classify a gnat, to distinguish a cat 
 from a rose tree ; but where is the sublime and hidden 
 being ? where are the moral sense, reason, conscience de 
 veloped ? Such a school as Madame Largadoo's makes all 
 alike, knocks off all the salient points of character till there 
 is not a nuance of character, not a finesse of feeling left. 
 Madame Largadoo thinks it a greater sin to eat a pie with a 
 knife, than to tell a lie. There is not a Largoduoviau grad-
 
 NEPENTHE. 91 
 
 uate any where, that would dare to touch a knife to her pie 
 on any account, not even to manage a countrywoman's tough 
 buttermilk crust. The girls all write their letters in Largo- 
 doovian hand ; superscription, contents, adieus, au revoirs, 
 all just alike. You can tell a Largodoovian epistle any 
 where. The scholars come out at sixteen with assur 
 ance enough to stare out of countenance half a dozen gentle 
 men, as they flirt their fans, ogle and serpentine through the 
 world. 
 
 " But Nepenthe must be well educated you remember, 
 Minnie, how the chariots of the gods are represented in 
 mythology as drawn by peacocks. To condemn Nepenthe 
 to a life of drudgery, would be like harnessing a bird of 
 Paradise to some Liliputian chariot, to draw sand or earth 
 around the same barren circle for years. Nepenthe is a 
 flower in the casement of our hearts she has shone and 
 sunned there for months. I mean that no barren rock of 
 circumstance, no gnarled stump of duty shall bend her out 
 of her native course, and keep her thoughts trailing on the 
 ground. There are everywhere half-starved minds, living on 
 stray drops of kindness, and occasional dews of knowledge, 
 struggling up through all the strata of difficulties, and blos 
 soming at last in beautiful perfection. Yet they sometimes 
 lament bitterly through life the want of early culture 
 greater still they might have been had they had early cor 
 rect training. We :ill have some defect in education, or 
 character, we lean ever to some ruling fault or error, like 
 the leaning tower on the banks of the Arno it is a marvel 
 we stand so long, so erect while we incline so far from the 
 true centre of spiritual gravity. There's not a being of 
 whom somebody doesn't say, ' Well, she has her peculiari 
 ties.' 
 
 " Did you get those violets I ordered for Nepenthe ? 
 She seems so fond of flowers. The violet is my favorite 
 flower. In my grandmother's garden I never heard of pan- 
 sies, but there were plenty of violets. I could pick all day 
 and still find an inexhaustible supply ; they grew lovingly 
 together, like country hearts ; not in circumscribed patches 
 of solitary rows, as in city gardens, planted at conventional 
 distances, with only three or four flowers in a patch. 
 They might well be called ' touch-me-nots.' ' Hithertos,' I 
 call them. They can never creep out of their green par-
 
 92 NEPENTHE. 
 
 qucttes with box all around. If anything ought to be left to 
 its own sweet impulses, it is a violet. We can't change 
 the faces of the flowers, the patterns of their velvet crowns, 
 or the shape of their purple robes ; they will keep the 
 primitive style in which God fashioned them, only wearing 
 sometimes, when highly cultivated, a more double skirt, or 
 a deeper fringe, or a rosier blush. We can't alter their 
 faces, so we change their names. We might as well call a 
 violet ' Mary-meek-eyes,' with its downcast head and up 
 turned face as to give one that mocking name ' Johnny- 
 jumper.' I sent home three roots of tropiola, too, it is much 
 thought of in the modern conservatories, with its velvet 
 dress. I do believe it is only the old nasturtium we ueed 
 to know so well in the country, where- it lingered by our 
 doorstep or climbed up into the low windows, ft has come 
 to the city and changed its name. I don't think, if there is 
 any difference its city dress is half so pretty as its old rustic 
 garb ; it looks paler and out of spirits. But a Fifth avenue 
 violet, though surrounded by wordly influences, sends up, 
 just as pure as ever, its velvet prayer to Heaven." 
 
 " Violets," said Mrs. Wendon, " are like God's great re 
 hearsals. His soft prelude of silent melody in Nature's 
 green orchestra, before He comes -out with the full floral an 
 them, the grand philharmonic of the season. Some flowers 
 seem to have a soul, so spiritual are their sweet faces and 
 fragrant breath ; and who knows but this year's violet is 
 some violet soul of last year waked from its bed 1" 
 
 " If Nepenthe were my own child I should call her violet," 
 said the doctor, and then he was suddenly silent, as if dis 
 turbed by some uneasy thought. He went to the window to 
 fasten the shutter, which was blown back and forth by the 
 wind, and exclaimed, as he looked out, " There ! there she is 
 again." Seizing his hat, he rushed out of the house. He was 
 gone about an hour. He came back, judging from his ab 
 sent and dissatisfied manner, disappointed in the object of his 
 search. 
 
 He sat quietly thinking for some time, and then broke out 
 with an abrupt, half-impatient exclamation, not original, but 
 always true. 
 
 " This is a strange world, Minnie. Ortly an hour ago I 
 felt in quite an elevated mood, thinking of flowers and you 
 and Nepenthe. When I was out I passed a flour and pro-
 
 NEPENTHE. . 93 
 
 r 
 
 vision store, and just next it was a large book and stationery 
 establishment. I could not help thinking how closely our 
 physical wants were allie-d to our ideal needs. No matter 
 how bright our quiet, happiest day-dreams, some clamorous 
 want always rudely wakes us out of them. In the daily 
 journal of our lives, as in the daily papers, many of the in 
 side columns, the long pages, are taken up with the list of 
 ' wanted.' I wish I could follow the bent of my own pre 
 ference, and do that which T like best and enjoy most, but I 
 read in every morning herald from my heart so many wants, 
 and I must tug away so patiently to earn them, and I can't 
 cross a ferry, or ride in a car, or walk down street without 
 hearing some thing of wants, and money is the key note on 
 which every note is pitched ; it is buying or selling, borrow 
 ing or loaning ; you can see it in almost every man's eye, 
 you can hear it on his tongue. Even if you do not know 
 him, there's a golden link of sympathy between you and ev 
 ery mortal you meet. I have sometimes a great and sub 
 lime contempt for this money, as if it were beneath a mo 
 ment's thought or care. There are so many things nobler, 
 better, higher, and then again, I long for it, for the power it 
 gives, the influence it sways, the sorrow it banishes, brain, 
 will, talent, generosity, and all (rod's good gifts are so often 
 cramped, fettered, crushed by the want of it. I hear men 
 say, I don't care any thing for money, but I don't believe it. 
 Only a small, contemptible string of common cord may bind" 
 together, for our handling and owning, books and flowers, 
 diamonds and pearls, and all precious and charming things, 
 and money is the contemptible, yet indispensible cord that 
 gathers and binds, for our grasping and using, the treasures 
 we most highly prize. If you despise money, just live one 
 day without two shillings, find yourself suddenly without 
 even five cents to pay stage fare when you are three miles 
 from home, among strangers, and very weary, and you have 
 to walk. the whole tiresome distance for want of it. I did so 
 the day my pocket-book was stolen, and I emptied my pock 
 ets two or three times, to be quite sure there was no linger 
 ing, lonely five cents left. But look at that child, Minnie," 
 said the doctor, suddenly looking out of the window, " how 
 well Nepenthe looks since her visit in the country. She is 
 just crossing the street, and her step is light and graceful. 
 I wish we all could have stayed longer at that old farm
 
 94 NEPENTHE. 
 
 house. I have no attachment to this building. I only know 
 it by the number on the door, unless I see your face at the 
 window when I come home. It is just like all the other 
 houses it is the fifth house in the block. There is a good 
 deal of individuality displayed in dress. I don't see why 
 there shouldn't be in the exterior of a house. I want some 
 thing besides a printed directory to point out the place of 
 my residence. I like some railing, or wing, or tree, or 
 shrub a little unlike my neighbor's, some peg on which to 
 hang an association. I want one tree of my own, not one of 
 a stiff row, but either so luxuriant or crooked that I should 
 know it. I could tolerate even a luxuriant cabbage or 
 gaudy sun-flower. Nepenthe says these rows of houses re 
 mind her of the little wooden houses that come in boxes for 
 children to play with, with six trees to stand in front, with 
 little round green bunches for foliage. These trees in front 
 of our door are all just so high, large, round and green. 
 They look prim, stiff, and prudish, as if afraid to rise a little 
 higher and meet the kiss of some caressing breeze or catch 
 the low whisper of a frolicsome zephyr. I get tired of hear 
 ing people ask, Do you live in the fourth, fifth, or tenth 
 house in the block ? Block block how I hate the word 
 block. It is a very good name for such a set of houses that 
 have about as much expression as a block. We have to go 
 into the country every summer to get our souls chiselled 
 out of these blocks. I am one of the doctors and you one 
 of the ladies in this block. We lose all our individuality in 
 this brick-rowed city. I'd rather spend an hour in the for 
 est, listening to the weird music of the hymning leaves than 
 hear a whole year of Broadway sounds. I hope I shall live 
 long enough to have some trees of my own. If I were in 
 the country, I would never cut down a tree," and the doc 
 tor opened a book and read, " He loved old trees, and used 
 to say, ' Never cut down a tree for fashion's sake, for the 
 tree has its roots in the earth, which the fashion has not.' " 
 
 Gr RATTAN. 
 
 " But it stands in the way of the tree." GRATTAN'S FRIEND. 
 
 " You mistake ; it is the house that stands in the way of 
 it ; if either be cut down, let it be the house." GRATTAN. 
 
 Closing the book, the doctor said with a sigh, " That vine- 
 covered, flower-adorned, and tree-surrounded cottage in the
 
 NEPENTHE. 95 
 
 country looms up before me in such dim and distant per 
 spective, if I wait to earn it, I fear I shall be too old to ec- 
 joy it. I must invest the truth is, Minnie, I have in 
 vested in some thing which has paid large dividends for 
 many years. I have put six thousand dollars in a mining 
 enterprise. 
 
 " After careful calculations, shrewd financiers prophesy, 
 I shall make at least seventy-five per cent. My money will 
 work while I sleep. Mr. James thinks I'll clear three 
 thousand the first year. I will invest one thousand of the 
 profits in bond and mortgage for Nepenthe's benefit. Bond 
 and mortgage is the safest kind of investment." 
 
 " Take care you do not burn your fingers in this coal 
 speculation," said his wife, laughing and shaking her 
 head. 
 
 " Oh, no," said the docter. " This enterprise is a rare 
 chance for making money but there goes Mr. Mellin do 
 you know I have lost my practice in all the Mellin family 
 through Trap's influence ? He is a rascal, but I can't see 
 what possible grudge he can have against me." 
 
 We leave Dr. Wendon a year with his mining operations, 
 but we put down his first reports from the mines. 
 
 " With the present arrangements, there is a clear profit 
 of forty-one cents, in full working order. They yield fifty 
 tons a day, and with additional expenditures named, can be 
 made to reach at least one hundred tons a day, Sundays ex- 
 cepted. The engines and all the fixtures are new, operat 
 ing since August last, and if we were disposed to push 
 things, would draw up one hundred and twenty tons a day. 
 Six hundred dollars will be wanted in January next." 
 
 We drop the curtain for two years on the mining opera 
 tions, and leave Nepenthe awhile at school a schoolgirl's 
 history is of little interest to strangers. 
 
 Dr. Wendon had built, in imagination, his charming cot 
 tage in the country he had planned a tour of Europe he 
 would do so much for Nepenthe. She should have the ad 
 vantages of society, of travel, of lessons from the best for 
 eign artists her future should be as bright as her child 
 hood had been dark. Each day in moments of leisure, and 
 each night in dreams, he added one more beautiful turret to 
 this Chateau d'Espagne. 
 
 He couldn't keep from congratulating himself, and telling 
 
 /
 
 96 NEPENTHE. 
 
 others, how glad he was he invested in this fortunate coal 
 enterprise. So sanguine was he of his success, that he 
 would have been perfectly candid in advising any person to 
 invest their surplus in this promising speculation, but that 
 word speculation always reminds one of risk ; he called it 
 enterprise. He practised his profession faithfully and con 
 stantly, while he was saving up daily in the bank of his im 
 agination, piles of shining dollars. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 EXCITEMENT IN A PARLOR TTP TOWN. 
 
 " Two ears and one mouth thou hast ; 
 
 Dost thou of this complain ? 
 Thou much must h ear, but must 
 But little tell again." 
 
 RUCKERT. 
 
 ONE could hear nearly all the interjections in the grammar, 
 had they listened at the key hole of a small parlor up town 
 one Wednesday evening. " The dear knows !" the " do 
 tells," and the " you don't says," made a perfect jargon to 
 masculine ears. 
 
 What could so raise those carefully cultivated voices so 
 far abone the conventional pitch ? 
 
 " What's all this about, girls ?" said a voice in a clear 
 masculine baritone sounding through the crack of the 
 ioor. 
 
 " Why, Fred, it is the most wonderful thing you ever 
 heard of, most unaccountable," said his sister Kate. " You 
 know that large house on the corner we passed the other 
 day?" 
 
 " Kate," said Fred, " I wish you wouldn't begin every 
 thing with ' you know.' I counted all the ' you knows ' in 
 one of your sentences yesterday, and there were actually 
 Jive" 
 
 " Fred, I wish you wouldn't bother me so much about my 
 talking," said Kate, as she turned dignifiedly round to Mrs. 
 Edwards, and went on with her story. " The family live 
 in the fifth house in the block,"
 
 NEPENTHE. 97 
 
 " A ring was heard at the street door one afternoon, and 
 the girl went. There stood a man wrapped up in a cloak." 
 
 " Approved brigand style," exclaimed Fred, laughing. 
 
 " Don't bother me, Fred," said Kate, really vexed. " He 
 was wrapped up in a cloak, with bis hat drawn over his 
 eyes." 
 
 " Yes, that's just it ; slouched hat and intense black eyes," 
 interrupted Fred again. 
 
 Paying no attention to Fred, Kate went on. " Only one 
 of the servants was in. The man asked if the doctor was at 
 home ? She said, no. He then inquired if his wife was in ? 
 The girl replied, no. The man then turned as if to go, when 
 there was a loud rap at the basement door. 
 
 " Probably Bridget was expecting her beau that night, 
 for she left the front door open, and went down in haste to 
 see who was there. It was a boy with a basket of apples. 
 She stayed to chat with the boy and put up the apples, and 
 coming back up stairs, closed the front door, and went up 
 to her sleeping-room on the fourth story, to beautify, pre 
 paring for the expected visitor, with whom she had been 
 ' keeping company ' so long. It is now thought that the 
 man improved the occasion of her temporary absence to slip 
 into the library at the end of the hall, and then into the ex 
 tension room in the rear of the parlor. There was a young 
 lady in the front parlor who was singing, 
 
 ' Life let us cherish, 
 While yet the taper glows ; 
 
 And the fresh tiowrets 
 Pluck, ere they close.' 
 
 As she finished the last line', the wind came in through the 
 open shutters, and blew off one of the music pages from the 
 piano. She stooped to pick it up, when a bullet whizzed 
 through the air, and lodged in the wall directly in front of 
 her a bullet intended for her, and which would have killed 
 her had she remained a moment longer in her erect posi 
 tion. A breath of wind had literally saved her. Isn't there 
 a line of poetry somewhere about ' A breath can prostrate 
 and a breath can save ?' But whatever was his design, the 
 assassin fled." 
 
 " You are quite poetical, Kate," said Fred, in a compli 
 mentary tone ; " you quote so accurately, you might get up 
 a verse of your own sometimes. If I were a relative of the 
 
 5
 
 98 NEPENTHE. 
 
 young lady's, I would ferret out the mystery. There is some 
 wild love or deadly hate about it." Here he paused, and 
 then added. " I have a slight recollection of something oc 
 curring away back " 
 
 Fred stopped suddenly, as if broaching a forbidden sub 
 ject. 
 
 " Do tell us !" exclaimed two ladies at once, with all the 
 eagerness of curiosity. " What do you know about away 
 back?" 
 
 " nothing," replied Fred, quietly* " I have no right 
 to reveal that which I must unavoidably find out in my pro 
 fession. We shouldn't abuse fiduciary relations those im 
 promptu disclosures, often so unwillingly made. But 
 really, ladies, I have no disclosures to make. I had once a 
 few suspicions from a few stray facts ; and unsettled and 
 vague as they now are. I would trouble or trust no one to 
 help me keep such secrets." 
 
 " As for me," said Kate, " all secrets are a burden ; and 
 isn't it provoking, that the very condition of a secret is often 
 the keeping it forever from the knowledge of the very per 
 son to whom of all others you would most like to tell it ? I 
 like to surprise, excite or amuse people with unexpected or 
 startling news. Somehow it does give us a little extra im 
 portance in our own eyes, to have some wonderful secret 
 confided to us to be the only person beside the narrator 
 that knows it. We promise never to tell anybody as long 
 as we live ; but then people will guess sometimes, and guess 
 right and we must blush, dodge, lie, or keep silence. 
 Some people have such a way of pumping about a thing, you 
 really feel rude if you evade their queries, and they'll get 
 everything out of you. But these very ones will never tell 
 you anything of their affairs, never allow in any way any of 
 their secrets to escape them. It is rather mortifying to have 
 every bundle of secrets in your head overhauled and in 
 spected, while you remain utterly in the dark about their 
 concerns. I declare I believe if it was only right to lie, I'd 
 like to try it occasionally, and say I don't know, right up 
 and down. There's Charity Gouge ; she begins at you with 
 one of her ' Do you really think so and so ?' when she knows 
 you don't think, you know all about it and she's the last 
 person in the world I would choose for a confidant." 
 
 " There's no place in your head, Kate, for a secret," said
 
 NEPENTHE. 09 
 
 Fred, laughingly ; " you remind me of the little Irish Jim I 
 saw in the old farm house, where I was laid up two days 
 last summer. We had a terrible thunder-storm one night 
 every board in the old house rattled. The wind, and the 
 rain, and the shaking of the house, altogether, aroused Jim 
 from his sound sleep in the sky parlor of the establishment. 
 When the next crash came, Jim could stay no longer in his 
 snug corner, but hurried down stairs in his dishabille into 
 the old farmer's bed-room, exclaiming, all out of breath with 
 fright, ' It's started it's started !' looking as wild as his 
 rough erect hair and big eyes could make him. And when 
 you get a secret, Kate, I'm sure of one thing ' It's started.' " 
 
 " That must be where I stopped the summer before last," 
 said Kate, not noticing his remark. " They had a little fac 
 totum Jim. It was a careless habit of mine, throwing water 
 out of the window, but they had so few conveniences in their 
 sleeping rooms, I really couldn't help it sometimes. I emp 
 tied a pitcher of water out of the window one day, just when 
 the Irish girl came out and stood in the back door. She 
 had just asked Jim, who happened to be standing under my 
 window, ' Will it be afther being a wet day, Jim ?' ' I don't 
 think it will be wet,' said he, turning up his big eyes to 
 wards the zenith, as the most authentic source of informa 
 tion ; when the entire contents of my pitcher fell on his 
 broad, upturned face. ' I beg your pardon, sir,' said I, 
 hearing his sudden scream, and seeing the unexpected effect 
 of my cascade upon his clean coat and collar. His momen 
 tary vexation cooled off, he was so delighted with the extra 
 politeness of my apology. To be called sir for the first time, 
 elevated him in his own estimation a foot higher in the scale 
 of masculine existence." 
 
 " If you tell a woman a story," said Fred, " she will in 
 stantly think of another like it to tell, and so wander off 
 from the subject. It is surprising what wandering minds 
 women have." 
 
 " Fred," said Kate, not noticing his remark, " you find 
 out to-day who that young lady was that was fired at yes 
 terday." 
 
 " The house up town," said Fred, looking very wise, 
 " was Dr. Wendon's ; the young lady was his ward, or pro 
 tegee, or adopted daughter, or whatever she is, Miss Ne 
 penthe Stuart ; and I saw the bullet, the piano, the doctor,
 
 100 NEPENTHE. 
 
 the Bridget, and the young lady herself this morning ; so 
 you see it is a well authenticated fact. Moreover, the boy 
 with the apples was part of the plan. He told the girl that 
 her cousin George was waiting around the corner, in a great 
 hurry to see her, so the door was actually left open by the 
 girl for at least five minutes." 
 
 " Fred," said Kate, " you ought to be ashamed* of your 
 self, pretending ignorance all this time, when you knew so 
 much about it." 
 
 " Maybe it is an old love affair," said one of the ladies. 
 
 " They say the girl never had any love affair, or any 
 avowal of love." 
 
 " Well, she might have injured somebody." 
 
 " No, she has not an enemy in the world, that she knows 
 of," said Fred, " she is young, amiable and on good terms 
 with every body she knows ; neither is she an heiress ; her 
 death could be of no known advantage to any living per 
 son." 
 
 While these ladies were continuing their conversation, 
 another group were gathered in the parlor up town. It was 
 Dr. Wendon, Mrs. Wendon, and Nepenthe. 
 
 Nepenthe sat on one corner of the sofa away from the 
 window, the shutters were tightly closed ; Dr. Wendon was 
 walking back and forth, and occasionally stopping and 
 talking in a kind of hurried, excited way ; he was really 
 exasperated, and spoke in rather an impetuous manner 
 though he tried to assume an air of unconcern. 
 
 " Well," said he, " there is the bullet, and there is the 
 hole, and here is Nepenthe as white as a sheet. I would 
 like to sift to the bottom of this matter. I can't get any 
 more out of Bridget. She says she ' always generally keeps 
 the door fastened," she ' always generally stays close to the 
 house, she always generally is very careful.' One thing I 
 know, I'll ship her, if she leaves that door open again. 
 These villains always generally come and go like shadows. 
 I wish I did know something about this thing." Nepenthe 
 evidently had some enemy ; but, we very well know, not of 
 her own making. 
 
 " There is something, we may be sure, depending upon 
 her life. The ball was fired by a person standing about 
 here," he added stepping back a few paces in a line with the 
 piano. " There is no getting any more out of Bridget ; she
 
 NEPENTHE. 101 
 
 says the man was tall, but not so very tall ; fat, but not so 
 very fat ; old, but not so very old ; he might be young she 
 couldn't tell. There's no accident in this it was all designed 
 and plannned, and pretty well carried out," said the doctor. 
 
 " I shall always keep that page of music, for it saved my 
 life," said Nepenthe. 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " I've had this house pretty 
 well secured to-day with iron, brass, and plated chain bolts, 
 safe night latches and bolts, secret sash fastenings and shut 
 ter bars and secret bolts. I'll have my double barreled pis 
 tol at the head of my bed, and I've engaged two private 
 watchmen to watch my house." 
 
 " I can't sleep to-night," said Mrs. Wendon, as she retired 
 early to rest. " I can't sleep, though the house is all locked 
 and fastened up. Did you see that man's nose flattening 
 against the window pane only night before last as you went 
 to shut the blinds ? I dreamed about it, and every time I 
 opened my eyes I could see that face." 
 
 " The professional burglar can get in any where if he ia 
 determined to. But this man was no mere burglar. My 
 watch lay on the table near where he stood, and he could 
 easily have taken it if he chose," said the doctor. 
 
 " If I am excited or frightened at night," said Mrs. Wen 
 don, " I imagine all sorts of things, and remember all the 
 stories of murders, ghosts and robberies I have ever heard. 
 I tremble at every noise There ! do you hear that ?" she 
 said suddenly, as she turned to the doctor, and whispered 
 as she heard some noise in the lower part of the house. 
 
 " 'Tis only a big rat knocking down something in the cel 
 lar," said her husband. But what a strange propensity 
 there is, thought he, to talk and think over tales of ghosts, 
 murders, and mysteries, just as we are about to retire, until 
 we are almost afraid to look into each other's frightened 
 faces. How the forgotten facts of a long veiled mystery 
 loom up in the night how the clairvoyant soul walks all 
 night on the dangerous battlements of terror and mystery 
 and when morning comes, she laughs at the fears she has 
 summoned ! 
 
 Nepenthe's room now is next to the doctor's, her door is 
 bolted and locked, her windows closely fastened. She has 
 rolled up by the door two trunks, and near the edge of the 
 top of the upper one she has placed the big dinner bell, so
 
 102 NEPENTHE. 
 
 that if the door ia at all moved or shaken, the bell will fall, 
 and awaken all the surrounding sleepers. She lays awake 
 a long, long time, and at last she sleeps, but it is a disturbed 
 nightmare sleep and at midnight she could see a figure 
 once more walking through her room and standing by her 
 bed ; but the figure was no longer a woman it wore a man's 
 slouched hat. 
 
 As Mrs. Wendon lies awake one night, talking to the doc 
 tor, she says, 
 
 " No state of mind is more rapidly developed than the 
 emotion of fear. It soon gets to be all eyes, all ears, all 
 brain. While Fear patrols through the soul, a sleepless, 
 vigilant sentinel, every other power seems dumb and quiet. 
 All are vulnerable to Fear's alarms at some point. When 
 she springs the soul's loud watchman's rattle, she calls to 
 her aid Dread, Terror and Fright, the active, alert police of 
 soul. Every body is afraid of something. I believe there 
 is one little space in every man's mind where may be writ 
 ten ' coward.' Every one is at times troubled, tempted, or 
 tortured, harrassed, harrowed or haunted by some constitu 
 tional or chronic fear, which takes to him the shape of moral 
 ghost, mental ghost, spiritual ghost, nervous ghost, legal 
 ghost, or hereditary ghost and the boldest, when confront 
 ed with this shape or shade, says to himself, ' I am afraid.' 
 The greatest, strongest, bravest soul has a morbid dread, a 
 chronic fear of something he calls it dislike, but he knows 
 it is fear." 
 
 " We often find ourselves," said the doctor, " talking to 
 ourselves as if we were two distinct beings. We argue, 
 reason, and persuade promise and retract the promise, de 
 cide and undecide we are sure of something, then doubt it 
 altogether." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Wendon, " bold young Faith and grim 
 old Fear, like two stout champions, seek each to gain the 
 field of soul, and master the other. Fear gives Faith such a 
 sound drubbing we begin to doubt every thing, and we 
 wonder whether even the great reel of Eternity will ever 
 wind up clear and smooth the great snarl of facts and fan 
 cies in which we find ourselves so strangely, sadly entan 
 gled and then all at once, as Faith stands up triumphant 
 under the cloudless blue sky of soul, pressing her conquer 
 ing foot on the maimed Titan Fear then we sail along
 
 NEPENTHE. 103 
 
 through truth and duty's sea so sublimely, that daylight, 
 moonlight and sunlight gleam and flash, brighten and illu 
 mine each passing hour." 
 
 Mrs. Wendon had talked so long about these things that 
 she could not sleep. She lay awake a whole hour trying to 
 settle in her mind some doubtful thoughts of powers seen 
 and unseen, influences real and spiritual. She was so wide 
 awake, every sense seemed doubly active, every sound dou 
 bly loud. The clock on the mantle struck one ; the old 
 clock in the hall struck one ; and then the front door bell 
 rang once. She awoke the doctor, who waited to answer 
 the summons till the bell should ring again. But there was 
 no more ringing that night. The next night it rang again at 
 just one o'clock. The doctor went to the door ; no one was 
 there. He looked up and down the long silent street; he 
 could see in the clear soft moonlight no retreating shadow, 
 nor hear any lingering footfall. He latched and locked the 
 door, walked half way up stairs, and the bell rang again ; a 
 little louder and quicker, once, twice, thrice. He hurried 
 back to the door, annoyed at the impertinent persistency of 
 the invisible bell ringer. But no one was there, nor was 
 any one hidden under the steps near the basement door. He 
 came in again, turned his face to the stairs, and the bell 
 rang three times more, louder than ever. 
 
 He looked out. No one was visible. He stepped out on 
 the sidewalk, looked up and down and under the steps, and 
 in the little front yards of the houses next door. Then he 
 examined the bell handle carefully, to see if possibly the 
 invisible bell ringer hadn't fastened to it some cord by 
 which it could be rung while he was secreted in some house 
 near. But no such cord, hand or person could be detected. 
 Baffled, puzzled, irritated, excited, he closed the door again, 
 latching, locking and bolting it, saying to himself, " Let 
 them ring all night ; I'll not open that door again."* Then 
 there was a sudden, loud and quick succession of rings, as 
 he began to re-ascend the stairs ; and there was no pause, 
 no cessation, until he reached the head of the stairs, where 
 stood Mrs. Wendon, peeping through the crack of her 
 nearly closed door, waiting in mute suspense for the doc 
 tor's re-appearance with some solution of the mystery. 
 
 The bell had at last roused Bridget from her profound 
 slumbers in the third story. She was on her knees praying
 
 104 . NEPENTHE. 
 
 to the Virgin. She was sure it was Mrs. Fedurell's spirit 
 ringing the bell. 
 
 Mrs. Fedurell had lived three doors below them, she was 
 an intimate friend of Mrs. Wendon's, and a refined and 
 gifted woman, who had died only last week of consumption. 
 
 Bridget really believed that she, now in Heaven, and of 
 course more elevated and refined in her spiritual state, 
 could stoop to descend to the earth, and go around ringing 
 her old neighbor's bells. 
 
 But Bridget was sure it was Mrs Fedurell's ghost, and at 
 last as she gained courage to look through the shutters, she 
 was sure she saw a light, and something like a white object 
 standing motionless in the moonlight. 
 
 Even Mrs. Wendon, with her cooler head and better 
 judgment, began to connect something a little supernatural 
 or mysterious with this unaccountable ringing, commencing 
 both nights at the ghostly hour of one. 
 
 The mystery continued for three weeks. Each night 
 about midnight, the bell would ring. Every nap was inter 
 rupted, every dream disturbed, and one good night's sleep 
 impossible. 
 
 No matter how weary or sleepy the doctor or his wife or 
 Nepenthe mifht be, their slumber must be rudely broken. 
 
 Bridget soon notified Mrs. Wendon that she must go 
 next Tuesday when her month was up, she couldn't stay in 
 such a place. 
 
 Bridget had informed all of her dear particular friends, 
 among whom was every Catharine, Bridget and Margaret- in 
 the neighborhood, of the reason of her leaving. She had 
 told them in vivid, graphic colors, of the nightly bell ring 
 ing the light and the ghost. 
 
 Mrs. Wendon began to think it would be difficult for her 
 to secure any more good help, as all the girls in the neigh 
 borhood looked up at the house and whispered to each other 
 as they passed it, as if it were really haunted. 
 
 The thing began to be intolerable, as the boys began to 
 say as they passed " Did you know that house was 
 haunted ?" 
 
 Bridget said that the dogs stood before the house, and 
 stared, and barked, and ho^yled at night, when the bell rang. 
 
 One old lady in the neiguborhood thought that the ghosts 
 of some people who had once lived there had come back to
 
 NEPENTHE. 105 
 
 disturb the house, and that each of these gaunt, strange 
 looking dogs, was a howling medium for these unfortunate 
 unhappy ghosts. 
 
 Mrs. Wendon began to imagine that everybody looked 
 up strangely at the house and peered curiously into the 
 windows as they passed. A story of a haunted house had 
 always been to her the most foolish and ignorant of super 
 stitions ; yet as that ringing continued, she wanted to move 
 out of the place, the noise, notoriety and gossip were becom- 
 so intolerable ; but the doctor didn't like to be rung out of 
 his own door in that summary style, and be condoled with 
 forever after, as a fugitive from a haunted house. So one 
 day he persuaded Caesar, a trusty colored man, a servant of 
 one of his friends, to come and watch his door for him a few 
 nights, promising to pay him liberally. 
 
 Cassar declared that nothing could frighten him ; neither 
 ghost, goblins nor the devil for, said he, " Lor bress me, 
 Massa, how can de debbel hurt poor black man who neber 
 done nuffin wrong." 
 
 The doctor retired, having great confidence in the courage 
 of the new detective. 
 
 Caesar watched faithfully, inside and out, now with the door 
 a little open, and then with it closed. 
 
 He listened for the least noise, and suddenly, about one, 
 the bell rang once. Caesar was startled : then it rang twice 
 he did grow a little more startled. He seized the door and 
 opened it ; the bell rang still, but as he looked at the bell 
 handle it did not move. Ring, ring, ring, it went again ; 
 but the bell handle never moved at all. Just then, as if by 
 some bodily agitation, the door was thrown wide open, and 
 as the lamp light on the other side of fehe street, interrupted 
 by the large limbs of the trees swaying backwards and 
 forwards, sent into the hall behind him a host of trooping 
 shadows, to Caesar's excited fancy they were a band of 
 fearful ghosts. 
 
 Without stopping to look longer behind him, he started 
 and ran, turning neither to the right or left, chased by a big 
 black barking dog, who deemed it his duty to run because he 
 saw some one else running. A policeman, thinking the 
 bareheaded, flying Caesar an escaping burglar, joined in the 
 pursuit, till Caesar, just as he came to the corner where he 
 must cross to reach his master's house, tripped and fell over 
 
 6*
 
 106 NEPENTHE. 
 
 the curb-stone, bathing eyes, mouth and nose, in the puddle 
 of muddy water, which was meandering along the gutter. 
 Without pausing to brush the mud from his broadcloth, he 
 ran on faster than ever, out-distancing the pursuing police 
 man and dog and rushing into his master's basement door, 
 which happened to be open, as Dinah and Rose had had some 
 company pretty late that night, and they were just kissing 
 their fond adieus by the open door : 
 
 " Caesar has had a spree, Caesar has had a spree," said 
 Dinah, as the gaslight fell full on Caesar's bold, bare head and 
 soiled coat and dirty face, " Caesar has had a spree." 
 
 But he hurried by her, not minding her bantering, nor 
 stopping until he found himself in his own bed, and covered 
 up his head with the welcome and familiar bed-clothes. 
 
 His master's grave inquiries the next morning about his 
 suspicious plight the night before only got from him the 
 brief answer. "Haunted house, Massa ; haunted house." 
 
 Dr. Wendon was awake, and hearing no more opening 
 and shutting of the front door, though the bell kept on ring 
 ing, he went softly down stairs to see how investigations 
 were progressing ; but no Caesar was there. The door was 
 wide open and there lay on the upper stone step Caesar's old 
 hat : and in spite of everything, the words came into the doc 
 tor's mind, " I come to bury Caesar ; not to praise him." 
 
 His inquiries of Caesar the next day about his last night's 
 adventures met with no answer. He could get nothing out 
 of him, only he could see he had been in some way thoroughly 
 frightened. 
 
 The next night Patrick, a bold, smart, stout young Irish 
 man, who had worked a great deal for Dr. Wendon, offered 
 to keep watch. He said he had seen ghosts in the " ould 
 counthry," and he wasn't afraid of any spirits. He took his 
 post by the door, having in his pocket a bottle of fourth 
 proof, from which occasionally he refreshed himself by tak 
 ing copious draughts. At one o'clock the bell rang. Pat 
 rick looked. The bell-handle didn't stir, but the wire 
 twitched back and forth violently. 
 
 " By jabers," said the Irishman, " who is afraid of yer 
 murtherin' noise ?" and stooping down, he tried to seize 
 hold of the lower part of the wire ; but he suddenly fell back 
 on the floor, shaking the house as he fell. The spirits within
 
 NEPENTHE. 107 
 
 and the spirits without had conquered the redoubtable Pat 
 rick. 
 
 As Dr. Wendon rushed down stairs, Patrick said, in a 
 hoarse, terrified whisper, " I am kilt ! I am kilt! The 
 murtherin' ghosts have shook me all to pieces intirely !" 
 
 Dr. Wendon, as the bell rang again, noticed the lower 
 part of the wire twitching violently, and by some sudden in 
 stinct or inspiration, he said, " "Tis rung from below. Some 
 one is in the cellar. I'll stop that performance." 
 
 He seized his pistol, while his wife took hold of his arm, 
 begging him not to go down in the cellar, as she was afraid 
 to stay up stairs without him, and afraid to follow him into 
 the lower regions. But Dr. Wendon was in that fast, fierce, 
 and furious state of mind, that nothing could keep him back. 
 He was ready to face a troop of ghosts, a den of lions, or a 
 legion of devils, rather than be foiled, puzzled, baffled, tor 
 mented longer. 
 
 With a lamp in one hand, and his pistol in the other, he 
 entered the deep, dark, dismal cellar, where for a moment 
 the most profound silence reigned ; and there before his 
 eyes were three formidable members of a well-known band 
 of burglars and housebreakers. No law had yet been made 
 or enforced powerful enough to detect, imprison, punish or 
 banish these merciless, successful, daring burglars, always 
 armed to the teeth. 
 
 The Doctor stood motionless, his pistol powerless in his 
 hand, as he faced the villains, whose name is a public and 
 private terror. But he did not fire his pistol, first, because 
 it might alarm his wife : second, because the weapon didn't 
 seem adequate to the occasion. 
 
 No the Doctor didn't raise his pistol to destroy those three 
 rats, because he might need it more at some other time, 
 though they had dared to interrupt his midnight slumbers 
 by dancing on his bell-wire, and hanging by their teeth from 
 the wire, so as to produce those vibrations highly gratify 
 ing to them, as their first concert, as they were a family so 
 fond of music. 
 
 By mere accident, on the first night, while one of their 
 number was engineering across the beams, he chanced to 
 touch the bell-wire once, and hearing the ring, was a little 
 alarmed ; but seeing no harm come of it, they had all, night 
 after night, commenced a concert in earnest, quite delighted
 
 108 NEPENTHE. 
 
 at their repeated successful performances, little dreaming 
 of the thrilling effect upon the audience up stairs. 
 
 " To-night is their grand carnival,'' thought the doctor, 
 as he went back up stairs, and finally succeeded in helping 
 Patrick out of " the haunted house." 
 
 Mrs. Wendon, meantime, sat crouching in a corner up 
 stairs, afraid to stir, and afraid the doctor might never come 
 back, as she heard nothing of him and no more of the bell- 
 ringing. As he returned, at last, alone, unarmed, and un 
 harmed, with a curious smile on his face, and as he saw her 
 so pale, motionless and terrified, he burst out into a merry, 
 ringing laugh, and laughed away as if he would never stop, 
 while she sat there, half frightened to death. Finally she 
 began to cry, thinking the doctor had lost his reason from 
 some sudden shock, or fright, or he wouldn't stand there 
 laughing like a fool, while she sat mute, with a face white 
 as any ghost. 
 
 " Don't don't laugh so, Walter !" she said, bursting into 
 tears again. 
 
 Ten minutes after, had you stood at the key-hole of that 
 door, you might have heard two voices mingling in convul 
 sive, merry laughter, as the door-bell rang on thirty times 
 more that night. The doctor called that night forever after 
 " The benefit night of the liodent family." 
 
 Bridget was still on her knees, praying. She still be 
 lieved she saw and heard the mysterious, ghostly bell-ringer. 
 Tired out at last, she covered her head with the bed-clothes 
 and fell asleep, about four o'clock, and dreamed of the 
 ghostly light shining in her room. 
 
 The mystery was at last explained, but Caesar always in 
 sisted upon it that he saw a troop of ghosts in the hall, and 
 Patrick never would give it up but that it was a ghostly 
 shock he received when he fell on the floor in the hall, and 
 even the doctor admitted that it was probably the effect of 
 /some spiritual influence the spirits had something to do 
 with it. 
 
 In the morning, when Bridget told the doctor all about 
 the wonderful light, and described vividly and graphically 
 the white shadowy ghost which she saw under the window, 
 he told her that it was not one white ghost, but three black 
 ones ; and that he saw them in the cellar, ringing the bell. 
 
 " Faith," said she, with a sudden wise look and a sur-
 
 NEPENTHE. 109 
 
 prised stare, " I was sure the Evil One had something to do 
 with it ;" and she went off very slowly down into the cellar 
 to get her coal and kindling-wood, fearfully afraid of encoun 
 tering the " three black ghosts in the cellar." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE WENDONS TALK ABOUT THE OPERA. 
 
 " Make love in tropes, in bombast break his heart, - 
 In turn and simile resign his breath, 
 And rhyme and quibble in the pains of death." TICKELL. 
 
 MRS. WENDON sees that the doctor is growing pale, care 
 worn, depressed. She can imagine no adequate cause. His 
 practice is increasing and successful, his professional posi 
 tion high. She fears he is injuring himself by close confine 
 ment. Change and recreation, even a little pleasurable ex 
 citement, might do him good. She urges him to go occa 
 sionally to places of amusement they have not been to an 
 opera in a long time. It might please Nepenthe she has 
 never been, and she needs change, too ; something to divert 
 her thoughts from the recent mysterious attempt on her life. 
 She is now old enough to enjoy and appreciate fine music. 
 So she talks to the doctor one morning, as he rises from the 
 table, leaving his untasted coffee and neglected omelet. 
 
 He is not musically gifted or musically appreciative. He 
 laughs a little about this foolish worship of imported prirna 
 donnas, but promises to go that evening on Nepenthe's ac 
 count, not on his own he is getting on well enough. 
 
 Mrs. Wendon reads from the morning Herald " The fare 
 well Concert of Madame Geztimer, who is in opera again. 
 It is not her farewell, after all. She is giving us four nights 
 of opera, and charming nights they are, too. We have never 
 heard finer music a different opera each night or seen 
 larger or more fashionable audiences. Her little season is 
 a decided success." 
 
 " How did you like the opera last night ?" said Mrs. Wen- 
 don to Nepenthe the next morning. 
 
 " I am no judge of music, and then I took my novitiate in
 
 110 NEPENTHE. 
 
 opera going last night," said Nepenthe. " You understand 
 all those scientific trills, rolls and quavers of which I am so 
 ignorant. I sat last evening nearly three hours. The sing 
 ing was wonderful. I might practice all the hours of three 
 lives, and I never could sing one of those trilling, warbling, 
 soaring, flying, swelling, vanishing strains. Yet no mortal, 
 in exquisite joy or overwhelming grief, warbles like that. 
 Joy is an outburst a gush not an elaborate flourish. Lov 
 ing, fighting, heart-aching, heart-breaking, were all won 
 derfully sung. 
 
 " Think in real life of contending armies of real men, with 
 real swords, standing and patiently waiting for a man to 
 sing out a petition for some captive's release. Such artistic 
 grief is never seen such sudden terror or joy is never sung 
 out. The singing is wonderful, but I am continually draw 
 ing the startling contrast between operatic representation 
 and the real deeds of real people." 
 
 " I cannot even work myself up into a pity for a woman," 
 says the doctor, coming up just then, " who sings out her 
 broken heart in such elaborate strains ; and if a lover makes 
 his avowal in the same artistic melody, I always feel like 
 saying, ' If you love her, why don't you walk up or kneel 
 down and say so like a human man, and not stand there 
 singing your heart out like an amateur ?' I know you go to 
 the opera to hear the fine singing, and see the wonderful 
 power of music to express every variety of feeling and ac 
 tion. The heart's best feelings are never in full dress ; this 
 idea of giving love and regret the full toilet they get in ope 
 ratic scenes, is to me unnatural. The charm of tragedy is 
 in making one, for the time, feel that the characters are 
 real. These groans and sighs and battles and deaths are all 
 well sung, but if I were very angry with a man I don't think 
 I should stand up before him and sing at him. 
 
 " The thing I dislike most is this operatic death. Young 
 and beautiful women will sing their disappointed love, their 
 failing health, their aching, loving, breaking heart, with 
 pale face, dishevelled hair, and white shadowy garments 
 coughing, gasping, trembling, fainting with the airy breath 
 of fleeting song. We listen to the last musical sigh, we 
 catch the faint echo of the last warble, till the last low life 
 note dies on the hushed lips ; and then, a moment after, re 
 surrectionized from the song-death, the singer comes out 
 
 I 
 
 *
 
 NEPENTHE. Ill 
 
 and moves off the stage, brightly smiling, pleasantly bowing, 
 and gracefully picking up showers of falling flowers. The 
 farce comes so soon after the death tragedy. 
 
 " I think the death scene should be the last act of life 
 when the last curtain falls. I don't like this make-believe 
 failing and dying. I may speak professionally. Wasn't it 
 horrible, when the cholera was raging in Paris, the people 
 were amusing themselves iu the theatre in acting death by 
 the cholera in all its fearful stages and mortal agonies 1" 
 
 " But did you hear the squeaking tenor ? Why will peo 
 ple insist on playing the part ot which they know nothing ?" 
 
 " I believe it is the way with most of us," said Mrs. Wen- 
 don. " We are all apt to think we can do some one thing 
 well, in which we are really deficient. The very faults we 
 have, so glaring in the eyes of others, we think are only 
 respectable, comfortable, decent peculiarities, rather be 
 coming than otherwise." 
 
 " But how in the world are we ever going to know what 
 we are, or what we can do ?" said the doctor. 
 
 " Every man I have well known," said Mrs. Wendon, " is 
 sure he can do something quite well, of which he really 
 knows nothing. One man is very deaf so deaf we all have 
 to scream out our questions and answers when talking with 
 him ; he says he isn't much deaf after all, he can hear most 
 as well as anybody if we only speak distinctly. My old 
 aunt Jane is quite sure she can see without her spectacles, 
 almost as well as ever she only wears them to rest her eyes 
 but she is almost as blind as a bat. Her husband thinks 
 he is a very young looking man, as smart as most young 
 folks, and can do more work in a day now than any young 
 man ; yet he is nearly a cripple, has a trembling voice, tot 
 tering step, and is almost toothless. One gentleman who 
 wrote the dullest essays I ever heard, said he thought he 
 could do one thing well that was, write essays. He made 
 the remark to his wife, and I overheard him. She was the 
 homeliest woman I ever knew, and she said to me once 
 when we were talking about looks, she was ' always thank 
 ful for one thing that she was made at least good-looking.' 
 A lady once brought me some poetry of her own composition 
 to get my opinion of it. It wag about cold stars, fair flowers, 
 and pale moons. She said it was always easy for her to 
 write poetry she never had to fix it over ; it always came
 
 112 NEPENTHE. 
 
 right. She would string words together of all sizes, shapes 
 and accents, and if there was a jingle at the end it was 
 poetry." 
 
 As Nepenthe went out of the room, the doctor said, 
 " How Nepenthe has changed ! She is quite young to 
 think so originally and speak so frankly about something 
 she has seen and heard but once but she has a wonderful 
 ear for music. I have engaged Signor Venini to give her 
 instruction. He is an incomparable artist, and she has alrea 
 dy an exquisite touch ; but those Scotch songs she sings 
 charmingly. I think she has the sweetest voice I ever 
 heard it is sweet as a lute, rich as a harp, soft as a flute ; 
 why, Minnie, if we had searched the world over, we couldn't 
 have found a more gifted soul or affectionate heart." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IMPULSES THE ARREST. 
 
 " One thread of kindness draws more than a hundred yoke of oxen." 
 
 TUSCAN PROVERB. 
 
 " Edel sey der Mensch, 
 Hiilfreich und gut." 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 " THERE are some things I never told you, Minnie," said 
 the .doctor one morning. " When I took Nepenthe from the 
 hospital the nurse whispered to me that she was of low fam 
 ily and doubtful origin. I wouldn't prejudice you, so I 
 kept it to myself. I believe with a French author, that all 
 our first benevolent impulses are good, generous, heroic 
 reflection weakens and kills them. The soul first speaks, 
 and the language is that of love and virtue : the intellect 
 reasons afterwards, and its reasonings are more favorable to 
 matter than the soul. 
 
 " I was told when I took Nepenthe from the hospital, that 
 I was acting solely from impulse, and that impulse was a 
 very imprudent guide ; but I have done nothing kind or 
 generous in my life without yielding to the promptings of 
 eorne noble impulse. There is more good crushed in the
 
 NEPENTHE. 113 
 
 bud by resisting good impulses, than evil prematurely done 
 by acting too suddenly upon them. There isn't much dan 
 ger of our ever being too good, too kind, or too generous. 
 
 " Many a wrinkle of care you can smooth out clear and 
 beautiful, if you seize upon the impulse while it is warm 
 and fresh, and press life's rough seams down. How much 
 happier and more benevolent would I have been, had I al 
 ways acted promptly upon my first, best, warmest feelings, 
 without arguing and reasoning, and wondering whether after 
 all it would be best would it pay, was it prudent, expedi 
 ent ?" 
 
 " These noble impulses," said Mrs. Wendon, " are like 
 the little Artesian wells I used to see in California an in 
 visible hand penetrates the troubled strata of the soil, till 
 from its depths upwells a fountain pure and sparkling, invig 
 orating the whole valley of the soul. One of these Artesian 
 impulses jetting out, may freshen and beautify hundreds of 
 drooping thoughts and withering hopes." 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor, " impulses are the first stamps 
 from the mint of thought, clearest and deepest, the most du 
 rable on the leaves of the unfolding soul, like the figures on 
 the first sheets of our quires of cream-laid paper ; and the 
 original pictures of great masters, clearer and bolder than 
 the weak after copies and feeble imitations, they flow sponta 
 neously from the creative soul, and are not mechanically 
 struck off on steel or wood. 
 
 " Impulse is the great artist of the soul's studio ; with 
 marvellous dash and sweep of hand, she sketches the out 
 lines of great deeds for us to execute through our lives full 
 lengths, those beautiful pictures of genial kindness and cor 
 dial benevolence, which illustrate the long story of our dull 
 common lives, are engraven by her skilful hand." 
 
 I beg your pardon, reader, for keeping you standing spir 
 itual, hat in hand, so long in the vestibule of my story, list 
 ening to the doctor's talk about impulse, but poor impulse is 
 eo often berated and abused, censured and maligned, as a 
 wrong-doer and mischief-maker, I always wait patiently and 
 thankfully when I hear her praised or truly valued. 
 
 " The greatest things we do," added the doctor, " we feel 
 stirred up as by some oracular voice within to do suddenly 
 and successfully. Nepenthe is a child of impulse, and I be 
 lieve she had a refined, accomplished, and virtuous mother.
 
 114 NEPENTHE. 
 
 If a man is ever so great and good, and his wife ignorant or 
 commonplace, you rarely find the child above mediocrity in 
 appearance, taste or talent. People say so much about 
 great men not having distinguished children ; they forget 
 that inferiority and mediocrity may be traced to an inferior 
 or commonplace mother. Nepenthe's gifts and graces were 
 not acquired from recent associations, but are evidently en 
 tailed by nature and improved by very early, correct, and 
 careful training. Her father may have been low, dishonor- 
 ble, cruel there might have been a mock marriage, or 
 some thing of that sort. I have no means of finding out, 
 but Nepenthe's mother could hardly have been guilty of an 
 ignoble action, and yet I have some information which almost 
 proves she was unfortunate and imprudent. I wish I could 
 solve the mystery about Nepenthe's earliest history. I 
 knew I should love her," said the doctor, as he arose and 
 walked back and forth, " but I didn't mean to draw her quite 
 so close to my heart, but she is now very dear, and I would 
 like to take this one young life and cheer and strengthen it 
 all through. I can do more good by watching this young, 
 bright soul, moving on to its zenith without a chilling tem 
 pest or obscuring cloud, than by throwing miscellaneous 
 crumbs of kindness to every passing beggared soul, whose 
 destiny is cut in stone, whose happiness is hopeless. To 
 take a life despised, circumscribed, care-encumbered, and 
 make it happy, would give me more sublime delight than all 
 the lo Paeans of transient fame." 
 
 Nepenthe had been sent to the post-office, but it had com 
 menced raining, and she came back for an umbrella just in 
 time to overhear the remark about her father. 
 
 " My mother, my gentle mother, has any one reproached 
 her?" thought she. "I know she was good and noble, but 
 why did she never mention my father's name ? Why weep 
 so when she received any letters 1 Does Dr. Wendon fear 
 to love me ? Does he attach disgrace to my name ? Is this 
 why he so often sighs when he speaks to me so kindly ?" 
 
 While the doctor is out that afternoon, Mrs. Wendon 
 looks over his wardrobe. The black vest has a rip in the 
 pocket. She empties the pocket to mend it, and there falls 
 out a folded paper, part of a printed document, which, with 
 a pardonable curiosity, she reads, and learns the probable 
 cause of the doctor's late absorbed and troubled manner.
 
 V 
 
 NEPENTHE. 116 
 
 She finds also a written note in the corner of the pocket with 
 severe threats of immediate arrest. Her honored, high- 
 minded husband arrested for fraud, for breach of contract ! 
 
 This letter of Dr. Wendon's she reads with surprise and 
 alarm. 
 
 " DEAR SIR. : I write this communication to prevent any 
 additional loss to you, and to suggest by what means that 
 loss can be repaired. I understood you to say that you 
 would be content if your securities were restored. You de 
 clared to me if these securities were not replaced, you 
 would proceed against me, 1st civilly at common law ; 2nd 
 criminally, by a police warrant for false pretences ; 3rd. 
 ecclesiastically, by presenting the case to my pastor ; 4th 
 domestically, by communications with my wife ; and 5th by 
 securing the publication of the matters between us in the 
 periodical of a person whom you suppose to be my bitter 
 enemy. 
 
 " You know very well that a threat is the weapon of a 
 woman, and that bluster and bravado are the tactics of a ruf 
 fian. Frcm your position, from your education, from your 
 association in youth with British officers, and in maturer 
 years with the finest minds, I cannot interpret any thing 
 said or done by you in that direction. Your object is to 
 get back your money, instead of adding to your losses. Put 
 ting me in prison would not do that. Prejudicing me in the 
 estimation of a minister would not do that, especially as ha 
 has no ecclesiastical control over me. Communicating with 
 my wife would not do that, and as she has never injured 
 you, there can be no adequate cause for such a step." 
 
 The rest of this document had been torn off and destroyed, 
 so Mrs. Wendon could read no more. Her husband did not 
 come home that night, but sent her a note, saying that he 
 had left town suddenly on business, and would be home on 
 Saturday. Saturday came, and he came not, and Monday 
 and Tuesday passed away. 
 
 Late on Wednesday evening he came, tired, a little lame, 
 and with one hand bound up and a bruised head. 
 
 " I have had some trouble in the mines," said he, as he 
 sat down weary in his easy chair. " There was a riot 
 among the workmen. They laid it to the agent; but I think 
 some thing else was at the bottom of it. They didn't act 
 like men ; they acted like fiends. That poor little colored 

 
 
 116 NEPENTHE. 
 
 boy, Thomas, who has made himself so useful to me, they 
 rushed upon him without the least provocation and inhu 
 manly murdered him, dashing out his brains on the road ; 
 they threw volleys of stones until every window-pane was 
 shattered in fragments. I was the object of their personal 
 fury and violence, but I escaped with only a bruised head 
 and lame hand. I'll be over it in a day or two," said he, 
 cheerfully, as he saw how troubled his wife looked. " It 
 was all quiet when I came away. There is a large guard 
 of soldiers there now. The ringleaders are arrested. I 
 had a store there that they destroyed ; they have carried off 
 or destroyed all the coal stored there ; they tore up part of 
 the railroad track ; they seemed to have some grudge against 
 every person in any way connected with the mines." 
 
 Mrs. Wendon said no more about the mines ; but after 
 supper, as they sat together on the sofa, she said, " I really 
 felt afraid, during the presence of that epidemic last summer, 
 that you might be taken away, and the world would be so 
 desolate without you ;" and then, rising suddenly and 
 putting her arms round his neck and kissing him, first on 
 one cheek, then on lips, eyes, cheek and forehead, she 
 exclaimed, " You dear old bear " as she frequently called 
 him, as she put her hands on his face, one on one side and 
 one on the other ; then, turning his head upwards towards 
 her, " You dear old bear, you are locking up some 
 thing in this head away from me ; and do you know I acci 
 dentally found the key of your secret in your pocket the 
 other morning ? There was a rip in your black vest, and to 
 mend it well I first emptied the pocket, and I saw aj>rinted 
 document there giving W. W. Wendon's name considerable 
 prominence. Now, Walter," said she, in a cheerful voice, 
 " don't let any pecuniary matter prey so heavily upon your 
 spirits. You told me / was your fortune, when you married 
 me, and nothing can really impoverish us while we have 
 each other. You need not explain, though you said nothing 
 to me about it. Your motives were the purest and best. 
 It would weary and annoy you to repeat them now. Never 
 mind about that portion of my fortune you have lost ; but 
 listen, here is something I was just reading when you came 
 in : ' What a prodigious science is that which can say to man, 
 If thou dost such a thing, such a thing will happen to thee. 
 Then again, The reaction of riches is poverty of the soul, and
 
 NEPENTHE. 117 
 
 bodily infirmities. Prosperity has its root in man himself: 
 it is the want of his being, the product of his intelligence, 
 the link of society, the right of labor.' You acted as you 
 thought best, and don't be troubled about that three thou 
 sand of mine. You have learned experience in this specu 
 lation. In the matter of investing there is nothing like 
 experience, and there is no great good acquired without 
 some risk ; but I don't see how you failed in this coal-mine 
 speculation, after all." 
 
 " Failure," said the doctor, drawing a long breath, " ia 
 common with all speculations where one looks for large 
 profits ; but in this particular instance I wonder now since 
 I can be so frank with you, that I could not have foreseen 
 the result. You know that in all mines whether of gold, 
 silver, lead, iron or coal, that you may strike a vein of infe 
 rior quality : just so it was in this instance. I had raked 
 and scraped all the money together I could get by borrowing 
 and mortgaging, and when I could get no more money by 
 these means I induced others to invest their money in the 
 mines also. We set the miners at work. After mining a 
 few tons, which sold well in the market the workmen struck 
 for higher wages. We refused till their starvation and our 
 own want of means compelled us on both sides to compro 
 mise the matter by paying a little more, and when we got 
 them to work again winter came on and the canal stopped : 
 no more coal could go to market till spring. We kept the 
 miners at work, however, getting out several thousand, tons ; 
 but navigation opened unusually late, the spring came, and 
 when we sent a cargo to market we found to our surprise 
 that the coal was of an inferior quality : we had struck a 
 poor vein, and whether the men and their dependants had 
 known of it or not, they certainly were interested in not 
 disclosing the fact to us ; but if we could not sell the coal 
 we certainly could not pay the men ; and then they resorted 
 to the law for by the law they had a lien upon the mine 
 for their wages, which we would be obliged to discharge, or 
 stop further proceedings but how could we do this ? for 
 borrowing, and mortgaging, and persuading others to invest, 
 were all at an end. There is when I passed my sleepless 
 nights, and here is where I was swamped," said the doctor, 
 rising up and walking rapidly back and forth. " I can now 
 clearly sec, in the light of my past experience, that one
 
 118 NEPENTHE. 
 
 must not go into a speculation without having under his 
 control three times the amount of means which it will proba 
 bly require to carry it out, and then he must not be in haste to 
 get the profits and become rich out of it all at once he will 
 only be swamped, just as I have been ; and it will take all 
 my earnings for the next year or two to pay off debts. But 
 my integrity, Minnie that was my crown, my glory, and my 
 pride. I have never had an enemy until this coal opera 
 tion, and now Mr. Janes is doing all he can in every possible 
 way ; because, thinking it a very desirable speculation, I 
 persuaded him, after referring him to others who knew 
 more than I did about the matter, to invest with me in the 
 enterprise. Mr. Trap is his lawyer ; he will stoop to any 
 thing to get money. He boasts of never having lost a case ; 
 he'd sell his soul for twenty-five dollars. He'd probably get 
 along without a soul as well as with one. He is a sneaking, 
 rascally fellow, and his partners are equal to him ; there's 
 not a more rascally firm in the city than Trap, Fogg & Craft. 
 There's one thing aggravating about it, the enterprize failed 
 at a time when it was yielding more and better coal than it 
 had done and boats could not be had to take it away fast 
 enough. I have sent on for mining operations at first over 
 five thousand dollars ; I paid on the colliery property over 
 sixteen hundred dollars,! have sent on for mining operations 
 and for purchase money over eijrht thousand dollars. I 
 would have paid more and succeeded at last, but there was 
 no more money to be had. I know now very well that closed 
 canals, strikes, faults, fire damps are incidental to all mining 
 operations in that region, and no human sagacity can either 
 foresee or prevent them. He who would succeed at last 
 must carry sail enough to outweather such obstacles. 
 
 " I believe coal-mining to be really an adventure. Once 
 I thought certain rules were to be followed, certain indica 
 tions would be positively sure, certain results inevitaby 
 gained. But I have made the matter a profound study, and 
 puzzled and bewildered my brains with formations and vari 
 ations lamination and stratification identification and 
 generalization, crystallization and complication, until my 
 deepest calculation and clearest examination, end in perturb 
 ation and consternation. 
 
 " I agree with Lesley, the topographical geologist, that 
 theories of identification, however correct, will be set at
 
 NEPENTHE. 119 
 
 naught by unaccountable and invisible misdemeanors of 
 fact. Sand rocks will slide into shales, conglomerates be 
 come fine sands, favorite coal conceal itself under a de 
 graded type, never-to-be-mistaken limestone disappear, or 
 some new calcareous layer intrude itself among previously 
 pure clay beds. There'll be metamorphoses of rocks, hid 
 den rolls, increased and even reversed dips, strata thrown 
 over on their backs, down throws and up throws, and oblique 
 dislocations of crust. In some places, the whole operation 
 of mining is a perpetual experiment, no one knowing what 
 an hour may bring forth, nor the wisest able to fix a certain 
 value on an acre, a bed, or a gangway. Like a magician 
 among his uneasy spirits, the coal hunter must be forever 
 on his guard against surprises of all kinds, and expect his 
 embarrassments, conjectures and discoveries to begin anew 
 at every fresh location. When beds are crushed together, 
 folded up, turned over, and every hillside shows rocks dip 
 ping a different way, the problem becomes of enormous 
 difficulty, and I am not to blame for this great disappoint 
 ment. I have made up my mind I will do nothing rashly, 
 nothing I should regret in another world. I have no wish 
 to revenge. 
 
 " If a man wrong me, hereafter, remorse will haunt him. 
 In a short time we shall all stand before the judgment seat. 
 I may be the prey of slander. I shall do nothing but stand 
 against the wall and defend myself. It is pretty hard for 
 one man to stand up and keep off howling enemies, making 
 threats of prison and disgrace perilling life, liberty, and 
 estate." 
 
 " Well, judge, I told you that man was a scoundrel." 
 
 " What man ?" asked the judge. 
 
 "Why, the doctor whom I arrested the other day," re 
 plied the policeman. 
 
 " That doctor, man or what not, is all the same to me 
 has demanded examination in the complaint against him. I 
 suppose he is fool enough to think I will discharge him, but 
 I have made up my mind not to be bothered with these 
 long winded examinations any longer. They are taking the 
 examination before the clerk, and I shall decide of course 
 there was probable cause for the arrest, and send the whole 
 thing down to the Grand Jury."
 
 120 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " You are a trump, Judge," said the policeman. " Al 
 ways knew you were death on scoundrels." 
 
 " Between you and me, Jim, you know I always deal out 
 ample justice to every one who is brought up here man, 
 woman or child, I don't care who." 
 
 Yes, he had often dealt out ample justice, as he called it, 
 and it had been whispered about that a little consultation 
 with him beforehand, and possibly a bribe, no one knew 
 how often had made innocent men the victims of his indis 
 crimination and recklessness. Every time a Judge takes a 
 bribe, the State totters to its lowest foundations, as if shaken 
 by an earthquake. A good Judge is almost the sole prop 
 of the State ; for a good Judge mirrors forth in his opinions 
 not the passions, nor the prejudice, nor the caprice of the 
 people, but only their Laws as expressed in their constitu 
 tions and in all their legislative enactments. 
 
 The policeman complacently took his leave of Hi,3 Honor. 
 He had been bribed by some one of the complainant's 
 friends, to use his influence, (that meant bribe,) with the 
 Justice, against Dr. Wendon. He boasted of having great 
 influence with that, official in assisting him to come to the 
 right (?) conclusion. 
 
 I said the policeman had been bribed, and I have intimat 
 ed that the Judge was, too, but I cannot prove it. It may 
 be hard always to prove a Judas to be a Judas ; for who 
 sees him when he takes a bribe, or who can follow him 
 through all that dark labyrinth, wherein he has betrayed 
 justice. 
 
 While Jim goes off to his beat, Mr. Janes goes in Mr. 
 Trap's office to get him to put the doctor through. 
 
 Mr. Trap was peculiarly happy in making his clients be 
 lieve that everything he did for them professionally, was 
 the best that could be done in the premises. Sometimes in 
 the rush and hurry of a city practice, some case would be 
 overlooked and quite forgotten, but Mr. Trap's anxious 
 client would turn up in due course of time to remind him of 
 it. But no matter if the case had gone over from time to 
 time, or had got out of court entirely, Mr. Trap could ex 
 patiate largely upon the advantage accruing from such delay 
 in the discovery of new testimony, which must decide the 
 case in favor of his client, or the benefit of some new decis-
 
 NEPENTHE. 121 
 
 ion, which was about to be made, and which would make 
 every thing all right. 
 
 Of course the client was quite delighted with the delusion 
 that he should surely win at last, and that the law's delays 
 were after all, most wise dispensations of justice, and Mr. 
 Trap, and so the credulous client would go away rejoicing, 
 while Mr. Trap would turn upon his heel saying to himself, 
 " Well ! so long as he's satisfied, that's enough." 
 
 " What became of Doctor Wendon's speculation ?" said 
 one lady to another, as they were walking down street some 
 three months after the conversation in Mr. Trap's office. 
 
 " Oh, it was a dead loss, and the lawyers made it out a 
 case of fraud. It was a time of great panic, great scarcity 
 of money, and many really believed the doctor guilty of 
 fraudulent intent. Janes persecuted him relentlessly, 
 actuated by pure revenge because he had lost himself. He 
 said he would persecute the doctor to the last extent of the 
 law, if only to punish him. Of course he knew he could 
 get nothing. The doctor really was imprisoned. He was, 
 I believe, a most upright man. I don't know as he is out 
 of prison yet. I don't know all about the matter. It was a 
 tedious law suit. I couldn't tell about it if I should try. 
 Law is dull enough, except to parties concerned. But I be 
 lieve the doctor is one of the most honest and honorable of 
 men, and Mr. Janes had most false accounts of the transac 
 tion put in the daily papers. If I had been the doctor, I'd 
 sued him for slander." 
 
 Late one evening Nepenthe Stuart sat alone in her room, 
 reading a little note brought by a boy to the door, and this 
 brief warning was all it contained. 
 
 " Do not leave the house for ten days. Your life is in 
 danger. SUSAN." 
 
 It was nearly midnight, and Mrs. Trap sat up waiting for 
 her husband. He was unusually late. He sat in his office, 
 looking over some papers, and the tall, dark woman sat in 
 front of him, looking over some papers also. Neither spoke 
 for half an hour, until the woman broke the silence at last, 
 and only one thing she said. 
 
 " We'll keep him in prison as long as we can, and gold 
 shall pay you, Mr. Trap, plenty of gold." 
 
 11
 
 122 NEPENTHE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XVI. 
 
 FIFTH HOUSE IN THE BLOCK FOR SALE INQUIRE OF JOHN 
 
 TRAP. 
 
 " And the grass that chokes the portal, 
 Bends not to the tread of mortal." 
 
 THE fifth house in the block was empty, the shutters 
 closed. You could read deserted, in plain letters on the 
 tarnished door-plate, broken shutters, leaf-strewn walk and 
 grass-grown yard. No breath of kindly zephyr cooled the 
 hot, midsummer air long shut up within those brick walls. 
 Wanted, lost, and gone, the three tragedy words of life, 
 mocked you with ghost-voices if you listened at the key 
 hole, or peered through the neglected shutters, where the 
 lawless sunshine played on the bare walls. 
 
 Few noticed the change in the fifth house in the block. 
 One old gentleman, as he passed slowly by, leaning on his 
 cane, said, in an asthmatic whisper, " Some doctor used to 
 live there. How things have changed." On the door was 
 a bill in large letters. 
 
 " THIS HOUSE FOR SALE. 
 Inquire of JOHN TRAP, 
 
 No. 16 street." 
 
 No eye, no voice, no footstep met you if you climbed the 
 staircase and entered the vacant front chamber. There was 
 only a little empty crib in the corner. There, for six 
 months had little Violet Wendon nestled, as she twined her 
 dimpled arms close around the doctor's neck at earliest 
 dawn. He culled her " his peep of day." 
 
 " How pleasant the houses in that row," said many a 
 passer-by at nightfall, " when the chandeliers light up, the 
 damask glows rubier in the gas-light, and a crystal polish 
 glistens on the illuminated windows : but out of that block 
 Grod has chiselled two glorious souls, and placed them in 
 niches in the upper court of His great studio above."
 
 ' 
 
 NEPENTHE. 123 
 
 'Tis sad to go away from scenes familiar, and come back 
 only to hear strange voices, and meet new faces. Of all the 
 actors in our little programme, all had changed homes the 
 last year save Prudence Potter, whose eventless history was 
 marked by few new eras. There was no near relative for 
 her to lose but brother Zekiel, and he was married. Their 
 two single lives had paralleled so placidly along for years, 
 she could brook no change, and since his wooing and wed 
 ding, a hoighty-toity school-girl, with only a pink and white 
 face to recommend her, she could not go back to the old 
 place and see her hitherto precisely managed household af 
 fairs going on at " such loose ends," so she still remains 
 with cousin Priscilla. She has been talking of " going 
 home next week," ever since we first heard of her. 
 
 We will find her one Monday morning reading aloud from 
 an old paper she has picked up in the garret, for she has a 
 passion for rummaging and ransacking ; possibly, had she 
 been a man, this propensity might have led to some valua 
 ble discovery. She read aloud in a precise and hesitating 
 manner, every now and then turning her paper towards the 
 light, for she has just bought glasses number thirty-six 
 instead of fifty -four, and for once, she owns she has made a 
 mistake. She reads all the murders, shocking casualties 
 and disasters by sea and land 
 
 She reads at last, devouring every word as surprising 
 intelligence, part of a letter from Dr. Wendon, who was 
 one of the passengers on the wrecked steamer. 
 
 " We were driven by the flames back from the quarter 
 deck, where we had been standing. I let myself down into 
 the sea by a rope, and tried to swim, holding the child ; and 
 my wife was sitting across my shoulder. It was two o'clock 
 in the afternoon ; the gunpowder exploded when we had 
 been some time in the water. I tried to hold my child 
 above the water ; the water from the screw washed over us 
 for some minutes ; first my child was forcibly washed away 
 by the waves out of my arms, and then my wife. I saw them 
 no more. Having lost the rope, I seized a plank that was 
 floating along, and fastened myself to it. I was getting 
 faint and weary when I saw in the distance a vessel. I 
 tried to steer towards it. After nearly three hours I reached 
 it. I remember very little about the fate of the steamer. I 
 was completely exhausted when taken on board the vessel."
 
 12 i NEPENTHE. 
 
 It is said, that after the accident, the front lock of the 
 doctor's raven hair was grey. His hair had always been 
 beautiful, black, glossy, matching his eyes. He was really 
 handsome, yet so noble, manly, and digified. He never 
 betrayed any vanity, or consciousness of beauty. 
 
 Few strangers met him without exclaiming, " A fine look 
 ing man ; one of nature's noblemen." 
 
 There were never more beautiful eyes in a human head than 
 Dr. Wendon's. Clear, bright, piercing without being sharp, 
 you might not even remember the outline of his other fea 
 tures, but if you talked with him you only knew you had 
 seen some radiant eyes ; perhaps you could not tell their 
 color. In the evening when animated, you would call them 
 black, in the sunshine hazel. 
 
 When a boy he was told so often about his beautiful eyes 
 it would be strange, if he should grow up unconscious of 
 his chief attraction. Then they were such strong eyes; he 
 had read, late at night, Greek tragedies and closely written 
 manuscripts ; he had used his eyes for hours with microscope 
 and telescope, their power never seemed weakened, never 
 deficient. He would often read some soothing poem when 
 harassed and excited, books had been in the weary hours an 
 unfailing resort. He was enthusiastic about paintings and 
 flowers then his face was so expressive, his eyes would light 
 up so when in conversation, they were so full of soul and 
 feeling. 
 
 At last the auctioneer's hammer sounded its doleful 
 " going, going, gone," knocking down all of Dr. Wendou's 
 household goods. 
 
 His young wife and his little Violet, those incarnations of 
 loveliness, had perished by that fearful accident and months 
 had passed. 
 
 One day, when life looked its loveliest, nature was frolic- 
 ing with zephyrs and kissing the flowers, an Eden glow rested 
 on earth's garden. Far above life's busy stage, folds 
 of sapphire, and amber and gold festooned the draperied 
 clouds. There was a grand floral matinee ; Nature's great 
 dress circle was clad in its gala robes. Whole families of 
 royal carnations and delicate violet-3, were out in full dress 
 with their green opera cloaks, enchanting the eye as they 
 coquetted with whispering zephyrs. As you watched the 
 airy dance of the butterfly, or listened occasionally to an
 
 NEPENTHE. 125 
 
 oriole's soprano, or caught the low strains of the humming 
 bird's contralto, you might, from the depths of a happy 
 heart, chime in your grateful anthem " how full and how 
 precious ; how sweet the brimming cup of life." Beneath 
 such sunny skies, under waving boughs, one might sit down 
 and re-weave the broken web of happiness, and robe the 
 spirit anew in hope's gayest gossamer. 
 
 Dr. Wendon stands by the window, almost bathed in a 
 golden flood of sunshine, and tries to catch some view of the 
 distant spire of a familiar church. The outlines are bold 
 and distinct, yet he sees them not. He places his hands 
 over his eyes, staggers, sighs heavily, and at last there 
 breaks out from the depths of his surcharged heart, that 
 most sorrowful of all sorrowful sounds a sob, a man's irre 
 pressible, hopeless sob. 
 
 He stands up again, erect, still and waits, and listens, 
 and waits. The door opens, and a man enters 'tis Dr. 
 Cerrier. He walks up and shakes hands, but almost impa 
 tiently, Dr. Wendon says, " Give me your opinion, Dr. Cer 
 rier ; I want your final opinion." 
 
 The oculist looks, 'examines, looks again, hesitates, then 
 he says, slowly, " You have amaurosis. The great and pro 
 tracted exertion of your eyes, the painful circumstances 
 through which you have passed, the severe blow on the eye 
 brows you recently received, have all produced this result. 
 Yours is one of those rare cases, when a wound on the eye 
 brows and neighboring frontal region, has caused serious 
 injury. The fracture extends along the thin brittle orbital 
 process of the frontal bone, reaching to the optic nerve, or 
 to the union of the two nerves. I cannot see that in this 
 instance, the blow has affected the vascularity or the trans 
 parency of the different textures of the eye. 
 
 " The injury did not seem serious at first, but actual 
 blindness will supervene sooner or later ; you must keep up 
 your general health, and be perfectly quiet, avoiding all ex 
 citement." 
 
 The scientific cause, the scientific possibilities, the scien 
 tific probabilities, the scientific words, fell unheeded on 
 those quivering ears. 
 
 The epitome of all sorrow was summed up in these sim 
 ple words, ' I am blind !' 
 
 What avails the moving of scientific hands over closed
 
 126 NEPENTHE. 
 
 eyes, the sounding of technical terms in grief-stricken ears ; 
 once enter the realm of blindness, what professional aid or 
 counsel can ease the grief or soothe the malady ? 
 
 " It requires a great deal of philosophy to bear these ills 
 of life," said the oculist as he left. 
 
 Once more alone, Dr. Wendon sat as if stupefied. 
 " Quiet, quiet, quiet," he repeated at length, slowly and 
 half unconsciously, " when my soul is tossed and troubled 
 on this great sea of sorrow. Philosophy ! what philosophy 
 can irradiate the gloom of blindness ? Must I, who have 
 restored sight to so many eyes, cease my precious labors 
 those labors which bring forth rest, rest so sweet after 
 toil ? Must I lay away from my sight the consoling faces 
 of books, the kindly looks of nature ?" 
 
 For weeks he planned and thought, and thought and 
 planned to find some way to give vent to his feelings, as he 
 sat in his perpetual twilight, trying to catch glimpses of the 
 fading sun, by the light of his fading vision. He closed the 
 shutters, and sat in gloomy retrospection, trying to think of 
 some way of writing down his thoughts. Clasping his hands 
 in despair, he arose, and walked back and forth, exclaiming 
 " Must my solitary thoughts melt away with hectic, or freeze 
 within me ? Must my soul in this endless nightmare never 
 be able to cry out for help ?" 
 
 He bemoans his loss, and at last he writes, in crooked, 
 unsightly lines ; but he writes in that old journal of his. 
 The paper is all blank to him, but the words are burning, 
 as he feels his way along the page, folding and creasing it 
 as he writes, so as to fancy he has some guiding lines : and 
 thus he writes. 
 
 " The gate of the eyes is closed, and all the joy-avenues of 
 life are closed at once, and there is a wall around my spirit 
 it is buried alive, star and sky and green earth are sheet 
 ed and shrouded from my vision. 
 
 " In the tomb of my heart nature is only an embalmed, cof 
 fined mummy. My soul is vaulted in darkness. Every 
 passer by can read on its darkened front, ' Here lies buried 
 the soul of Dr. Wendon, bereaved, beggared, blind. Bound 
 like Prometheus to the rock of darkness, with Memory's 
 vulture preying at my heart, dwelling like Tantalus near 
 the gushing stream of human life, but tasting its b,liss no 
 more.'
 
 NEPENTHE. 127 
 
 " Left starless, sunless, moonless, skyless guided, fed 
 by attendant bands God ! there is no preparation for this 
 shock of blindness. With what raiment, what food, what 
 staff, what lantern can the soul provide itself for this dark, 
 faltering, stumbling, trembling, rough life journey ? Must 
 I walk forever the silent shore of Memory, watching the 
 shadowy sails of phantom joy-ships drifting out of sight, or 
 lost in the gloom of an endless night ? 
 
 The sunshine dances no more on the deep sea of thought ; 
 Memory's torchlight procession moves on as the muffled bell 
 at the gate of the soul tolls out the departure of light. Re 
 trospection sits at the stern, throwing back its dim light on 
 the wake of the spirit. Lonely thought keeps up its gloomy 
 night watch all the long hours of weary years, while the soul 
 chants its dirge out on life's dreary sea. Alone in the dark I 
 hear the shuffling feet of 'worshippers outside, on life's outer 
 coast echoing around my soul's closed doors and dying 
 away. 
 
 " The inner veil is hung, the soul goes no more out to 
 meet the responses of earthly oracles it kneels alone." 
 
 No, not alone, poor desolate blind man for when the 
 soul is walled up high above the stars by its wall of dark 
 ness, through God's great skylight, away up in the top of 
 the spirit's dome, there streams down clear, radiant light on 
 the artist soul, as it works alone with its finely carved and 
 fretted thoughts. 
 
 Unseen hands unroll the spirit's canvas beautiful paint 
 ing and frescoed thoughts, adorn its walls, mosaic truths in 
 lay its floor, till base and battlement, frieze and entablature, 
 glow with living light while away back in the spirit's holi 
 est, the Great High Priest kindles on the darkened shrine 
 His radiant Shekinah. 
 
 When orient morn, cloudless noon, and gorgeous sunset 
 shine no more through the stained windows of the soul, bar 
 red and bolted, shuttered forever from cheerful day, celes 
 tial stars come cut one by one and twinkle in the spirit's 
 &ky, eternal lamps are hung along the soul's vaulted halls, 
 cheering the depths of its caverned gloom. 
 
 When the daylight dies from the spirit, in the hidden 
 recesses fall celestial dews, and fragrant night-blooming 
 flowers unfold their snowy petals. 
 
 Reader, did you ever sit for a month in the dark, with
 
 128 NEPENTHE. 
 
 shaded eyes, with the fear of blindness like an adumbrated 
 terror ever before you and have those lonesome, tiresome, 
 doleful words always sounding in your ears from mother, 
 sister, doctor, " You mustn't use your eyes you mustn't 
 think about any thing " ? Every day somebody comes in to 
 tell you there are many people worse off than you are, many 
 have lost their sight with eyes quite like yours ; you sit and 
 think till you are nothing but thought. Resigned you may 
 be, but never thankful, till unshaded, unveiled, unparasolled, 
 you emerge from prison gloom, and your long blindfold soul 
 looks up into the clear sky again as you sit once more in 
 mother Nature's lap, and read her nursery rhymes semi- 
 colored with stars and vignetted with flowers. 
 
 Then never weep, never despond, never falter, you who 
 have strong hands, honest hearts, and clear-seeing eyes, and 
 never pass unmoved the blind man by the wayside. Say to 
 him, in the kind language of the Carthagenian Queen, " Not 
 ignorant of evil, I myself know how to succor the unfortu 
 nate." 
 
 Days pass on. Dr. Wendon can still tell the daylight 
 from the dark as he sits in that silent room, surrounded by 
 his books, the wreck of his former fortune. There they are, 
 large libraries from floor to ceiling, all around him ; but be 
 tween him and them, near as they are, is a great gulf of 
 darkness fixed. Flowers are sent him tulips, dahlias, ele 
 gant, brilliant flowers : he sends them away. 
 
 A friend in Europe, not having heard of his misfortune, 
 sent him a magnificent painting. He says with a sigh, "Go, 
 put it up where you please." 
 
 One afternoon he sleeps in his chair, and putting out his 
 footsteps on his favorite dog, almost crushed his leg. The 
 frightened animal runs off howling with pain. The doctor 
 never liked a cane ; now he never can walk out without one. 
 
 He sits at life's closed keyhole, in the dark, watching for 
 voices. The musical voice once always first to whisper con 
 solation, is hushed ; if those arms could only clasp him in 
 one more tender embrace, he could better sit forever in the 
 iurk. He listens as he turns his head at the least sound : 
 he hears only the rough billows dashing against the cold 
 shore of memory : each echo seems a booming minute gun 
 for some joy going down. He says mournfully, " All thy
 
 NEPENTHE. 129 
 
 waves and thy billows are going over me I shall perish in 
 this dark." 
 
 He hears not the sweet voice of that only One walking 
 serenely on life's rough billows, " I am the light of life ; 
 if any man hear my voice he shall not walk in darkness, he 
 shall see light. Catch the hem of my radiant robes and you 
 shall walk in light forever." 
 
 Once when he passed along, strangers asked " Who is 
 that gentleman with those fine eyes ?" Now for the first 
 time he goes out, carefully attended by his kind young 
 friend. As he tries so hard to walk along unaided and un 
 attended, he stumbles against the curb-stone and almost 
 falls. He shudders as he hears some thoughtless, light- 
 hearted maiden exclaim as he passes, " Who is that poor 
 blind man ?" Is he really a blind man ? no more the cel 
 ebrated Dr. Wendon, but a poor blind man ! 
 
 It is so hard for a man once praised and envied, to be the 
 object of pity to a heartless crowd to be pitied for a hope 
 less misfortune. A man would rather rule, protect, defend, 
 than be always an object of compassion and care. In a lit 
 tle trouble, he may fret and fume and annoy others, but in a 
 great sorrow even a wife's pity must be carefully manifested 
 to an unfortunate husband. There are moods in a man's life 
 when he will gloomily bear alone, rather than share some 
 business trouble, mental suffering, or bodily agony. 
 
 It was a Sabbath a sweet, balmy Sabbath and Mrs. 
 Pridefit, elegantly dressed, is walking home from church. 
 
 " What a pity, John," she says daintily, holding up her 
 unsoiled brocade, for the ground is damp, " what a pity that 
 Dr. Wendon is blind ! It has spoiled his beauty. He 
 was such a stylish-looking man. Don't that gray lock on his 
 head look odd ! I would have it dyed if I were in his 
 place." 
 
 Miss Prudence Potter overhears something about some 
 doctor's being blind, and she says, with her old peculiar 
 smile, " He couldn't be much of a doctor, if he couldn't keep 
 himself from being blind." 
 
 " 'Tis a punishment for his sins," said Miss Charity Gouge, 
 daintily holding up her new green brocade, " 'tis a punish 
 ment for his sins." 
 
 " Punishment for his sins !" said Kate Howard, who was 
 walking by her side. " What great sins has he committed ?" 
 
 6*
 
 130 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " Why, he was guilty of fraud," said Miss Charity. " Mr. 
 Trap made it out a c4ear case of fraud." 
 
 " If Mr. Trap proved his guilt," said Kate, " I believe he 
 is innocent, as all sensible people know he is." 
 
 " Well," said Miss Charity, " if he is not guilty of fraud, 
 he is not a Christian ; and it is a sad thing for a man to get 
 to be of mature years and not be a Christian. This may be 
 the judgment of Grod that is to lead him to repentance." 
 
 " Well," said Kate, " if all the wicked people in the world 
 were made blind, we'd most of us be left in the dark. One 
 of the noblest and best Christians I ever knew, became blind 
 by accident, when a child. I have often guided him up and 
 down Broadway, and I felt in a blaze of spiritual light when 
 walking by his side. He has piloted many an erring soul 
 through the world's moral darkness. There is a shade over 
 his eyes, but his soul ' sits high in its meridian tower,' and 
 dwells forever in that radiant zone where no shadow falls. 
 Yet hidden forever behind life's magic curtain, he throws 
 out his brilliant phantasmagoria of imagery, to the instruc 
 tion and charm of watching eyes. 
 
 " He is a clergyman, and his clarion voice and radiant 
 thoughts have made hiai the grandest living .monument in 
 the land, of the sovereign power of a royal soul\ver a locked 
 sense. His soul, like a peerless diamond in the dark, ever 
 emits flash after flash of vivid light, kindling in the eye 
 and burning in the heart of admiring crowds. If any man 
 deserves a cordial grasp of the hand, and a fervent God 
 speed, it is this spiritual giant, finding his sightless way to 
 classic founts, and peril's peak, carving his name in Chris 
 tian hearts, as he safely leaps from hill to hill of faith, across 
 the roiling flood of popularity, and over the dizziest sleepers 
 of the bridge of fame. His laurel crown, though green and 
 beautiful, must be, in his loneliest hours, wreathed with a 
 ' chaplet of thorns.' " 
 
 Kate Howard often felt bursts of enthusiasm, but she sel 
 dom spoke with as much feeling as on this occasion. 
 
 A few of the doctor's old patients, seeing him out pale, 
 blind, and leaning on the arm of his young friend, say, 
 " What a pity Dr. Wendon is so unfortunate ! Who'll we 
 have for our doctor now ?" 
 
 The oculist is walking along with another physician. He 
 too is talking about the blind doctor. He says it is an in-
 
 NEPENTHE. 131 
 
 teresting case of amaurosis he is glad to have an opportu 
 nity for diagnosis the diagnosis is easier than the progno 
 sis. He thinks electricity a wonderful therapeutic agent. 
 
 Just behind the corner stands a woman with hollow eyes 
 and long nose, muttering to herself: " The doctor can't be 
 of much use to any one now he might as well be dead too. 
 The scales of trouble are balanced after all. Rich to-day, 
 to-morrow poor and blind. That girl will have to shirk for 
 herself now." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN RIDE. 
 
 ON, on through the long woods the clumsy coach rumbles, 
 the trees almost meet overhead but a small patch of blue 
 can be seen you could only catch at intervals any glimpse 
 of the western sky. 
 
 The first intimation of the coming storm was a heavy roll 
 of thunder. Way out of sight of the woods, the western sky 
 was gathering blackness. As on through the winding road 
 the stage rumbled, there came all at once a heavy clap of 
 thunder, and then a flash, lighting up the dark woods with 
 gloomy grandeur. 
 
 " Hurry up, driver, hurry up most there ?" shouted the 
 fat man in the corner, putting his gray head out of the win 
 dow as they came out under the open sky, where black heaps 
 of clouds were piling higher and higher. 
 
 " Eight miles yet," said the driver, impatiently. 
 
 " Thunder !" exclaimed the fat man again ; which excla 
 mation was for once singularly appropriate, for just then a 
 heavy clap came, and then all was still. 
 
 In one corner of the stage sits a lady with straw bonnet 
 and green ribbon, drab shawl and brown dress, gold-framed 
 spectacles over her eyes, reticule in her hand. On her lap 
 is a bandbox, containing her new cap, and in her other hand 
 her green silk umbrella, as it rains. She has taken off her 
 shawl and put it on again wrong side out, to keep it from 
 being soiled. There is a small square paper pasted on. the 
 top of her bandbox, labeled " Miss Prudence Potter." There
 
 132 NEPENTHE. 
 
 is the old smile on her face. She says nothing about the 
 storm, but contents herself with her old consolation, "What 
 can't be cured must be endured." 
 
 " Drive on, drive on, don't keep us here," said one of the 
 passengers. Crack, crack went the whip, and on they sped 
 like lightning. Suddenly there was a crash but this time 
 the crash was not above. Over went the passengers the 
 stage was upset one of the wheels was off. 
 
 One half- intoxicated man in the corner was the first to 
 slip out. He rolled over, with his head almost crushed by 
 the weight of a fellow-passenger. He drew a long breath, 
 as if struggling out from under something, and exclaimed, 
 with frightened tone and bewildered look, " I say, driver, 
 are we or up or or down, or or where ?" 
 
 " Great Governor of Egypt !" screamed the fat man from 
 Arkansas, as he stood at last in the doorway of the only 
 house in the vicinity, looking all around, first up at the sky 
 and then at the frightened, dripping passengers, huddling 
 into the one little sitting-room. " Great Governor of Egypt, 
 warn't that a buster, stranger ? I came nearer going to the 
 devil that time than I ever did in my life before. That up 
 set and all pretty nearly made a galvanic battery of me 
 only one side of me don't connect at all," he added, rubbing 
 his right ear, which looked a little red. " That pretty nearly 
 broke the dram of my tym pan um. This road must be 
 the road to Jordan, for it's hard enough to travel." 
 
 Just then a traveller rode up, a young gentleman in a one 
 horse carriage, evidently to gain a shelter. 
 
 " Why, Carleyn, where did you come from ?" said a tall 
 man in the corner, as the stranger drove up and entered the 
 door. He had kept silence for five minutes, as if his thoughts 
 had been swallowed up in the storm and fright. His voice 
 was deep, hollow and sepulchral, as if it came up out of 
 some gloomy depths. " Have you been taking this thunder- 
 storm, or has it taken you ?" said he to Carleyn. " You al 
 ways wanted to be out in one good storm. Such a storm 
 shakes up a man's ideas wonderfully. Did you meet our 
 vehicle on the way 1 ? I remember that lecture you gave 
 once about the stage before and behind, &c. Well, to-day 
 we are all before the stage, and if you came that way, you 
 must have concluded that the stage isn't well supported in 
 these parts. We've been on the stage to-day', practicing
 
 NEPENTHE. 133 
 
 comedy and tragedy together. We all acted. You might 
 have thought our parts overdrawn we were pretty well 
 overdrawn, if our parts were uot," he added, facetiously. 
 " Anyway the tragi-comedy scene is over, and we've left the 
 stage for some more active profession. We think of making 
 a pedestrian tour to explore the country. But you've come 
 in good time. You can take this young woman here in your 
 buggy. The rest of us are all men folks we can walk a- 
 foot to Gray's Tavern. There's no resorting to the stage 
 this night, and Bill will have to take the mail on the horse's 
 back." 
 
 " I will be happy to take the young lady under my 
 charge," said Mr. Carleyn, removing his hat and bowing po 
 litely to the young lady, who sat alone by the window, appa 
 rently looking at the bears and lions conspicuously dis 
 played on the blue windo.v shade. 
 
 " Carleyn," spoke up the tall man again, " the young wo 
 man has a trunk. Can't you fasten it in the boot, if you 
 think there is room ?" 
 
 " I've no baggage of my own," said Carleyn. " I've room 
 enough. As the storm seems to be over, we'll fasten it in 
 now, with your permission," he added, politely again ad 
 dressing the young lady. 
 
 As Mr. Carleyn lifted so carefully the small trunk into 
 the carriage, he couldn't help seeing on one end the initials 
 " N. S.," and then he couldn't help wondering what the rest 
 of the name was. 
 
 There is something mysterious about initials they leave 
 such a vague field of conjecture. " N. S." Was it Nelly 
 Sinclair, or Nancy Smith, or Naomi Stevens ? How many 
 thoughts may huddle into a man's mind while he is fasten 
 ing up a lady's trunk. " What is the use of guessing, when 
 you've no certain data?" Levi Longman, the new school 
 master in that district would say, as he always promptly 
 dismissed such foolish, wandering thoughts. 
 
 " But who is this N. S. ?" thought Carieyn, as he stood a 
 moment buttoning up his traveling coat and glancing up at 
 the door, over which was this new inscription : 
 
 " Cake and beer 
 Sold here ; 
 Crackers and cheese, 
 If you please ; 
 Walk in, I swear, 
 And take a chair."
 
 134 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " Timothy Titus must be getting poetical," thought Car- 
 leyn, " to have so much hexameter over his door. He has 
 also two new window-shades in the upper story with larger 
 bears and lions than ever." 
 
 Miss Prudence Potter's new spectacles are broken, her 
 bandbox is smashed in, her bonnet-strings are soiled, the 
 front breadth of her dress is torn, two of her new front teeth 
 are broken, the top of her umbrella handle is off, and the 
 strap is off of her trunk. She says nothing as she enters 
 Mrs. Titus' front door, but walks right out into the kitchen, 
 hangs her shawl on the back of an old chair, mourns over 
 her broken teeth and dilapidated spectacles, and mutters in 
 distinctly, as she goes around hunting up some liniment to 
 keep off the rheumatism, " It is heathenish to have such 
 careless drivers. She won't start off again on any journey on 
 Friday .^ She won't go a step further this night. She'll never 
 get in a stage-coach again. If she once gets home, she will 
 stay there." 
 
 Mrs. Titus says there is no unoccupied lodging-room for 
 her in the house, but there is a little wash-house built back 
 in the yard, where a temporary bed can be made. So Miss 
 Prudence consents to " colonize out " that night in the wash- 
 house. 
 
 Prudence Potter has one tender chord in her heart, after 
 all. Zekiel's wife is dead, and has left an infant six months 
 old, and she is going home to take care of it, to love it, and, 
 in her rough way, to be its mother. She will probably trot 
 it half the time, and give it catnip tea and Godfrey's cor 
 dial, and make it just such a little blue silk hood as she used 
 to wear when a ba.by. 
 
 While the trunk was being put in its new quarters, the 
 young lady looked out of the window, and saw Mr. Carleyn 
 place, very carefully, a flat bundle in the bottom of the car 
 riage. It was not exactly a bundle, but looked more like 
 large sheets of pasteboard laid together. 
 
 " We'll have showers all along the road to-day," said he 
 to the tall gentleman who had been assisting him a little. 
 " I mean bush showers. We'll have plenty of bushes to 
 ride through ; there'll be shower baths enough." 
 
 " Take this shawl," said Mrs. Titus, who came rushing 
 out of the door with a large plaid shawl ; " you'll need it ; 
 you can bring it when you pass this way again. Our Timo-
 
 NEPENTHE. 135 
 
 thy got a very sore throat the last time he rode through 
 those high bushes. You must take better care of yourself, 
 Mr. Carleyn," said she, kindly. 
 
 Just then a tall man came up to the door. " I'll make you 
 acquainted with our new school-master, Mr. Levi Longman, 
 a cousin of Rachael Longman's, Mr. Carleyn," said Mrs. 
 Titus. 
 
 You might travel a great distance and not find a larger 
 heart or a larger person than Mrs. Timothy Titus. Her hus 
 band was exceedingly long and narrow, approaching seven 
 feet of longitude. He had a peculiar twist in his walk, 
 which made him lean forward a little and incline to the right 
 side ; but Mrs. Timothy always insisted upon it that it was 
 a good fault for Timothy to incline to the right. She was 
 exceedingly straight arid exceedingly wide. Every year in 
 creased her apparent size, while each year Timothy grew 
 narrower. 
 
 While the gentlemen outside are talking about the storm, 
 the roads, and the stage, Nepenthe, for it was indeed Nepen 
 the Stuart, sits within, and looks listlessly around as if her 
 heart was far away. She was not quite alone, for in the 
 corner sits Mrs. Titus in the rocking-chair, occasionally 
 looking out to see if the stage from the other direction is 
 coming. 
 
 " There is a sense of light, a sense of emptiness, a sense 
 of loneliness in this plain room," thought Nepenthe, as her 
 eyes rested on some thing hanging over the mantel-piece. 
 
 " That head was drawn by my boy," said Mrs. Titus, with 
 a low tone and a moist eye. " It was taken four years ago, 
 and Mr. Longman says it is very well done." 
 
 " How old is your boy ?" said Nepenthe. 
 
 " He would have been sixteen the tenth of this month, 
 had he lived," said Mrs. Titus ; " but won't you come in and 
 see him ?" 
 
 Nepenthe followed her into a little room nicely papered 
 and carpeted. There were white curtains at the windows 
 trimmed with neat fringe, and looped with pink muslin 
 bands. 
 
 " That's my boy," said the mother, as she drew aside the 
 curtain, so that the light fell full on the face of a beautiful 
 portrait finely executed and elegantly framed ; " that's my
 
 136 NEPENTHE. 
 
 boy. It cost a hundred dollars, but I would not take thou 
 sand for it." 
 
 " Was his name Ernest ?" said Nepenthe. 
 
 " Yes ; he was named by a Frenchman who was taken 
 sick some where on the road and brought here. He named 
 him, and every year after he sent him some present. He 
 sent him the last two years pencils, paper, and all kinds of 
 things to draw with. Here they are," said shfe, taking a key 
 and opening the drawer of a little stand in the corner, " they 
 are just as he left them. I can't bear to touch them," said 
 she, closing the drawer again and locking it as carefully and 
 gently as if a favorite child were asleep within. 
 
 The portrait was indeed a rare Milesian face, with the 
 father's black hair and the mother's blue eyes. Such a face 
 as sometimes greets us, surprises and attracts us in some 
 lowly house with mediocrity for its father and unrefined sim 
 plicity for its mother. It bore the stamp of genius. 
 
 Just then the tall man stepped inside the door, and asked 
 in his deep hollow voice, " Is the young woman ready ?" 
 
 As Nepenthe stood in that room a feeling came over her, 
 a half consciousness that she had been there before Tbe 
 pictures, the window, the table, even Mrs. Titus looked fa 
 miliar. It seemed as if she had been there before in some 
 dream. She had seen those curtains, the open drawer, the 
 little stand with the Bible on it, and wlien the tall man came 
 in, she knew what he would say : " Is the young woman 
 ready ?" 
 
 Are there not prophetic thoughts hovering like sea-birds 
 over the future sailing on a head like avaunt coureurs on a 
 road through which we afterwards travel, and meeting us as 
 we pause on the journey with the greeting " I'm here before 
 you ?" 
 
 Nepenthe was soon seated beside Mr. Carleyn in his com 
 fortable carriage. She was so grateful for this unexpected 
 escort, she knew not what to say. She could hardly open 
 her lips to say any thing. That hackneyed " Much obliged 
 to you," or cold " Thank you," which means every thing or 
 nothing; she could not say even that. She broke out abruptly, 
 as we are apt to do after passing through great dangers and 
 finding ourselves safe at last. " You have done me a great 
 kindness, sir," she said, and she was silent. 
 
 Were she moulded after the ordinary type of artificial
 
 NEPENTHE. 137 
 
 young ladies, she would have begun a lively conversation ; 
 but no she was silent. 
 
 There are times in all our histories when it is a trial to 
 talk, when we feel willing to endure patiently, to suffer si 
 lently, but cannot lift off the burden and talk lightly, cheer 
 fully, and we are unwilling to talk sadly, gloomily, or allow 
 a stranger to guess our sadness. It is a consolation to lock 
 up some thoughts in the safe of the heart secure from any 
 mortal eye. 
 
 " That is a musical voice," thought Mr. Carleyn as he 
 said politely, " we are coming now near those high bushes ; 
 lean back in the carriage, throw your veil over your bon 
 net, as the drops will fall." 
 
 " Will it rain again ?" said Nepenthe, half frightened. 
 
 " 0, no ! But I see you are not used to these impromptu 
 shower baths. This road ought to be better, and these 
 bushes cut down ; but as it is no one's particular business, 
 it is left, and it is very uncomfortable to ride along this way 
 after a heavy shower but lean back," said he, throwing his 
 big shawl over her shoulders. 
 
 True enough^ just then there came an actual illustration 
 of his remarks, and in shielding her he received himself the 
 full benefit of the shower. Who was Nepenthe Stuart rid 
 ing off with alone ? Who this unknown, suddenly appearing 
 before this rude cottage, with fleet horse and comfortable 
 carriage 1 Was it safe so to place herself under the charge 
 to an entire stranger and alone ? All the stories of ac 
 cidents and injuries thus incurred by young ladies carried 
 off into wild woods, rushed through Nepenthe's mind when 
 she looked up into his faoe, as the tall man so unceremo 
 niously made the offer of her company to Mr. Carleyn. But 
 as she looked into his face, she was sure, that stranger as 
 he was, the law of kindness was written in his heart, the law 
 of politeness written on his lips, the law of honor in his eye. 
 She had so dreaded staying all night in that uncomfortable 
 house, and besides, there was no unoccupied room to be had, 
 so she rode calmly along, sure of safe protection. 
 
 Nature is such an informal cicerone, she brings people to 
 gether so unceremoniously, and they chat cozily with wild 
 flowers, or green leaves, or wayside hills. She introduces 
 us with a flash of lightning, and smiling on us in a beam of 
 sunshine, makes us so well acquainted. If leaves could re-
 
 138 NEPENTHE. 
 
 hearse to us as well as they can whisper to each other, how 
 many tales could they repeat of confidential chats softly 
 whispered under their friendly shade. Out under the true- 
 hearted sky, before the open face of Nature, the heart will 
 find its way to the lips, and thoughts are severed no longer 
 by conventional distances. 
 
 They traveled on till they came to a turn in the road, at 
 which they made a sudden halt. There had been a freshet. 
 The bridge over which passengers had crossed for years had 
 been carried off. The only way was to go back a mile and 
 round the other unfrequented road. The old bush road it 
 was called, and it was only a kind of winding path. 
 
 " You will have to ride much further than you expected," 
 said the young man, as a fine blush colored his face. " Tbe 
 other road is pleasant, though unfrequented. It is long and 
 winding, and you may find it tedious. It is more like a path 
 than a road. I am glad we did not reach here at night. I 
 might have urged my horse on without noticing the missing 
 bridge. I am so familiar with this road I quite often drive 
 along here carelessly, if my thoughts are pre-occupied. I 
 often drive along without looking up ; my horse knows the 
 way as well as I do. I sometimes think he goes it blind, 
 too. I have traveled along here when a boy," said he, half 
 sighing as he turned his horse's head and drove back. 
 
 There was something in the cool, invigorating mountain 
 air which refreshed and exhilarated Nepenthe. She was 
 young, and until recently had had little care or sorrow for 
 the last four years, yet this ride among the mountains was 
 to her new and delightful. As they passed through the 
 forest they saw one of the tallest trees lying in fragments 
 on the ground, the trunk shivered to splinters, some of 
 which were sticking in the ground some distance off. A 
 gleam of sunshine brightened, just then, mountain, forest, 
 and stream. Nature seemed rejoicing to get back her old 
 pleasant tone and look again. 
 
 " How much we are affected by gleams of sunshine," said 
 Nepenthe. Her face brightened up as she looked on the 
 clear sky, the trees, glowinsr with that beautiful emerald 
 light, the sunshine, leaves o^Nature's fair face wet with tears 
 of weeping skies, a golden emerald light, like living, breath 
 ing, human joy.
 
 NEPENTHE. 139 
 
 "Yes," said Carleyn, "there's something depressing in a 
 long storm, a gloomy sky and shivering leaves." 
 
 As the sunshine broke through the branches of some tall 
 trees along which they now rode, it made his own face radi 
 ant. 
 
 " Nature's moods seem contagious. She plays with our 
 faces, and plays with our hearts." Says Novalis, ' Nature 
 is an ^lolian harp ; a musical instrument whose tones again 
 are keys to higher strings in us.' 
 
 " The universal character of the law of Nature is univer 
 sal aptitude, convenance," he thought ; the word seemed so 
 expressive in the French convenance, he only half uttered 
 it as Nepenthe whispered it to herself. 
 
 Mr. Carleyn, of all things disliked seeming to wish to im 
 part his own superior knowledge to others in common con 
 versation as if to inform them, and for fear they might be 
 ignorant of the French language. She seldom made use of 
 a French word in common conversation. 
 
 Nepenthe was pleased that the same word was uttered al 
 most by both at the same time. 
 
 Why is it that unsuggested and with no previous commu 
 nication, two beings will be just about to utter or utter the 
 same thought in the same language this is a fact in psy 
 chology and it often causes a sensation of great pleasure to 
 two persons. 
 
 Mr. Carleyn talked on, and we will listen and interrupt 
 him no more by soliloquizing ; but if we hear others talking, 
 we feel like breaking in and talking too. We fear if we 
 wait, we would lose our idea that is trying to get out, and 
 try the air too. 
 
 Did you ever try, reader, to hold fast an idea, waiting for 
 a chance to utter it, fearing if it escaped your memory, it 
 would not come back again ? Isn't it an unpleasant sensa 
 tion to try to catch and hold fast an idea ? How forgetful- 
 ness chases memory around at " hide and seek " behind the 
 curtains of the soul, and then when at last your time comes 
 to speak, the word you were saying over to yourself to try 
 and remember, you can't recall and you are really vexed 
 at yourself as you say, " Oh ! dear ! I wish I could think of 
 it, but it has escaped my mind." The little prompter be 
 hind the stage of the heart is a very uncertain character. 
 
 But Carleyn talked on as they rode through the most en-
 
 140 NEPENTHE. 
 
 chanting scenery, and Nature is a good prompter for extem 
 pore eloquence. Who said Carleyn ever heard of a man 
 who was puzzled for words or ideas either out in the woods ? 
 " In Nature there is nothing melancholy,'' says Coleridge, 
 " yet every person of fine feelings, after passing through 
 such a terrific storm as we have to-day, his mind wrought 
 up to the sublime sense of danger, must have felt a touch 
 of sadness in the mingling of danger and security, the vivid 
 flash of lightning, followed by the sweet sunshine of repose. 
 If nature has so many moods, is it a wonder that we are so 
 often stirred with sorrow or thrilled with ecstacy." 
 
 Poor Nepenthe, she was not talking of shadows of might- 
 he's or of sentimentals. She was sorrowful, though just 
 then in tune with happy nature. She was homeless, and 
 like a " bewildered wanderer she stood, shouting question 
 after question into the sybil cave of Destiny, and receiving 
 no answer but an echo." 
 
 " But look yonder," said Carleyn, " do you see that 
 church spire through the trees ? There is a little village 
 where I stayed one tiresome week. I had been out sketch 
 ing, and, by the merest accident, I sprained my ankle, 
 and was laid up. There is a church, a duck-pond, an acad 
 emy and a meeting-house. They are the three central 
 points of interest. The duck -pond is a resort for all the 
 children. It is omnibus, hand-organ, museum, everything. 
 The academy is the light of the village. There country 
 fairs, exhibitions, and singing schools come off and the 
 meeting-house is the rallying place for all. But I was laid 
 up there in the heart of the village in a house in the prin 
 cipal street ; the sofa, high-backed and hard, on which I was 
 allowed to rest by day, overlooked the street. There was a 
 stupid-looking Dutchman's house in front ; the clatter of 
 machinery disturbed the most pleasant hours of the day, 
 and the incessant barking of dogs broke the repose of night. 
 There were once to redeem the ill looks o f the unsightly 
 building opposite, flourishing trees ; but these were pros 
 trated long since by some wood-loving, not tree-loving 
 Dutchman, the barking of whose dogs was to him more 
 agreeable than the carolling of birds in waving branches. 
 At earliest dawn worn out mules, not yet rested from yes 
 terday's hard toil, dragged by heavy loads of sand or earth. 
 A long procession of these carts and mules, guided by toil-
 
 NEPENTHE. 141 
 
 worn men, whose life was literally given to the earth, 
 earthy, was the sure harbinger of daybreak. I pitied the 
 inules, and I pitied the men : for me the necessity of doing 
 just the same things at the same unvarying moments, with 
 no alteration, variation, deviation, relaxation, is intolerable 
 botheration, as a friend of mine would say. That friend 
 spent one night in that house, and there happened to be 
 there, or there belonged there, he says, a hundred turkeys, 
 but he's a little given to hyperbole. They were there for 
 safe keeping, or taken on execution, and they did execution, 
 gobble, gobble, gobble, all night long. He could not sleep, 
 and there was also at that time, a piano in the house, wait 
 ing to be sold. He was a fine musician, and to still the tumult 
 of the turkeys, he commenced executing on the piano, and the 
 result was, the much admired turkey waltz, which he 
 dedicated to me. He made the piano talk, and the imitation 
 of all the ancestral and juvenile gobblers, is perfect. 'Tis 
 probably the first piece of music suggested by so fowl 
 means. 
 
 " 1 was there a week, and it seemed the longest week in 
 my life. I was quite ill for two or three days and unable to 
 sleep. We had bread pudding every day for dessert and 
 there were chunks of bread sticking all up in the top of 
 the pudding. I was to take morphine to produce sleep. 
 But it had no soothing effect. My nerves were as keenly 
 awake as if I had taken hasheesh. While under the iuHu- 
 ence of morphine the nurse came in, looking much taller 
 and narrower than usual. Her cap frill touched the wall, 
 her feet the floor, and she held in her band a huge basin of 
 bread pudding, with sundry chunks ornamenting the top. 
 The basin was at least ten feet in circumference, the chunks 
 of bread, looked liked miniature mountains. ' Know young 
 man,' said she, authoritatively ' you must swallow this pud 
 ding in an hour.' Then I had another vision after this horri 
 ble pudding. I must confess I've never liked bread pudding 
 since. 
 
 " Long processions of mules and men, with enormous carts, 
 kept passing and repassing my bed. The men were giants, 
 the mules equal to any fossil specimens of antediluvian ani 
 mals. At these processions I was obliged to look, whether 
 I would or not. Since then, I never look on these poor 
 men carrying earth from one spot to another in the sun and
 
 142 NEPENTHE. 
 
 in the rain, in the heat and in the cold, without pity. I won 
 der if they never tire of their earth-march, and long some 
 times to move off into some other path.' 
 
 " One would think," said Nepenthe, " that these human 
 clocks, wound up to the same unvarying beat, the live- long 
 year, would break their springs, fold their hands, strike for 
 freedom, or wind up despairingly their earth-march." 
 
 " There there goes Captain Jack now," said Carleyn. 
 " They are all captains in that village. Captain Jack, Cap 
 tain Sam, and Captain John. And then there's the spot 
 where I fell from my horse. I was glad and sorry I ever 
 stayed there. I was glad, for I met Mr. Selwyn, the kind 
 est friend I ever had one to whom I owe all my success in 
 life." 
 
 " I do love these old evergreens," said Nepenthe, " shut 
 up in the heart of a great city so long. It is delightful to 
 ride through these green fields, and over these wild moun 
 tains, and hear the wind rushing through those magnificent 
 pines. Last Sabbath evening, one verse was sung in church 
 while the rain fell in torrents, and the wind blew outside so 
 that the gas just over my head flickered and almost went out. 
 The deep tones of the organ added sublimity to the words. 
 
 " ' Howl, winds of night, your powers combine 
 
 Without His high behest. 
 Ye cannot, in the mountain pine, 
 Disturb the sparrow's nest.' 
 
 " I have thought of these words since we rode through 
 these woods. The pine and shadowy evergreen seem as the 
 faces of dear old unaccomplished friends." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Carleyn, " in summer we have our beau 
 tiful shade-trees, and we almost forget to prize these quaint 
 old evergreens they are not brilliant or showy ; but when 
 summer friends and summer birds have left us, they are 
 with us still, changeless as ever." 
 
 " Yes," said Nepenthe, " in this great drawing-room of 
 trees there are many graceful willows, elegant maples, and 
 stately poplars ; but I am getting a profound respect for 
 these sires of the forest for when these summer-hangings 
 in the tree drawing-room are down, not like politicians of a 
 month, here they are still, holding audience to the cabinet 
 of the winds, receiving unmoved the most moving addresses 
 from Eolus, surely they claim, by nature, the highest place
 
 NEPENTHE. 143 
 
 on the emerald throne. The forest king, robed in fur that 
 no moth can consume, lives through many forest dynasties, 
 and waves his sceptre to the wooing breezes." 
 
 " You," said Mr. Carleyn, " have paid youi* tribute of re 
 spect and admiration to the forest kings ; but look, see that 
 gorge wood yonder those ' tall, dark mountains,' looking 
 down and listening mutely to those rustic serenaders, smil 
 ing and frowning on those crystal sheets issuing from the 
 rough rocks, stereotyped in murmurs, printed in indelible 
 associations on the brow of nature and the heart of man." 
 
 "Yes," said Nepenthe, "I envy them their celebrity, 
 bound as they are in evergreens, lettered in golden sun 
 beams, wept over by dew-drops, puffed by the breezes, and 
 heralded among the stately trees, living in such close com 
 munion, that stirring tidings may spread rapidly through the 
 forest city." 
 
 " How can anybody," said Carleyn, " admire more houses, 
 and stores, and shows, and glittering lamps, when they can 
 have sun-beams, and dew-drops, birds and trees, wild flow 
 ers and waterfalls. I was born among mountains, and the 
 earth seems to me to be literally and spiritually nearer to 
 Heaven, among mountainous regions. The thoughts are en 
 ticed upward from valley and plain they ascend the moun 
 tain side the sublime in nature wakes the sublime in us. 
 If I couldn't see a mountain occasionally, I should tire of 
 one everlasting level. The greatest men often come from 
 mountainous regions, and as they approach the last dark 
 valley, how they long for one look at the old mountains. I 
 have felt, when leaving a group of mountains where I had 
 lived for days, like a child going away from an indulgent 
 home to a boarding-school. I had that choking sensation, 
 as if i couldn't half breathe I was expecting to be home 
 sick. Those lower mountains seem like nature's dress-cir 
 cle, with reserved seats for best thoughts. 
 
 " Nature, high priestess of art, tireless worker in the 
 studio of time, toils patiently for human needs and human 
 comforts, planting lovely flowers in the niches of some 
 lonely rocks, weaving her graceful tapestry, adorned with 
 cups and bells and wreaths and vines ; but tired at last, she 
 dashes offhand into one grand ideal impulse, one high flight 
 of fancy, and makes her chef d'oeuvre, one eternal picture, 
 God's grand cathedral mountain turrets, under whose colos-
 
 144 NEPENTHE. 
 
 sal arch hides the key passing for ages down the grand hie 
 rarch of nature. 
 
 " Many a fervent hope climhs up the mountain minarets, 
 to the celestial city, purer and holier than some stifled 
 prayer, struggling up ' through long-drawn aisle and fretted 
 vault.' I took an old uncle to the city once. He said he 
 should tire of those long brick rows and then there was 
 ne'er a mountain there. The scent of these mountain breezes 
 lingers round the old leaves of the heart after long years of 
 absence. Little mountain evergreens keep their freshness 
 in the heart's herbarium, while we press the dusty highway, 
 or turn the musty ledger. These mountain memories, like 
 tented angels, have encamped about my heart, guarding it 
 from many a temptation for many weary years." 
 
 " For years !" uttered Nepenthe and then, astonished at 
 her frankness, perhaps presumption, she paused suddenly. 
 
 " Yes I have not lived many years, but I have seen 
 many a long day when I have sent out my heart like a dove 
 far and near to find some olive leaf of comfort," said Carleyn. 
 
 They stopped the carriage and threw the top back, as they 
 were now under the shadow of those waving branches where 
 matin birds were warbling as they looked up at those blue 
 mountains in the distance. 
 
 " I have often," said Carleyn, " when a child, looked up 
 to that tall mountain yonder, and wished I could climb to 
 its top. I felt sure if I could only reach the top, I could 
 touch the golden clouds, and grasp the stars, Heaven seemed 
 so near. And now, when I see some great object I wish to 
 attain, it rises up high like a mountain of ambition, mocking 
 and tempting me to climb. I feel if I could only reach the 
 summit, I could touch the cloudy skirt of Fame, and grasp 
 the stars she holds in her hands. Our greatest thoughts 
 are all like mountains, whose shadowy summits are high up 
 from the low plain of out common thoughts. If we could 
 only climb from thought to thought and reach the summit 
 of our highest soul's peak, looking into Heaven from the top 
 of our giant thoughts, we could almost scale the clouds and 
 touch the stars, and bring Heaven down to us. We do not 
 revere that we tread upon, but we do revere, admire and 
 worship that for which we have to climb, pant and struggle. 
 By the window of that little cottage at the foot of the moun-
 
 NEPENTHE. 145 
 
 tain, I have sat on my mother's knee, and said my little 
 prayer : 
 
 " ' If I should die before I wake, 
 I pray the Lord iny soul to take.' 
 
 And I really believed if I did die in my sleep, some angel 
 would take me up from that green mountain top to Heaven. 
 I thought there was the gate through which angels walked 
 up and down the mountains of clouds above, which seemed 
 like the projected shadows of the mountains beneath. My 
 mother loved mountains. I am enthusiastic about them, for 
 in that little cottage at the foot of yonder mountain, one Sab 
 bath evening, my young mother died. It seemed to me, that 
 with transfigured robes, her pure spirit climbed the moun 
 tains she loved, till it ascended to walk through the open 
 gates of Paradise. 
 
 " I remember my mother's telling me those mountains 
 often called her thoughts up to Heaven. Now she is gone, 
 I associate these mountains with thoughts of Heaven. Her 
 happy spirit, far above me, may now be climbing some lofty 
 spirit range, some sapphire ridge of glory, some golden peak 
 of immortality. Her soul may climb forever, rising higher 
 and higher in exalted perspective of bliss, warbling as it 
 soars from peak to peak of glory, gaining ne\v views of the 
 river of the water of life, winding beneath, and those glis 
 tening, pearly gates, on which the sun never sets. 
 
 " Sacred is the memory of mountains, for there, lighted 
 by vestal stars, the great High Priest went up, entering the 
 veil of curtained clouds, baptizing the mountain's brow 
 with the divine tears of sympathizing humanity. '' 
 
 I hope Levi Longman, that inane and buckram individual, 
 so fond of the exact sciences, so indefatigable in calculating 
 the sum of probabilities, will never read the conversation 
 recorded in the foregoing. He would shake his head, shrug 
 his shoulders, frown his eye-brows, and say, " Strange, that 
 two persons, entire strangers, should talk so long about 
 dreams, trees, and mountains." He would call it highfalu- 
 tin, stilted. Stilted was a favorite word of his. But it is 
 a long time since he was young. His imagination was born 
 blind and lame, so he has never taken any flights of fancy. 
 He never dreams, day-dreams nor night-dreams he always 
 sleeps right through, like a sensible man. There is a sign 
 on the front door of Levi's brain, which any one that sees 
 
 7
 
 146 NEPENTHE. 
 
 him can read : " To these head-quarters, no admittance ex 
 cept on business." 
 
 Levi feels no spiritual shocks of joy or sorrow, sensible to 
 nothing but " positive cuff's and downright hard blows." 
 Levi Longman's and Frank Carleyn's spiritual horizon 
 might stretch on like parellcl lines for years, forever, they 
 would never meet or harmonize. Levi was an unexcitable nil 
 admirart man Carlcyn had a soul coated with sensibility, 
 on whose surface every passing thought daguerreotyped 
 itself. 
 
 Most everybody has solemn and enthusiastic thoughts at 
 times. Frank Carleyn differed from most of us in this be 
 thought aloud ; and Nepenthe's life had been so real that 
 none but her real thoughts came to her lips. 
 
 " Why did Nepenthe Stuart go to the Elliott's ?" said the 
 voice of a lady in close conversation with an old friend, on 
 the deck of a southern steamer, two months after this moun 
 tain ride through Titusville road. " She can't be very 
 happy there, for Mary Lamont heard Miss Florence talking 
 with her mother the day after Miss Stuart's arrival. She 
 heard Florence say in her overbearing way, ' I'll know why 
 this Stuart girl is here. I think her presence an intrusion. 
 We have lived here so long interrupted, I don't see why 
 you have brought her here.' 
 
 " ' It was not to gratify you that she came,' said Mrs. 
 Elliott. ' I have reasons I do not choose to tell. I cannot 
 be opposed in this matter. I am under obligations of which 
 you know nothing, and of which you never can know.' "
 
 NEPENTHE. T4T 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CARLEYN AT WORK. 
 
 " The past is very tender at my heart ; 
 Full, as the memory of an ancient friend, 
 When once again we stand beside his grave. 
 Halting amongst old papers thrown in haste 
 'Mid useless lumber, unawares I came- 
 On a forgotten poem of my youth. 
 I went aside and read each faded page, 
 Warm with dead passion, sweet with buried Junes, 
 Filled with the light of suns that are no more. 
 I stood like one who finds a golden tress 
 Given by loving hands no more on earth, / 
 And starts, beholding how the dust of years. 
 Which dims all else, has never touched its light.' 
 
 THERE was no light from the world around. Down 
 through the sky-light above, it shone clear and pure. None 
 but the stars looked in, where art and the artist held high 
 communion. Weary feet grew tired as they climbed but 
 the long flight of steps once ascended, they found fair and 
 bright thoughts resting there, which had climbed far higher 
 ideal flights 
 
 Night and day toiled the artist to bring out on canvass in 
 the face God had made, the soul he had so mysteriously half 
 hidden, half revealed. 
 
 There was one picture on the easel nearly finished. To 
 the rapt artist, that one picture seemed the whole world, as 
 he added the last touches, and stood back and gazed, and 
 gazed again. " It is done, and well done," said he. " I 
 have succeeded. I will call it Dawn 'the expression of that 
 face has dawned upon my soul like some radiant mountain 
 sunrise." 
 
 He held his hand on his tired forehead, and gazed again. 
 Not often did he thus dwell in the land of the ideal, and 
 this was his first ideal. He had painted week in and week 
 out, the portraits of dull living faces, for money, winning 
 fame, and fame's golden reward. He wished he was never
 
 148 NEPENTHE. 
 
 obliged to handle money, he always dreaded to ask for it, 
 when his labors were finished. His soul was so peopled 
 and crowded with beautiful visions, he longed to paint them 
 but this one picture is the only idea he could now afford 
 leisure to take. He would not sell it for any sum. He 
 couldn't tell why he painted it, only the lovely face seemed 
 ever looking in at the door of his soul, pleading with earnest 
 eyes, " Paint me am I not beautiful V 
 
 " This may be the dawn of my future fame," thought he ; 
 " it is better finished than any of my old pictures. Let me 
 put it where the first morning light will dawn upon it." 
 
 " Come," said Douglass, one morning, as he met his friend 
 Selwyn, " let's go in and look at Carleyn's studio. If he 
 has no one sitting with him, we'll look around. He's a fine 
 fellow I'd like you to know him." 
 
 " 1 don't care to visit any more studios," said Selwyn, 
 dejectedly ; " I have recently visited the picture gallery of 
 Dresden, which is a perfect palace and paradise of art. 
 There are more than twenty-two hundred pictures, and none 
 of them are inferior. There is one known all over America 
 by plates, but I wish you could see it there in the original. 
 It is Raphael's Madonna. I think this picture must affect 
 any man, if he were not a clod. It represents the Virgin 
 Mary as ascending to Heaven with the child in her arms ; 
 one of the Popes and St. Barbara at her feet, and beneath, 
 two angelic children. The faces of these children and St. 
 Barbara are very beautiful, but the power of the picture is 
 in the soaring, in the majesty ascending form of the Virgin. 
 It stands by itself, in a room set apart for it alone. As I 
 entered the door, the picture came over me like a spell. 
 
 " Beautiful as are all the other paintings, the transition to 
 this is abrupt and great. I have seen demi-gods of Phidias. 
 I have visited galleries of Venice, Genoa, and Florence. I 
 have looked at French copies and Italian originals and Ame 
 rican imitations. I take no interest in anything now. I 
 wish to form no new acquaintances " but as he saw how 
 disappointed his friend looked, he added, " I will go if you 
 wish it, if the artist is a friend of yours." 
 
 Reader, have you never seated yourself in the morning 
 for a good, quiet, comfortable day at home, when some sud 
 den impulse or persuasion has led you, half against your 
 will and wishes, to start out and go into some out of the way
 
 NEPENTHE. 149 
 
 place ? You go and you meet 'tis the merest accident, you 
 say you meet and almost push by him in the crowd, a dear 
 old friend, the node of whose eccentric life-orbit chances to 
 be that one day in that particular spot such a greeting and 
 such a meeting. " Why, where did you come from ?" you 
 each exclaim. " You are the last person I expected to see 
 here." You sit down together, talk over old times, deaths 
 and marriages of mutual friends. You hear so much news, 
 such strange things have happened, the day wears away, and 
 it is four o'clock before you know it. With a cheerful " God 
 bless you," you part, and every little bud of memory has 
 had a fresh sprinkling of sympathy, and holds up its dewy 
 head like a violet after a shower, perfuming the whole heart. 
 So your life streams part again, and you old friends meet 
 no more, and no white sails on life's wide sea shall ever 
 speak return to you. Such a glad surprise to Carleyn was 
 Mr. Selwyn's sudden entrance into his studio. 
 
 As Mr. Selwyn walked around the room, he said, " My 
 likes are not artistic. I am no amateur, yet I think I 
 have some idea of a good portrait. Were I an artist, I 
 would always send portraits of handsome subjects to public 
 exhibitions. People are apt to think more of a handsome 
 picture than a very correct one. They will pass by admira 
 bly executed portraits of plain faces, and linger before some 
 handsome picture with glossy hair, brilliant eyes, and ruby 
 lips. For myself, I am often more interested in a plain face 
 than a mere handsome one. A fine expression flashes more 
 wonderfully over plain features. Every face that shows the 
 soul best, gets to bo handsome to us. I have heard many 
 an eloquent man speak who had a most awkward physiog 
 nomy. I have listened until the highest admiration for such 
 powers of mind revealed by pen and tongue so associated 
 the soul with the face, and the face with the soul, that the 
 individual, in spite of long nose, large mouth, dull eyes, 
 looked well. ' I wouldn't alter that face if I could,' I say. 
 I like its individuality. The lips are ennobled by the words 
 they utter, the eyes beautified by the soul they reveal. 
 There are people so good and noble, in spite of plain fea 
 tures, we call them fine looking. Handsome homely people 
 they are. There is a queer, quaint, striking contrast be 
 tween these roughly-moulded features and the strong, beau 
 tiful, soul-light flashing over them."
 
 150 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " It is amusing to see," said Carleyn, " how the mass of 
 people are influenced in the same way. If a man is great, 
 gifted and popular, they will be sure to see something pecu 
 liarly interesting in the way his hair grows around his fore 
 head, or in the glance of his eye, or the curve of his eye 
 brow, and the very young ladies will even find some thing 
 so interesting in the tie of his cravat. Few ever call an 
 acknowledged great man homely. They'll see some thing 
 striking about him. If he is awkward, it is scholarly ; if ab 
 sent minded, reflective ; if conceited, dignified ; till, by-and- 
 by, we all get thinking every thing he says sounds well and 
 he always looks well. But in a picture you can't so express 
 the full power of symmetrical mind over homely features ; 
 as you can feel and see it when a face lives, moves and 
 speaks. I like that crayon portrait. A crayon portrait has 
 a rare charm of its own. The effect is decidedly unity, a con 
 centration of soul in the face ; with no vivid coloring to 
 heighten effect, no glowing drapery, nothing to divert the 
 artist's attention from his one purpose the correct outline 
 and the true expression. A fine crayon drawing seems 
 more, to me, like the shadow of the soul than any other kind 
 of portrait, giving a faint conception of the look of those 
 white-robed ones with whom we never associate glowing 
 drapery or vivid coloring." 
 
 " There is a picture," said Carleyn, " I have just had sent 
 back to retouch. It is a portrait of Mrs. John Pridefit. I 
 did my best, but did not satisfy the sitter. She really 
 wants it more beautiful, yet her friends say it flatters her 
 now. She says the eyes are too sharp, the lips too thin, but 
 the fault is in her face, not in the picture. A lady often 
 wants to have her own features taken as a kind of back 
 ground, and then have it filled up and beautified with all 
 kinds of ideal hues, and glows, and lines. It is very diffi 
 cult for me to take the portraits of people I dislike. I am 
 afraid I don't really do them justice. This Mrs. Pridefit 
 fusses and prims so much, it is difficult to give her the ' fine 
 expression, she says she wants. Some seem to think I 
 keep a box of fine expressions to put on my portraits just as 
 they put on smiles when they go into their parlors to receive 
 callers." 
 
 " A picture," said Selwyn, " often looks better than the 
 original. It is almost always handsomer or homelier. I
 
 NEPENTHE. 151 
 
 can't see why ladies want their portrait to looks better than 
 they really do. It is so mortifying to hear people say of 
 one's portrait, ' It is a very handsome picture, but it looks a 
 great deal better than she does,' but sometimes I have no 
 ticed in daguerreotypes people look pretty who never look 
 pretty any where else. Mrs. Pridefit says she always makes 
 good photographs." 
 
 " The face of every true woman wears, at times, a beauti 
 ful expression," said Carleyn. " I want to come in contact 
 with the soul, to watch the face in its various soul moods, to 
 see it in its thoughtful, tearful, or mirthful moments. I like 
 even to know its history, for the most important events of a 
 life have and leave their traces on the face ; and if you watch 
 it long and see it often, you can read the outline of the life's 
 history, the noble epic of some heroic or weather-beaten 
 soul carved in wrinkles, translated in patient smiles, em 
 phasized with sighs, and margined with tears. 
 
 " We love our friends for their souls, and if I know the 
 sitter well, I can bring out the best expression the expres 
 sion worn when thinking kind thoughts alone, or genially 
 communing with others. How different every friend we 
 have looks when we come to know him well, from what he 
 did when we first saw him ; it is almost like two faces the 
 way he looked when we first saw him, and the familiar ex 
 pression we get to know so well at last. AVe can hardly 
 close our eyes and recall that first look. We saw only the 
 outline of the features, the color of his hair and eyes, but 
 now we know how he talks, smiles, looks. He always does 
 so and so, he has his way of smiling, that makes him so un 
 like any body else. Often we say, ' I thought him homely 
 at first, but now he looks handsome to me.' To get this 
 natural and familiar expression is the artist's aim for this 
 look the soul will wear when the body is cast aside." 
 
 " We don't know how we look ourselves," said Douglass. 
 " We look in the glass, but who ever has on his best, most 
 natural expression, when toileting before a mirror ? I can't 
 help it, but I sometimes think I'd like to come out of my 
 self for once, and be in some corner, and see myself sitting 
 in another corner opposite me I'd like to know for once, 
 how I really do look. Sometimes I think I am quite a de 
 cent-looking man, and then again I am positive I am intoler-
 
 152 NEPENTHE. 
 
 ably ugly, and if I were a woman, I'd always wear a 
 veil." 
 
 " But the veiled gentlemen," said Carleyn, " would not 
 be as interesting or romantic an object as the veiled lady. 
 We gentlemen must come right out on all occasions with 
 our plain, unveiled, unadorned face, without the advantage 
 of one of those pretty, little, fine, soft, elaborate black lace 
 veils, through which modifying medium so many women 
 look so very fair and fascinating. 
 
 " It is a very pretty drapery, too, a kind of shade through 
 which they can quietly look out on the world though the 
 world can't fully gaze at them." 
 
 " I rather like a veil ; there is an air of refinement about 
 it." 
 
 " I suppose Mrs. Carleyn will always wear a veil," said 
 Douglass, laughing. 
 
 " Certainly," said Carleyn, smiling. "No rude sun, or 
 sharp wind, must spoil her beautiful complexion," and he 
 thought, though he didn't say so, " how pleasant it would be 
 to say some time, ' this is my wife's veil.' But I don't 
 mean," he added, aloud, " one of those great, thick, blue, 
 long veils, through which all ladies look alike, and it is im 
 possible to know who they are." 
 
 " An artist's profession is an anxious one," said Carleyn. 
 11 No matter how many portraits he executes, each must be 
 as satisfactory to the new sitter, as well executed, as if it 
 were the picture on which the artist's name and fame de 
 pended. That one picture will be a gratification or disap 
 pointment to some family ; wherever it goes, it may be the 
 only representative in that locality of the artist's name the 
 single picture giving its individual verdict of his genius. 
 Stranger judges will say he paints well or ill, as that picture 
 fails or suits ; and then all the beauty of some face may be 
 its expression, and such a face may be one of those never 
 at rest,, we never think of its being still ; and if we paint a 
 stationary smile, it will look like a grin : if we leave it off, 
 then the mouth will be unnatural, prim and sober." 
 
 " To catch one of these animated smiles, is about as easy 
 as to daguerrotype a shooting star or falling tear ; and then 
 the sides of some faces are not alike. That portrait I paint 
 ed yesterday, I had to take each side of the face by itself; 
 they were most as different as two faces.
 
 NEPENTHE. 153 
 
 " I must confess I feel discouraged sometimes, when I 
 think that after a few years, all my portraits will be cracked 
 and defaced in some garret. They'll be tattered and torn, 
 soiled and defaced, in the attic style after all. 
 
 " Old sofas and chairs are used somewhere, but old por 
 traits almost always go up garret. So here I stand and 
 paint for posterity's garrets. Isn't it a dubious immortal 
 ity ? If I wrote a wonderful book of poems, that would 
 always keep in fashion." 
 
 Mr. Selwyn looked at the different pictures, and then 
 stopped as if riveted to one spot, spell-bound, before one 
 painting. 
 
 " Is that a portrait, sir ?" said he, turning suddenly and 
 addressing Carleyn, with some new emotion struggling in 
 his eye. 
 
 " I call it an ideal," said Carleyn. " I have just finished 
 it. Perhaps the expression of the face dawned upon me 
 once in a thunder-storm, on a wild country road, in an old 
 house. I call it an ideal, and yet the expression flashed up 
 on me from that face. One of the first portraits I took, was 
 in that same old house. It was that of a beautiful youth, 
 Earnest Titus. I have been asked many a time to send it 
 to the Academy, but the mother will never part with it a 
 day. She spends hours in that little room sitting beside it." 
 
 " Would you sell that picture ?" said Mr. Selwyn. 
 
 " I prefer to keep it. It is more valuable to me than it 
 can be to another," said Carleyn. 
 
 " Will you paint a miniature on ivory just like it, and get 
 that expression, only make the hair a little darker, and the 
 lips not quite so full ? That is a beautiful name, dawn. If 
 I were to paint anything," he thought gloomily, " I should 
 call it midnight." 
 
 More gloomy than ever looked Mr. Selwyn as he walked 
 homeward with his friend who tried to rally him. 
 
 " Stop thinking of that gloomy subject ; divert your 
 thoughts," said Mr. Douglass. " Court sleep ; you are too 
 young ; life has yet much for your enjoyment ; too much to 
 give up to gloomy reflections ; you'll wear yourself out think 
 ing. Act, enjoy, use the present, forget the past." 
 
 " You bid me travel," said Selwyn, " to gaze on land and 
 sea, and moon and sky, commune with nature, revel in art. 
 
 7*
 
 154 NEPENTHE. 
 
 I have travelled. I went last year to Milan, and then to 
 Genoa, and thence to Leghorn, Pisa and Rome. 
 
 " Genoa is famous among the Italian cities for the number 
 and splendor of its palaces and so has received the title of 
 ' The Superb,' for the Italians have a pretty way of giving 
 their chief cities some descriptive title. In Leghorn, which 
 was the next place at which I stopped, there is not much to 
 see besides straw hats, glass, paper and soap. There are 
 about as many things of interest there as there are snakes 
 in Ireland that is, none at all. It is rather strange, too, 
 for most every Italian city, even when small, has either a 
 fine cathedral or some fine work of art. I went to Pisa to 
 see the cathedral and the famous leaning tower, over which, 
 when a school-boy studying geography, I wondered so much, 
 and over which Galileo made the old churchmen wonder 
 when he performed from it his experiments with falling 
 bodies. But I couldn't begin to tell you all I saw in Rome. 
 Three civilizations, an Etruscan, Roman and Christian, have 
 conspired to make it the most interesting city in the world. 
 The number and grandeur of the relics of old Rome surpass 
 anything I had imagined. Whatever the Romans built, they 
 built grand, massive and solid, as if they were fully per 
 suaded that Rome was to be the Eternal City. Had no bar 
 baric violence overthrown and demolished them, hundreds 
 of her structures would stand to-day more perfect than the 
 Pantheon, and even now, many an old column and arch stands 
 as solid, and presses the ground as firmly as when first 
 erected. Everywhere you turn yourself, you will see some 
 old ruin lifting its head picturesquely against the sky. It is 
 a long, fatiguing walk to go through all the rooms and see the 
 enormous treasures, works of antique art, which have been 
 found and preserved in the Capitol and the Vatican. Nor 
 in point of art does modern Rom'e fail to rival the ancient in 
 interest. She is crowded with the miracles of the great 
 master. I wish, if you never have, you would read Haw 
 thorne's book, called Transformation. As far it goes, it is 
 an excellent, accurate description of Rome. Most of his 
 criticisms seem to me superb. Hilda's tower has verily a 
 local habitation and a name, for I have seen it, but whether 
 any such being as Hilda ever inhabited it, I cannot say. I 
 made two long visits at Rome. I stayed some hours for sev 
 eral days in the museum at Naples, where are the articles
 
 NEPENTHE. 155 
 
 found during the excavation of Ilerculancum and Pompeii. 
 We had a splendid day and a fine party for making the as 
 cent of Vesuvius. Many persons came back disappointed, 
 because even in quiet weather the smoke is blown about so 
 one can scarcely see anything. We had a favorable day, 
 and I enjoyed the excursion immensely. One gets so little 
 idea of a real live crater from books. One must see the 
 monster, to have any faint conception of the lava fields and 
 enormous, bellowing, smoking crater. I felt as if I were on 
 some other planet, they were so different from anything I 
 had ever seen. I had some singular sensations at Pompeii, 
 for here is a veritable old Roman city with streets, houses, 
 temples, gates, fountains, baths, tombs, mosaic paintings, 
 laid bare to the sun, so you tread where its inhabitants trod 
 two thousand years ago. I saw many of the articles there 
 found and preserved, in the museum at Naples. I had a 
 charming ride at Sorrento, just across the bay from Naples. 
 We plucked the fresh fruit from the trees of the beautiful 
 orange groves, and visited a little island, near where was a 
 grotto and some water with a peculiar bluish lustre. I was 
 at Rome during the ceremonies of the Holy Week. They 
 are the most imposing in all the pompous ritual of the Ro 
 mish church. On Easter Sunday, when the Pope elevated 
 the host, and all the long line of splendid military in St. 
 Peters and all good Catholics went down as by one accord 
 on their knees, and adored in a silence broken at length by 
 a beautiful burst of silver trumpets, the scene was quite 
 imposing. The washing and kissing of the Apostles' feet 
 by the Pope was a mere form, for they were already as clean 
 as water could make them. Not so with the washing of the 
 pilgrim's feet, for they were dirtier than mud. Italy lies 
 behind me like a rich dream, for nature has made it a para 
 dise in loveliness, and art has beautified from Venice to 
 Sicily a land she could not save. 
 
 " Florence is the most delightful of Italian cities to me, 
 certainly it is the loveliest. It is in the midst of a lovely 
 valley, the most charmingly verdant spot I ever saw ; with 
 every varying shade of green, from the light of the olive, to 
 the dark of the pine. Of the pictures in the galleries at 
 Dresden, Rome and Florence, you can believe every thing 
 that you hear, for they are absolutely wonderful. It would
 
 156 NEPENTHE. 
 
 seem impossible that so much great and varied expression 
 ever could be transferred to canvas. 
 
 " There is a statue in Florence of the Venus de Medici, 
 so famous the world over ; yet I saw standing by my side 
 some who failed to like it, it seemed to me for no better rea 
 son than that it is old and tarnished, and the arms and hands 
 badly restored. With the exception of these arms and hands, 
 I have never seen such grace and elegance. 
 
 " I had the pleasure of a few moments' talk with Gari 
 baldi. I was charmed with his perfect simplicity and un- 
 affectedness of manner. The people of Italy almost worship 
 him. I saw where he first entered the Sardinian chambers ; 
 and as he was going into the building, they crowded about 
 him with uncontrollable enthusiasm. It is a good thing for 
 a nation which long oppression has made extremely selfish, 
 to have one man whom they can genuinely love, who can 
 draw out from every breast its nobler sympathies." 
 
 " But," added Selwyn, coming back, to his own thougnts 
 again, " I shall travel no more ; wherever I go, I carry an 
 unhappy, restless traveller with me, my own aching, sor 
 rowing, broken heart, whose constant beat seems only like 
 that of a sleepless 'sentinel, waking me out of every pleasant 
 dream, calling me back every hour to bitter memories. I 
 hear every where under life's darkened windows, hung with 
 crape, this ceaseless beat of my sad sentinel heart. You 
 tell me not to think, to act, to enjoy. 0, Douglass, you 
 know not my wretchedness. There is a shore for the moor 
 ing of the lost voyager's bark, a lull for the direst tempest, 
 a waning for the silver moon : the raging billow sleeps at 
 last. At the coming of the morning the bannered clouds 
 fold their white tents, but thought never folds her wings 
 the spirit's bark is never moored. Thought's billowy surges 
 rise higher as they roll on, but never blend with the ocean 
 of oblivion. Her strange electric light pales not with de 
 clining suns, or waning moons, her throbbings lull not with 
 lulling tempests. I am weary of life. My poor thought is 
 a weather-beaten traveller over the stormy past, keeping at 
 midnight her sleepless guard like a vigil of arms, always 
 walking among tombs and shadows, and then to sleep only 
 to awake and find the next morning the same old haunting 
 trouble rising and going about with you. You who have 
 never had a trouble, to walk and talk and sleep and dream
 
 NEPENTHE. 157 
 
 with yon, know not how Trouble's to-day goes hand in hand 
 with its elder brother of yesterday, walking restlessly the 
 lonely hall of the soul, and when you open your eyes in the 
 morning, and the bright sunshine steals in, there is the 
 ' raven ' trouble croaking at your chamber door, ' croaking 
 evermore.' My soul is like a haunted house. Such noises 
 and shrieks and groans and half-hushed voices and raps and 
 wails, startle me at night and torment by day. My life is a 
 burnt-over prairie the flowers are gone." 
 
 Mr. Selwyn walked back and forth gloomily. 
 
 " You need change of scene,'' said Mr. Douglass ; " go 
 and spend a few days with me at Niagara." 
 
 " I have visited Niagara," said Mr. Selwyn. " If there's 
 a pall within, even beautiful nature will seem only a sha 
 dowy procession of slow, mournful pall-bearers to the 
 shrouded heart. My kneeling soul has said its mournful 
 litany under the brow of table rock, beneath earth's great 
 baptismal font, sprinkled with ascending spray, where is 
 shadowed forth in rising clouds, the glory of the Father, 
 Son and Spirit. Long shut up within brick walls, catching 
 but glimpses and patches of the blue sky, it is like walking 
 with God in the cool of the day, to stand so near the presence 
 chamber of the invisible One, and touch the shadowy robes 
 of the great High Priest, bordered with light from yonder 
 gates of pearl, while ascends from liquid voices the grandest 
 voluntary of ages, where God's great thoughts are ever is 
 suing from crystal sheets, with radiant emerald bound." 
 
 " How our little griefs," said Douglass, " little cares, lit 
 tle losses, shrink out of sight before these great waters, 
 which have roared on so patiently and sublimely for weary 
 years, while the tide of many a life-stream has gone out and 
 passed away." 
 
 " The roar of these great waters," said Selwyn, " never dies 
 away from my spirit. Those solemn voices echo ever with 
 the voices of the night. Louder and deeper than the moan 
 ing of the great waterfall, is the wail of my grief at mid 
 night, sobbing out its voluntary, as it ever accumulates from 
 the great lakes of sorrow, rushing on through the sea of 
 trouble, dashing its cold spray of tears along the silent shore 
 of memory, bearing me on to the eddying whirlpool of re 
 gret. 0," said he bitterly, " if there were only some Ne-
 
 158 NEPENTHE. 
 
 penthe I could press to my lips, and forget the painful past ! 
 If I could turn over the old dark page, and begin a new 
 life that would not be so haunted with echoes and shadows 
 and ghosts !" 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE CONVENIENT CRACK DR. BACIIUNE's WISDOM ORTHO 
 DOXY WHITE CRAVATS PURITANS. 
 
 " Good are the Ethics, I wis ; good absolute not for me. though ; 
 Wood too Logic, of course ; in itself but not in fine weather ; 
 Sleep, weary ghosts, be at peace, and abide in your lexicon-limbo; 
 Sleep, as in lava for ages your Herculanean kindred, 
 uEscnylus, Sophocles, Homer, Herodotus, Pindar, and Plato ; 
 (jive to historical subjects a free poetical treatment, 
 Leaving vocabular ghosts undisturbed in their lexicon-limbo." 
 
 ARTHUR HUGH CLODGH. 
 
 "And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, 
 On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door. 
 
 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming. 
 And the lamplight o'er him streaming, throws his shadow on the floor, 
 And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, 
 Shall be lifted nevermore." 
 
 EDGAR ALLEN POE. 
 
 " Thus much would I conceal, that none should know 
 "What secret cause I have for silent woe." 
 
 MICHAEL AXGELO. 
 
 " I WONDER what is the matter with that man," said Mrs. 
 !Edwards, as Mr. Selwyn went up to his room from break 
 fast ; (Mrs. Edwards kept a boarding-house ; she had about 
 twenty gentleman boarders.) " He pays promptly, has a 
 valuable library, rare pictures, costly wardrobe, the best 
 room in the house ; he must be wealthy. I keep his room 
 scrupulously clean, his linen as white and polished as 
 sugar, salt, spermacetti and gum arabic can make it. I try 
 to have him feel at home ; I don't understand the man ; I set 
 before him omelets done to a charm, cream biscuit, delicious 
 steak, irresistible coffee, plum pudding, and everything that 
 bachelors dote on. I don't believe he'd notice it if I put salt 
 in his tea, instead of sugar it does beat all ! This morn 
 ing I had such fresh corn bread, hot griddle cakes, warm 
 biscuit, right before him when he came down late, and he
 
 NEPENTHE. 159 
 
 only ate a few mouthfuls of corn bread, tasted his coffee, and 
 left the table, neglecting all my delicacies. He is the only 
 man I ever saw who didn't care what he had to eat. He 
 treats my steak as if it were chips. He seems to like cold 
 griddle cakes as well as warm, hard eggs as well as soft. I 
 can't tempt him with muffins, maccaronies, ice creams or ices. 
 They are all the same to him ; he never eats jellies or pre 
 serves. I wonder what the man does like. I opened a jar of 
 preserved strawberries the other evening, just for his tea, 
 and he never tasted them ; that Mr. Hogg is a real hog, fcr 
 he ate the whole of them. I try to get in conversation with 
 him. I start every subject, and I am sure he has no busi 
 ness to worry him. He comes and goes when he likes. 
 Ann says some mornings his bed isn't even tumbled ; she 
 believes he sits up all night, lie has a dignified way, as if 
 accustomed to respect. I believe he'd be happier if he had 
 a wife ; why don't he marry ? There are plenty of nice 
 ladies to be had. The ladies were all in the parlor the other 
 evening we had such fine music, graceful dancing and 
 nice charades ; all my other guests were in the parlor." 
 (Mrs. Edwards always call her boarders guests.) " I did 
 all I could to get him in, but he declined, perhaps he's not 
 fond of gaiety would prefer a quiet domestic life but oh, 
 how my tooth does ache ! I really believe I will have to 
 have it out yet. But that reminds me my room is so damp 
 since the walls were fixed I will have to take the room next 
 to Mr. Selwyn to-night. It is the only unoccupied room in 
 the house." 
 
 Mrs. Edwards' tooth kept her awake for hours that night, 
 and as she tossed about in her bed, she could hear Mr. 
 Selwyn pacing back and forth in his room ; he had evidently 
 not retired. She got up and went into the wardrobe to 
 hunt for some cotton on which to put a little aconite in the 
 tooth where the nerve was exposed. There was a closet 
 also in Mr. Selwyn's room adjoining hers, a slight crack or 
 a little hole in the wardrobe would reveal to any eye close 
 to it, any object in the adjoining room that chanced to be in 
 that line of vision. She was rummaging quite near the 
 crack to get the cotton, when a heavy sigh arrested her 
 attention, and before she knew it she found her eye quite 
 near the crack. She could see on Mr. Sehvyn's round table
 
 160 NEPENTHE. 
 
 some old yellow-looking letters, and open on the floor a small 
 trunk. 
 
 If one begins to do a thing not quite right, if there is any 
 mystery in the matter, there is a fascination in keeping the 
 eye fixed upon the spot, until tne mystery is solved. Noth 
 ing but the fear of exposure could prevent her now from 
 seeing all she could through that crack. 
 
 He took from his trunk a little box and sat down by the 
 centre table (Mrs. Edwards always gave her nice bachelor 
 boarders a centre table,) took from the box a miniature and 
 laid it upon the table. He placed beside it another minia 
 ture, looking newer and the setting brighter. He looked at 
 both of them, as if he were reading a book, as Mrs. Edwards 
 said, and then he sat still so long, leaning forward on tha 
 table ; his back was turned to her, she thought be had fallen 
 asleep, the gas flickered, the hands of the little clock moved 
 on to twelve, and yet he stirred not; he must be asleep. 
 But I'll catch my death of cold in my tooth standing here so 
 long," thought she. Just then there was a deep sob, a 
 heavy sob. Yes, he actually sobbed. Mrs. Edwards had 
 a woman's heart ; she half reproached herself for looking 
 through that convenient crack. This unexpected demon 
 stration of grief checked for that time her curiosity. 
 
 She stepped softly down off her chair, for she had been 
 standing on a chair, and something fell off of one of the 
 shelves. Just as sure as we wish to be very quiet and 
 secret about any thiug how often something will happen to 
 cause us to make a great noise. Mrs. Edwards was pro 
 voked that she should have made such a noise when she wished 
 to keep so remarkably still. She stooped to pick it up. It 
 was an old Bible. It lay open on the floor. By some 
 sudden impulse she went to the light and looked on the page 
 where she had found it open, and the first verse that met her 
 eye was this, in the fourteenth chapter of Proverbs : " The 
 heart knoweth his own bitterness : and a stranger doth not 
 intermeddle with his joy." 
 
 She went softly back to bed, lying awake a long time, 
 catching at intervals, snatches of disturbed sleep, dreaming 
 that her room was full of old letters and miniatures, and she 
 could hear all through her dreams sob after sob but after 
 that she was kinder than ever to her new boarder. 
 
 Mrs. Edwards had such a passion for piecing bed -quilts,
 
 NEPENTHE. 161 
 
 such lots of red, green, and blue remnants she bought up, 
 to make an infinite series of tulips, rising suns and elaborate 
 roses. 
 
 Tliis was her first tulip quilt and she was congratulating 
 herself upon its rapid consummation. That afternoon, as she 
 sat rocking in her chair fitting her tulips, she said in an 
 undertone to herself, " Well, everybody has trouble, but 
 things fit together right after all, just like my tulips." 
 
 " Yes," thought Kate Howard, as she caught this part of 
 Mrs. Edwards' soliloquy, as she passed through the hall, 
 " Things fit together like her tulips ! very true, very true ! 
 many events fit together, just as her tulips stuck on, 
 nobody'd think they even grew together those leaves and 
 tulips. So it is in life, the right leaves and flowers seldom 
 get together in one heart." 
 
 Feelings are like flowers ; they ought never to be cut, and 
 measured, and laid down they ought to g/ow. Just plant 
 a little bud of hope in the heart, and there'll soon be laid 
 all around it some dark, ugly leaves of regret. The heart 
 is nothing but patchwork after all, odds and ends, new and 
 old, light and dark all together, all made of bright remnants 
 left of joys and loves, paid for with heavy cost. I hate this 
 endless patchwork patching old loves with new friendships. 
 There's too much light and dark stuck together, the poor 
 patched heart'll never wear well long. We try to join the 
 rent seams of feeling, and to make them last we sew them 
 over and over with the threads of habit, until the heart is 
 full of hard, rough ridges. Give me one good comfortable 
 feeling to spread over my heart, to tuck it in warm it is 
 the best kind of counterpane I know of. It is better than a 
 whole basket of calico tulips, waiting for the leaves to be 
 stuck on. When I sleep under a bed covered with such 
 tulips, I always dream of country fairs." 
 
 Had Dr. Bachune heard these ladies talking, he would 
 have put on his most classic face, and exclaimed with em 
 phasis " Nil disputandum de gustibus." 
 
 Mrs. Edwards laid her tulips together, all arranged nicely, 
 as they were going to be sewed, and looking at them all ad 
 miringly, she exclaimed, " I can finish it all on Wednesday, 
 and it shall go on Mr. Selwyn's bed." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Edwards little knew how much Mr. Selwyn 
 disliked these Mosaic tulips and aggravated roses, staring at
 
 162 NEPENTHE. 
 
 him when he awoke in the morning, always in their full stiff 
 bloom. She had two inevitable baskets, as Kate Howard 
 called them. One had an oval top and the other a round 
 one one for embroidered bands and the other for patches. 
 She had these two resources for her single solitude. It was 
 astonishing how many bands she had embroidered in all sorts 
 of those varied patterns, leaves and flowers with which the 
 initiated are so familiar. 
 
 She lays them all away, and begins to dress for dinner. 
 She brushes carefully her glossy hair, puts on the pink and 
 black coiffure and her new black silk dress. She knew well, 
 like most of the rest of the world of ladies, she looked bost 
 in black silk. Her eyes were no soft sentimental blue, but 
 a practical hazel blue. She was neat, prudent, patient, ge 
 nial, and when well dressed, in the soft light of her pleasant 
 parlor, she looked young still, with that peachy glow upon 
 her cheek. 
 
 She was quite willing to please her new boarder. She 
 was tired of being always so self-reliant, always at the head. 
 She had long wished for a little home of her own. She 
 would have been glad to have seen her whole regiment of 
 boarders, save this one, moving out at the door, and her 
 self domesticated in some cottage of her own, going and com 
 ing when she chose, with no big butcher's and grocer's bills 
 to trouble her, with no uppish Bridgets and saucy Marga 
 rets, and lazy Kates to worry and fret her, and then too, she 
 could make such beautiful quilts, she would have so much 
 leisure, and she could work bands enough to trim up every 
 thing so showily. But, it would not do for her to sit still 
 and build air castles, and this evening she took more pains 
 than usual with her dress, in spite of her toothache. She 
 was just the woman in case of an emergency, to know what 
 was to be done, and where and when and how to do it. 
 
 A gentleman called the next morning for Mr. Selwyn. 
 He hurried off in great haste, leaving his things around the 
 room. Mrs. Edwards took her bnnch of keys she had one 
 she thought would just fit his door. She tried them all, and 
 at last one of them unlocked it, and she slipped in and 
 there were the two miniatures on the table. She examined 
 both. One seemed about seventeen. It looked as if it were 
 taken long ago, and evidently just put in its bright fresh 
 modern frame.
 
 NEPENTHE. 163 
 
 " Who were these ?" thought she. " Not two wives, cer 
 tainly. Oh ! two sisters, may be yes, two sisters." Both 
 were beautiful, and she began to see a striking resemblance 
 in the two faces, as she held one in her hand by the window, 
 looking at it, when she heard some one coming up stairs. 
 It was his step he was coming back. She laid the minia 
 ture on the table, and hurried into the closet, crouching 
 down behind a large trunk in the corner. He was hunting 
 for something. He took hold of the knob of the closet door, 
 as if to open it. How she trembled ! She moved still far 
 ther back into the corner, and pressed open a large paper of 
 Scotch snuff that was lying on the floor. 
 
 " There I did get almost caught that time,'' thought she, 
 as Mr. Selwyn went down stairs again, after putting up his 
 miniatures and locking the box. As his footsteps died away 
 on the stairs, a succession of suppressed sneezes sounded 
 through the hall, as Mrs. Edwards issued from her retreat. 
 
 One bureau drawer was left unlocked, which she rum 
 maged. Some very good people will rummage, and they 
 can't seem to help it they've such inquiring minds. She 
 found a package of sermons, and a part of an old note. She 
 read the note : 
 
 " We all regret very much you have given up the minis 
 try you could do so much good. Your sermon on self- 
 denial made a deep impression on my mind, and it was bene 
 ficial to many others. It so impressed Dr. Wendon that it 
 really was the means of his taking a young and destitute 
 orphan girl into his family, and keeping her for years and 
 educating her. Won't you be so kind as to let me have it 
 for a few days, to read to Dr. Wendon, who is now blind 
 and unfortunate." 
 
 " I wonder if this note really was directed to Mr. Scl- 
 wyn ?' thought Mrs. Edwards ; " the direction and begin 
 ning are torn, so I can't find out. I heard a self-denial 
 sermon some years ago, which would have made a Christian 
 of me if I hadn't kept a boarding-house. I had no time then 
 to turn my mind to penitence and conversion. Who was 
 that minister ? They called him Professor Henry, but that 
 name wasn't his last name. There were two professors in 
 the seminary of the same name so they always went by 
 their Christian names. The one they called Professor 
 Henry and the other Professor John."
 
 164 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Mrs. Edwards takes out a sermon from the package, lays 
 it beside a little scrap of paper on the table, written by Mr. 
 Selwyn, a scrap of quotation from some poet. She examined 
 both carefully, and she goes and gets one of her bills he had 
 signed. She knew the curl of the d's - and the twirl of 
 the m's in the name on the bill. He made such queer-look 
 ing d's she'd know them anywhere and the hand-writing 
 of the sermon was the same as the little quotation. " Yes, 
 Mr. Selwyn was a minister these were his sermons. 
 Wasn't it strange !" 
 
 She comes out, shuts and locks the door, goes back to her 
 room, with her head full of information too much for any 
 one woman to keep alone. 
 
 " Wasn't it strange !" she said, as she sat in the dining- 
 room, thinking aloud. " But here comes Miss Charity 
 Gouge. I'm afraid she'll ask for the pattern of my quilt 
 and I don't want another just like it anywhere," said she, 
 quickly tucking her tulips in the basket under the table. 
 
 " I had an application for a new boarder this morning, 
 Miss Gouge," said she, " a genteel-looking young lady. She 
 looked at the fourth story back room, with sloping windows, 
 the one for twelve shillings a week. She is to furnish her 
 own fuel, light, food sit in the parlor but little, never take 
 her work there. She says her name is Stuart, Nepenthe 
 Stuart. She may come, yet she said nothing of reference 
 but I can manage that. I can get along well enough with 
 women, they usually pay. But, Charity, I must tell you 
 about Dr. Bachune, the gentleman we all admired so much. 
 I thought I would never mention" his name again. He had 
 the best room in the house at eighteen dollars a week and 
 all the extras ; his boots must be at the door so early, wine 
 always on the table by him. He was so fastidious and deli 
 cate that I really told all the waiters to be particularly at 
 tentive to him. 
 
 " He looked so gentlemanly, so infinitely above all pecu 
 niary considerations, when he said that ' money was no ob 
 ject if the room suited.' He had no baggage that was 
 ' coming on from Philadelphia.' I have found since that 
 people who are always saying that money is of no conse 
 quence, have very little of it in their pockets. 
 
 " I put his bill under his plate, as I always do at the end 
 of the week. He took breakfast the next morning, was there
 
 NEPENTHE. 165 
 
 at luncheon, and I have since heard nothing more from him. 
 He weut off with his imaginary baggage, to his imaginary 
 office, paying his imaginary bill. I really never was quite 
 so taken in, he was so gentlemanly, and I never got a cent. 
 Yes, he was a real gentleman in manners, Kate Howard was 
 saying yesterday. He was so very scientific and correct in 
 conversation, it was amusing to see how easily he would rec 
 tify the slightest error in statistics, politics or physics. Fid 
 dlesticks! I get out of all manner of patience when I think 
 how fastidious and delicate was his taste, and what a fuss I 
 did make for him. He used to say that he only ate the 
 griddle-cakes as a vehicle for his molasses. Wasn't that 
 rather highfaluten ? I heard him ask Mr. Vole one day if 
 he had pursued much the study of hermeneutics ? Mr. Vole 
 hesitated, and then said, ' Not much.' 
 
 " Kate Howard said (did you ever see a Kate that wasn't 
 up to every thing ?) she said, she saw Mr. Vole, after din 
 ner, slyly looking into Webster's Dictionary. He remarked 
 that he wouldn't ' be caught that way again.' I think the 
 doctor said something about mollusc for breakfast, but I 
 won't be sure. You couldn't mention a place, but he could 
 describe it, or a book, but he had read it, or a great per 
 sonage, with whom he had not been familiar. Kate Howard 
 said, before a book was written he had read it. Indeed he 
 told Kate that she had the face of Eugenie and the form of 
 Victoria. Of course he has seen all the foreign dignitaries. 
 His coat was buttoned up to the chin a blue coat and 
 Kate says she thought he hadn't but one collar he wore it 
 standing up the first three days, and turned down the next 
 four. But you know, Miss Charity, that thinking over vex 
 atious things only makes them worse. I expect to hear his 
 name as long as the house stands. Mr. Vole and two or 
 three others will keep ringing changes on the doctor's name. 
 Only this morning, Mr. Vole says, ' Miss Kate, you look 
 lonesome at your end of the table, without Doctor Bachune.' 
 I suppose the man is boarding around now, waiting for his 
 baggage. I don't like to lose money, but the worst of it is, 
 I don't like to be made a fool of. He used to sit up so 
 stately, and bow so politely, and smile so blandly, and I had 
 him waited on so assiduously." 
 
 " Who's that coming in the door ?" asked Miss Charity. 
 " That is Mr. Selwyn, the best guest I ever had. He
 
 166 NEPENTHE. 
 
 seems confined to no regular business. He is good pay, and 
 never grumbles. No ink spots on his table spread, or boot 
 marks on his washstand and bedstead, or spot on his carpet. 
 It is a comfort to have such guests. If you want to be a 
 toad under a harrow, keep a boarding-house. 
 
 " You should have heard Dr. Bachune talk about jesthet- 
 ically, esoterically, and exeterically, and pseudo-dipteral 
 architecture, and thaumaturgia. We had some heavy grid 
 dle cakes on the table one morning, and Dr. Bachune re 
 marked that ' their specific gravity was too great for their 
 size ; there was a too great condensation of the cellular tis 
 sue.' Mr. Vole always pretended he did not know anything 
 when talking with the doctor, and asked him all sorts of 
 questions. 
 
 " I heard Mr. Vole say one day that the doctor would 
 amuse himself so often with the careful analysis and diagno 
 sis of the contents of the tea-pot, laid out as a sort of hortus 
 siccus on his plate. ' This leaf, now/ he would say, ' is 
 fuschia. Observe the serrated edges. That's no tea-leaf 
 positively poisonous. This now again is privet yes, you 
 may know by the divisions, panicles, that's no tea-leaf.' I 
 don't believe that all this talk was original with him, he pro 
 bably got it out of some magazine. But he looked the 
 wisest when he talked about the Bible. He said that was 
 ' an old exploded book.' He said that his creed was ' a creed 
 of no creed.' I wonder what sort of a creed that is ? That 
 ' every therefore must have a wherefore.' Of course it must. 
 Who don't know that ? He got that out of ' Pure Reason,' 
 somebody said. I am sure his reason isn't very pure. I 
 wonder if he got that about the Bible's being exploded out 
 of Pure Reason too. Mercy on us! what are we coming to ? 
 I wouldn't give one leaf of my grandmother's Bible for all 
 the new-fangled ideas in his stuffed head. One would think, 
 to hear men talk at my table about the Bible, that it was a 
 mighty queer book. They get all kind of things out of it. 
 Every queer notion they set up, they pretend to prove from 
 the Bible. I am tired of this cant about orthodoxy. One 
 would think, if they didn't know what the word meant, that 
 orthodoxy was the name of some terrible villain, that ought 
 to be hanged, drawn and quartered, for some great crimes, 
 committed with, as the lawyers say, malice aforethought. 
 
 " We used to think, when I was a child, it was highly re-
 
 NEPENTHE. ' 167 
 
 spectable to belong to some orthodox church, but now one 
 would think it was disgraceful to be in such regular stand 
 ing. What a bugaboo they do make about nothing. Even 
 some young preachers that want to be popular, sprinkle 
 their striking sermons with tirades and invectives against 
 this orthodoxy as if the poor thing were to blame for all the 
 sins and mistakes of the whole Christian world. Time will, 
 come, if they say much more about it, when the subject will 
 be tiresome and common and get old-fashioned, and then I 
 hope they'll let it alone. There is such a rage for startling 
 things. A man will say low, common, coarse things about 
 onions and rat-holes just for effect, to excite a laugh. It is 
 my humble opinion that one coarse idea or a single low im 
 age in a sermon, will draw the mind off from fifty beautiful 
 or a hundred serious thoughts. We laugh at the most fool 
 ish things, or the mere mention of them in the pulpit ; things 
 we wouldn't think of laughing at if said in the street or 
 house ; they are not really so witty ; we only laugh because 
 they are so out of place and grotesque in the pulpit. We 
 laugh, and we can't help it, to see a round-faced, rosy- 
 cheeked three year oldster walk in with his father's hat, 
 spectacles and great coat on. The inclination to laugh is ir 
 resistible, yet there's nothing funny in the hat, nothing 
 amusing in the coat, nor anything comical in the boy, but all 
 together are irresistibly laughable. So in the pulpit, the 
 place for dignified manner, solemn and elevated themes, the 
 great contrast between the place and anything trifling, gro 
 tesque, or common, may excite mirth. The best of us laugh 
 to see a ' harmless, necessary cat,' or a quiet, respectable 
 mouse move along through the church aisles. I saw an old 
 sexton once take a dog up and carry it out of church in his 
 arms. The effect was very ludicrous. But I wonder why 
 they do make such a hue and cry now about white cravats. 
 I don't see how those white cravats can hurt any body. All 
 the objection I have to them is, they are so much trouble to 
 do up. I think they are certainly becoming. If a butcher 
 can wear his apron, a fireman his hat, a student bis badge, 
 if a white cravat is worn at court in full dress, why can't a 
 minister wear one in the pulpit 1 His office is certainly a 
 dignified one, if the man is what he ought to be and then, 
 what fun they do make of those poor old puritans. What if 
 they were a little stiff and awkward ! Wo make fun of their
 
 168 NEPENTHE. 
 
 old coats and hats, their stiff ways and ridiculous notioni, 
 their rush candles. We, enjoying the fruits of their sacri 
 fices, sit by our blazing gas lights and make fun of their old 
 candles. With their toil-worn hands they wrought out the 
 garments of our independence, and made the cradle of lib 
 erty for us to rock so lazily in, and they did it all well, too, by 
 the feeble light of their despised candles. If some of these 
 good old puritans could stand by my table now, without be 
 ing seen, and hear all this twaddle about the Bible, wouldn't 
 they cry out chaff ! chaff? Common sense has exploded! 
 What a brainless age this is ! There's only a weak drop of 
 truth in this great ocean of nonsense ! I believe the whole 
 Bible is inspired from Genesis to Revelations. The moment 
 you begin to allow that one little part of the Bible is not in 
 spired, you drop one stitch in your faith. 'Tis like my 
 knitting ; just drop one stitch in this inspiration, and the 
 whole faith begins to unravel. All these smart progress 
 people begin to set up new foundations for themselves, and 
 they get ever so many new stitches out of this unravelled 
 Bible. Some are dropping stitches out of the Bible all the 
 time. They've ravelled it all out, and in making it over 
 they put such a new lace on it, ripping and turning and 
 stretching it so, no one would know it. They make it all 
 over like a coat, till it suits every body's style of thinking. 
 Dr. Bachuue says John never wrote the book of John. I 
 wonder by what telegraph he got that news. Did he get 
 that out of his pure reason, too ? But Kate Howard said it 
 wasn't his pure reason ; it was Kant's. We have so much 
 of mixed up reason, I am glad if some body has come out 
 with some pure reason. ' Kant's Pure Reason,' I'd like to 
 read that book. Kate Howard used to make the doctor be 
 lieve she did not know much, just to have him enlighten 
 her. One day she asked him if all the beautiful young la 
 dies in old times were named Chloe. He asked her why. 
 She said all the love sonnets and poetical eulogies written 
 by poets to women she had seen in the old English readers 
 and cyclopedias were addressed to Chloe. She made him 
 think she believed all the Shetland wool with which she 
 crochets her mats, was obtained from the Shetland pony. 
 ' Ah, indeed,' said he, ' that must be a woolly horse.' Then 
 Dr. Bachune says so much about Locke on the Understand 
 ing. I never liked that Locke for one thing ha said, he must
 
 NEPENTHE. 169 
 
 have locked up his understanding when he wrote that ' cry. 
 ing shouldn't be tolerated among children.' 
 
 " But didn't Mr. Selwyn take Dr. Bachune up nicely ? 
 He looked like a minister. Dr. Bachune never said a word 
 more about inspiration. How beautifully Mr. Selwyn talked 
 about those exceeding great and precious promises. I did 
 really like that man ; he came out so boldly. The doctor 
 blushed up to his hair, and Mr. Vole looked so full, I ex 
 pected every minute he would burst out laughing. He says 
 it was so pat that is his word if he likes any thing it is 
 pat. "Where do they get all these words ? But there's one 
 thing I never want to hear again ; that is that three black 
 crow story. Ignorant as I am, I know that by heart. 
 These crows have crowed enough. I should think some 
 committee of geniuses might scare up some thing that would 
 take the place of that crow story. But I must find out 
 about those miniatures. I'll get talking about relations, 
 etc., and I'll get around to it. I'll ask him how many sis 
 ters he has." 
 
 Sure enough, at the tea table she did ask him, and he 
 dignifiedly replied : " I have no sisters, madam." 
 
 Some one, I have forgotten who, told me once that Mrs. 
 Edwards was seen much oftener with the Bible in her hand, 
 after she found out that Mr. Selwyn was a minister. 
 
 Some how it did get around the table that Mr. Selwyn 
 was a clergyman. Mrs. Edwards couldn't guess how it 
 got out. One night she was alone in the parlor with Kate 
 Howard talking sociably, and after exciting Kate's curiosity 
 to the highest pitch, she did tell her in " the strictest confi 
 dence " that one of her guests was a clergyman. 
 
 This set Kate to guessing, and very soon she guessed Mr. 
 Selwyn, because he was the only one at the table who hadn't 
 at some time criticised clergymen rather sharply. 
 
 But first the secret leaked out, then it was out, and then 
 it spread all over. Mrs. Edwards had found out the fact 
 in suoh a sly way, she was uneasy lest it should get to Mr. 
 Selwyn's ears, and he suspect that she was a prying, inquis 
 itive, gossiping woman. 
 
 She was old enough to have known long ago that secrets 
 are like books and umbrellas no one will- keep them quite 
 as carefully as ourselves ; that by some kind of law, secrets, 
 like magnetic currents, always move in circles ; you never 
 
 8
 
 170 NEPENTHE. 
 
 can find the beginning or end of them that they always 
 spread as they diverge from the centre of information, and 
 the circles if not hyperbolas, are hyperfo/es. 
 
 It was too good to keep all alone, so Kate Howard only 
 mentioned it to Mr. Vole, and he promised faithfully he 
 wouldn't breathe a word of it ; and if Mrs. Edwards had 
 gone round the circle like the old game of button, button, 
 who's got my button ? secret, secret, who's got my secret ? 
 it would be the answer in the play, " next door neighbor." 
 
 There was no use in being provoked with Kate Howard ; 
 she had the best intentions and always looked so good- 
 natured, you couldn't be angry with her ; she knew Mr. Vole 
 would never say any thing about it, of course he would never 
 speak of it, she had as much confidence in him as she had iu 
 herself. 
 
 It rained one afternoon. Four ladies were in the parlor 
 chatting and crocheting, all except Charity Gouge, who was 
 always working muslin bands, or fixing up head-dresses or 
 discussing the morals and manners of the age. They had 
 been whispering some time, when Miss Charity spoke up. 
 " Why don't he preach if he's a minister ? I don't like to see 
 a watchman deserting the walls of Zion," said she in her 
 solemn sentimental drawl, " but perhaps he's married a rich 
 wife, and has the bronchitis, and can't preach. It is strange 
 how these rich wives affect clergymen's throats. I believe 
 they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength," 
 said she in a solemn tone. 
 
 " It is a pity you didn't try a little of that yourself," 
 said Miss Kate and her eyes twinkled mischievously. " You 
 are always complaining, it might renew your strength." 
 
 Miss Charity was always quoting scripture, and she never 
 got it quite right either. She often spoke of that beautiful 
 verse in the Bible about " that bourne from whence no trav 
 eller returns." 
 
 " Hush," said Kate Howard, putting her finger on her lip, 
 " there comes Mrs. Edwards, and she won't hear a word 
 against Mr. Selwyn, she thinks he is perfection." 
 
 " I haven't said any thing I'm ashamed of, nothing but the 
 truth," said Miss Charity sitting up very straight and look 
 ing very dignified. 
 
 _' Yes," said Kate, " but the truth isn't to be spoken out 
 at all times, we needn't tell all we know."
 
 NEPENTHE. 171 
 
 Mr. Vole often said it was too bad to make a gouge out 
 of charity, he was always saying it was cold as charity, when 
 the thermometer was near zero, no matter how much his 
 prudent mother stepped on his toes, he would say it though 
 Charity sat opposite to him at the table and he knew her 
 hearing was remarkably acute. 
 
 " Charity can never be to highly prized in this selfish 
 world," he would say, as he recommended her to his young 
 gentleman friends, " you know ' Charity suffereth long and 
 is kind.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 CARLEYN'S TIGER IN A TRAP. 
 
 MR. JAMES VOLE is sitting in Mr. Carleyn's studio, wait 
 ing for Mr. Carleyn to come in. He is humming over these 
 lines 
 
 " I love sweet features ; I will own 
 
 That I should like myself 
 To see my portrait on a wall, 
 
 Or bust upon a shelf ; 
 But, nature sometimes makes one up 
 
 Of such sad odds and ends, 
 It really might be quite as well 
 Hushed up among one's friends." 
 
 Mr. Vole had never had any likeness taken of himself 
 but he was an only son and an only child, so his mother said 
 she must have a portrait of James : something might hap 
 pen, he was always running into danger, he might break his 
 neck yet, she must have a portrait. 
 
 So to gratify her, he had consented, and this was his first 
 sitting. He said " a profile cut in black" would suit better 
 his style efface. 
 
 He thought it would prove a tedious business, but Car 
 leyn had a way of making the time pass very agreeably to 
 his sitters, and they were soon busily talking, and Mr. Vole 
 almost forgot that he was sitting for his portrait. 
 
 " I heard Mr. Trap say the other evening at the Acade 
 my of Design, Mr. Carleyn," said Mr. Vole, " that he took 
 to himself some of the credit of shaping your destiny and 
 fame as a rising young man and artist."
 
 172 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " A rising young man means a great deal in his mouth," 
 said Carleyn, sarcastically. " It is a favorite phrase of his. 
 He used to mean by it, one who by fraud, pettifogging, sly 
 cunning, secret reaching and over-reaching, gained money, 
 lands, tenements and hereditaments ; one who, by putting 
 himself and others through a course of cunning and deceit, 
 climbed up at last to society's golden roof, and counted 
 there, his increasing pile of shining dollars. 
 
 " My destiny," he continued with no little feeling, "would 
 be a ragged, shivering, starving, shadowy, cruel destiny if 
 he had shaped it. 
 
 " The word shaped should never be abused by lips like 
 his he never shaped anything. He has knocked out of 
 shape and symmetry every thing his hard hand hath 
 touched. 
 
 " My angel mother taught me when a little boy never to 
 say a cross word when a kind one would do, and when an 
 gry to count a hundred before I spoke. This rule I tried 
 to keep. 
 
 " There is no art so badly learned, so miserably prac 
 tised, as that of finding fault. There is not one man in a 
 thousand who does it wisely, kindly or well and he who is 
 full of faults himself is sure to be watching and improving 
 chances for finding fault in others. He anticipates mistakes, 
 and scolds at a wrong before it is done : he is always on the 
 starboard ?ide of life, straining his eyes to watch and scold, 
 and scare and punish the least floating specks of wrong that 
 may be coming towards him, and to crush an insult before 
 its seed is planted ; he's always gathering clouds to get up 
 a storm, when really the sky is quite comfortably clear. Mr. 
 John Trap was my guardian. I went from my mother's kind 
 care and consistent gentle influence, to John Trap's house. 
 I said to myself, boy as I was and ignorant of human na 
 ture, Mr. John Trap is a good lawyer, a successful practical 
 man so he must have good judgment. Mr. Trap is an edu 
 cated man ; of course he is a gentleman dignified, con 
 sistent, just. Mr. Trap has a fine position and a liberal edu 
 cation he is therefore a man of character, and I, as a boy, 
 will acquire some character by being under his influence 
 and watching his example ; and I already began to think of 
 him as a type of manly nobility and a model of manly aj- 
 cellence. Moreover he was a persoa of fine external ap-
 
 NEPENTHE. 173 
 
 pearance, I had often -thought as I had seen him standing in 
 a crowd. 
 
 " I went to live with him. He was at first pleasant, then 
 civil, and then decent ; at last the natural man came out, 
 and h acted himself. I looked at him with wonder and 
 astonishment. He often scared rne through and through. 
 Sometimes he would lavish his most complimentary epithets 
 upon me, but if I chanced to be out in the evening three 
 minutes later than half past nine, he would blow me all the 
 way up the two pair of stairs, and I could hear his voice in 
 low thunder dying away in faint echoes after I had closed 
 and locked my door. 
 
 " If once in two years he had to get up and let me in, for 
 he never would let me take a night key if the great John 
 Trap were really thus disturbed, he would get into a terri 
 ble rage ; he couldn't have been more excited if his wife 
 had been shot, his child stolen, or his personal property car 
 ried off by burglars. 
 
 " I was scared at first, but at last I learned to despise the 
 man who had so little control over himself. I used to com 
 fort myself with the thought that as I was not his wife or 
 child, my life-lease with him would soon expire. 
 
 " He seemed to think these 'little peculiarities' of his all 
 right only a part of his dignity and greatness, and now he 
 really boasts of shaping my destiny. 
 
 " I think he has exercised an influence upon my life. I 
 learned while with him to suspect, to mistrust. Let a boy 
 be deceived once, and he will soon lose some of his faith in 
 human nature. His overbearing tyrannical insolence awoke 
 feelings in me which I knew not before that I possessed. 
 All the indignant manhood within me was aroused. I felt 
 at times as if I would like to see him punished by some 
 despotic power for so outraging all sense of honor and jus 
 tice. I had such a strong dislike of his stormy, passionate 
 manner, that I had a perfect horror myself of ever being in 
 a passion and losing my self-control. He would seize upon 
 some little mistake or'accident, and scold, and scold about 
 it, in every possible shape of scolding ; and if at last the 
 individual scolded defended himself, he would reprove him 
 for getting so excited about such little things. He was al 
 ways sticking pins into his friends, and then abusing them 
 for feeling so nervous and hurt, and making such a fuss.
 
 174 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " If there was any cross in you, be knew how to bring it 
 out. The cat was more quiet, and hid away from his coming 
 feet. Little John Trap hushed his play and sat quietly in 
 the corner, and Mrs. Trap went fidgetting around for fear 
 some of those little accidents so often occurring ' in the best 
 regulated families,' might disturb John's always fuffled 
 mood, and bring down his thundering anathemas about 
 ' confounded carelessness,' and ' shocking forgetfulness,' 
 showering right and left his complimentary epithets of ras 
 cal, scoundrel, villain, scamp, sneak and fool. 
 
 " He used to go through the house with a spiritual hammer, 
 hunting out the least corners in character, and knocking 
 them off with sundry flourishes, while he himself is hard all 
 over ; he himself is all corners, and cannot pass through any 
 circle of people without hitting somebody's views, unless 
 they dodge him. He is not a man he is an animated ham 
 mer ; but if anybody suspect him, accuse him, insult him in 
 the least infinitesimal degree if they show any spunk to 
 him, why he can't tolerate their impudence. He'll put 
 them through he'll give them a thump and a blow, a curse 
 and a growl. He has a patent right to be ugly a copy 
 right secured from his father the Devil, as somebody wick 
 edly said. If any of his servants chanced to follow their 
 own inclinations treat themselves to a little ease, comfort, 
 or pleasure, if they showed any spirit, he would growl and 
 curse, so incensed he would get. Who has a right to be 
 ugly but he ? He never forgets an injury or indignity done 
 to his infallible ugliness and if a man's conduct don't suit 
 him, how he wishes he could give him a kick or a few 
 shakes. 
 
 " If there were a few more such traps sprung in this lower 
 world, we wouldn't have to go to the Ravels for representa 
 tion of Pandemonium. When his wife married him, she 
 put her conscience in purgatory. To keep him well out of 
 growling, she must be all the time in that intermediate 
 state between right and wrong. If he does come home and 
 find a peg out, or an accident happened, it is all because the 
 girl has not been blown up enough he'd like to put her 
 through a course of sprouts. His stentorian voice is 
 enough to arouse the dead, and he thinks his voice far pre 
 ferable to a hundred bells or speaking tubes. If he calls, 
 poor old Bridget's dry bones must quickly stir, or he'll
 
 NEPENTHE. 175 
 
 give her a loud essay on slowness. He tells her often her 
 memory is about as long as her nose. He says half a dozen 
 times a day, she is a fool. He always says, if sue does not 
 come when he calls, that she is counting her beads or say 
 ing her prayers. He was born with the idea that, of course, 
 people ought to know what's what, and to do it, and not 
 make a ' 'twill do' of every thing. 
 
 " I wish there was a law against this finding fault, except 
 under certain limitations and restrictions ; for instance : no 
 harsh fault finding more than ten times a day by the same 
 person. I wish there was -some clause in the constitution, 
 by which these pounding, thumping, aggravating, irritating, 
 blowing up, knocking down, rocky characters, could be put 
 on spiritual limits. 
 
 " Little impulsive, angry children, can be spanked and 
 shut up, and punished in sundry ways j but these grown up 
 human tigers are lawlessly at large, trampling down green 
 leaves of sympathy, crushing fragrant flowers in woman's 
 heart ; insulting and ruthlessly killing with their caustic 
 words, and fierce red-hot invectives, all the freshness and 
 beauty of innocent and light-hearted child.-iood. 
 
 " Mr. Trap actually expects his child to be vastly more 
 self-controlled, better behaved, milder, quieter than he, 
 with his mature reason, and enlightened judgment ever is. 
 Why, if John Trap comes home in one 01 his tiger moods, 
 the child is actually afraid to say boo. I have seen the child 
 after one of his father's unnatural shakes, look up with appeal 
 ing tearful eyes to some invisible Help as if to say, ' I 
 never heard of such things in the land from whence I came,' 
 and Mrs. Trap goes around all day and every day, with an 
 ache in her heart. ' Oh, dear !' she whispers as she kneels 
 at night by his little bed ; ' Oh, dear, my boy my bright 
 beautiful boy can never be a Christian if he watches and 
 imitates his earthly father.' 
 
 " Her life is a martyr's the child is her child and that 
 tiger is her husband, a queer kind of a guardian he is, to 
 love, cherish, protect a child precocious in mind, in heart 
 and a woman, all heart, sensibility and refinement, and then 
 she thinks how a few brief years ago, he sat by her side, an 
 importunate, ardent lover, with his soft low words, so skill 
 fully modulated ; and he would like her still as much as he 
 with his fierce nature can like, if she would let him be as ugly
 
 176 NEPENTHE. 
 
 as he chooses to his child and dependants. What is it to her 
 how he treats others, if he uses her well. 
 
 " Two years I lived at his house, and I wouldn't trust a 
 cat in his hands, even a ' harmless, necessary ' cat. 
 
 " Mr. Douglass is a lawyer, too, but he is the soul of 
 honor. I would rather be Mr. Douglass's cat than Mr. 
 Trap's wife, and I would far rather be a parish mouse than 
 John Trap's child. 
 
 " I lived with him two years, and now I would be choked 
 if I had to breathe the same air with him. I never knew a man 
 before, that I wanted to cage up in iron bars until he would 
 promise in the presence of witnesses, to be good and keep 
 the peace. I have seen him when angry, look at his wifo 
 as if he would swallow her ; and his child, as if he would 
 annihilate him. 
 
 " When he gets enraged, the least thing excites him. I 
 believe he would face a whole regiment of angels, and tell 
 them to go to thnnder. If I see a man get in a rage once, I 
 never like him as well afterwards ; but if he gets in a rage 
 habitually, I haven't a shadow of respect for him. 
 
 " If you will come into my studio alone some time, I will 
 show you the portrait of Mr. Trap in one of these stormy 
 moods. I call it Tiger. I wouldn't have him see it for any 
 thing. Dawn is my ideal of sweetness and gentleness, but 
 Tiger is the opposite node of humanity, its lowest ebb of de 
 pravity. I think the two pictures a startling contrast. 
 Were a stranger to see the portrait of Trap, I should call it 
 to him Midnight, but I always think of it as Tiger, a human 
 tiger. 
 
 " All the little property left by my mother in Mr. Trap's 
 hands I lost. He pretended he had charges against rny 
 father's estate for law services. He presented a long bill 
 of costs ; it took all the property to cancel it, but I shouldn't 
 like him any better as a man if he had made me a present 
 of several thousands, instead of explaining away my little all 
 to which I believe I was justly entitled 
 
 " When he talks of sympathy, I always feel as if the word 
 was abused. I have heard it reported that in Nova Zembla 
 and in Greenland men's words are frozen in the air, and are 
 never heard until a thaw. I am sure in the congealing at 
 mosphere of John Trap's soul, words of sympathy are always 
 frozen, and are never heard, unless in some January thaw,
 
 NEPENTHE. 177 
 
 when they fall on the ear cold, chilling and disagreeable, and 
 never steal on the heart in gentle, genial April benedictions, 
 
 " While studying law Mr. Trap taught school. Over the 
 door was printed in large letters, ' English and Classical 
 school ' Those who lived near could frequently hear sup 
 pressed cries, sobs and moans. It was Trap's habit to 
 beat with a rattan the hand of any boy who missed four an 
 swers in geography. The reverberations of the heavy blows 
 could be distinctly heard in the neighboring houses, and the 
 sound was occasionally varied by the sharp tones of Trap's 
 coarse voice. One of his scholars is a man now. I finished 
 his portrait last week, and he can't mention Trap's name 
 with calmness. He said he knew his geography perfectly in 
 the morning when he left home, but so poor was his mem 
 ory, and so great his dread of Trap's rattan, he was sure to 
 miss. He dreaded going to school. He said som3 of the 
 boys looked on in shuddering sympathy, and others ac 
 quired coarseness of feeling and brutality as they watched 
 this human tiger as he cudgelled some mother's carefully 
 reared and ingenuous boy. What taste for knowledge such 
 a man inspires ! What true nobility of character fosters. 
 This old scholar of Trap's says if Trap went to Heaven, he 
 was sure he never wanted to go there ; and the very name 
 of school is hateful to him since he first attended Trap's 
 English and Classical school. I often wish I could find 
 some Nepenthe to enable me to forget all those weary, un 
 happy hours of my life at Trap's. 
 
 " But what is to become of all these fault-finding John 
 Traps in Heaven, if any of them ever squeeze in there ? 
 They may find some little claim to steal in by. If they get 
 in Heaven, it seems as if they would need a little extension- 
 room done off on purpose for them. If I had known only 
 such men as John Trap, I should think the world a very 
 wicked world but I have seen and known Douglass and 
 Selwyn. Douglass is a conscientious lawyer. There is 
 need enough for more such and Mrs. John Trap is a real 
 Christian. What a match that was ! There was a terrible 
 loss in that wedding. Mrs. Trap would make any upright 
 and reasonable man happy, but ice and sunshine might as 
 well be wedded as Mr. John Trap and she. What does 
 make such scamps get such lovely wives ?" 
 
 " I met an old lady the other night," said Mr. Vole, " who 
 
 8*
 
 178 NEPENTHE. 
 
 told me she had helped you in your early career. She 
 thought you took a different turn while with her. She was 
 glad things had shaped around so that you have made out 
 well after all." 
 
 " I know who that old lady is," said Carleyn, with a mis 
 chievous twinkle in his eye. " She is always talking about 
 things ' shaping round.' She wears green ribbon on her 
 bonnet, carries a reticule, always looks over her spectacles, 
 and says, ' I hope you are well.' She always smiles, and 
 such a smile I never saw on any other face. Her name is 
 Miss Prudence Potter. I used to called her Aunt Prudence 
 when I went to school to her in the country. She taught 
 me to pronounce every syllable in Con-stan-ti-no-ple dis 
 tinctly, to dot all my i's and cross every t, repeat verbatim, 
 ' the busy bee,' and ' unfading hope,' and ' full many a 
 flower,' and write without blot in my copy-book, ' many men 
 of many minds, many birds of many kinds.' Proverbs in 
 numerable fell from her lips. She tried to make me repeat 
 without pausing or stammering, the whole shorter catechism, 
 as she kept me standing on a crack, till I wished the cate 
 chism had been shorter. She had an odd way of explaining 
 the Bible. She used to say to us little boys she wanted to 
 make us understand the plan of salvation. She was always 
 talking about that. 
 
 " She had an old blue pitcher with a long established 
 crack in the handle and a piece out of the end of the spout. 
 One day when we had school up stairs, while the school 
 room below was being fixed, she sent me for some water. I 
 started with this pitcher in my hands. I stepped on a stone 
 at the top stair, and slipped all the way down stairs, landing 
 at the bottom with bruised shoulders and aching side, almost 
 breaking my neck, but with unharmed pitcher. Miss Pru 
 dence, hearing the noise, came out and screamed at the top 
 of the stairs, ' Mercy, Frank ! have you broken THAT PITCH 
 ER ?' ' No,' said I, ' but I wish I had.' Whenever I think 
 of the terrible risk of that contemptible old pitcher, I give 
 an indignant grunt, and still I say ' but I wish I had.' 
 During my first attempt at picture taking she used to say, 
 ' Now, Frank, don't you think you might better never 
 thought of making pictures ? Don't you think it's kinder 
 foolish for you to try ? I hope you'll succeed, but I'm 
 afraid you've mistaken your calling ; and then if you are
 
 NEPENTHE. 179 
 
 going to do anything in the world to get beforehand, you 
 know it is time for you to set about it.' And then she'd 
 take her knitting and go off to spend the afternoon with 
 aunt Sally, and they would talk me all over, and both sigh 
 and groan over Frank, and shake their wise heads, and wish 
 he might do well, but if he had only taken some regular 
 business, or even learned a good trade, he might save up a 
 little and settle down in life, ' Settle down in life !' Isn't 
 that a phrase ! ' Settle down !' ' I don't want to settle 
 down,' I used to say, ' I want to rise higher? and when the 
 first picture was done, and well done, the first hand to grasp 
 my own with cordial cheer was a stranger's ; while Aunt 
 Prudence still said, ' Well now, Frank, think of all it's cost 
 you ! How much time you've taken, and how little bread 
 and butter it has brought you. You might have had a few 
 acres all cleared by this time, and a snug house and a barn 
 on it, and a cow and a pig of your own.' 
 
 " But that picture. I couldn't tell her how it cleared 
 away acres of obstacles on my onward path, how the trouble 
 some brushwood, hitherto mountain high around me, burned 
 up and vanished away, and an inward voice, stronger than 
 all Miss Prudence's loudest repetition of ' A bird in the hand 
 is worth two in the bush,' louder than all her pitiful 
 ' Mercies !' urged me on, and my heart said, ' This is the 
 way, walk ye in it.' I never shall forget Prudence's last 
 advice to me when I left home to come to the city. ' Well,' 
 said she, ' Frank, you are sure of a good living on the farm, 
 you'd better " let well enough alone." ' ' 0, said I, ' Aunt 
 Prudence, 
 
 ' The better never should grow weary, 
 But always think of better and fulfill it.' 
 
 ' High, inaccessible, let all my life 
 Be a continual aiming at that mark.' 
 
 " ' Frank,' said she, looking over spectacles and shaking 
 her head, ' you'll find, after fiddling away your time awhile, 
 that this poetry, like love, is all/o/ de-roL' 
 
 " But," said Carleyn, " I have been successful beyond my 
 highest expectations. Orders have come to me from all 
 quarters. But if you'll come in to-morrow, I'll show you my 
 tiger a ' Tiger in a Trap.' " 
 
 What a jubilee there would be if all the fault-finders 
 could be banished for one year ! What bounding hearts
 
 180 NEPENTHE. 
 
 and beating pulses ! What elastic steps what sunshiny 
 homes what active Bridgets ! How the doctor's shadow 
 on the hearthstone would grow small by degrees, and the 
 nurse's attentions beautifully less. What a fall there would 
 be in the price of pills and powders, blisters and plasters ! 
 Wouldn't the little folks have a grand time for once talk 
 and laugh as loud as they want, without being interrupted, 
 at each new burst of fun, with " Johnny, I'm surprised !" 
 Wouldn't they play stage-coach and rail-road with the chairs, 
 build houses with old books, hunt up unmolested all the old 
 strings to play horse with ? Wouldn't they laugh right 
 out, even at the table, if they felt very funny ? And if any 
 great pleasure excited them, wouldn't they hop around en 
 thusiastically, and tell about it, without anybody's exclaim 
 ing, " Don't holler so, Johnny we are not all deaf!" and 
 have always to be told " that little children should be seen 
 and not heard." These little boys are kicked and cuffed 
 around because they are only boys, and if they stand still to 
 see what is going on, they are told they are always getting 
 in the way. 
 
 Trouble kills, yes it kills, it stabs, it pierces ! Many 
 mortal headaches are brought on by finding fault many a 
 disease, baffling the doctor's skill, many a valuable life 
 ended, many a heart broken, many a widow shrouded in 
 weeds, many an orphan wandering motherless, through find 
 ing fault. Yet who ever heard of its doing anybody any 
 good ? Who knows how full of sorrow the heart already is ? 
 Who knows if their finding fault may not add the overflow 
 ing drop ? 
 
 Hath ever human chronicle recorded one consumptive 
 cured, one headache soothed, heart healed, hope brightened, 
 life lengthened, or criminal reformed, by finding fault ? 
 
 'Tis poison, sure and slow, administered in homeopathic 
 doses, hour by hour, to suffering, jaded humanity, the effect 
 stealing like small doses of arsenic in the framework of the 
 heart, and making life intolerable. 
 
 Many a person can do nothing but find fault. It is a 
 habit a passion ; but when the last mortal lips are sealed, 
 the last mortal eyes closed, the last heart stilled, may those 
 divine lips say to many a scolded, stricken, yet redeemed 
 spirit, " Neither do I condemn thee, go and sin no more." 
 
 How can we kneel at the eternal throne, and ask forgive-
 
 NEPENTHE. 181 
 
 ness for our ceaseless sinning, if we cannot utter, from hum 
 ble hearts, that most beautiful of all petitions, " Forgive us 
 our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us." 
 While we harshly chide another for little faults, can we not 
 read tbis startling thesis on the door of conscience, " For if 
 ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your 
 Heavenly Father forgive you your trespasses." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 NEPENTHE ON EXHIBITION. 
 
 " Oh la belle, la noble destinee d'avancer toujours vers la p&fection, 
 sans rencontrer jamais le terme de ses progres." ANCILLON. 
 
 EVERYBODY went to the Academy of Design that year, and 
 so of course Miss Charity Gouge went. She was growing 
 yery near-sighted. She was armed with eye-glass, bouquet 
 and curls, and looked as welj. as she could in her youthful 
 pink hat and stylish velvet mantilla. She always wore white 
 kids, and if possible a green dress. She had a green moire 
 antique, a green brocade, a green cashmere robed, every 
 thing was green to suit her taste. 
 
 Mr. Vole said, " Charity always looked green. Every 
 body knew you couldn't see much of charity out in the world, 
 so it couldn't be used to the ways of society." 
 
 Mr. Vole was always punning he couldn't help it. Many 
 of his puns were very good and bright. Nobody who knew 
 him could help liking him. Nobody ever got angry with 
 him. 
 
 Miss Charity, Miss Kate Howard, and Mrs. Edwards were 
 standing before one picture. 
 
 Since Selwyn's visit to the studio, Carleyn had painted 
 another ideal, more beautiful than Dawn. No description 
 of ours can do it justice. One must stand before it to feel 
 the magic of its beauty, and breathe the spell of its loveli 
 ness. It was the gem of the Academy, and everybody stop 
 ped before it, as if enchanted. The picture was in the first 
 gallery, and was marked " Nepenthe, No. 126. F. E. Car 
 leyn, A." 
 
 It was the graceful figure of a maiden. All but the face
 
 182 NEPENTHE. 
 
 seemed shrouded in a misty veil. The tearless eyes looked 
 forward as if in eager expectation into the clear blue sky, 
 mantling with the first blush of sunrise. In her right hand 
 she held a goblet, sparkling with diamonds. A radiant 
 aureola crowns the brow of the maiden, while around the 
 brim of the goblet play wreathing circles of dazzling light. 
 The robe is girded by a rainbow, and a rainbow spans the 
 aureola over her head. She stands on the shore of a raging 
 sea, yet the turf beneath her feet is sown with emeralds and 
 enamelled with hearts' ease, and before her rests in inno 
 cence a snowy dove ; behind her, are mountains of angry 
 clouds, which her left hand, slight and delicate as it seems, 
 presses back ; beneath the clouds rolls and rages a stormy 
 sea, dashing its angry waves against the trail of her robe, 
 whose folds in front are bordered with amaranthine light. 
 She seems forgetful of the angry clouds and raging sea, as 
 she gazes intently into the sunlight beyond, while from the 
 ruby scroll around the goblet, flash in crimson and carmine 
 glory the letters of the magic word, " Nepenthe." 
 
 You couldn't catch Miss Gouge in any ignorance. If she 
 didn't know what a thing meant, she would put on a wise 
 face, and keep very silent, and go home and look in the Dic 
 tionary, or find out in some other sly way. She never 
 would ask any one to enlighten her ignorance. But Kate 
 Howard stood looking at the picture, and at the name on the 
 scroll, with a puzzled expression in her face, as if she knew, 
 and yet she didn't know what was the real design of the 
 artist. Mr. Vole came up and stood before the picture, and 
 she turned and said, 
 
 "Mr. Vole, who is Nepenthe? Was there ever such a 
 person ? The picture is all sunshine and beauty before, and 
 shadow and storm behind. It means something I'm. sure 
 I don't know, I'm such a little dunce." 
 
 " Nepenthe is a remarkable and expressive word most 
 comprehensive, most significant," said Mr. Vole, standing 
 as erect as possible, straightening his collar, adjusting his 
 cravat, and clearing his throat, and imitating exactly Doctor 
 Bachune's wise manner and labored enunciation. " Nepen 
 the is a Greek word, or rather a compound of two Greek 
 words, ne, not, and penthos, grief. There is a kind of magic 
 potion, mentioned by Greek and Roman poets, which was 
 supposed to make persons forget their sorrows and misfor-
 
 NEPENTHE. 183 
 
 tunes. We moderns," he added, with another throat-clear 
 ing, " we moderns use it figuratively, to express a remedy." 
 " A second Daniel, a second Daniel," said Kate, laughing, 
 " much obliged to you, doctor, you have very lucidly en 
 lightened the fathomless profundity of my incomparably 
 opaque ignorance. I was partially aware that it was some 
 thing resembling forgetfulness, but I cherished only an 
 adumbrant, idea of the real intent of the meaning of the 
 artist's design, in the uniquely original and mysteriously 
 marvellous conception. How much more significant the 
 word Nepenthe than Lethe 
 
 By whose bright water's magic stream, 
 I oft would rest and gladly dream, 
 That blest oblivion's pall were cast, 
 O'er all my sad and troubled past. 
 
 But I'd rather have one quaff of this Nepenthe, than the 
 whole river of Lethe. I could drink Nepenthe and count 
 over my old joys. Very few of us would like to forget all 
 the past. 
 
 For while our thoughts we backward cast, 
 We'd grateful be for joy-gemmed past. 
 
 Kate knew Mr. Vole never puzzled his head much about 
 the Greek of a thing, and she guessed he'd been asking 
 somebody some questions ; but assuming his natural tone 
 again he said, " The picture is really full of meaning ; that 
 goblet containing the Nepenthe is made of diamonds, and 
 scrolled with ruby, because these are the most precious of 
 stones, and Nepenthe would be the most valued of potions 
 could we obtain it. The most highly prized varieties of ruby 
 are the crimson and carmine, so you notice these shades in the 
 scroll. The figure stands on the turf enamelled with heart's 
 ease, and the dove is in front, to show that when sorrows 
 and sins are forgotten, our souls might rest in heart's ease and 
 innocence, while our life would be girdled and spanned over 
 by the rainbow promise, that sorrow should overwhelm us 
 no more, and with tearless eyes as we hold this precious cup 
 we could ever be looking out for the sunrise of dawning 
 hopes and the culminating of rising joy, while as with the 
 touch of a light hand we could press behind us billows and 
 clouds." 
 
 " I wish, Miss Kate," said Mr. Vole, sadly, " some of this
 
 184 NEPENTHE. 
 
 old Greek poetry were true. I'd give my right arm," he added, 
 " for one good drink of this Nepenthe. Then my sins and 
 troubles would be in the circle of perpetual occultation ; and 
 my spirits would be as far from the pole of depression as any 
 true elevating joy is now above my life's horizon. My past 
 sorrows form a circle of perpetual apparition. They are 
 ghosts, spectres, visible spirits." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Vole," said Kate, suddenly, " I thought you 
 never had any sober thoughts." 
 
 " I do sometimes," sail he, " when I read some poem or 
 see a picture like this. I've been here every day for a week 
 to look at this picture. I never had a sober thought in my 
 head until I heard a sermon on self-denial, some years ago, 
 and I will candidly say there hasn't been a day since, that it 
 hasn't come into my mind. It was a sermon by Prof. 
 Henry." 
 
 " I don't see much in that picture," said Miss Gouge, look 
 ing up to them as they were talking. " Who is Carleyn ? I 
 never heard of him before ; he can't be much of an artist of 
 any note." 
 
 " I heard of him," said Mrs. Edwards, " where I first saw 
 you, Miss Gouge, in that little village, where we spent the 
 summer, 'twas twelve years ago last June. I remember a 
 friend of yours telling me that evening we were together, at 
 a party where they had such a gay time, that you had just 
 come of age, and you were going to travel. Who'd think it 
 was so long since then and Mrs. Edwards was there with me 
 then, and you and he danced together, and young Carleyn, he 
 was a mere boy then, said you were the belle of the even 
 ing. 
 
 " Frank I think his mother called him, was then a boy of 
 fourteen. He was handsome and diffident. He made a good 
 deal of talk'in the neighborhood even then. I never saw 
 finer eyes, and his hair was black and glossy he had a pale 
 face. I've often thought that some souls get into the wrong 
 bodies, bodies that were never made for them, but Carleyn's 
 soul and body were made for each other, they fit nicely ; 
 some clergyman said of him, when he was about nineteen, 
 he was too handsome to be a Christian, but that was a fool 
 ish speech I think. 
 
 " His father tried to make a farmer of him, but the boy 
 would steal off after flowers, or sit down on the river's bank
 
 NEPENTHE. 185 
 
 and watch the shadows of the trees in the water. He would 
 make a picture of every pretty thing he saw, and they say 
 there was not a chip on his father's farm that bad not a face 
 or eyes, nose, or mouth on it. He couldn't make a farmer 
 of him because he wouldn't stick to it, so he sent him off to 
 make him a clerk but hefore he knew it, he'd be taking 
 pictures of his fellow clerks all over the ledger. His em 
 ployer sent word to his father that the boy's mind was evi 
 dently not on that business ; so Frank came home again and 
 they tried to make a tailor of him, but that wouldn't do. 
 
 " One day his father called him to go on an errand, but 
 he was nowhere to be found so he went up softly into 
 Frank's room, and there was Frank finishing off his mother's 
 portrait. It was really a wonderful likeness, though done 
 with rough materials. The surprised father went down 
 stairs and into his field again, and never said a word but it 
 wasn't long before he had his portrait taken. 
 
 " His mother died when he was quite young, in that little 
 cottage at the foot of the mountain. I remember just how 
 it looked when I used to ride by, and stop at Timothy Ti- 
 tus's, and that was long before Ernest Titus died. 
 
 " If Frank's mother could only have lived to have known 
 of her son's celebrity ; but she knew before he died that he 
 would surely be an artist, and she helped him all she could. 
 Uefore she died he had sent a painting on to some exhibi 
 tion, and he got a prize for it. She knew he would succeed, 
 and she taught him early to fear God. Ho is said to be as 
 conscientious as he is gifted, which is a rare thing in these 
 days. 
 
 " 'Tis a false notion which people have, that genius must 
 be erratic ; but it is too true that many of this class are not 
 practical Christians. Yet it is a great mistake to say that 
 devoted piety is not found combined with great ability. I 
 know it is a rare combination, and I acknowledge great 
 reverence for a man who is a true Christian, and great and 
 gifted too. If a man becomes distinguished, he is too apt 
 to be so conceited that it sticks out all over him." 
 
 " This picture," said Kate Howard, " is unlike anything 
 in the whole exhibition. Carleyn says it is the only picture 
 he has taken which suits him at all, and he really couldn't 
 have had a better name for it. If it were the face of a real 
 woman, she might feel highly complimented on becoming so
 
 186 NEPENTHE. 
 
 celebrated and if it is an ideal, it does seem as if he must 
 have caught the expression from some living face." 
 
 " I never shall forget," said Mrs. Edwards, " how that 
 proud Mrs. Pridefit treated Carleyn's mother when she was 
 in the country as if she was of no account. Mrs. Pridefit 
 was full of her high notions, and now she has had her por 
 trait taken by Carleyn, and is rather proud of it too." 
 
 " Yes," said Kate, " I have heard that Mrs, Pridefit quite 
 ignored that little unpretending Mrs. Carleyn, while in the 
 country." 
 
 " Now that he has become a celebrated artist all the girls 
 are setting their caps for him," said Mrs. Edwards. " Flo 
 rence Elliott is really in love with him." 
 
 " Hush !" whispered Kate, with her finger on her lip 
 " there he is now, and that is Florence Elliott by his side. 
 She always has a bevy of gentlemen around her. I have 
 seen him here three times this week." 
 
 " I don't see anything very beautiful about her" said 
 Miss Gouge, opening as wide as possible her very small 
 eyes and raising her glass. " Her eyes are too large. I 
 never admired her style of beauty it is unfeminine." 
 
 " All the gentlemen admire her," said Kate, mischiev 
 ously. 
 
 " There isn't one gentlemen in a hundred who is any 
 judge of female beauty," said Charity. 
 
 " Well," said Kate, " I hope Mr. Carleyn will suit him 
 self. If he likes Miss Elliott, I'm satisfied. You don't of 
 ten find a couple where both are equally agreeable. You'll 
 often see a man that is cross as a bear, and a woman gentle 
 as an angel. Carleyn would certainly make a good hus 
 band. His friends seem to like him as well as the world. 
 There are many prizes in life's lottery, and some people are 
 always drawing them. Florence Elliott may be one of these 
 fortunate ones. 
 
 " I have heard that she has said she never failed in any 
 thing she undertook but no match suits everybody. But 
 who is that tall, hollow-eyed woman looking so steadily at 
 that picture ? She looks a? if some new idea had dawned 
 upon her mind and she is muttering, too : do look at her ! 
 don't she look queer ? She is the only plainly dressed wo 
 man here." 
 
 " Oh. she is nobody," said Miss Charity Gouge, going on
 
 NEPENTHE. 187 
 
 with the conversation. " I am sure I don't want Carleyn 
 myself. I never would marry a genius ; but as he is a pro 
 fessor, and has in the eyes of the world set his heart on di 
 vine things, and renounced its pomps and vanities, he must 
 of course seek first the kingdom of heaven. I don't see 
 how his conscience or Christian vows can ever allow him to 
 marry such a light-minded, frivolous girl as that coneeited, 
 intolerable Florence Elliott." 
 
 " Such men often do marry those who are not professing 
 Christians," said Kate mischievously, " and for myself, I 
 would rather live with some agreeable sinners, as you call 
 them, than some crabbed Christians." 
 
 " The directions of the Bible are very explicit on that 
 point," said Miss Charity. " ' Be not conformed to the 
 world, be not unequally yoked together with unbelievers.' 
 I have had reason to think much on this subject from my 
 own experience, but I am thankful that grace enabled me to 
 keep firm." 
 
 Kate smiled she was thinking of what Mr. Vole said 
 about the gentlemen always trying to get rid of the demands 
 of charity. 
 
 " But do see that impudent beggar woman," said Miss 
 Gouge. " She has actually stepped on my dress. Just see 
 what a horrid spot of mud this is, and every thing spots this 
 dress even water. I wish there were some law to keep off 
 these troublesome beggars ; they are so annoying they ought 
 not to be allowed to go at large. There are so many benev 
 olent associations for their relief, none of them need suffer ; 
 and then they can surely be made comfortable in the poor- 
 house. For my part I would have no objection to going 
 there myself, if Providence should see fit to deprive me of 
 my present resources, and I should be contented in any sit 
 uation in which He thought proper to place me." 
 
 " I couldn't," said Kate frankly ; " as I now feel I should 
 be a most miserable being if I were poor. It does very 
 well for you, Miss Charity, so richly clad and luxuriously 
 fed, with plenty of money in the bank to pay to-day's debts, 
 and buy to-morrow's comforts, to talk about being contented 
 in poverty. Poverty looks very different to you, as you 
 look at it with your glass, through draperied windows, from 
 what it would if you were hungry and barefooted, walking 
 the streets with no home in prospect but that ' comfortable '
 
 188 NEPENTHE. 
 
 poorhouse. As to the poorhouse, ' distance lends enchant 
 ment to the view' of that mansion of contentment, that safe 
 and respectable retreat for homeless paupers where, if 
 Providence should mark out the way, so many affluent la 
 dies say they should be so grateful and willing to go and be 
 provided for. I know they don't mean it their aristocratic 
 heads could not, without murmur, pass under those lowly 
 portals. 
 
 " I have often wished I could give the world one goad 
 shake, just for a week or so, and see these contented mil 
 lionaires and miserable paupers change places. There 
 would be far more groans and growls in that comfortable 
 poorhouse than you'll hear in any respectable asylum for 
 lunatics in a month." 
 
 - " I know," said Miss Charity, " that I have learned with 
 the apostle, ' in whatsoever state I am, to be content.' I 
 don't think poverty the worst evil that can befall one. I 
 know I could follow the leadings of Providence but most 
 all poverty is brought on by idleness." 
 
 " Yes," said Kate, in a low tone, " it is always idleness ; 
 so the rich say as they fold their lazy hands, and lisp out 
 with indolent tongues, ' 'tis nothing but idleness they de 
 serve it.' 
 
 " Aye ! idleness ! the rich folks never fail 
 To find some reason why the poor deserv 
 Their miseries." 
 
 " Yes," muttered Miss Charity, drawing her mantilla 
 closely around her, and holding more tightly her well-filled 
 purse in which was the whole amount of her last year's annu 
 ity in solid gold " it is astonishing how little we can get 
 along with if we only think so, and these poor people need 
 very little. The real wants of life are very few," thought 
 she, as she entered a large store to purchase a new opera 
 glass for hers was a little less elegant than the one she 
 had seen Mrs. Elliott have, and she fancied she would like 
 one of that sort. She also purchased a new breakfast set, 
 of jewelry, ear-rings, sleeve buttons and brooch. " How 
 economical I am getting," thought she. as she gathered up 
 the folds of her velvet dress, which was of the heaviest and 
 costliest material.
 
 NEPENTHE. 189 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 MADAME FUTURE. 
 
 FLORENCE ELLIOT reads in the morning paper : 
 
 AN ASTONISHING ASTROLOGER MADAM FTJTURE. This highly gifted lady is 
 the seventh daughter, and was born with a gift to tell the past, present, 
 and future events of life. All who wish a speedy marriage, may call soon and 
 see her invoke the powers of her wonderful science. She will tell you all you 
 wish to know, even your very thoughts, and show you the likeness of your in 
 tended husband. She has just returned from Europe, where she had unparal 
 leled success. No charge if not satisfied. " 
 
 Florence Elliot was soon at the office of the far-famed and 
 learned Madam Future. The room was dimly lighted, and 
 quite heavily draped in black, and the light fell rather on 
 the face of Florence than on the astrologer, gipsy, magician, 
 or whatever she was. She was closely veiled. 
 
 " Lady, do you want your fortune told ?" said she, ad 
 dressing Florence. 
 
 " You advertised, and to amuse an idle hour I have come. 
 Curiosity drew me hither. Can you read the future ? Here 
 is my hand," said Florence, as she held out her small, deli 
 cate, jewelled hand, and a piece of gold. 
 
 " I see nothing in your hand no destiny there are not 
 many crosses there," said the woman. " Fortune favors 
 you you were born rich you will die rich. You are an 
 only child. You have been, until recently, the only young 
 person living in that house. Your father was killed in 
 battle. Your were born on Southern soil. That accounts 
 for your blood and temperament, as hot as the climate. 
 Only a week ago you stood by the mirror, and you said to 
 yourself, ' I am young and beautiful, my hair is glossy, my 
 eyes are bright, my lashes long and heavy, my form is sym 
 metrical, and my step elastic. But one thing I must have.' 
 With all these charms, you are not happy. I see it in your 
 restless eye, flushed cheek and impatient step. I see it as 
 you walk in the street, and when you promenade Broadway 
 so often at three o'clock. One image sits at your heart 
 one form hovers in your dreams one hope is burning in 
 your life, and one fear tortures you lest that hope be not 
 gratified."
 
 190 NEPENTHE. 
 
 She took her glass, looking in it awhile, and muttering. 
 At length she speaks : 
 
 " I watched your star. It has been slowly rising, clear 
 and bright, climbing up the western sky. I turn the glass, 
 and far off in the dim distance, i see a little pale star. From 
 the western sky it rises, appears clear and bright, disap 
 pears, pales and vanishes. That little star appears again, 
 slowly rises, and follows in your path." 
 
 " Tell me, witch, wizard, sybil, whatever you are, is that 
 a star of magnitude ] Is it a meteor only to fade, a planet 
 to wander, or will it be a fixed star in my path ?" 
 
 " What is your path, lady ?" 
 
 " That is for you to tell," said Florence. "I came not 
 here to reveal, but to learn."'' 
 
 " The future is always veiled. I can only see it through 
 misty clouds and shadowy outlines. I can see but one ob 
 stacle in your path that must be crushed. I cannot tell you 
 now the end come again, and I will cast your horoscope 
 more fully." 
 
 ' ; Have you no charms ?" said Florence. 
 
 " I have nothing to cause love. Your charms are already 
 all-sufficient, but even these I can heighten. You shall be 
 come radiantly beautiful, as beautiful as an artist's dream." 
 
 Florence started. Did this strange woman really know 
 that the dream of her life was of an artist ? 
 
 " No man is insensible to personal beauty," said the wo 
 man, going behind a curtain, and bringing out a vial, saying, 
 " This is no love charm, no spell, but this I give you shall 
 heighten your already peerless beauty. I will give it you 
 in minute doses. It is a tonic and alterative is sometimes 
 given by oriental physicians, and is remarkable for its won 
 derful influence upon the skin. I call it Hidri. It may be 
 swallowed daily for years, and no harm be done. It will give 
 plumpness to the figure, clearness and softness to the skin, 
 beauty and freshness to the complexion. It will improve 
 the breathing, so that steep heights can be easily climbed ; 
 it will heighten your charms your complexion will be clear 
 and blooming, your figure full and round. You must take 
 half a grain two or three times a week, in the morning, fast 
 ing, till you get accustomed to it, carefully increasing the 
 dose. You will soon breathe with greater ease, and your 
 voice will have greater compass and flexibility. 13ut once
 
 NEPENTHE. 191 
 
 commence it, you must continue the practice through life, 
 and the results are sure and satisfactory. The dose must 
 be adapted to the constitution and habit of body ; but of 
 this I will tell you more hereafter. I myself have taken it 
 for thirty years. I take two grains at each dose." 
 
 Florence looked through a long glass, to see the object 
 she loved best. She was a little frightened and excited, but 
 sure enough, at the other end of the glass there was a pic 
 ture of Frank Carleyn's face, distinct, vivid, and life-like. 
 
 The globe, charms, parchments, hieroglyphics, heavy cur 
 tains, dark-looking bottles, the artist's portrait, and the half- 
 veiled face of the woman, bewildered and excited Florence, 
 and she went home in a strange, unhappy mood, more anx 
 ious and determined than ever to go again to the consulting 
 office of the far-famed and learned Madame Future. 
 
 As Florence passed out, a lady closely-veiled passed in. 
 Her form, and something in her walk seemed familiar to 
 Florence, but the lady seemed anxious to pass out of sight, 
 and escape observation ; and Florence was so desirous of 
 preserving her own incognito, that she dared not to look 
 back at the lady, to guess or wonder if possible who she 
 might be and yet there was something so familiar about 
 her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 CARLBYN'S JOURNAL SUBJECT, MATRIMONY. 
 
 " Of all the myriad moods of mind 
 That through the soul come thronging, 
 
 What one is e'er so dear, so kind, 
 So beautiful ad longing !" LOWELL. 
 
 " BEFORE I marry, I must know a woman thoroughly so 
 Selwyn tells me. A woman may be bewitching at opera, 
 fete, or ball, but be no soother or sympathizer to come home 
 to when weary. Before an engagement is formed, solemn 
 and binding as any engagement ought to be, the every-day 
 type of a woman's life should be known. How she treats 
 servants, how much respect, consideration, kindness she 
 shows other members of her family how she consoles the 
 poor and the sick and the unfortunate. Many women get up
 
 192 NEPENTHE. 
 
 sets of charms for public levees, soirees and receptions, 
 hops and musicals. Yet a true wife is a diamond, shining 
 brighter in life's daily rough friction so the old book says. 
 If I only visit a lady when she expects me, I can't find her 
 out so says my mentor, Selwyn. She can much easier 
 learn my taste, habits and disposition. A business or pro 
 fessional man can never quite hush up his faults among his 
 friends. If he is dishonorable, or ill-tempered, some lady 
 will find it out she may have some brother or friend who 
 can easily hear of his peculiarities. A man in the business 
 world can't be so walled about with conventionalities as to 
 prevent sundry revealings and multifarious disclosures. 
 Somebody will hear somebody say that he is arbitrary, ty 
 rannical, selfish, passionate, dishonest, immoral, or avari 
 cious if he really is so, it will leak out. The real man is 
 chiselled out in society with strongly marked features. His 
 tailor and his shoemaker, even while the one takes his 
 measure and the other makes a last for his sole, may get 
 some idea of the spiritual dimensions and the shape and cast 
 of his real soul. 
 
 " Men's daguerreotypes and portraits often take more easily 
 than women's their features are usually more strongly 
 marked. So on the canvas of society, many a man's charac 
 ter is clearly drawn and fully revealed, from some rough 
 and truthful sketch, taken by anxious, watching eyes, in his 
 counting-house, ofiice or studio. But a woman shut up in a 
 temple of home apart, is brought out on festal days, decked 
 with flowers and wreathed with smiles, to receive as her 
 right, the incense of praise and flattery. How easy to robe 
 herself with the magic of loveliness, attracting the admira 
 tion of man, and piqueing the ambition of 'rival women. If 
 she be as peerlessly beautiful as Florence Elliott, how many 
 captivated hearts and worshipful knees will bow at her ele 
 gant shrine. 
 
 " Selwyn keeps talking to me about behind the stage, as 
 if a woman when in company like the figures in show win 
 dows was out on exhibition looking her prettiest. 
 
 " 'Tis true you find out what the actor is, and what part 
 he takes, and how much he drills for the public, if you get 
 behind the stage. What a pity that in love as in law, the 
 attachment comes first and the judgment afterwards. 
 
 " It is a serious 'business to get a wife but I don't mean,
 
 NEPENTHE. 193 
 
 on account of the risk, to live alone always. One does not 
 want onesself always for one's company through all life's 
 long, lonely evenings, and dull, rainy days. 
 
 " Let me sketch my ideal of a wife ; but somebody says 
 no man ever marries his ideal ; but then a man is quite apt 
 to have an ideal walking about his soul like a beautiful 
 vision, half shadow, half substance, and it is a comfort to a 
 man to have an ideal wife, even if you never marry her. It 
 does him good to sit by the fire at nightfall, after contact 
 with rough men and dream of her. It is pleasant to sit and 
 think how Mrs. Carleyn would look in a blue silk dress, how 
 she will smile, what she will say, and how she will have my 
 dressing-gown all ready when I come at night. " 
 
 Carleyn writes one or two pages more about his ideal 
 wife, and falls asleep. The soft light of the shaded gas lin 
 gers upon his open journal, and if you are not out of pa 
 tience, reader, we will just read over what he has written. 
 'Tis a page from his heart, and unless we read it while he 
 is asleep, we are quite sure we never will see it. 
 
 " My wife must appreciate me for what I am. If I think 
 deeply, feel strongly, study profoundly, talk eloquently, I 
 could never be satisfied with a wife who couldn't judiciously 
 appreciate my highest efforts in tongue, pen or life. Should 
 I have a beautiful thought, and my wife know it not, or 
 knowing care not, or only amiably echo what Frank says is 
 all well and good, because Frank says it, I should soon feel 
 an indifference for her. 
 
 " If she be not always reigning queen in the realm of my 
 thoughts, she may silently, quietly, walk there, inhaling the 
 perfume of every flower therein planted, admiring every 
 gem therein set, and know enough of that complicated mi 
 crocosm, a man's world, if there is a jar to keep quiet, but ever 
 near enough to give sympathy, cheer encouragingly, when 
 the storm cloud mood is over. A footfall disturbs, at times, 
 man's solitary moods, an echo irritates. My ideal wife does 
 not demonstrate over every demonstration I make, but she 
 must know enough to see clearly if I draw correctly, define 
 correctly, or fill out perfectly. She needn't be able to dig 
 with me among Greek and Latin roots, but keep the air 
 around pleasant, the sky bright, so that I may dig more com 
 fortably. 
 
 9
 
 194 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " No glossy hair, no ruby lips, no glowing complexion, 
 nor even agreeable manners, can supply the demand of long, 
 lonely, rainy days, anxious nights, business failures, losses, 
 crosses. I must have a wife with a soul. But how is it, 
 when I sketch my ideal, it seems like a spiritual crayon por 
 trait. I think of deeds, tones, words, thoughts, feelings, af 
 fections, but I give no color to eyes, hair or lips. I think 
 not of the temple, but of its fair occupant, who ever lingers 
 around the shrine of my inmost heart. 
 
 " But what shape will this ideal take ? Who in this wide 
 world of mortal women is to share the artist's dettiny ? If 
 I am to Have a wife of my youth, she is now living on the 
 earth. Love her, and pray for her weal, says the proverb 
 poet. How can I love her, whom I have not seen ? But I 
 do love my ideal wife most tenderly. She is a picture in 
 my soul without frame. I'll hang it up in the private gal 
 lery of my heart, and look around and see if I can find a 
 frame to suit it. Such a picture would look well in an ele 
 gant frame. 
 
 " 'Twill be hard to find one ornate and polished enough 
 but they say the best souls have often the plainest frames. 
 What a beautiful frame that Florence Elliott has ! Beauti 
 ful, polished, elegant. There is hardly a line or hue you 
 would alter. Nature has made her with faultless frame, and 
 she seems every day to me more beautiful, and I do like to 
 look at a beautiful face. It is a pleasure to gaze at Florence 
 Elliott's peerless loveliness. 
 
 " Tossed on the billowy surges of this restless life, the 
 only earthly rest is the pillowing the aching heart, sea-sick 
 with life's rolling, foaming motion, on a heart that loves you. 
 There is not in all the world a heart so plunged in life's 
 etyx, that has not some loophole or crevice, arch or doorway, 
 skylight or hatchway, where love may not look through, 
 creep under, steal in, or climb up, or twine around. Some 
 times he comes like a fluttering bird asking for crumbs. 
 
 " We are all, at some time of our lives, Columbus-like, 
 seeking for this new world of love. We long to plant our 
 tired feet on this terra firma incognita. As we sail out on 
 the stream of life, there come floating to us little green 
 sprigs of sympathy, and some carefully carved memento of 
 affection. We know that some heart is carving out Borne
 
 NEPENTHE. 195 
 
 where a Lome for us, where we may walk in aiid rest when 
 weary with life's hot heat and heavy burden. 
 
 " Who is now fitting a home for my heart ? what hand 
 waiting to clasp mine ? what voice will say, ' for better, for 
 worse ; for richer, for poorer, in sickness, in health.' This 
 is the charm of the tie. 
 
 " What life is ever complete without love ? It casts a 
 shadow or sheds a glow over most every history, yet it ia 
 often ridiculed. 
 
 " We keep love from the young eye ; hide it from tho 
 young heart ; yet surer than prophecy, will that very eye and 
 heart sparkle and thrill at one love story, silently, quietly, 
 told all to itself alone. 
 
 " We tease and ridicule the young if they talk or read of 
 love educated to show and shine and flirt, but not to 
 love. 
 
 " Even he who laughs at love stories, has hidden in his 
 heart, its inmost holy, when the vail is rent aside, an image 
 of something he could thus love. 
 
 " Somewhere in the life of every loving and attractive 
 woman, is written a manly name. Could you trace the 
 hidden hieroglyphics of every womanly heart, you would find 
 moss-grown or grass-grown, cypress-wreathed or turf-cover 
 ed, one dear name. Sometimes it is on the heart's door 
 plate, finely engraven and carefully kept bright. Tears 
 never efface the name. In the quiet Greenwood of many a 
 womanly heart, never called wife, is an enduring marble 
 slab, with this legible inscription, ' Sacred to the Memory 
 of a Lost Love.' Beside it are little tear-watered, faded 
 bunches of violets and bouquets of withered rose-buds, with 
 the old blue ribbon still around them. 
 
 " Many a noble gifted man walks his solitary life way, 
 called by the world heartless, insensible, old bachelor, yet 
 within his heart, torn down or vailed, is a womanly shrine, 
 where once, when skies were bluest and life's flowers so 
 fair, he daily brought offerings of the sweet flowers of af 
 fection. 
 
 " There are many marriages without love, and many a 
 sweet sad love story, that never ends in marriage." 
 
 Carleyn awakes and lays away his little book, as he re 
 peats over and over to himself these lines
 
 196 NEPENTHE. 
 
 If I be dear to some one else, 
 
 Then some one else may have much to fear, 
 But if I be dear to some one else, 
 
 Then I should be to myself more ck-ar." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A BIT OF PHILOSOPHY ABOUT HUSBANDS. 
 
 " Storms, thunders, waves ! 
 Howl, crash and bellow till you get your fill ; 
 Ye sometimes rest ; men never can be still 
 
 But in their graves." 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 "You are weak, Florence, weak," said Mrs. Elliott. 
 " You do not show your usual strength of character ; this Ne 
 penthe is certainly no rival of yours I have never seen you 
 so much excited ; it really detracts from your beauty, and 
 makes you appear unamiable." 
 
 " I do not wish to be amiable,'' said Florence, haughtily 
 rising up to her full height. " No man will marry me or 
 fancy me for my amiability. I don't like amiable people 
 stupid people are always amiable. Nepenthe Stuart's at 
 tractions in no way compare with mine. In birth, position, 
 education, she is vastly my inferior ; but gifted distinguished 
 men are every day fastening themselves by some strange 
 freak of fancy to unpretending ordinary little women. May 
 it not be possible for an enthusiastic young artist to take 
 some such freak of the head or the heart, and marry unsuit 
 ably or rashly. 
 
 " Some men like to have all the genius and attractions to 
 themselves. I can imagine a plain woman loving her dis 
 tinguished husband with a kind of worshipful, grateful love. 
 Some things beside beauty may excite temporary interest. 
 An artful woman may captivate a man, and if once loved, she 
 will soon look beautiful in his eyes. Many a man is thus 
 taken in. Any good-looking woman with winning voice and 
 manners, if artistically dressed, will at times look interest 
 ing. And once caught, a man hopes, believes, and endures 
 all. 
 
 " Wise men have such foolish wives profound men gefc 
 shallow and stupid companions.
 
 NEPENTHE. 197 
 
 " If many a man had walked out blindfolded and married 
 the first woman he met, he might have done better. There 
 is said to be a place made for each person to fill ; if a few 
 get into the wrong places, what is to become of the rest ? 
 There must be an odd kind of pairing off if the leading ones 
 are mismatched, yet I have always thought Frank Carleyn 
 would want not only a beautiful wife, but an uncommonly 
 beautiful one." 
 
 ' These geniuses are not the most desirable of husbands, 
 Florence. They're restless, abstracted, peculiar, and they 
 don't make practical husbands. They'll buy meat all fat or 
 all bone, and pay twice as much as any one else for it. 
 They'll forget all kinds of household matters they know 
 nothing of practical financiering. If they earn money, some 
 how they never get rich." 
 
 " I could manage all that," said Florence. " I would 
 rather have a husband that couldn't tell beef from mutton, 
 than one who would be sending roast meat from the table 
 because not brown enough or too brown to suit his lordship, 
 or indignantly reject a griddle cake because its circum 
 ference was not an exact circle ; or one who is always giving 
 essays about the right way of making coffee, bread, sauces 
 and gravies. Marry the best man, and you'll soon find he 
 has some queer little kinks, some eccentric oddity. It may 
 be he can't eat anything spiced with nutmeg, or sweetened 
 with molasses, or flavored with cinnamon, and then he 
 talks so glowingly of the way his mother used to make pies 
 fat pies, he calls them and that apple sauce, if you could 
 only make some like that. He always thinks his mother 
 used to fix up things in some wonderful way, a little better 
 than any other woman can. Put the same dishes on the 
 table now, and they wouldn't taste the same. 
 
 " A man forgets that boyish play, chasing ball, hoop and 
 horse, give marvellous appetite, and the tired hungry boy 
 likes, as he can never like again, mother's dinners, soups 
 and sauces. 
 
 " Those old green hills, that bordered the valley, where 
 nestled his childhood's home were lofty mouutains to his boy 
 ish eyes- 1 are only little hills now ; so the virtue of those rare 
 dishes so marvellously good was heightened by boyish 
 exercise and boyish fancy. 
 
 " But it isn't the eating part that makes all the trouble.
 
 198 NEPENTHE. 
 
 There's the washing. I've heard on good authority, that 
 a respectable gentleman actually jerked off and threw on the 
 floor, in a paroxysm of anger, his standing Collar, forsooth 
 because it was not starched stiff enough to suit his lordship ; 
 and so a man who will boldly face advancing armies, or 
 coolly reply to an insulting antagonist, will be conquered 
 and fretted by one little collar, dust on his overcoat, a 
 speck or a wrinkle on his shirt bosom ; but if the sh'irt don't 
 fit, what a calamity and when will a man own that a home 
 made shirt ever does fit 1 
 
 " They used to ruffle the shirts, but now, one would think 
 to hear them talk, that the shirts ruffled the men if 
 it don't fit, if there's a wrinkle in the bosom, or it draws 
 on the shoulder, if there's a twist in the sleeve the button 
 holes are a mile too big, or they're so small he takes his pen 
 knife and cuts away at them, the neck band is made so tight, 
 and awkward, he'll get the bronchitis, he's had trouble with 
 his throat these two years, because of these awkward shirts, 
 and so he'll fret and fume and fuss and give each morning 
 an elaborate dissertation on all the manifold benefits of good 
 shirt making : if he had time and materials, couldn't he make 
 a shirt that would fit it only needs a little common sense 
 'tis easy enough to see where the trouble is. 
 
 " A woman wilP often bear a little annoyance better than 
 a man ; a man will use such strong adjectives for weak ideas, 
 such large words for small occasions. Most every man has 
 some expletive, with which his impatience effervesces, 
 George, Harry, Thunder, Mars, Good Heavens ! The man 
 scolds his wife, and always calls it making suggestions. If she 
 cries, she make demonstrations if he threaten to skin or 
 thrash his child, impetuously shaking him, as if good could 
 be shaken in or evil be shaken out, he calls it ' salutary 
 discipline.' 
 
 " Talk of a woman's being nervous when sick. Why if a 
 man has a headache, it is intolerable. How he groans ! If 
 he has a little fever he is ' burning up.' If he has a cold 
 he thinks he is ' seriously ill.' If called up once in the 
 night, or awake half an hour, why he is rubbing his eyes, 
 and ' broke of his rest,' for a week afterwards. If a little 
 ill, how very blue, uncomfortable and worried he will feel. 
 But Frank Carleyn is no such fussy, fidgetty, man ; he would 
 be reasonable, and too much absorbed in his profession, to
 
 NEPENTHE. 199 
 
 make an idol of his dinner or a pet of his constitution 
 I don't believe he'd know or find fault, if you'd set nails 
 before him for breakfast, but I don't care what he does, or is. 
 I don't want to analyze his habits or nature. I love him." 
 
 "I think you will find, Florence, that if a man does poetize 
 and philosophize or paint ideals, he'll know when beef is 
 well done, and beefsteak nicely broiled ; and the best of men 
 may make a wry face at insipid coffee and tough sirloin. A 
 hungry husband must be fed before he is caressed, enter 
 tained or charmed." 
 
 Nepenthe Stuart came in just then, so they continued 
 their conversation in French, supposing of course she was 
 ignorant of the French language. 
 
 " I will not be cut out by that low-born, low-bred girl. I 
 have never failed in anything I have undertaken," said Flo 
 rence, in an angry tone. 
 
 " Don't get so excited, Florence," said Mrs. Elliott ; " we'll 
 have her married yet. I have praised her up to the skies 
 to Mr. Nicholson, and she may well be thankful if she can 
 get such a husband. It is a better fate than she deserves 
 to have an offer from a man of his great wealth and acknow 
 ledged position. It might make her proud and overbearing 
 to be placed in such an elevated station. It will no doubt 
 elate her exceedingly, to receive proposals from such a man, 
 he is really a great catch for any girl. He is very hand 
 some, immensely rich, and growing richer all the time." 
 
 " My name shall be Florence Carleyn, or Florence Elliott 
 till I die," said Florence ; " and I will crush every obstacle 
 that comes in my path, as I crush this fly," said she, as she 
 pressed her hand on a little fly on the window sill in front 
 of her ; " but we must take care that Nepenthe does not 
 find out about that legacy. It would make her feel so inde 
 pendent of us and rich husbands too. I hope she'll know 
 nothing of Mr. Nicholson's hereditary insanity. Neither of 
 his brothers lived to be forty without being insane, and I 
 have heard it confidentially stated that his family physician 
 says he will certainly be insane before he dies, and he may 
 be at any time. I really think he acts a little queer now, 
 occasionally. Why once he brought me a rare boquet of 
 heliotropes, japonicas, and tuberoses, with a small sunflower 
 in the centre. It looked so queer, and about as suitable as 
 one of those hod-carriers would, dancing at my next recep-
 
 200 NEPENTHE. 
 
 tion in his working costume. It is the only queer thing I 
 ever saw in Mr. Nicholson but sometimes there's a strange 
 wild light in his eye. Of coarse Nepenthe, penniless and 
 dependent, will be glad and thankful for his attentions, but 
 yet she has a will of her own, and I will crush it if I can. 
 I have shown her in every possible way that her presence 
 in the evening in the parlor is disagreeable to me. She 
 shall marry Mr. Nicholson. I never willed a thing but I 
 accomplished it, and mother, you never opposed me. You 
 always taught me that I might, I must have my way." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 NEPENTHE WRITES. 
 
 What radiant visions glorious lie 
 Like sunset clouds, piled mountain high ; 
 O'er thought's great shore sublimely roll 
 The surging billows of the soul. 
 
 On mem'ry's far-receding strand, 
 Are shells and pearls and sparkling sand ; 
 Hope's fading sunset stains with gold 
 The oriel windows of the soul. 
 
 NEPENTHE said nothing to any one of those long days and 
 lonely evenings, when to avoid intruding her presence and 
 society upon the haughty Florence, she secluded herself in 
 her room, writing, by herself, early in the morning, and late 
 in the evening. 
 
 With no home, lover, friend, she created ideal homes, 
 lovers, friends. When her aching heart was loneliest, hour 
 after hour she talked on paper with these noiseless, invisible 
 friends. Rapidly the pages increased, as the plot sketched 
 and acted out in dream-land was written out in her manu 
 script. As her thoughts came fast and warm, rising in 
 misty tears, or falling in radiant pearls along the shore of 
 her spirit or washed up from the great gulf of the past, 
 there were none to gather and polish and prize them, till at 
 last, in the sunshine of her spirit, on the white surface of 
 her manuscript, through the double convex-glass of her ex 
 perience, the camera obscura of the darkened chamber of
 
 NEPENTHE. 201 
 
 her soul exhibited distinctly in their native colors the images 
 of her beautiful thoughts. The noblest and dearest of her 
 ideal heroes, turn the glass of her soul as she would, would 
 take the shape and form, the beauty and expression of Frank 
 Carleyn. When he first looked upon the pure surface of 
 her heart, his image was fixed, photographed there forever ; 
 and every after manly impression struck off from the leaves 
 of her soul into the leaves of her manuscript, would have 
 the look of that first impression, exposed to the vapor of 
 tears, or to joy's feverish heat the image was always ap 
 pearing, as if by enchantment. 
 
 She wrote to occupy busy thoughts give vent to over 
 charged feelings, and forget unshared sorrows. As pago 
 after page grew under her hand, she never thought it might 
 be a book at last. She had a hope that some eye might at 
 some time read the unpretending manuscript, and if dawn 
 came at last, she herself might read over its chapters of 
 sorrow, and add with sunshine gilding the hills of her life, 
 the concluding^m's. 
 
 She never thought who would publish, sell or buy it 
 with her it was only a manuscript. She thought not of shel 
 tering it under the adorned and gilded cover of a book. She 
 had never known or dreamed or heard of one prophetic 
 glance of that influential and powerful individual, the pub 
 lisher's reader, who sits in his sovereign chair, repeating 
 his favorite phrase, " 'Tis very well written, but not the 
 class of works we publish we want something more thrill 
 ing ;" as with one wave of his powerful hand he banishes 
 into the dark realm of hopeless oblivion many a manuscript 
 freighted with winged hopes and glorious dreams of fame's 
 golden heights and immortal laurels ; but she wrote on, 
 as the sea asks no echo to its moanings from the cold shore, 
 the stars hope for no thanks from the gloomy night, and the 
 flower seeks no reward from the crushing hand. 
 
 By accident, she became acquainted one day with a wise, 
 
 kind, polite old gentleman, Professor J , a German, a 
 
 thorough classic and an accomplished Oriental scholar, an 
 extensive traveller, an excellent linguist, and a scientific 
 naturalist. He came to see her, and entertained and 
 charmed some of her loneliest, hours. One day he showed 
 her his large and rare herbarium, in which he had pre 
 served flowers, leaves and bulbs, which he had gathered in
 
 202 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Germany, France, Italy, Prussia, Poland, and some at the 
 Crimea, Caucasus, and at Teflis. 
 
 He preserved the bulbs in his herbarium, just as he had 
 found them, all but one, which he found in Teflis and 
 which he cut open with a sharp knife and applied a hot iron 
 to the inner surface of each part. 
 
 Four years after, when in St. Petersburgh, he examined 
 his herbarium, and all those bulbs, once so perfect and 
 symmetrical, were dried, shrivelled, musty and mouldy ; 
 while from the parts of the little Teflis bulb, to which he 
 had applied the knife and the iron, little fresh leaves were 
 peeping out. Its unscorched, unharmed peers, were mould 
 ing around it unblessed by no green resurrection, while 
 through the sharp stab and the burning fire it had unfolded 
 its germ of fragrant beauty. The quiet biding of the blade 
 and the iron, like patient mortal suffering, had wrought out 
 its unfolding glory. 
 
 The kind old gentleman took so much interest in Nepen 
 the that he told her some anecdotes about his interviews 
 with Lord Byron in Venice in 1815, when he saw him 
 swim four miles from St. Marc to Lido, and asked him if he 
 were not afraid of the sharks ? 
 
 " Oh no !" said Lord Byron, as he was stepping into 
 a gondola, " I am a fatalist the sharks will not touch me 
 until my time comes to die." 
 
 The professor lent Nepenthe some printed accounts of his 
 travels to read, and at last encouraged her to show him 
 something of her own. 
 
 She read him a little poem, written one night when she 
 was alone and sad. 
 
 He sat still as she read, and at last, when she finished it, 
 he broke out in his peculiar foreign, yet eloquent English : 
 
 " Why, Mademoiselle Stuart ! With what high and 
 mighty inspiration, is your mind endowed? Your thoughts, 
 clear and beautiful, flow from your soul like a river. Men 
 will read them and love them, and the world shall hear of 
 you." 
 
 Poor Nepenthe was unused to praise. Nobody praised, 
 flattered, complimented her. Sarcasm, suspicion, slight, in 
 sult were her daily food, her constant companions. But 
 this man who had seen kings and princes, lived at courts, 
 travelled with sages, whose intellect towered above the
 
 NEPENTHE. 203 
 
 crowd around her, was too solemn, grave, dignified to flatter. 
 His words inspired, cheered, thrilled, moved her. They 
 sounded like a prophet's voice, speaking out from the sybil 
 cave of destiny. 
 
 Long after the professor had gone, Nepenthe sat thinking, 
 and these were her thoughts. " There are hearts in the 
 world never pierced, never bruised, never stabbed, never 
 scorched. They go through the world unscathed, untouched, ~ 
 unblighted, like dry, carefully kept bulbs in life's herba 
 rium. But as years pass, they shrink and shrivel like those 
 unscathed, unpierced bulbs in the professor's herbarium, 
 growing older, mustier, and mouldier, never unfolding in 
 fragrant beauty for any eye ; while here and there is some 
 lonely heart so rent by the sharp knife of trouble, so 
 scorched and burned by sorrow's hottest furnace iron, that 
 after years of calamity's heaviest pressures have passed, as 
 you open the leaves of life, you'll find springing oat of the 
 broken, burning heart, some balmy leaves of fragrant sym 
 pathy, sweetly perfuming all life's surrounding pages." 
 
 " I will call my story Dawn," thought Nepenthe. "It 
 may be from my poor, scorched, stabbed, burning, longing 
 heart, it may come forth as a little germ unfolding into 
 beauty, blooming in the sunshine and dew of young, bright 
 eyes, and at last take deep and abiding root in the world's 
 heart." 
 
 " A flower of hope float up to the light, 
 Its whitened umbels gleam through the night." 
 
 " Will one of its little leaves," thought she, " be pre 
 served forever in Fame's great herbarium, so full of the il 
 lustrious classes and noble orders of soul-flowers." 
 
 Nepenthe sings in a low voice, as she looks out that night 
 at the stars : 
 
 " Up, high up in the Poet's mind 
 The Belfry bells are ringing, 
 The bells are ever swinging, 
 
 Swinging rhymes 
 
 In silver chimes, 
 Telling or past or future times, 
 But ever they tell of the golden climes, 
 Where, fiver the bells are ringing."
 
 204 NEPENTHE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXVI. 
 
 CARLEYN'S CONCEIT. 
 
 " Enfin dans le cerveau si 1'image est tracee, 
 Comment peut dans un corps s'imprimer la pens^e ? 
 La finit ton oeuvre, mortel audacieux, 
 Va mesurer la terre, interroger les cieux, 
 De 1'immense univers regie 1'ordre supreme, 
 Mais ne pretends jamais te connoitre toimeme, 
 La s'ouvre sous tes yeux un abime sans fonds." 
 
 DE LILLE, L' IMAGINATION. 
 
 " THERE'S one thing I don't like about that Carleyn," said 
 Miss Charity Gouge, " he is so conceited." 
 
 " Conceited!'" said Kate Howard. "I have never seen 
 anything conceited in him. I am sure his manners are plain 
 and unpretending." 
 
 " Yes ; but for all that, Tie is conceited. He knows he is 
 a genius, and when a man knows that, it spoils him. If 
 you should ask him pat and plump if he didn't think he 
 could paint beautiful portraits, he'd say, ' Yes, I know I can.' 
 I believe in not letting ' the left hand know what the right 
 hand doeth.' " 
 
 " Yes," said Kate ; " but the right hand need not forget its 
 cunning. Don't the yoetfeel that he is a poet ? Don't he 
 feel the waves of emotion dashing on the shore of thought ? 
 As his swelling soul careers over the ocean of beauty, does 
 he not first catch the murmurs of liquid melody and first see 
 the pearls beneath ? As he grasps the floating images of 
 fragrant thought, and carves them into lyric forms, may he 
 not value best their worth and cost ? If Pythagoras first 
 found the proportions of musical notes from the sounds of 
 hammers upon an anvil, each true poet knows the proportion 
 of his exquisite melodies, as he catches the echo of the ham 
 mer of thought as it strikes the anvil of his sounding soul. 
 On the walls of Carleyn's soul were stained, at its earliest 
 creation, beautiful pictures. Long toiling through gathering 
 thoughts and misty fancies, he has at last brushed away the 
 dust of years, and with clear eye and cunning hand, repro 
 duced these inborn images. After exploring these won-
 
 NEPENTHE. 205 
 
 drous tracings and shadings, may he not modestly say, ' I 
 have toiled, and brushed, and polished, and found at last 
 this beautiful picture in my soul ?' ' 
 
 " I hate this bragging," said Miss Charity. " Let an 
 other man praise thee, and not thine own lips ; a stranger, 
 and not thine own mouth. Seest thou a man wise in his 
 own conceit, there is more hope of a fool than of him." 
 
 " We give the miner credit for his golden findings," said 
 Kate, " yet he who toils on alone, and strikes at last a vein 
 of golden thought, as he catches its first sparkle and sees its 
 earliest glow, can't he best weigh the hard-earned treasure ; 
 if he coins rare images from the mint of thought, can't he 
 have sense enough to see the stamp and know the value ? 
 In the tower of each great soul is a mint for the coining of 
 thought, vested with the royal prerogative of stamping its 
 own coin with name and value. The soul's coronation time 
 is when through its dim chaos of doubt it first cries out to 
 its new-orbed thought, it is my own, and it is good then 
 God puts the laurel crown on the worshipping soul as it 
 kneels in its inner court. Applause may or may not come 
 afterwards from the outer court of the great congregation 
 of thought worshippers. 
 
 This first joy flush is never vain, but tearful and meek in 
 its triumph in every giant soul's causeway is a basaltic 
 touchstone, on which each pure thought leaves its genuine 
 mark ; and these crusty jealous people who are always find 
 ing out and testing a great man's conceit I always call them 
 not touch-needles but touchy-needles. If I were a man I'd 
 write one lecture about this conceit. I'd write it and deliver 
 it too if I had to pay myself a hundred dollars for the 
 privilege. There hardly lives a great and gifted man who 
 is not called conceited. As for me I have always found the 
 greatest fools and dunces displaying the most unbearable 
 self-conceit." 
 
 " Well," said Miss Charity in a spirited tone, " Carleyn has 
 great ideas of what he can do, it don't take a person of any 
 sagacity long to find that out, and true modesty," she added 
 triumphantly, " is an element of true greatness it is a great 
 charm this perfect unconsciousness ; and I never can admire 
 a great man without it. I have seen a great deal of the 
 world, and I know I am correct." 
 
 " I haven't been as long in the world as you, Miss Charity,''
 
 206 NEPENTHE. 
 
 said Kate, " yet I have heard a great deal about this perfect 
 unconsciousness, but I have never seen it. I have read in 
 novels of radiantly beautiful women, who never knew they 
 looked well, and irresistibly fascinating men, who uncon 
 sciously captivated every body, because they couldn't help it, 
 but I don't meet any such men and women walking about. 
 It is quite difficult for a person who owns a good J6oking- 
 glass, and a good pair of ears, not to see and to hear about it, 
 if he is handsome. We Americans must make such a fuss 
 about every thing, fences and barns, and cars and curb-stones, 
 book covers, medals and fans, even wagons and wayside rocks 
 are plastered over with advertisements, of something 
 new and wonderful. There's somebody's name on every 
 thing. The chief aim of the people is to get their name up. 
 Our almanacs guides to infallible weather decisions, must 
 be labelled ' guides to health ' which means a guide to 
 some polychrestian physician, who cures every thing with 
 some universal life invigorator. I don't despair yet of see 
 ing some of the pure energy of vital action done up and for 
 sale in boxes of salve, rolls of plaster, and bottles of lotion 
 warranted to be made from a powdered philospher's stone, 
 of purely vegetable origin, by a perpetually moving machine, 
 circulating among all the crowned heads of Europe. 
 Every thing is used as an advertising medium, but the 
 sky over our heads there are no caricatures up there yet 
 but if a balloon ever could get up so high some enter 
 prising medicine vender would be for sending one of his 
 posters up there, to fasten notices on some starry promon 
 tory, or suburban gates of some constellated city, to intro 
 duce among the bulls and bears of those shining streets, his 
 valuable speculation, and benefit those upper circles by his 
 philanthropic lotions, seeing that his sands of life have nearly 
 run out. 
 
 " If a man praise any article to me, I begin to suspect 
 that he has some of it in his pocket to sell. 
 
 " Once upon a time somebody gave me a whole bottle of 
 Tricopherous, for which liberal gift I could see no occasion ; 
 but some time thereafter the donor came round again wish 
 ing me to give my name to be inscribed on the outside of 
 each bottle of Tricopherous in testimony of its virtues. I 
 laughed till I cried at the thought of it- Kate Howard go 
 ing round on a Tricopherous bottle ! I never wish to see
 
 NEPENTHE. 207 
 
 my name in print till I am married. But I do say that a 
 well conceived and carefully polished thought deserves the 
 acknowledgment of its original stamp far more than those 
 bottles of nondescript perfume marked Parisienne, adoptee 
 par le monde elegant. 13 Rue D'Enghier. 13, Paris, with 
 white kid caps and fancy ribbon neck-ties, marked some 
 times ' Bouquet de Caroline,' they might better be ' Bouquet 
 de Jonathan,' or ' Pomade de Sallie,' for they have no mem 
 ories of Outre Mer and those sheets of cream-laid note pa 
 per, with ' Paris ' carefully stamped in one corner, have 
 no gay Parisian associations, but authentic memories of their 
 native American rags. I have often wondered, as our Brid 
 get says, how they can put such a deceitful countenance on 
 their fair faces ; and even a gentleman, in the estimation of 
 many ladies, is not half finished or polished, or worth hav 
 ing, unless he has been to Europe, and come back with Paris 
 marked all over him boots, hat, gloves and all he must 
 eat, sleep, walk, talk, dress, and bow a la Francaise, and 
 dance well ' les Landers.' 
 
 " I am glad there is something can circulate, even in 
 fashionable society, without full dress, white kids, and 
 French manners and that is.^a plain drab-covered book or 
 a poem. And no bars or bolts, or conventionalities shall 
 keep plain Jane Eyre from telling her thrilling tale of 
 Thornfield Hall, in stateliest mansion, to princely ears. You 
 might as well put gloves and slippers on a canary, advertise 
 a violet, recommend a mignionette, or puff a star through 
 the market, as try to puff a genuine thought through the 
 world. A star will shine and a bright thought will burn 
 and shine somewhere, if only in one dark heart ; that is a 
 glorious destiny, for when the heart beats up there, the 
 thought goes with it. Each great thought, as it comes from 
 the press of the soul, has an imported stamp not of gay 
 Paris ; but on each noble thought is imprinted in legible 
 type the stamp, HEAVEN ; for every such good and perfect 
 gift cometh down from the Father of Light, from the city 
 beyond the sea of stars. It is a pity we couldn't get more 
 of the patterns of our thoughts from the royal family 
 above. 
 
 " But don't you want a moral to all this rhodomontade ? 
 It is this. If a man's name can be appropriately attached to
 
 208 NEPENTHE. 
 
 everything, from a tin pan to a telescope, he can make a 
 good picture, and know it, without being called conceited." 
 
 " Well," said Charity, " I'll never change the good name 
 of Gouge till I find a man without any conceit in him." 
 
 " You'll have to hunt a while, Charity," said Kate, " be 
 fore you find such a wise fool and brilliant dunce. You 
 might as well expect to find the opposite magnetic poles of 
 human nature at the same end of the life battery and if 
 you could find such a rare bird, he'd have to take your name 
 for the best part of him would be Gouged out of him. 
 
 " I wouldn't give a fig for a man unless he thought he 
 could do something. A man can never accomplish anything 
 until he feels there is something in him to begin with. 
 Don't you suppose, Charity, that if a rock had a soul, it 
 would know that it was a rock ? if a star could think, 
 wouldn't it know that it was a star ? if a flower could feel, 
 wouldn't it be conscious that it was a flower ? and every 
 granite truth, starry thought, and flowery fancy, sees its 
 faithful shadow in the reflecting fountain of its native soul. 
 But here endeth my first lesson, for there comes Fred, and 
 I always hide away my metaphysical patchbag when he's 
 around, for he is a most unmerciful tease. He says no lady 
 ever can carry on an argument in a logical manner : that 
 they plunge right into a subject, and can't hold their breath 
 long enough to get the pearls at the bottom : that the best 
 of us are superficial, and never canvass both sides of a ques 
 tion, and half the time when we talk we don't know what we 
 are driving at, and the best of our opinions are only echoes 
 of our lover's, husband's, or brother's thoughts ; that we 
 are very good in our way that means, I suppose, that like 
 birds in the air or fishes in the water, there's only one ele 
 ment adapted to our simple nature, and that is the domestic 
 element. 
 
 " I wonder what we have eyes for, and what we have 
 souls for, if we are to be cooped up in one set of cages, and 
 never peek through or wander out, to see what is going on 
 outside. For my part I like, to climb the spiritual fence, 
 and see a few of the stars and smell a few of the flowers of 
 truth, where man's free spirit is pasturing at large oil the 
 wide field of thought, and daily growing grander and might 
 ier. 1 get tired of thinking over the same old thoughts and 
 eating the corn meal of common sense, and forever dwelling
 
 NEPENTHE. 209 
 
 on the highly recommended yet stale subject of good house 
 keeping. To coop us in, and bar us out of the beautiful 
 thought world, is compelling us to live on bran bread, while 
 man feasts on angels' food and fathoms angels' themes." 
 
 Miss Charity yawned heavily, and then taking out her 
 watch, exclaimed, 
 
 " Why, it is nearly four o'clock. I ought to be at the 
 meeting of the managers this very moment, and they can't 
 do anything without me." 
 
 As she went up to her room, Kate couldn't help saying to 
 herself, 
 
 " When Charity talks about conceit, she'd better begin at 
 home." 
 
 CHAPTER XXYIL 
 
 LOVE, JEALOUSY, AND RIVALRY. 
 
 " I want a steward, butler, cooks ; 
 A coachman, footman, grooms ; 
 
 A library of well-bound books, 
 And picture-garnished rooms ; 
 
 Corregios, Magdalen, and Night, 
 The matron of the chair, 
 
 Guido's fleet Coursers in their flight. 
 And Claudes, at least a pair." JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 
 
 " Les hommes seront toujours ce qu'il plaisa aux femmes." 
 
 KOUSSEAU. 
 
 As Florence went out of the room rt Yes," said Mrs. 
 Elliott, rocking back and forth in her drawing-room, " any 
 woman not engaged, and not in love with some other man, 
 can be obtained by any intelligent, good-looking man, if he 
 have the right tact, address and perseverance, and is doing 
 well in business. \Most women know a dozen such they 
 would accept, if they would offer themselves judiciously and 
 romantically, by moonlight, or out by some grove. Florence 
 and Carleyn may make a match yet, if she is prudent and 
 cautious, and don't flirt with too many others. Carleyn is 
 no flirt. 
 
 " Why don't you get up a flirtation with somebody ?" said 
 she to Nepenthe, as she came in with her netting. 
 
 " I don't know how," said Nepenthe, quietly, " and if I
 
 210 NEPENTHE. 
 
 did, I wouldn't like to win or encourage the advances of a 
 man I would not marry. I think these endearing expres 
 sions, coaxing tones, and languishing attitudes wrong, and 
 very unpleasant in the recollection. I would rather have 
 the love of one true-hearted man than see a dozen mous- 
 tached and worshipful Apollos sighing at my feet. I would 
 rather have only the one offer from the man I might marry 
 than feel the pain of rejecting a hundred I could not accept. 
 If a man really loves a woman, it must give her pain to say 
 to him, No and be a matter of regret to her afterwards " 
 
 " Very well got up sentences," said Florence, coming in 
 just then, " and quite heroic. Talk about giving gentlemen 
 pain, and breaking their hearts. Pshaw ! Men's hearts 
 don't break ! Most any of them think they can have any 
 woman for the asking they are so full of conceit, they re 
 ally believe that ladies will say, ' Yes sir, and thank you, 
 too !' I like to take some of the conceit out of them. Yes, 
 I enjoy it. I'd like the pleasure of refusing most all of 
 thorn. Look at those young widowers, who have so adored 
 their wives while living. They'll many of them marry in a 
 little less than a year, some of them in even six months ; 
 and if they marry then, they must allow some time previous 
 for the preliminary love-making, engagement, &c. Who 
 knows how soon they do think of it ? Do you remember 
 what Mr. Hollow said, when somebody asked him why he 
 married six months after his wife died ? He said he should 
 not wear mourning for her so long as for a brother or sister, 
 because she was no blood relation. But," she added, chang 
 ing her tone, " when we see you playing the agreeable to a 
 gentleman, sitting chatting so absorbed in the corner, we'll 
 know you are in earnest." 
 
 " I would often rather talk with a gentleman than a lady," 
 said Nepenthe, not noticing the insinuation implied in Flo 
 rence's remark. " It is more natural for a lady to confide 
 in some intelligent man, than in some other woman. Gen 
 tlemen pay more respectful attention. As they are out more 
 in the world, if they are well informed, they give informa 
 tion on certain subjects with which we haven't the same op 
 portunity to be familiar. Their minds are not as apt to be 
 absorbed with the details of trifles, and for my part I think 
 most of the agreeable men are married men." 
 
 " But you certainly wouldn't talk sense in society. It is
 
 NEPENTHE. 211 
 
 neither customary nor in good taste," said Florence. " You 
 don't go into society to get or give information. There are 
 lectures, libraries, churches enough to enlighten us. We 
 go into society to be amused. During the whole of the 
 fashionable sociables I attended last winter, vve danced 
 every evening all the evening. I never had but one con 
 versation the whole winter, and that was with a gentleman 
 from Boston, and it was purely accidental. It was waltz, 
 promenade and polka, polka, promenade and waltz, all win 
 ter and this is society." 
 
 " All do not go into society with the same motives," said 
 Nepenthe, coloring slightly. "Some are 'lookers on in 
 Venice.' I have been so little out of late, my ideas of soci 
 ety would probably be outre. I hardly know what is cus 
 tomary. Whatever is the tone of conversation, ladies often 
 give it its caste, and gentlemen, while with them, try to 
 talk to suit them. Gentlemen really like to give informa 
 tion. Each educated man, if he reads much, if he has tra 
 velled far, enjoys thinking and talking, on some one subject 
 more than another. He likes to talk of that of which he 
 likes to think. I believe almost everybody, rich or poor, 
 ignorant or educated, knows something, from facts, observa 
 tion, or experience, of which many others are ignorant. The 
 charm of conversation is not so much in talking ourselves, 
 and displaying our own powers, as to get others to talk, to 
 draw upon their resources of knowledge, I can usually find, 
 after talking a little with a gentleman, what he likes best, 
 and I turn the conversation in that direction. He may be 
 eloquent on that subject, though perhaps taciturn on every 
 other. If a man thinks he is really imparting information, 
 he will be natural and genial he will like you better, and 
 really think you more agreeable, though you only ask a few 
 questions, and are a patient listener, and he does most all 
 the talking." 
 
 "There is more in the way and manner than in the thought," 
 said Florence, interrupting her ; " men never like learned 
 women to talk with. They care more for beauty, ease and 
 style, than any great intellectual power, or wise conversa 
 tion, full of tiresome, long words." 
 
 " I think," said Nepenthe, " if a gentleman have a horror 
 of a literary woman, she need certainly display no pedantry 
 before him. She can keep locked in reserve her best intel-
 
 212 NEPENTHE. 
 
 lectual stores, and use with him only the common coin, the 
 small change of conversation, talking of common things in a 
 common sense way. In talking with ordinary people, on 
 ordinary occasions, on ordinary subjects, it is as much out 
 of place to use the largest and grandest words, as for a lady 
 to wear her wedding dress and set of diamonds in travel 
 ling, or her opera cloak and hood at church. Those people 
 who are always coming out everywhere with their words in 
 studied full dress, are very tiresome and disagreeable. We 
 begin to think that the display is so marked, that the origi 
 nal stock is small. I think on most any occasion, 'tis best 
 not to use a long word where a small one will do. Conver 
 sation is like mosaic small pieces are sometimes inlaid the 
 best, and heighten the charm of the whole. Much of the 
 German poetry, so expressive and beautiful, is composed 
 principally of short, familiar words. We seldom think in 
 long words. The best minister I ever heard was distin 
 guished for his simplicity of language. He never used one 
 syllable too many, or a word you could omit. He never 
 piled up adjectives. His sermon would be a pure, clear 
 stream of thought his comparisons and images like flowers 
 beside this stream. You could almost sae their bright sha 
 dows and smell their fragrance. A flower is one of the sim 
 plest things of nature, yet the most beautiful ; and this cler 
 gyman always had a flower in his sermon. How often have 
 I heard him allude simply and beautifully to heliotropes and 
 violets, and the flowers never seemed put in, but springing 
 up, and growing under his hand, a part of his elevated sub 
 ject and elevated soul. 
 
 " An intelligent woman can sooner and surer find out 
 what a man really is, than another man can. Men often 
 make mistakes about each other. One man hides his heart 
 from another, while often he frankly shows his gentler, 
 warmer, kinder nature to a true woman. He may seem ice 
 to a man, and sunshine to her. Every true man has some 
 spot in his nature where tenderness steals in and flows out, 
 A woman's hand, look or tone, may touch the valve of some 
 secret hydrant, and raise the warm, gushing sympathies 
 from the deep hidden conduit of man's rocky heart." 
 
 " Ladies who make some literary pretensions, are often 
 jealous of those more beautiful than themselves," said Flo 
 rence. " Woman is made to adorn man's life. There is a
 
 NEPENTHE. 213 
 
 kind of style and manner men admire almost as much as 
 beauty. I don't think there are as many hypocrites among 
 men as women ; above all things I do despise a hypocrite," 
 she added, with emphasis. 
 
 " Gentlemen have not as many yets, and buts, and ands," 
 replied Nepenthe, not noticing Florence's last remark. 
 " They have more magnanimity. Their true opinion and 
 praise are less qualified, more outspoken. A lady, if speak 
 ing of another's superior beauty, will add, ' She has a good 
 complexion, but her nose is too retrousse she would be 
 handsome, if her eyebrows were not too strongly marked ;' 
 and she will add, ' She is not the style of person I at all 
 admire ;' or, ' She has such a horrid walk, it spoils her ap 
 pearance completely ; and then if her face is faultless, her 
 features are too regular ;' or, ' She is deficient in style,' or 
 ' Her hair is not stylishly arranged. She has too much 
 gaucherie and mauvais honte she is not well bred I have 
 seen her when she looked really homely.' Some ladies shake 
 hands, or even kiss, and yet hate each other. I never want 
 to kiss anybody for ceremony or custom, unless I really 
 love them. 
 
 " Ladies will say, ' I am glad to see you don't be in a 
 hurry ;' and when the caller is gone, you will soon hear, ' I 
 am glad she is gone she made an everlasting call. I won 
 der what on earth sent her here to-day !' I don't think a 
 man is as apt to be affable to bores as a woman often is. He 
 will sometimes be too rude to those he dislikes, rather than 
 too courteous and bland. I have known of gontlemen send 
 ing their wives into the parlor to entertain the tedious bores, 
 while they slip out the back door, or escape through the 
 front, on a plea of business, saying to themselves, ' Dear 
 me, what do I want to see him for ?' I do think a man will 
 speak and act more as he really feels, than most women, ex 
 cept those men who are always telling everybody they are 
 delighted to see them, and treating every woman, young and 
 old, as if they were making love to them. There are some 
 such married men, who are always making each young girl 
 they nwiet really feel that they would soon receive an offer 
 from them, if they only had no wife." 
 
 " No woman ever gets by tact and after practice," said 
 Florence, " that ease and elegance gained by birth and early 
 associations with high-bred society. It is a great charm to
 
 214 NEPENTHE. 
 
 be always at ease, always self-possessed, never bashful, 
 never embarrassed. Very timid persons are apt to be awk 
 ward." 
 
 " I think that self-forgetfulness is the charm of character 
 and manner," said Nepenthe. " It is the custom of society 
 to make people all alike, smoothing down the salient points 
 of character, covering up and veneering over with the 
 rosewood of benevobnce and mahogany of kindness the na 
 tive structure of the heart. You can't gu^ss what it is made 
 of, or if there be any heart left. We keep the heart so 
 draped and veiled by the curtains of elegance, belted and 
 barred within the iron fence of custom, it gets no strength 
 and vigor by active free exercise. We see strangers only 
 with the heart in full dress. We conceal our true motives, . 
 and often do not give the real true reason for our conduct. 
 Well, ' she is a person that says just what she thinks,' we 
 say of some one, as if it were an unusual and wonderful fact. 
 
 " We tell a friend who has a new bonnet that she looks 
 exceedingly well in it, just to make her feel comfortable ; 
 but when she is out of hearing, we say that it is a shocking 
 hat ; but I did not like to tell her so. I wouldn't be seen 
 in the street with such a hat I wish she would come out 
 for once with a decent bonnet, a real stylish bonnet." 
 
 " Well," said Florence, shaking her ringlets, " style is 
 everything. I could not be happy unless I could have ev 
 erything in the highest style, house, servants, furniture. I 
 should be miserable in a plain, common house." 
 
 "There is no word in the dictionary like that word style 
 to city dwellers," said Nepenthe. " It is in every young 
 lady's mouth, stylish hat, stylish dress, stylish figure, stylish 
 air it is all stylish ; how different from the style we learn 
 about in the old rhetorics. If wealth be the magical word 
 inscribed upon man's livery, style is woman's spiritual coat 
 of arms ; stylish, the highest commendation she can bestow 
 on manners, dress, equipage, aye lover. Style makes a 
 splendid pageant of the holy bridal, and a costly show of the 
 solemn burial ; stylishly they live, stylishly they love, sty 
 lishly are they buried. We refine away our ideas of com 
 fort until water is purer from a golden cup, and roses 
 fresher blooming around some classic chiselled font, pro 
 tected by marble nymph or dryad. In this age, I think we 
 are trying more to find the evil in things good, than the good
 
 NEPENTHE. 2 15 
 
 in things evil. If Christ Himself, the All-Perfect One, were 
 to walk our crowded thoroughfare in his shining robes, some 
 opera-glass might be raised to spy, if possible, some dust on 
 His trailing garments or speck in their shadowy perfection." 
 
 " This talk about truthful conversation, small houses, sim 
 ple dress and manners," said Florence, abruptly, " sounds 
 very well in a lyceum lecture or in advice to young men. 
 But who likes to live in the only small house in a block ? to 
 be the person living in that small house ? Who does not 
 prefer to have all the smiling domesticity he boasts of in 
 a fine large brown stone or marble front ? Most of the world 
 live, dress, and have houses as handsome as they can. These 
 are very prudent people who by years of toil have at last ac 
 quired ample means and an elegant style of living. If you 
 live in a small house, they'll come in their carriage to see 
 you, and be glad you are beginning on so economical a plan, 
 and yet they'll look so patronizingly and condescendingly on 
 your one sofa, your one picture, which they carefully exam 
 ine with a glass, informing you of the fresh arrival they have 
 just had of paintings and statuary from Italy. They meas 
 ure with their eye the value of your one marble-topped table, 
 and the color and quality of your one best silk dress, and go 
 away and say to their dear friends they found you quite com 
 fortable, though living in a very humble way, for you make 
 no ^retentions to style, they add, with a kind of pitying em 
 phasis. 
 
 " I really think there is a kind of vulgar air about people 
 who live in small houses ; they have such contracted ideas. 
 You can read economy and saving all over their simple 
 faces. They are always making over dresses, turning car 
 pets, and altering their old bonnets, eating with plated forks, 
 from granite ware, and drinking out of pressed glass goblets. 
 But, Nepenthe, you are too plebeian in your manners. I 
 wish, while with us, you would keep a more proper distance 
 from our inferiors." 
 
 " My life has been too real," said Nepenthe, " to keep any 
 freezing distance with any one." 
 
 " Well, well," said Florence, " if you were once a beggar 
 yourself, 'tis no reason you should compromise us. You 
 stop in the street and speak to every servant girl or laun 
 dress we've ever had. I believe you would bow as politely
 
 216 NEPENTHE. 
 
 to black Thomas, who brings our groceries, as to the Duke 
 of Wellington himself." 
 
 " No matter how high I hold my poor head," said Nepen 
 the, " I must lay it at last on the breast of the same earth- 
 mother as the humblest person I know. I can't see how a 
 mortal woman, frail and doomed to die, and to be judged 
 hereafter, solely by her trusting faith and deeds of kindness, 
 can be proud, or conceited, or overbearing, or how she can 
 be constantly light-hearted while her life, health, and future 
 are all in the hands of One who can deprive her of life's 
 pride at any moment." 
 
 "Well," interrupted Florence, haughtily, "these ideas 
 would sound well in a book or sermon, but I think it be 
 neath the dignity of any lady to be bowing and smiling to 
 every passing Bridget or wandering Patrick. Such atten 
 tions make them independent, impudent, and intolerable." 
 
 " We can recognize any human being without being fa 
 miliar with him," added Nepenthe, quietly. " If you were 
 drowning in deep water, you would gladly be rescued by the 
 hard hands of a faithful black servant. We may find faith 
 fulness and gratitude among such persons, and they can 
 often give us material aid. I prize as much as any gift I 
 ever had, that beautifully chiselled lamb brought me by 
 that poor sculptor out of gratitude for my visits to his sick 
 child. The lamb is really valuable, and beautifully chis 
 elled." 
 
 " You know very well," said Florence, " you invariably 
 find ignorance wedded to poverty. For myself, I wish 
 neither to touch or share the life or destiny of ignorant, 
 low-bred, pauper humanity. I would hold up my spiritual 
 skirts higher from the influence of this contagion than I 
 would raise my delicate robes from the mud of Broadway 
 some rainy day after a snow. I cannot relish anything com 
 mon ; my sympathies and tastes have been too highly edu 
 cated. As for you, with your experiences, you may feel 
 naturally no such distaste." 
 
 " If you should ever be," said Nepenthe, " in mental 
 agony, bodily distress, or personal danger, you may 
 find more sympathy, relief, and succor from some old 
 nurse, faithful servant, or kind stranger, than from the 
 formal, elegant attentions of a whole regiment of amateurs, 
 beaux, belles, exquisites, leaders of ton. There may be no
 
 NEPENTHE. 217 
 
 style in the shape or motives of the honest hands that bathe 
 and bind up your wounded spirit or bruised limbs, no manner 
 in the quiet, good souls with cheerful eyes that summon so 
 quickly the warm water, hot flannel, fresh tea and clean 
 linen. Proud as we are, how many days in our lives are we 
 really comfortable ? How many calm hours is the heart 
 warmly tucked in and softly pillowed ? If cold, we want 
 fire ; if hungry, food ; if thirsty, water. So the heart has its 
 hunger, chill and thirst ; style can never warm and feed and 
 cherish it ; there must be warm hearts, gushing sympathies, 
 and cordial hands. The heart wants comfort unmasked, un- 
 costumed, simple comfort, dear comfort, which is never out 
 of place, never out of date, never unwelcome, never an in 
 truding stranger. In life's crowded car we want something 
 besides hard apples and sweetened balls of painted pop-corn 
 to keep us good-natured. 
 
 " Those who greet you so blandly, praise you so warmly 
 while in the full bloom of beauty, and height of fortune, 
 will be the last to cheer, sustain, and soothe, should your 
 cheek pale, your step falter, or your heart despond. They 
 will pass by you on the other side of fortune with their light 
 step, ringing laugh, and say, ' How Florence Elliott has 
 changed. She has lost all her beauty. I believe she. has 
 been disappointed. How proud she once was ! She must 
 feel mortified.' 
 
 " I never see a living suffering woman, but I long to re 
 lieve her ; or a tired, sobbing child, but I yearn to take it 
 in my arms and soothe it ; a hungry, haggard beggar, but I 
 long to feed him ; I would like so much to mend all the 
 boy's broken toys, the man's broken fortunes, the woman's 
 broken hopes, and the maiden's broken loves. 
 
 "Our poor young hungry hopes go wandering up and 
 down, longing for rest and food. I often wish I could take 
 all the worn and weary world in my arms and rock it to 
 sleep. I wish I could sing some sweet lullaby in every 
 heavy ear ; I wish I could float some melody through the 
 air, to hush each wailing heart, and pillow it somewhere at 
 rest. I wish a troop of angels would come again and sing 
 once more ' Peace on earth, good will to man.' I wish some 
 other star could hover over, and lead our modern bewildered 
 wise men to a peace-giving Christ. 
 
 " I wish everybody had a home. I wish every orphaned, 
 10
 
 218 NEPENTHE. 
 
 widowed and solitary heart could say at nightfall, I am go 
 ing home eyes are watching for me there. 
 
 " We must stoop to bathe the head of sorrow and wipe 
 the human tear. The ladder whence angels descended 
 touched the ground. No tree can kiss the clouds or bloom 
 in heaven, whose roots are not clinging and clasping in the 
 deep earth. 
 
 " If we stoop to raise up fallen humanity, what matter if 
 our robes are soiled with the dust 1 We shall lie down in 
 the earth at last. 
 
 " The poorest ragged wanderer in the world is as near 
 the Great All Father as the radiant, crowned, and royal- 
 robed sovereign of a proud kingdom. When we think of 
 the fever, the passions, and the agony that can prostrate in 
 one little hour the proudest and most beautiful form, how 
 foolish seem these little assumptions of superiority ! all 
 doomed at last to a narrow spot of earth, with no better final 
 distinction than the corroding silver plate, or decaying rose 
 wood. 
 
 " Kings and beggars, side by side, walking at last through 
 the gate of dust, must rise cadets together, in immortal uni 
 form, to walk through gates of pearl. 
 
 " Everybody likes kindness. Nobody is so high but that 
 there is some one higher to give him attention or pleasant 
 words. If blessed to receive attention, it is certainly 
 blessed to give." 
 
 " Well, well," said Florence, " you come honestly enough 
 by your sermonizing propensities 'tis a part of your glori 
 ous birthright. You may do all this out of policy. It is 
 well for dependent people to be politic, I grant, but I am in 
 dependent of such kindness. I desire no contamination 
 with inferiors. I wish to be light hearted, and don't wish 
 to be made gloomy or annoyed by other people's troubles." 
 
 " I often look on a young bright face," said Nepenthe, 
 " where no trace of sorrow seems to linger, and wonder if a 
 human heart ever attains its first score of years, and is tho 
 roughly and constantly light-hearted if no love hath mel 
 lowed, no grief hath softened, no sorrow chastened, no 
 thought sobered. This one thought it is appointed unto 
 man once to die, will come to all, even while elated with 
 happiness. The brightest life will end soon may end now. 
 Happy as you seem, Florence, I am quite sure that that only
 
 NEPENTHE. 219 
 
 is true happiness which is pleasant and thornless in the re 
 trospect." 
 
 " God has set His private mark upon each individual 
 soul," added Nepenthe, in a low voice, after pausing a mo 
 ment, " and we earthly appraisers must take care how we 
 underrate God's private mark of real value. Above the 
 heads we now scorn, angel hands may be holding some gol 
 den crown. Some soul we despise for its plebeian setting 
 and parvenu surroundings, may yet be transfigured in the 
 radiant robes of genius on the highest hill of fame. Some 
 passing ragpicker may yet doff his rags his bent, worn hat 
 vanish into a crown, and his old hook into a sceptre of in 
 tellectual might. 
 
 " Nothing but sin can induce me ever to treat any human 
 being coldly. Nothing but sin, we say ; yet sinless lips 
 once said, ' Neither do I condemn thee, go and sin no more.' 
 Every human being with whom we come in contact has a 
 right to our civility and kindness." 
 
 " Your remarks savor more of the kitchen than the draw 
 ing room," said Florence contemptuously ; " they probably 
 take the hue of your early associations. Let each one take 
 care of their own set. I like a kind of hauteur in manners, 
 as if you felt above the common herd. But there is one 
 thing I do believe it is wrong for a woman of low origin, 
 and of so much pretended principle, ever to attempt to cap 
 tivate a highminded and honorable man." 
 
 Florence went out abruptly, her eyes saying a great deal 
 more than her lips, as she sailed majestically away ; and 
 soon elegantly dressed, she went out to promenade Broad 
 way. 
 
 As she went, Bridget looked out of the basement door, 
 watching the retreating velvet, satin and feathers ; then she 
 went back to her kitchen, saying, 
 
 " Well, there's no mistake that I may never sin, Miss 
 Florence is good looking, magnificent good looking. I won 
 der why some people is made so magnificent good looking, 
 and more so homely, so magnificent homely. 1 wonder why 
 God couldn't have made us all good looking." 
 
 Bridget called everything she liked magnificent. It was 
 the only long word she ever used, and she thought it equal 
 ly applicable to people and puddings, biscuits and bonnets. 
 
 " Well," soliloquized Mrs. Elliott, as she sat putting the
 
 220 NEPENTHE. 
 
 last touches on her new sofa cushion, " I have had this girl 
 here about long enough. I think I have more than fulfilled 
 all my obligations to Dr. Wendon, real and imaginary. 
 There is nothing really pretty about her, and yet somehow 
 people do like her, and men do take such strange freaks, 
 particularly men of genius. I do get into such a fidget 
 sometimes about that will. No matter how tight you tie 
 Tabby in the bag, there's never any knowing when the cat's 
 head may appear ; and once give such a secret any airing, 
 like Tabby, only let her see the road she came, and she '11 
 know well how to trace her way back again. So give a se 
 cret a little airing, and you never know where it may go ; it 
 may go back to head quarters. But I'd rather marry the 
 girl off than send her away. I never set my heart on any 
 thing yet without accomplishing it, but I don't believe in 
 intellectual women. I agree with Lessing in Emilia Galotti 
 that I was reading this morning. La femme doit rire, 
 toujours rire ; cela suffit a sa noble mission sur la terre cela 
 suffit pour maintenir en joyeuse huuicur 1'auguste roi de la 
 creation." r 
 
 When Mrs. Elliott wished to say or think anything very 
 wise, it was always said or thought in French. She prided 
 herself upon this. She sat up late that night. She had in 
 that evening's mail received a letter that gave her much 
 uneasiness. She locked her door, and looked over old pa 
 pers, and burned up several old and worn documents. She 
 lay awake almost all night, and the text of that self-denial 
 sermon kept ringing in her ears- Withhold not any good 
 from him to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine 
 hand to do it. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 NEPENTHE REFUSES A SELF MADE MAN AND WORTHY HUSBAND. 
 
 " There's such a thing as dwelling 
 
 On the thoughts ourselves have nursed, 
 And with scorn and courage telling 
 The world to do its worst/' CUKRER BELL. 
 
 " You can't expect another such an offer, Nepenthe Stu 
 art," said Mrs. Elliott, coolly, after wasting no little logic 
 and rhetoric in vainly trying to persuade Nepenthe to ac-
 
 NEPENTHE. 221 
 
 cept of certain recent proposals of a very flattering and eli 
 gible nature, " of which," as she said most emphatically, 
 " any girl in her senses might be proud," she ended her 
 first series of arguments with this terrible prophecy, " you'll 
 die an old maid." 
 
 " Well," said Nepenthe, " there's nothing disgraceful in 
 that nothing criminal." 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Elliott, " it is not a penal offence to re 
 main unmarried, but you very well know old maids are uni 
 versally let alone. The way they are sometimes treated in 
 society is no better than actual solitary confinement. Young 
 married couples seek their own companionship, young men 
 and maidens get together by themselves, old people are too 
 old to be their companions, children too noisy, old bachelors 
 and widowers are hunting up young wives. What are these 
 old maids, nurses, stocking-darners, corner-fillers, append 
 ages, incumbrances, the world calls them. Their sayings 
 and doings are much more criticised, even if their manners 
 are circumspect, than those of the most weak-minded and 
 ordinary women well-married. A husband is a shield to a 
 woman ; a shield from criticism ; but an unmarried woman 
 is very often the subject of remark. If she be vain or weak- 
 minded, she is foolish ; if independent and outspoken, she is 
 eccentric, or one of the strong-minded, so the world says, 
 and if she lives as retired and sequestered as a nun, if she 
 looks at a widower, or talks to a bachelor, if she sits within 
 two feet of him in a large parlor, somebody will have it that 
 she is after him. She is setting her cap, and some one will 
 ill-naturedly say, though she is just his age, ' she looks old 
 enough to be his mother,' and such trouble will be taken to 
 find out exactly what her age really is from family Bibles, 
 old nurses, or cotemporary school-mates, and all these esti 
 mates will often be summed up with the conclusion that 
 though she looks, with her curls and youthful dress, only 
 thirty, she's not a day under forty." 
 
 " A man may live alone for good and noble reasons," said 
 Nepenthe, " and I have a far greater respect for a woman 
 who will not marry because she does not love, than for a 
 young girl who marries to avoid the odium of being called 
 an old maid. There are women with the warmest and no 
 blest of hearts living unmarried for the best of reasons.
 
 222 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Could their lives be written out, there would be some thrill 
 ing accounts of self-sacrifice and self-devotion. 
 
 " A woman may be lonely, and, at times, unhappy, un 
 married, but if she be married to an uncongenial man, she is 
 doubly miserable, twice as lonely, twice as unhappy as if 
 living alone. She may have had forty offers, and yet some 
 body will ask, ' Why couldn't she marry ?' while it will be 
 said of the ugliest, crustiest, fussiest old bachelor, ' I wonder 
 why he never married. It is very strange.' " 
 
 " But Mr. Nicholson is a benevolent man, certainly," said 
 Mrs. Elliott. " I see his name on the list of all our prom 
 inent charities. Were you to marry him, you might be 
 able to do very much good." 
 
 " Marry him .'" said Nepenthe ; " he would regret more 
 the loss of a favorite horse than the death of his mother, who 
 really suffered from his neglect. He is always offering his 
 services, yet he would never take one step out of his com 
 fortable path to save a hundred beggars from starvation. 
 He'll smooth down his luxuriant whiskers as he exclaims, 
 often audibly, more often mentally, ' no industrious person 
 need starve.' 1 This prudent, sagacious idea checks effectually 
 all his rising generosity. He comes to me with his new 
 neck-tie, his patent-leathers, his costly bouquets, and wants 
 me to be induced by these preliminary ' trifles ' to promise 
 to help him to offer up to his mo^t worshipful self his daily 
 matins and vespers. 
 
 " If he were never so handsome, wealthy and wonderful, 
 I could never tolerate him if he were selfish. The highest 
 order of goodness and of genius is never selfish. He always 
 says with his eyes, when he comes out with his new suit, 
 ' Don't I look well this evening, Miss Nepenthe ? Who can 
 resist such attractions ? I have graduated with the highest 
 honors of the best tailors in the city. I am finished and 
 complete.' Were William Nicholson to robe me in ruby and 
 wreath me with diamonds, and place me in a house of pearl, 
 feed me on nectar and ambrosia, I would rather marry blind 
 fold the first plough-boy I might meet. I would rather have 
 a possibility of a heart than a certainty of unmitigated self 
 ishness. 
 
 " A guinea on his counter's brim 
 A yellow guinea is to him, 
 That guinea he'll adore."
 
 NEPENTHE. 223 
 
 " Don't get excited, Nepenthe there goes Mrs. Joshua 
 Jenkins," said Mrs. Elliott, rising and going to the window. 
 She was only three years ago a young lady, beautiful and 
 accomplished, but poor no better off than yourself. See 
 what an elegant carriage, footman and livery how splen 
 didly she's dressed. I saw her the other day at Ball & 
 Black's, and she was all diamonds, ermine and velvet. I 
 am sure Joshua Jenkins makes an unexceptionable husband, 
 yet I would much prefer Mr. Nicholson. Mr. Nicholson's 
 money is invested in bond and mortgage, the best of all 
 security and Mr. Jenkins' is all in bank stock ; and banks 
 may fail. Then Mr. Nicholson can't be illiterate, for he is 
 one of the Board of Education." 
 
 " It may be possible for him to be one of that highly re 
 spectable Board," said Nepenthe, " yet he does not write 
 his name remarkably well. He always says convalescent, 
 voilent, and volumnious and tremengeous, and serup, and 
 sperit ; and I get so tired of hearing him say meetin' for 
 meeting, and smilin', speakin', and larnin' and takin' of it ; 
 but I do not envy Mr. or Mrs. Joshua Jenkins. Nobody 
 ever borrows money of him he never loses a debt he pays 
 his servants low wages insists on the utmost penny due 
 him. He runs no risks. He never reads he can't see the 
 difference between Byron and Dr. Watts, but he keeps his 
 thoughtful eye on the banks. His young wife was beauti 
 ful, he rich. There was a brief acquaintance, short engage 
 ment, and a splendid wedding. Now she has ermine, and 
 velvet, and diamonds. Ermine is a beautiful fur. I should 
 like to wear it it suits my taste. I fancy it would be very 
 becoming to me ; and velvet is an elegant dress. I would 
 like a very long velvet cloak, a black velvet dress, and a 
 blue velvet and a violet-colored velvet waist ; and I do ad 
 mire the flash and gleam of a diamond. I wish I had a dia 
 mond ring. My hand has always looked lonesome to me with 
 out one. This life has so many dull, dark hours, I'd like to 
 have something so pure and radiant always about me. There 
 is such a celestial, transparent gleam in a diamond's light, 
 my eyes seem to brighten as I look at one, and I feel the 
 sparkle in my soul too. Yes, I like diamonds. 
 
 " But love is a softer ermine for the soul, a richer, more 
 radiant jewel in the heart ; and my heart would be so cold 
 and ache if it couldn't be clasped in the embrace of a faith
 
 224 NEPENTHE. 
 
 warmer and richer than costliest velvet folds. I should 
 starve and freeze without love's little pearl set in my heart. 
 But Mrs. Joshua Jenkins' life must be dull. She has not 
 a single taste in common with her husband, and in society 
 she can't help being annoyed by his blunders. If he only 
 knew enough to keep still but he will talk, and he over 
 acts and overdoes everything. He says the flattest things 
 about nice days and pretty music. When I see them toge 
 ther, I think of a fair lily of the valley planted beside a 
 cabbage. I have heard it said in every wedding there is a 
 loss. There was a terrible loss in that wedding. Poor 
 woman ! His money can't buy her happiness. His loves 
 are dogs, horses, wine and beafsteaks. Hers are music, 
 painting, books, and flowers. When she was so ill last sea 
 son, some one suggested having some beautiful painting 
 hung on the wall near her bed, to divert her thoughts from 
 her sufferings ; so he brought home one afternoon the en 
 graving of Mary Queen of Scots, signing the death-warrant 
 of Lady Jane Grey, and Peale's ' Court of Death.' These 
 were wonderfully calculated to relievo the gloom of the 
 sick-room. 
 
 " If I marry William Nicholson, Esq., five years to come 
 we'll be walking together, like Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, like 
 two parallel Hues, our heart-chords never meeting, though 
 stretching on side by side in the horizon of years." 
 
 " He is a self-made man," said Mrs. Elliott, dignifiedly ; 
 " that surely is in his favor, and he has attained a tine posi 
 tion among business men by his own unaided efforts." 
 
 " I'd rather he'd be a God-made man than a self-made 
 man," said Nepenthe. " Of all things I dislike this self- 
 styled, self-made man. Some of them are regular bores, 
 always taking such infinite pains to show you they know 
 something. They are great show-cases on the walls of soci 
 ety, just like the show-cases in the small fancy stores way 
 up town. Everything they have is stuck up in the windows 
 or in a glass box, always out on exhibition gloves, collars, 
 caps, laces, hosiery, handkerchiefs, undersleeves, all ar 
 ranged conspicuously to show the full dimensions and style 
 of each article, to attract the attention of passing pedes 
 trians. If you enter the store, you'll find nothing, abso 
 lutely nothing that you want. It is all in the windows. 
 You can't eveu perhaps get a yard of narrow pink satin rib-
 
 NEPENTHE. 225 
 
 bon, or a paper of needles. They've ' had the articles, but 
 are out now, will have them to-morrow, if you can wait.' 
 So these self-styled self-made men are nothing but show 
 cases, or shop-windows in the structure of society, Hear 
 them talk, you'd think they kept a variety store of know 
 ledge. They say, ' I didn't get it at an University, or Col 
 lege either.' , 
 
 "They've a good many ideas at second-hand. They 
 came across lots of knowledge in remnants and bundles. 
 They haven't used their eyes for nothing. What a show 
 they can make in conversation. It is astonishing. From 
 head to foot they are knowledge all over. Their heads are 
 like patch-bags you can't find the piece of information you 
 wish, unless you empty the whole bag. They've a good 
 many remnants of knowledge, half a yard or so on this sub 
 ject and on that, and they got 'em cheap too ; and every 
 opnion they advance they begin with ' To my mind ' 
 
 " When these self-made men get all rigged up in their 
 second-hand ideas, they strut around like the countryman, 
 exclaiming, ' See my new ideas ain't they wonderful, don't 
 they fit nice ?' Then to finish their spiritual toilet, they 
 put on a cap which covers head and ears, and the cap is 
 Progress. This progress-cap caps the climax of everything 
 they say or do. Every time you see or hear from them, 
 they are over head and ears in progress. And first you 
 know they are professed conductors in the car of knowledge, 
 driving in advance of the tardy age. This progress cap is 
 a kind of percussion-cap it is always striking against some 
 thing, particularly the crying evils of the times. 
 
 " When this self-made man first gets the idea in his head 
 that this is an age of progress, how his eye twinkles, how he 
 rubs his hands together he feels as if he could write such 
 an essay, and only let people know what an idea this pro 
 gress is. He likes the word development, he puts it in 
 everything he writes. He also puts in, ' We live in a won 
 derful age ;' and if he quotes any poetry it is usually these 
 lines : 
 
 ' Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air.'. 
 
 And some how his manner implies that he is the flower that 
 might have been wasted on the desert air, that he is the gem 
 
 10*
 
 226 NEPENTHE. 
 
 that was self-saved from the dark caves of ignorance and 
 oblivion. 
 
 " He'll read some book all learned men study thoroughly 
 at fifteen, and he'll talk about it at the table, as if nobody 
 had ever heard of it before. If he happens to get hold of a 
 work on geology, he'll talk oif strata and formations every 
 day for a week. If he hears a minister he likes, he says 
 positively he is the greatest mind of the age. Next time he 
 hears him, he says he is thought by all intelligent men to 
 be the. greatest mind of the age. He really thinks, this self- 
 styled self-made man, that he has struck a vein of pure 
 knowledge which these dull college plodders have dug for 
 years, and never found any really valuable information. 
 He knows just as much as those college exquisites, with 
 Kappa Alpha's and Sigma Phi's dangling at their sides. 
 How he secretly wishes he could wear some shining badge 
 of his self-made-ship hanging at his side an S. M., or some 
 thing indicating his progress in knowledge. 
 
 " He says there's no use of digging and digging at the 
 dry roots of these Latin and Greek grammars, making such 
 a wonderful classic foundation it is all waste time. Why 
 he can build himself up in all necessary knowledge in one- 
 fourth of the time, without having all this cellar and sub- 
 cellar in the bottom of his head, which nobody ever looks 
 into. It's a waste of brain capital it is a dead investment, 
 the paying such a premium for going through Greek and 
 Latin grammars. 
 
 " For myself," said Nepenthe, " I would rather marry an 
 excellent blacksmith than a tolerable lawyer, a stupid min 
 ister, a rich miser, and above all a self-styled self-made 
 man." 
 
 " I have taken a deep interest in your welfare," said Mrs. 
 Elliott, with some pathos in her voice. " I have seen very 
 much of the world. I have taken some pains to bring this 
 matter about, and I am very much surprised that you should 
 hesitate a moment, or think of rejecting such a flattering 
 offer as that of William Nicholson, Esq. His position and 
 resources are certainly everything desirable, and he would 
 really make you a most worthy husband." 
 
 " A worthy husband of all things is what I do not want," 
 said Nepenthe. " All stupid people are called worthy, wor 
 thy, worthy. If all the men called worthy could be together
 
 NEPENTHE. 227 
 
 - * 
 in one picture gallery, what a smooth-haired, smooth-faced, 
 
 smooth-lipped, long-eared, girl-faced set they would be." 
 
 " For a lady of your supposed sense," said Mrs. Elliott; 
 dry^y, " you have really some very strange notions of love 
 and marriage. I always thought you had some queer streaks 
 about you. You are certainly ungrateful. I have shown 
 Mr. Nicholson much attention on your account. To me you 
 owe your present position and standing in society. I have 
 long wished to see you happily married, as I said before, to < 
 a worthy husband. I must add, in justice to Mr. Nichol 
 son, that I think it a great condescension in him to offer 
 himself to a portionless bride. There are other reasons I 
 need not name why it is a still greater condescension in 
 him to make this proposal at this time. The Nicholson 
 family are one of the first in the country. You would be 
 introduced in that set, and be always sure of an elegant 
 home. I rather disliked Mr. Elliott when I married him, 
 yet I think we got on together as happily as most married 
 people do, and he left me well provided for. Should Mr. 
 Nicholson die before you, he would leave you an ample 
 fortune." 
 
 " I should hardly look forward to that event,'' interrupted 
 Nepenthe, "judging from his present ample size and per 
 fect health ; indeed, I am afraid, should I marry him with 
 my present feelings, should that melancholy event occur, I 
 could hardly lament it as deeply as a bereaved, disconsolate 
 and inconsolable widow is expected to." 
 
 " I regret that you treat my advice and consideration for 
 your welfare so indifferently," said Mrs. Elliott, in an of 
 fended tone. " I could improve you very much if you 
 would take a few of my suggestions. I see a great many 
 things in you I could alter." 
 
 "1 am not unmindful of any kindness shown me," said 
 Nepenthe. " You have given me food when hungry, a com 
 fortable bed to sleep upon when weary, a roof to shelter my 
 aching head. If I wept for sorrow, you called me impa 
 tient ; if I mourned a loss, you told me others have mourned 
 heavier. When I burned my arm by saving you from the 
 flames, you reminded me that others had lost both arms. I 
 must needs be thankful that I had still two. If I lose one 
 arm, it is no consolation that another poor sufferer has lost 
 both, If my head is bruised, it is no consolation to me that
 
 228 NEPENTHE. 
 
 another woman is lying in the next street all mangled and 
 helpless, almost torn to pieces from some terrible accident. 
 A musical ear feels most keenly the least discord, while 
 another ear can imperturbably bear the most hideous jargon. 
 There are many people in this world who would clothe and 
 feed us, to whom we could never whisper a sorrow, or breathe 
 a hope. If we are keenly regretting some mistake we have 
 made, it is no comfort to have some one tell us we are weak, 
 foolish, injudicious, and ask us, ' What did you do that for ? 
 I could have told you better. I would have done very dif 
 ferently.' " 
 
 " We are getting away from the subject," said Mrs. El 
 liott, coolly. " Do you expect to marry an angel ? I should 
 like to know what your expectations are, and what you in 
 tend to do with yourself." 
 
 " I waut what every one wants," said Nepenthe. " I want 
 a friend. I long not for advice, counsel, opinion, criticism, 
 polite treatment. A lawyer, doctor, editor, if well paid, 
 can give me much of all these. I want something money 
 cannot buy. Money has great power. There is a pleasure 
 in being surrounded with elegancies, and being able to be 
 stow gifts and favors. I am painfully sensitive by nature 
 to any defect in dress, furniture, living. I like draperied 
 windows, downy carpets, fine paintings and statuary, and I 
 do not like this endless pinching and screwing and stretch 
 ing of things, to make them go as far as possible. I dislike 
 exceedingly scant dresses, shabby gloves, patched or sole- 
 less gaiters, ever-to-be darned stockings, dyed and turned 
 silks, black velvet bonnets done over for the tenth time, 
 with bits of withered lace and old drooping feathers, and 
 home-made undersleeves, of this highly commended wash- 
 illusion, which after once washing reminds one of real illu 
 sion. Those ironed-over bonnet strings, those imitation lace 
 collars, which once washed boast no more the soft subdued 
 \ look of real honiton, point or Valenciennes ; and then to 
 have but one best silk dress, which will always be either too 
 light for winter or too dark for summer ; and then if you 
 have one real fashionable dress, it makes all your other old 
 things shawls, gloves, bonnets, look so faded and passe, and 
 then, if to economize, one make it oneself, it may set like a 
 witch, and double or distort one's tolerable native dimen 
 sions. It is written all over you, that you look as well as
 
 NEPENTHE. 229 
 
 you can and the Irish chambermaid and porter will leave 
 you to lift your own luggage and carry your own bundles up 
 stairs, as they whisper to each other, with a careless toss of 
 the head, ' 0, she's not a lady she's not nice-dressed !' 
 
 " I never was proud of costly dress, but I do feel just a 
 little mortified, if shabbily attired. 
 
 " Then I have a longing to be able with n\y purse to 
 bring out hidden talent, to elevate crushed and gifted hu 
 manity. I might be too proudly happy to have others look 
 ing to me for comfort, for help, for relief. I have often 
 closed my eyes, and imagined what I would do if I were 
 rich ; and I have, when I gazed on suffering, ragged hu 
 manity, or looked longingly on so many beautiful and pre 
 cious objects, almost within my grasp, earnestly desired 
 to be able to relieve -the one and obtain the other. I do long 
 to be able to be fed, housed and clad without begging, bor 
 rowing, or being under heavy obligations to any one. Yet 
 much as I prize money for the liberty and power it gives, I 
 will never sell myself for it. I would rather live on a 
 sanded floor, have only a deal table, sleep on a hard bed, and 
 wear my great grandmother's ' linsey woolsey ' dress, and 
 have no friend to share my sorrows and feel my joys. I 
 must have a friend to love what I love, to worship what I 
 worship, or be linked, by earthly tie, to no mortal man. I 
 prefer my own companionship to that of one whose fine 
 horses and full purse are his sole recommendations." 
 
 " But Mr. Nicholson has one congenial taste, he has a 
 turn for poetry," said Mrs. Elliott. " I have heard him con 
 verse in quite a poetical strain. '' 
 
 " One evening," said Nepenthe, " when we walked down 
 by the cliff, where we have such magnificent sunsets, I think 
 he must have felt poetical, for I remarked, as he stood speech 
 less, that it was a beautiful sunset. 
 
 " ' Yes, he replied. ' Do you know what it reminds me 
 of?' 
 
 " ' No," said I. 
 
 " ' It reminds me of the rose on the cheeks of beauty," 
 said he, in a low, soft voice. Just then a cow came and 
 looked over the fence, and mooed at us. ' Oh !' said he, 
 ' isn't that a splendid cow ! I'd like to own such a fine 
 creature as that. I have some cattle now in the country
 
 230 NEPENTHE. 
 
 which I'd like to show you, but I'd like to own that crea 
 ture.' 
 
 " While he looked at the cow, I stood by the cliff and 
 looked at the sky and sea, bathed in a flood of sunset glory. 
 He turned suddenly, for the cow had gone, and asked me if 
 I thought he could jump from the cliff without breaking his 
 neck ? I felt like telling him to try. 
 
 " He repeated to me one verse of his poetry once. He 
 said he considered it the best he ever wrote. I think it ran 
 thus : 
 
 ' Time goes on, he runs a race, 
 He hurries on, he rides apace; 
 Messengers Time doth send, 
 Eternity is Time without end.' 
 
 I would like a man just as well if he didn't talk or write 
 poetry ; but if he couldn't tell good verse from bad, or dis 
 tinguish Byron from Watts, and was given to whipping up 
 such syllabub rhymes, I would prefer an incorrigible dunce, 
 who knew enough to speak when spoken to, and leave such 
 poets as William Nicholson, Esq. to marry his muse for all 
 me. He knows no difference between the flattest plati 
 tudes, the tamest placidities, and the tinkle of fairy music. 
 He asked me one evening if I had seen any of Mr. Anon's 
 poetry he thought that Anon made the best verses in the 
 language. He couldn't remember Mr. Anon's first name, 
 but he was sure it was Anon ; and if he could find a well- 
 bound collection of Anon's poems, he would be happy to 
 present them to me. 
 
 " I told him I would give twenty dollars for a handsome 
 copy of Anon's poems, with his full name on the title page, 
 it would be such a rare book. At that time he took it into 
 his head that I was a great admirer of poetry, and all his 
 conversation had a poetical spice, flavor and turn ; but as to 
 real taste, he would rather any time see a fine paving stone, 
 than look at Tintern Abbey or the Hock of Gibraltar." 
 
 " But you don't know all Mr. Nicholson's excellencies 
 yet. He has great firmness and decision of character," said 
 Mrs. Elliott. 
 
 " It doesn't take long to fathom a man when there is no 
 thing in him," said Nepenthe. " His vacant brow wears the 
 sign, ' An apartment to let.' I know he has, as you say, 
 great firmness and decision of character. So has many a
 
 NEPENTHE. 231 
 
 mule you meet, carrying his heavy burden. He has the 
 pertinacity, the positive nature of a man enough to carry his 
 point, and have his own way, right or wrong ; but he has 
 neither moral sense, enlightened judgment, nor sober reason 
 to control that will. I would as soon look up to and yield 
 my will to your brown dog, or your gray cat, as to that of 
 William Nicholson, Esq., sole possessor of one hundred 
 thousand dollars, well invested ; and either of the aforesaid 
 animals would defend and help me quite as well in the path 
 of rectitude and happiness, and comfort me better in afflic 
 tion. Indeed I would prefer a respectable bark,* or a com 
 fortable purr, to his most eloquent strains of poetry." 
 
 " His manners are certainly gentlemanly," indignantly in 
 terrupted Mrs. Elliott. 
 
 " Mr. Nicholson has no delicacy of taste, no nobility of 
 character," said Nepenthe, " and why he has chosen me I 
 know not probably for the same reason that he would pre 
 fer a brown house, or a white and black dog, to a gray one ; 
 about tall enough, about large enough, about poor enough, 
 he says to hiifiself, to suit my superior size, and to value 
 my superior wealth. 
 
 " Were I his wife I should submit silently to things in 
 consistent and wrong, or resist his will and wishes when 
 greatly opposed to my sense of right and no true-hearted 
 woman wishes to positively and frequently oppose the man 
 she calls her husband " 
 
 " But you could influence him," said Mrs. Elliott : " you 
 could gradually induce him to think as you do there's eve 
 rything in managing a husband." 
 
 " I don't wish to manage a husband I have quite enough 
 to do to manage myself," said Nepenthe. " I want a hus 
 band that will fit me, not one I have to make over. So far 
 as I can see, this making husbands over is no very easy bu 
 siness : like bread worked over too much, they may get sour 
 in the process. You can't manage them as you would a 
 horse, with bits of advice and bridles of restraint. 
 
 " The lords of creation are apt to be quite sensitive on 
 this point and even a stupid, ignorant man may find out, 
 as somebody will be sure to tell him, that he is the head of 
 the house. 
 
 " I would rather be managed than manage to look up to 
 my husband, than to be always looking after his failings, en-
 
 232 NEPENTHE. 
 
 lightening his ignorance, improving his morals, and smooth 
 ing over his mistakes. .I'd rather undertake to be the gov 
 erness of forty children than of one man of Mr. Nicholson's 
 formidable size and indomitable will." 
 
 " You are getting exceedingly nervous of late," paid Mrs. 
 Elliott, dignifiedly, " you should retire earlier, be more 
 regular in your habits, and avoid the excitement of compa 
 ny. I dislike to see a young lady so excessively and disa 
 greeably nervous you should control yourself." 
 
 " Nervous !" said Nepenthe, " I wish the word were out 
 of the wood's calendar, it is so convenient. Men and women 
 too call everything they can't comprehend, ' nervous.' What 
 dictionary defines half of its allowed meanings ? ' Easily 
 agitated, a colloquial use of the word,' says Webster : but 
 not a groan is uttered, a sympathy expressed, impulse acted 
 upon, anxiety endured, or accident befallen, but there'll be 
 some cool mortals standing by, watching the style of the 
 groan, the form of the sob, and to see how hard she takes it, 
 as they shake their wise heads and exclaim emphatically, '0, 
 she's nervous dreadful nervous.' If any oner is quite ill, 
 there'll be hundreds of people to say ' 0, there's nothing the 
 matter, it's one of her nervous spells ;' and if the nature of 
 the disease baffles the doctor's knowledge and skill, he'll be 
 sure to say to the attentive nurse, ' I think it is only a ner 
 vous difficulty, Madame.' And still human nature grieves 
 on, and sometimes wails and dies after long continued pres 
 sure of agnny. So long as its depths are stirred, its surface 
 will be agitated. 
 
 " The great deep of a loving, suffering heart must at times 
 be broken up, and tears must fall, sighs swell upwards, and 
 sobs break forth. When the storm comes and the clouds 
 gather, the deep billows of the soul must heave and swell, 
 and subside, and he who stands on the shore of comfort with 
 dry feet looking on, will mockingly say, ' How nervous ! 
 did you ever see anybody so nervous ? You should control 
 yourself.' 
 
 " Many a discouraged woman toils on with pale cheek and 
 fading eye, while man says there's nothing the matter, only 
 she's getting nervous while from her heart, beating fainter 
 and fainter, goes up to the Ear ever open on high, a silent 
 testimony of patient, unrequited struggle, and uncheered, 
 unappreciated toil.
 
 NEPENTHE. 233 
 
 " Who reproaches the ocean for its restless heaving, its 
 roaring and wild dashing against the shore, and who shall 
 hardly reproach, when deep answereth unto deep within the 
 human heart, till its stirred sympathies dash wildly against 
 the shore of life. As well call the tempestuous ocean ner 
 vous, as the impulsive, heaving heart." 
 
 " You cure nervous," repeated Mrs. Elliott; " and what is 
 very unfortunate for a person of nervous temperament, you 
 must have read a great many novels. Pray where is tho 
 site of your love in a cottage, and who is the hero of your 
 dreams ? Is he to come from the greenwood, and you live 
 together so comfortably on the balmy air ? Air plants have 
 sometimes no root. This airy home and airy lover of yours 
 may never have root or foundation on mortal soil. Some 
 singing minstrel or limping poet perhaps already claims the 
 honor of your hand, and the first place in your so highly 
 valuable and priceless heart." 
 
 " One has long since had place in my heart," said Ne 
 penthe, coolly. " His words will never leave my soul he 
 has been domesticated by my heart's fireside a long time : I 
 could hardly do without him. He was the first to tell me 
 long ago, when in deep trouble to suffer and be strong. 
 When I think of his peerless, consoling intellect, I am al 
 ways reminded of footsteps of angels. My acquaintance 
 with him has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life. 
 He is a poet, a true poet ; his words are always beautiful 
 and appropriate, whether he talks to me by the fireside in 
 winter, or wanders with me by the seaside in summer : he 
 has taught me the beautiful language of resignation, and I 
 often feel when all alone ' a part of the self-same universal 
 being' which is throbbing in his brain and heart." 
 
 " Where did you become acquainted with this paragon ?" 
 said Mrs. Elliott sneeringly, " and what is his name V" 
 
 " His name is Henry," said Nepenthe, " and I became 
 acquainted with him at first at Dr. Wendon's. He intro 
 duced him to me one evening while in the library. He al 
 ways chooses the poet's corner, and I must frankly acknow 
 ledge he is as near my beau ideal as any living man that 
 is, so far as I know him. Since that first introduction, after 
 his pleasant prelude to our first pleasant interview, he was 
 very often my companion. He pleased my understanding
 
 234 NEPENTHE. 
 
 as much as he captivated my fancy. He has filled my soul 
 with dreams. 
 
 " Dreams that the soul of youth engage 
 
 Ere Fancy hath been quelled ; 
 Old legends of the monkish page, 
 Traditions of the saint and sage, 
 Tales that have the rime of age, 
 And chronicles of Eld." 
 
 " Your head is full enough of such things now, without 
 his filling it any more," said Mrs. Elliott, really relieved to 
 find Nepenthe had some one in view. " But his name is 
 Henry, you say no very romantic name. Pray what is the 
 other name of this beau ideal of yours ?" 
 
 " Henry Wadsworth Longfellow," said Nepenthe slowly 
 and distinctly. " He is the hero of my imagination. I hope 
 you may know him some day as well as I do and long as 
 his name is, may his shadow never be less. I owe a great 
 deal to him. Come some time into my room, and I will 
 tell you something he says. I should never get tired of him 
 though he said the same thing over to me every day. I 
 found out from him that 
 
 ' Life is real, life is earnest,' 
 
 and each day I feel more deeply the force of his great 
 thought." 
 
 " You can marry whom and when you please," said Mrs. 
 Elliott, rising indignantly, " I shall give you no longer sup 
 port or shelter. Your foolishly indulgent patron and friend 
 is now on a foreign shore, and you may yet reap the bitter 
 reward of your ingratitude and folly." 
 
 Mrs. Elliott came back again with flashing eye, indignant 
 look, and elevated tone, to say, " You are hypocritical with 
 all your well-put-on amiability ; you havn't the least sense 
 of right, and are very headstrong." 
 
 Mrs. Elliott went out again, giving the door a most em 
 phatic close, till every window in the house shook. 
 
 " I am not hypocritical," thought Nepenthe, as she walk 
 ed back and forth in an excited manner. " Why is it such 
 a terrible thing to have a way or a will of one's own. The 
 flower raises or droops its head to suit its nature, the vine 
 clasps its tendrils in some native fashion. Why can't each 
 heart, which has so many wild throbbings, and resistless 
 willings, have sometimes its way ? Its inward bias, its at-
 
 NEPENTHE. 235 
 
 tractions are native and strong as the clasp of the vine's 
 tendril. 
 
 " The heart needs no bruising, no breaking only pure 
 air and clear light, and it will struggle up and blossom into 
 beauty. ' Headstrong !' ' headstrong !' I hate that word 
 ' headstrong.' I wish some autocrat would define the boun 
 dary of that disputed territory, that ' unseen spiritual fence' 
 between independent principle and stubborn obstinacy. 
 
 " Mrs. Elliott is one of those who always thinks her opin 
 ion correct principle, wholesome advice, and mine is stub 
 born obstinacy. How human nature gets pulled and hauled, 
 and mauled and scolded, and driven like an ugly bear or a 
 fiery horse to gratify somebody's principle, or sense of 
 right ! That ' sense of right' has so many shapes and forms 
 I begin to think it is a myth, or one of the lost senses. Mrs. 
 Elliott might as well set the springs and wheels and com 
 plicated machinery of her clock in order, by going at it 
 with hammer and tongs, as to take the feelings of the heart 
 by storm. Oh, if the right hand could take the right key, 
 and carefully wind at the keyhole of the heart, the secret 
 spring of feeling would be moved ; brain, will, nerve, and 
 sense would act in harmony the big wheels of thought 
 would keep good time, and the busy hands move tirelessly 
 around the circle of care. Then we wouldn't always be 
 getting out of order, running down, or standing still. Bom 
 bard the castle of the will, stormed and starved and be 
 sieged, it is monarch still, and no sharp words shall tack 
 down basting threads for the guiding of its lordly way over 
 the carpet of destiny." 
 
 This was only a burst of indignation it was not the out- 
 gushing of Nepenthe's true nature ; like a tired child, she 
 felt like sobbing herself to sleep in a mother's arms. She 
 never could battle or contend ; the effort was painful, the 
 reaction depressing. The lancet and probe of reproof were 
 never fit for her gentle nature but the wine and oil of 
 healing, and the balm and benediction of sympathy. Every 
 great heart has a throb of its own, every great will has a 
 will of its own. 
 
 Dispirited and sad after this long and tiresome interview 
 with Mrs. Elliott, Nepenthe sits alone and thinks. 
 
 That roof had been to her no home but a shelter, and now 
 she had no shelter. She took up a book from the table, ac-
 
 236 NEPENTHE. 
 
 cidentally left there that morning by Florence. It was Shir- 
 ley. Nepenthe had never read it. She turns its pages 
 carelessly over, and opens at last the chapter giving an ac 
 count of the interview of Shirley Keeldar with Mr. Simpson, 
 who tries to find who she loves. She is pleased to see any 
 resemblance between her situation and the fortunate Shir 
 ley. 
 
 " Oh, if I were only rich !" she exclaimed, " I could be 
 more independent. The heart is the same everywhere. 
 Every human heart is human, but who shall conquer its 
 love, or quell its hate ? This secret of my love shall never 
 escape me by any ordeal. It shall not be dragged out and 
 burned at the stake of ridicule. I will hoard and bide it in 
 the safe of my heart, and no burglar toague or assassin hand 
 shall force the lock. He who has the key alone shall open 
 the safe, or the secret shall die with me ; and in heaven, 
 where kindred souls like stars cluster together, my soul may 
 find its twin wanderer. Here this love can never go back 
 in my heart and die. 
 
 ' As if a rose should shut, and be a bud again.' " 
 
 Florence Elliott's love for Carleyn was becoming the rul 
 ing passion of her life. Madame Future had lain aside her 
 veil and talked with her face to face. 
 
 Florence would once have spurned the idea of seeking or 
 receiving such counsel ; she went at first out of curiosity 
 now it had become a passion, the woman seemed really to 
 enter heart and soul into her cherished plans. 
 
 It was an avowed opinion of Florence's, that it was no 
 greater sin to express wrong than to feel wrong : she be 
 lieved in expressing what she felt, if convenient. Her love 
 and pride were both gratified in receiving attentions from 
 the distinguished young Carleyn. She was becoming more 
 and more beautiful since her first consultation with Madame 
 Future, whose directions she implicitly followed. Through 
 her, Florence had found out Carleyn's private tastes, likes, 
 and dislikes. 
 
 He loved poetry, flowers, and simple dress, and these 
 tastes she cultivated most assiduously buying poetry, sur 
 rounding herself with rare flowers, and wearing them as 
 her only ornament in her beautiful hair, and she dressed 
 with the most elegant simplicity.
 
 NEPENTHE. 237 
 
 Many marvelled at the great change in her style of dress. 
 To Carleyn's dazzled eyes she seemed like a radiant vision. 
 How pleasant to have such a beautiful wife for a living 
 model ! 
 
 She sat alone in her room one evening, after her return 
 from a party, and recalled his every look, word and tone, as 
 she thought, " How pleasant to have him watch my face, and 
 say, ' There, that's a beautiful expression I'll put that 
 down ;' and then to find another beautiful expression, and 
 put that down to have him trot ail these expressions about 
 in his head, till at last he comes out with a beautiful fin 
 ished portrait to have my portrait sent to the Academy of 
 Design, as in the possession of the artist, Frank Carleyn 
 No. 101 and go myself, and have admiring visitors ask 
 whose it was and have some one tell them, ' It is the art 
 ist's beautiful wife' ' The artist's bride ' that sounds 
 
 well. Yes, I will be his wife," she said, " or " and she 
 
 arose, walked back and forth in great excitement, and then 
 paused a moment before the mirror. " Thank God," she 
 exclaimed, " I am beautiful my features are perfect, my 
 form symmetrical." 
 
 Madam Future, divested of sybillistic dress, manners, 
 tone, surroundings, dark curtains, obscure lights, colored 
 vials, charms, glasses elaborately and elegantly arrayed, 
 sometimes goes into society. She loves solitude best, but it 
 suits well her purposes and plans to enter sometimes the 
 crowded salon, musicale soiree and reception. If she stoops 
 to mingle with the common throng, as she calls society, it is 
 to fathom some mystery in its secret net-work, to find out 
 some plot or counterplot, and thus gain some charm or coun 
 ter-charm. 
 
 You might look in many a face, and meet no such eye as 
 Madam Future's. If it rested upon you, you felt as if under 
 the full blaze of a brilliant chandelier, as if every salient 
 point in your character were illuminated. Her look seemed 
 to fathom you her eyes burned like consumeless fires. If 
 eyes fade that weep long, no tears had dimmed her eyes. 
 No, she never wept. The fount of tears had dried long 
 since. Every sorrow she had known, every disappointment 
 felt, had only formed some strange accretion round her 
 heart. That heart never melted to tears. Gathering years 
 of ossification, it turned to stone. As her tears froze away,
 
 238 NEPENTHE. 
 
 her revenge grew and burned and fed itself within her heart. 
 She said she never in her whole life had been deceived but 
 once. 
 
 The next evening after the party, Florence was guided 
 by an unknown hand, through the dark,*up many flights of 
 stairs, into a circular room, where all the lights were extin 
 guished. Looking through a long glass properly adjusted 
 by Madam Future, she said, " I see a room a clock on the 
 mantel. I can plainly see the hand pointing to eight. 
 There's a vase of flowers, and there are rare books on the 
 table and there is Carleyn reading, and Nepenthe Stuart 
 sits at work by the table. She is knitting something it 
 looks like a chain. He stops reading, looks up and talks. 
 Now he smiles reads on again. She is looking up, and 
 asks some question. They stand at the window together 
 he points upward. 
 
 " Yes," thought Florence, " I suppose he pays her some 
 slight attentions out of pity, she tries so hard to interest 
 him." 
 
 " Contrive," said Florence, " to whisper, or to have whis 
 pered these words into Carleyn's ear : ' Low family, doubt 
 ful origin.' Say also, ' She is engaged to Mr. Nicholson.' ' 
 
 " Yes," said Madam Future, taking the piece of gold 
 from Florence's hand, " there'll be a bal masque on Wed 
 nesday evening I'll be there I can tell him something 
 that will make him think." 
 
 Carleyn sat alone in his room, with a copy of Hyperion in 
 his hand. He had borrowed it from Florence Elliott. 
 Turning the pages carelessly, half a sheet of folded note 
 paper fell out. There were on it a few verses written 
 faintly with a pencil. They were in Florence Elliott's hand. 
 He had heard her say one evening, that she had a careless 
 habit of leaving things in books very often, much to her 
 mortification afterwards. The verses were signed ' F. E.' 
 
 " Florence has deeper feeling and nobler conception than 
 I have given her credit for," thought Mr. Carleyn, as he 
 read the poetry carefully over. " Her few defects may be 
 owing to early indulgence, and her great beauty ; and she 
 loves flowers too. How beautifully she arranges them. I 
 am always sure, if a person can write one good poem, he is 
 capable of writing more, many more, if excited by any deep 
 emotion or powerful feeling. If there is any pure gold of
 
 NEPENTHE. 239 
 
 thought discovered in the soul, there must be a valuable 
 mine somewhere in the spiritual strata." 
 
 Florence resolved to go to the great reception the next 
 evening, charmingly dressed, and determined, if possible, 
 to fasten the chain she was quite sure she was firmly rivet- 
 ting. Never did she bestow such pains upon her toilet, 
 never linger so long at the mirror. Never was her hair so 
 artistically arranged. Never did her cheek bloom rosier, 
 her eye flash brighter, never were her lips rubier, or her 
 voice sweeter. There was not a touch to add, a charm to 
 give, as she threw her snowy opera cloak over her fair 
 shoulders, and went forth to the final conquest. 
 
 Madam Future, splendidly arrayed, went also. You 
 could hardly know her, so transformed by elegant and fash 
 ionable dress. Her long, wavy hair, beautifully arranged, 
 gave her at least a stylish appearance, as she moved with 
 high bred ease among the crowd. 
 
 Any high-minded, ideal-loving man, to gaze on Florence 
 Elliott's lovely exterior, "would say, she is a lovely woman, 
 a true soul and pure heart, must glow in such radiant eyes, 
 and inspire such beautiful lips ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE MUSIC BOOK OPEN AT THE WRONG PLACE. 
 
 " There should be no despair for you 
 
 While nightly stars are burning ; 
 
 While evening pours its silent dew, 
 
 And sunshine gilds the morning. 
 
 " There should be no despair, though tears 
 
 May flow down like a river ; 
 Are not the best beloved of years 
 Around your heart forever ?" EMILY BRONTE. 
 
 THE party given by Mrs. Norwood was attended by nearly 
 two thousand persons. The entire house was thrown open 
 for the entertainment of the guests. The first floor was de 
 voted to dancing, the band being in the hall. In the pic 
 ture gallery the panorama was kept moving in the evening. 
 The upper floors were arranged for conversation, whist, &c. 
 The basement to refreshments, billiards and bowling. The
 
 240 NEPENTHE. 
 
 large number of carriages which thronged the streets made 
 access to the house tedious and difficult. The whistle of the 
 outside guard, as usual, announced arrivals, which caused 
 the doors to open as the visitors approached. 
 
 They had all gone to the party at Mrs. Norwood's fash 
 ionable belles, and exquisite beaux, matrons and maidens, 
 were already promenading, chatting, dancing in those bril 
 liant parlors. 
 
 It was a cool autumn night. The wind had a sound of 
 winter, and the sky was dark and gloomy. Nepenthe sat 
 alone in Mrs. Elliott's large parlor, looking drearily out 
 through the half-open shutters. It was her birth-day night. 
 A strange feeling of restlessness came over her, a disgust 
 of books, of work, of solitude, a longing for social life. The 
 measured ticking of the clock was poor relief to the undis 
 turbed stillness reigning throughout the house. Nepenthe's 
 usual quiet, contented manner, was gone. She paced rest 
 lessly back and forth upon the downy carpet. 
 
 " I am alone," she said bitterly. " I love music I love 
 society. How I would prize one heart that really loved me. 
 0, if I only had a mother, a sister, or even one friend ! Is 
 life always to be a game in which I can take no part ? How 
 grateful I would be for the crumbs of happiness that fall 
 from the bountiful table of others' lives. And now I have 
 no home I know not where to go to-morrow. And / am 
 called Nepenthe strange name for me, who am to drink the 
 cup of loneliness and sorrow to the dregs." 
 
 Nepenthe walked to the window, and a few large drops of 
 the rapidly gathering shower fell on the window-sill. She 
 approached the piano and seated herself, to pour forth, half 
 unconsciously, her murmuring in song singing, as she 
 turned over the leaves of the music book : 
 
 " I feel like one who treads alone 
 Some banquet hall deserted." 
 
 With eyes swimming with tears, she saw at the bottom of 
 one of the pages, these words, sung so beautifully by 
 Dempster : 
 
 " Be still, sad heart, and cease repining ; 
 Behind the cloud is the sxm, still shiring. 
 Thy fate is the common fate of all, 
 Into each life some rain must fall, 
 Some days must be dark and dreary."
 
 NEPENTHE. 241 
 
 Nepenthe sang it all through, with exquisite pathos. She 
 pause-d, almost choked with tears, as the rising wind seemed 
 to whisper forth its wild chorus : 
 
 " My heart still clings to the mouldering past, 
 The hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, 
 And the days are dark and dreary." 
 
 Before her suddenly stood a vision no, not a vision, hut 
 a tall manly form, and a pair of dark eyes were gazing at her 
 with a surprised, embarrassed look. 
 
 " I thought you were at Mrs. Norwood's, Mr. Carleyn," 
 Baid she, equally surprised and embarrassed, as she uttered 
 the first thought that came in her head. 
 
 " I am going to Europe to-morrow," said he, after talking 
 with her a few minutes. 
 
 " I wish you ' bon voyage,' said Nepenthe, after an awk 
 ward pause, with a few remarks upon the rapidly improving 
 facilities for travelling, he left, intending to set sail the next 
 day. 
 
 " He came hoping to find Florence at home, I presume," 
 said Nepenthe, as she sat on the sofa with her face buried 
 in her hands. " He may be absent two years, feasting upon 
 beautiful sights, enchanted with bright eyes and graceful 
 forms. He will forget me entirely. But how weak I am ! 
 He has never thought of me, while he is the only ideal of 
 manly goodness I have known." 
 
 She had controlled herself so long, now she would give 
 way to her feelings. 
 
 " If any one calls, say I am engaged," she said to Mar 
 garet, as she closed the door and shut herself in the parlor 
 alone. 
 
 Margaret walked quietly out, and stood for a moment 
 looking out of the front door, when Mr. Carleyn came up 
 the steps again, saying, 
 
 " I left a small package in the parlor." 
 
 " Walk in, sir," said she, opening the door a little wider ; 
 " she is in there." 
 
 The little package had remained undisturbed on the cor 
 ner of the sofa. He heard as he opened the door a sup 
 pressed sob, and the words, " I wish I had never been" 
 The sentence was unfinished, as Nepenthe started up with 
 tearful eyes and sad face. 
 
 11
 
 242 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " I beg pardon for intruding, but I came back for this 
 little package," said Carleyn. 
 
 He seemed agitated, yet drew near the sofa and sat down. 
 " I find you in some sudden sorrow," said he. " Propriety, 
 perhaps, would induce me to withdraw silently ; and yet, 
 though I know not the cause of your sorrow, 1 know you are 
 a woman, with a woman's heart. I came here to bid " 
 
 As he said this, the door opened again, and in walked 
 William Nicholson, Esq., with bland smile, new neck-tie, 
 new suit of shining broadcloth, new patent leathers, and a 
 boquet of such size, color and shape, as to remind one of a 
 fresh cauliflower as it comes from the market. 
 
 Margaret went down into the kitchen, and told Bridget 
 she was sure Mr. Nicholson had come courting this time, he 
 was so fixed up " and then he had such a big bunch of 
 flowers." 
 
 Nepenthe was certainly surprised and sorry that on this 
 particular evening he had done her this particular honor ; 
 and then the truth flashed upon her mind that Mrs. Elliott 
 had probably concealed from him her recent positive refusal 
 of his very flattering proposal. 
 
 Taking it for granted that such an offer would soon be 
 gratefully accepted, he had the air and manner of an ac 
 knowledged lover treating Carleyn as if he of course, in 
 this interview, should have the advantage in claiming, and 
 the preference in giving Nepenthe attention. Seeing the 
 piano open, he asked for some music. 
 
 Nepenthe, perplexed, vexed, and distressed, was glad to 
 play and sing to relieve her embarrassment. He wished 
 her to sing " Thou, thou reign'st in this Bosom ;" but she 
 told him she couldn't sing it without the music. 
 
 While she was singing a sweet Scotch song, Margaret 
 came in very unceremoniously with a basket of flowers, say- 
 ing, " Here are the flowers Miss Florence wished you to ar 
 range for the table to-morrow." 
 
 Putting them aside, Nepenthe sang a few songs, played a 
 few difficult pieces, and then left the piano and commenced 
 arranging the flowers finding it extremely difficult to en 
 tertain two such visitors at the same time. 
 
 ' When I see flowers," said Carleyn, " I am reminded of 
 the first boquet I ever owned. 1 Was a little boy then, and 
 on a visit to my uncle in the city. He always indulged me
 
 NEPENTHE. 243 
 
 in every wish, and on my birth-day offered to do anything 
 to please me. We took a walk in Broadway. We went to 
 a florist's, and he bought me a beautiful bouquet. There 
 were a great many heliotropes and violets, mingled with 
 other flowers. I was delighted with the flowers and then 
 I coaxed him to take me to see the hospital the place he 
 had so often visited. I often wondered what became of the 
 little pale girl I saw there. She had dark brown hair, and 
 large dark eyes. She was so thin and pale, she really looked 
 unearthly, with her face lighted up with those large dark 
 eyes." 
 
 " What did you do with the flowers ?" said Nepenthe, 
 without seeming to notice the last remark. 
 
 " I laid them on the little girl's pillow as I came away," 
 said Carleyn. " Poor child, I knew she could have very 
 few flowers in the hospital, and then, poor thing, I felt sorry 
 for her. She was in the care of a cross-looking nurse. I 
 know I wouldn't want such eyes to watch me if I were sick." 
 
 Nepenthe said nothing more, and Mr. Nicholson looked 
 bewildered, as if the conversation had taken a strange turn. 
 " I hope it will be fair to-morrow, Miss Nepenthe," said he, 
 (he had never called her Miss Nepenthe before,) " and then 
 we'll have a nice ride. I want you to see my new horses." 
 
 Nepenthe had lost all her quickness of thought, so she said 
 nothing, absolutely nothing to this last remark. 
 
 Both gentlemen soon after left, and Florence and Mrs. 
 Elliott came home about ten o'clock. Not finding Carleyn 
 at the reception, Florence had no wish to stay. 
 
 That evening was the first time Nepenthe had sung or 
 played since she came to Mrs. Elliott's, and Florence had 
 no idea that she had any musical skill, taste or knowledge. 
 
 " How strange," thought Florence, as she came in the 
 parlor, after Neponthe had gone up to her room. " The 
 piano is open, and here is a song I never sing and it is a 
 song Frank Carleyn was asking me to sing only the other 
 day. I was going to learn it, and was practicing it before I 
 went out ; but I am quite sure I put it up, and that I left a 
 waltz on the piano." 
 
 Ringing the bell violently, and summoning Margaret, 
 she said, in an excited tone, " Margaret, has any one been 
 here this evening ?" 
 
 " No," said Margaret, frightened ; " nobody but Mr. Car-
 
 244 NEPENTHE. 
 
 leyn. You know I always let him in. I thought he would 
 wait until you came home." 
 
 " You know I told you to let no one in when I was out." 
 
 " I didn't know you were out at first, ma'am, and after 
 wards I looked up stairs and down, and then I knew you 
 must be out." 
 
 " Well, what did he say ?" 
 
 " He said he would wait awhile, ma'am." 
 
 Florence Elliott was not a fine singer, though she played 
 well ; and she knew the song upon the piano was one of his 
 favorites. 
 
 " A little after he came in," said Margaret, " I heard the 
 piano, and some one singing ; so I thought you must be at 
 home." 
 
 " Are you sure, Margaret, that it was my piano ? Wasn't 
 it the piano next door ? Are you sure no lady has been 
 here ? Mary Hume comes sometimes and plays when I am 
 gone, and she always sings these sweet songs. She touches 
 the keys and hums a little, and often looks over the music ; 
 but she glides in and glides out again, like a little fairy." 
 
 " There's been no one in the parlor this evening," said 
 Margaret, " but Miss Stuart and Mr. Carleyn." 
 
 Somehow these names didn't sound pleasantly together 
 in Florence's ears. 
 
 " Margaret," said she. 
 
 " Ma'am ?" 
 
 " Never let Mr. Carleyn in again when I am out." 
 
 " You have often told me, ma'am, when he called, to let 
 him wait ; and I really thought at first you were in." 
 
 Florence walked back and forth, excited and angry. This 
 was the first suspicion she had had of Nepenthe Stuart's 
 ability to sing and play. " Pretty business," said she, " Ne 
 penthe Stuart's singing and playing for Frank Carleyn. 
 She is always out of the room when I am homeland he calls, 
 and I always meant she should be. It is a complete ruse. 
 The hypocrite ! Then to think I told him she sewed for us, 
 intimating that she was a seamstress. He'll begin to think 
 there's some mystery about this, and mystery will excite a 
 man's curiosity any day. As for singing, I never knew she 
 could sing." 
 
 " How came Nepenthe Stuart to be in the parlor?" she 
 said, an hour after, to her mother.
 
 NEPENTHE. 245 
 
 " I wished her to sit there," said Mrs. Elliott, " while we 
 were gone. Since that silver was stolen the other evening, 
 I feel a little uneasy if I go out and leave the parlors alone. 
 The truth is, I am afraid that Bridget is not quite honest." 
 
 Florence Elliott had a new reason for disliking Nepenthe. 
 No one, not even a child, should come between her and her 
 plans. " Sing for him ? how dared she ?" 
 
 Poor innocent Nepenthe ! Once more, in angry tones, 
 she heard Florence and her mother talking in French, 
 and she was the subject of their harsh reproach. " How 
 dared she sing and play, in my absence, for Carleyn 1 ?" she 
 heard repeated in loud and angry tones. 
 
 " Did Miss Stuart remain long in the parlor after Mr. 
 Carleyn came in ?" she asked of Margaret the next day. 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am. I only went in once, to ask her 
 to arrange those flowers you bade me tell her to fix to send 
 to the fair to-morrow. I didn't know he was there then, or 
 I shouldn't have gone in. She arranged them, and they are 
 all ready for you, in the parlor." 
 
 " How provoking !" thought Florence again. " He is al 
 ways complimenting me about my taste in arranging flowers. 
 Now he'll think of course Nepenthe Stuart does it all. These 
 men only want a few things to find out more. I'd have 
 given a great deal not to have had him know about those 
 flowers. He is so fond of flowers, and says so much about 
 their artistic arrangement. Well as I know Frank Carleyn, 
 he is so true himself he never suspects any one but once 
 show him a little cause, a little deceit, and he will suspect 
 everything. Drop one stitch in the chain of such a man's 
 confidence, and before you know it they all go, and the elas 
 tic cord will break, or shorten forever." 
 
 " I do love him," thought Nepenthe, as she turned unea 
 sily on her pillow that night. " If he were dead, I could 
 think of him calmly but if he marries another, how can I 
 be happy ? and I could be so happy with him. His looks 
 and words are so dear to me, I never shall forget his plea 
 sant voice when he said, before I sat beside him in the car 
 riage, ' I shall be happy to take this young lady under my 
 charge.' And then, he gave me those flowers at the hospi 
 tal. He little thought I was the pale girl, and he has not 
 forgotten me as I was then. Those flowers made me feel as
 
 24(5 NEPENTHE. 
 
 if God was near me ; though I was shut up in tho hos 
 pital, without friends, as if He would clothe me, with my 
 little weak faith, just as he did those beautiful heliotropes 
 and violets. But distinguished, courted, flattered as he is, 
 how do I dare to think of him ? I must hide my weak, fool 
 ish love. 'Tis not because he is a distinguished artist that 
 I love him 'tis for himself alone. If he were only poor, I 
 could go with him anywhere in the wide world, and cling to 
 him through all. If he were poor and unknown, and I rich, 
 he should know and feel, as I now feel, that our two souls 
 are kindred souls. I can enter into his thoughts, his hopes. 
 I know I could cheer him when sad, cling to him through 
 all trouble and danger. But I should be too happy if I 
 were his. It would be too glorious a dawn after my long 
 night. God help me to forget, to banish him from my heart 
 to still this love. Yet love is a holy and beautiful feeling. 
 If I were a man, and he a woman, I would woo and win him. 
 I know I could but I must forget my heart is aching, and 
 my heart will almost burst. 
 
 " Forget, did I say ? Do the stars forget to shine, the 
 river to murmur, the wind to whisper, the ocean to heave ? 
 I might have stifled this love once, but it is too late 
 now. I have only to hide it, to cover it up as a beautiful 
 ruin in my heart. I cannot crush love it will rise again 
 or drown it with tears, or put it to eternal sleep. Love is a 
 clairvoyant dreamer, a somnambulistic sleeper. But I have 
 a shelter to seek to-morrow, and what have I to do with love ? 
 Bread must be earned, and water must be sure." 
 
 Carleyn sat in his room that night, thinking. " Yes, she 
 must be engaged to Nicholson. No man could be such a 
 goose as to be so marked, pointed and demonstrative, only 
 to a woman he loved, and who he knew loved him. But yet 
 I could not see anything in her manner to him that evinced 
 the least of that ardent affection I should want the woman I 
 loved to feel for me. But the learned compute that seven 
 hundred and seven millions of millions of vibrations have 
 penetrated the eye, before the eye can distinguish the tints 
 of a violet. What philosophy can calculate the vibrations 
 of the heart before it can distinguish the colors of love ?"
 
 NEPENTHE. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 MR. NICHOLSON RESOLVES TO BE INTELLECTUAL. 
 
 " Christian faith is a grand cathedral with divinely pictured windows. 
 Standing without, you see no glory, nor can possibly imagine any ; 
 standing within, every ray of light reveals a harmony of unspeakable 
 splendors." MARBLE FAUN. 
 
 " THE girl is intellectual ; yes, intellectual, I believe they 
 call it," said Mr. Nicholson to himself, as he sat in his lux 
 uriously furnished room thinking about Nepenthe ; " and 
 she is rather serious-minded, too, I should judge. If I were 
 going to buy or sell an article, I should know just how to go 
 to work, but this is a kind of thing I have never done be 
 fore, ask a woman to marry me, and I hope I shall never 
 have to do it again. I shall lose all respect for her if she is 
 such a fool as to refuse me ; but then, young ladies don't al 
 ways make the best choice. They don't always know what 
 is for their good. I am rich and good-looking, fine-looking, 
 I suppose, at least, I think so when I stand up by that slen 
 der, pale Carleyn. He has no color in his face, and he is 
 not substantial-looking. I wonder if he is much of a man. 
 I suppose he makes good pictures, but that, is very light 
 work for a man, very. I guess, after I'm married, I'll 
 have him take a portrait of Nepenthe and me. I'd like to 
 encourage him a little. He appears to me a very well 
 meaning young man. 
 
 " I have no doubt I shall succeed in getting her in the 
 end, but I want to make short and sure work of it. I sup 
 pose, if you want to get a woman to love you, you must try 
 and like what she likes. I can slick myself up and walk in 
 and out of a room gracefully, talk about the weather, &c., 
 but that is not all. I must be intellectual ; yes, I must be 
 intellectual. I rather think that will take. I'll read the 
 last serious and deep work there is out, the one that is the 
 most popular, and go and talk about it with her." 
 
 Mr. Nicholson shuts himself up three hours and reads
 
 248 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Kenan's " Life of Jesus," filling his head as full as possible 
 with the main ideas and most striking things in the book. 
 He goes round in the evening to make Nepenthe a call, and 
 after talking about books generally and new ones in particu 
 lar, he ventures some deep remarks on the subject of mira 
 cles, and clearing his throat with a slight wise kind of a 
 cough, he begins with 
 
 " Don't you think, Miss Nepenthe, that most of the mira 
 cles in the Bible were intended to be to be taken in a 
 figurative sense ?" 
 
 " They've a way of figurating everything off now," said 
 Nepenthe. " Maybe, it was only a figurative Eden, a figura 
 tive Adam, a figurative ' creation,' a figurative ' begin 
 ning,' and perhaps a figurative Deity after all ; and the 
 book that my mother lived and died by may be only a fig 
 urative book. It may be a figurative comfort, a figurative 
 trust after all. Isn't there anything real ? I never can for 
 get the words of that hymn they used to sing in the dear 
 old church at Northampton when I was a child 
 
 " ' Firm as a rock Thy truth shall stand, 
 When rolling years shall cease to move.' 
 
 " Those words I used to hear many a sweet Sabbath 
 morning from that clear-voiced village choir. They are ^as 
 plain to me now as if they floated on my ear only yesterday. 
 Watts may be the great millennial prophet poet laureate, at 
 that last glad bright morning when a kneeling world shall 
 bow 
 
 " ' Before Jehovah's awful throne,' 
 and 
 
 " ' Earth, with her ten thousand tongues,' 
 
 shall sing to that dear Old Hundred this anthem of the 
 universe." 
 
 " These miracles in the Bible," said Nepenthe, " are like 
 those ' calendars of home, whose rubrics are colored by our 
 hearts.' I read them when a little child in Paul's Life of 
 Christ, Paul, who was so good an Oriental traveller and 
 scholar. I cannot worship Kenan's Christ because he has given 
 him, with all his sweetness and superior nature, a Jesuit's 
 cunning and craft in allowing him to pretend to work mira 
 cles in spite of his lofty nature, because, as he says, if he 
 had died before he pretended to work miracles, he might
 
 NEPENTHE. 249 
 
 have been dearer indeed to God, but his memory would 
 never have been preserved among men. 
 
 " It seems to me, when we seek to ' look alter truth stars,' 
 we must ' put out ' such little reason ' candles ' as this." 
 
 " Well," says Mr. Nicholson, quoting his author exactly, 
 " ' it is in the name of universal experience that we banish 
 miracles from history.' I suppose, that is, they are contrary 
 to the laws of nature. Many things in the Bible are con 
 trary to the laws of nature." 
 
 " I'd like to know," said Nepenthe, " who dares to say he 
 knows or has read half the laws of nature. There's ever so 
 many volumes of them way up on the highest shelves of cre 
 ation, and most of us never get tall enough to reach up to 
 those books piled up on the top shelves, and in my opinion, 
 the firm old Bible is the best ladder we can climb to get to 
 any of them. Every time some new thought comes up, or a 
 new expression of an old wonderful truth, somebody screams 
 out, ' That's not so ; that's contrary to the laws of nature,' 
 because they have not found it in the few pages they have 
 read of Creation's great code. Half of us have only learned 
 the first large letters of nature, woven in with the big pic 
 tures in her first primer. We can't begin to read in easy 
 readings yet. 
 
 " It will be a long time before we translate the* deepest, 
 finest, most intricate, passages in nature's eloquent plead 
 ings, supplements, digests, her affirmed, recognized or un 
 written, but beautiful and perfect laws laws she promul 
 gates many a day as she opens with a morning-glory for a 
 text, and stands in the great blue pulpit above, and closes 
 with a holy star for a benediction. 
 
 " I do not like Kenan's Christ, because it is, in my opin 
 ion, contrary to the laws of human nature to represent an 
 incomparable, unsurpassable, unrivalled, sublime type and 
 model of humanity or human divinity living ' face to face 
 with God,' perpetrating a grand series of striking, startling 
 frauds. 
 
 " This is contrary to all our universal experience of mor 
 tal goodness and greatness. One exposed deception, one 
 suspected fraud, imposition, hypocrisy or humbug, dethrones 
 for us from its loftiest pedestal on the shrine of our reverent 
 admiration, our most aesthetic and faultless earthly idol. A 
 thing we can't tolerate, but rebuke with scorn in a servile 
 
 11*
 
 250 NEPENTHE. 
 
 inferior, we can't allow to stain and soil the glorious robe of 
 the kingly, sovereign soul of the Prince of Peace. Nearer 
 to men, dearer to God, is our sublimest ideal not farther 
 from God, dearer to men. 
 
 " We can't like this Jesuitical gleam, this sardonic li-zht, 
 playing around the pure, radiant aureola that halos the im 
 age of Christ in every little child's worshipping heart. 
 
 " Things men call miracles, marvels, impossibilities, in- 
 credibles, may be according to some profound laws of na 
 ture, which our poor mental spectacles have never read, 
 studied, or even glanced at. 1 often hear ignorant boys and 
 stupid men talk about the laws of nature, as if they had 
 swallowed whole the immense immortal digest of ' Creation.' 
 We'd better try to search more and grasp the heavy books 
 on the topmost, celestial shelves, before we dare to say to a 
 truth or thought clothed in a new, strange, startling dress, 
 ' Go back to the tomb of doubt.' Let us wait till some 
 learned judge cites, clearly and correctly, the exact statute, 
 the infallible authority, before we excommunicate a bold, 
 bright thought that comes to seek communion with our best 
 thoughts and join the great congregation of martyr truths, 
 whose once stifled cries have been long changed into words 
 of sweetest music, thrilling the world's restless heart. 
 
 " If a man hasn't a whole thought in his head, if he is stu 
 pid, dumb, silly, blind, if he don't know anything, when a 
 great soul towers up before him saying, ' This sublime 
 thought, has flashed upon my deep studies like a new star in 
 the sky of my soul,' this imbecile fool will cry out, ' Hang 
 the truth ; burn, starve, choke or drown it. That is contrary 
 to the laws of nature." You may so cage and shut out a 
 bird from the light, that it can't sing, or so tie a vine that it 
 can't grow upward or bloom. So you can so fence in a truth 
 from the light and air that it can't grow or thrive but the 
 poorest apology, the most miserable dilapidated old cage in 
 which to enclose a sublime truth is that old stiff wooden 
 fence made of the laws of nature. 
 
 " I like to jump into the car of investigation and leave the 
 old stage-coach of doubt behind, and say to the antiquated 
 wiseacre who stands on reason's highest, muddiest bank watch 
 ing for the old rumbling, ricketty coach of experience to come 
 along, which has been driving, with its one lame horse of 
 reason, every day for years from the ark to the flood and
 
 NEPENTHE. 251 
 
 back, I'd say, ' We'll give you a very grey wig and gown, 
 and elect you Lord Chief Justice of the Supreme Bench of 
 the World's Fools.' 
 
 You take out of the Bible the living breath of inspiration, 
 and it is like the Van Jayen in Spitzbergen, as Lord Duf- 
 ferin tells us " like a river larger than the Thames, plung 
 ing down hundreds upon hundreds of feet ; every wreath of 
 spray and tumbling wave frozen in a moment stone-stiff 
 rigid as iron, awful, everlasting death-in-life, staring up at 
 the sun and the stars in their courses, and never meeting 
 the Norland winds and the washing waves with the thunder 
 music of its waters. 
 
 " All the French cloud-wreaths woven around my moth 
 er's Bible will melt away at last in truth's clear sunshine. 
 A soul must be bathed in sunshine to write that which can 
 never be written correctly by mortal pen, the Life of Jesus. 
 As well might we try to inlay in our heart's mosais, sor 
 row's tears, or photograph for our albums the evening star. 
 
 " The meek, majestic life of Christ is the sweetest violet 
 in the world's heart its only real heart's-ease, and Kenan's 
 clear, graceful, graphic, picturesque, delicate, brilliant, ten 
 der hand, with his rich, life-like, tropical coloring of Orien 
 tal thought, would rob the most glorious of glorious lives, 
 the fairest unfolding of the sacred heart, of the deathless 
 living perfume of inspiration's sweetest violet. 
 
 " To give us a life of Christ without its transparent, pure, 
 single, sublime motive, principle and aim, loftiest and truest 
 is to leave us beautiful violets in our garden, but take 
 away the peerless perfume for which the violet is so dear. 
 
 " But almost all the clergymen buy Kenan's book and read 
 it too," said Mr. Nicholson, very much taken aback by Ne 
 penthe's reception of his first intellectual remarks ; " and if 
 they blame, they praise it too. It has, you must grant, a 
 most perfect style." 
 
 Just then there was a loud quick ringing at Mrs. Elliott's 
 front door, and soon a whole surprise party of fifty masque- 
 raders rushed in and took possession of parlor, piano, libra 
 ry, chamber, dining room and kitchen. It was domino all 
 over, up stairs and down. 
 
 This nocturnal assembly at last disrobed themselves of 
 their long divers colored mantles, oaps, and wide sleeves, 
 and amused themselves until midnight with dancing, cha-
 
 252 NEPENTHE. 
 
 rades, and other diversions ; and Mr. Nicholson, very good 
 *at dancing and charading, put off Kenan's spiritual or intel 
 lectual domino, which he had been wearing all the evening, 
 which was altogether too long, large and wide for him and 
 never put it on again, because he feared Miss Nepenthe 
 didn't like it. 
 
 As he stood by the table about twelve, eating some lemon 
 ice, jelly, and cake, Nepenthe thought, " Mr. Nicholson is 
 himself again." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 DISCLOSURES. 
 
 " The bleak wind of March 
 Made her tremble and shiver, 
 But not the dark arch 
 Or the black flowing river ; 
 Mad from life's history, 
 Glad to death's mystery, 
 Swift to be hurled 
 Anywhere, anywhere 
 Oat of the world." 
 
 IT was a dark stormy night, dismally the wind howled, it 
 rained in torrents, when a loud knock was heard at Mrs. 
 Elliott's door, and then a succession of quick impulsive raps 
 as if some one were in eager, desperate haste. 
 
 " Sure ma'am, and no one would come to-night, and so 
 late !" exclaimed Jane, as she paused a moment before she 
 opened the door. 
 
 " Is Miss Stuart within ?" said a bare-footed beggarly- 
 looking boy. " I want her to come to street right 
 
 away." 
 
 " It is impossible for her to go out this stormy evening," 
 said Mrs. Elliott. " If the case is urgent, she can come 
 early to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, but that will be too late," said the boy 
 " let her come now, and here is a watch I will leave till I 
 return," and he held out a valuable gold timepiece ; " take 
 this, ma'am," said he, " till I come back with the lady, but 
 let her come now." 
 
 Almost afraid to follow Her ragged conductor^ -yet im-
 
 NEPENTHE. 253 
 
 pelled by some strange strong inclination, Nepenthe went on 
 through the gloomy streets, and as she hurried along and - 
 passed under the street lamps, she saw moving swiftly by 
 her, with downcast head and veiled face, a form like Mrs. 
 Elliott's and the lady, whoever she was, walked like Mrs. 
 Elliot!;. At last Nepenthe reached a small house, and fol 
 lowed her silent but fleet-footed guide up the narrow stair 
 case into a small chamber. Throwing aside her damp shawl 
 and dripping umbrella, she was led by the boy to the bed 
 side of a pale-faced emaciated woman, with long black hair, 
 and large hollow eyes. The sheet was suddenly drawn over 
 the face of the woman, and as suddenly thrust back. 
 
 " You are Nepenthe Stuart," said she, gazing at her with 
 glaring eyes, " I should know the likeness anywhere come 
 here close to the bed," and taking a little dark-colored vial 
 from under her pillow and swallowing a few drops, she said, 
 " I have much to say, and these are my last words." Then 
 holding up a small package, she said, " Here is something 
 that belongs to you, but do not open it till you get home. 
 Here is one letter directed to Mrs. Caroline Stuart, your 
 mother : it was written long ago. I knew it would be writ 
 ten. I watched at the office. I took it out. It enclosed 
 money. The money is still within it. The letter asks anx 
 iously about your mother. I answered that she was dead. 
 It also asked anxiously about a child. I answered the child 
 is dead. A fortune was ready for you then, but I had rea 
 sons of my own why no child of Caroline Stuart should re 
 ceive one of those hated dollars. Had your mother re 
 ceived one of those letters before her death, it might have 
 made her happy it may be, she would have lived. I hated 
 her. I hate you still, with those clear bright Stuart eyes ;'' 
 but she added, " The soul, if material, must change every 
 twenty years, as the body does ; so then no one can be pun 
 ished for crime committed twenty years ago, because he is 
 not the same person he has lost his identity. I have com 
 mitted no crime since, though I have tried and failed. Had 
 I carried out my designs, I would have had you long since 
 beyond the reach of human voice or human knowledge. I 
 stood over you when asleep I " 
 
 The woman struggled to speak again. She lay still, fell 
 into a deep slumber, breathed fainter and fainter, gasped a 
 few times, and died.
 
 254 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Nepenthe felt relieved when safe at home again. She 
 could not get asleep till near midnight and then, as the 
 clock struck twelve, the old vision that once haunted her 
 midnight dreams walked through her room again, and stood 
 by her bedside, but now it was all clad in white, but still it 
 had the same long, black, wavy hair. 
 
 It was morning at last, and Nepenthe awoke after one 
 brief undisturbed morning nap, unrefreshed and sad. 
 
 The next afternoon, as Mr. Selwyn was walking up street, 
 a ragged boy came up to him, saying, 
 
 " Are you a dominie, sir ? are you a dominie ?" 
 
 " Why do you ask me, my boy ?" said he kindly. 
 
 " There's a woman dead round here, and we want some 
 one to say prayers." 
 
 Many of the clergymen had left the city dreading con 
 tagion from the epidemic, but Mr. Selwyn had no such 
 fear. He followed the boy to a house where a pale corpse 
 lay coffined. It was not quite the time of burial. 
 
 He sat down a moment by the window, and moved his 
 chair near the table, when something lying on the edge of 
 the table fell. It was a little box. It opened in falling, 
 and there fell out a chain with a locket attached to it. It 
 had an old-fashioned case. He took it up and looked at it. 
 It was a correct likeness of himself, a miniature painted on 
 ivory years ago. 
 
 " How came this here ?" he uttered in an involuntary 
 whisper. 
 
 In the bottom of the jewel box lay a torn and folded pa 
 per, beginning, " In the name of God, Amen." It was a 
 part of a copy of his own will, made more than twelve years 
 ago. There was also another fragment carefully folded and 
 lying on the table It was a part of an old letter written in 
 a woman's hand, and it read thus : 
 
 " We lived together happily ; there was never one cloud 
 to darken our path. One morning I stood at the door when 
 he left the house. I shall never forget it. I kissed him 
 good morning. He turned back and said, ' I'll be home ear 
 ly to-night, Lina.' He always called me Lina. I remem 
 ber at night getting his slippers and dressing gown ready, 
 and preparing his favorite supper. He liked violets always. 
 I had a little bouquet of them on the table. The fire in the 
 grate burned brightly. It was a cool day in October. He
 
 NEPENTHE. 255 
 
 came not at six at seven. God ! he never came again. 
 I saw him no more. I heard nothing from him. He left 
 his place of business as usual. 
 
 " Twelve years have flown, and I have never heard a 
 word. Two months after he left, Nepenthe was born." 
 
 Some of the events of our lives are so wrapped up in 
 mystery that we try to forget them. This death and burial 
 of this strange woman haunted Mr. Selwyn's mind ; he 
 could find no trace of her history. 
 
 Nepenthe Stuart's mind was also left agitated, perplexed 
 and harrassed. Why had this woman so persecuted her 
 dead mother ? Why so watched and haunted her life ? 
 She had never made an enemy by a harsh word or rash 
 deed ; and yet, parallel with her existence, had ever been 
 the hatred of this implacable enemy. 
 
 All that could be found of the strange woman's recent 
 history were a few vague rumors that she had lived in that 
 place only three months ; that she slept with two bolts at 
 her door ; that she always had a box under her pillow at 
 night ; that the day before her death she was walking about, 
 apparently as well as usual ; that she died on the twenty- 
 fifth, and she had often said she would die on the twenty- 
 fifth. 
 
 The woman had no known relatives, so Mr. Selwyn's 
 anxious conjectures could never be cleared up, never be 
 quieted, never be silenced ; and yet over the dead he read 
 slowly, solemnly, and humanely, " Earth to earth ; ashes to 
 ashes ; dust to dust." So had turned long since his young 
 bright hopes to mocking dust. 
 
 The hand of his little clock on the mantel moved on to 
 four. Mr. Selwyn took home his likeness, feeling that he 
 had a right to it, as there was no other to claim it. As 
 he sat in his room writing, a man with an organ commenced 
 playing under his window, and at last little images came 
 dancing out as the man played, to the great delight of the 
 surrounding children. 
 
 As the organ played Mr. Selwyn wrote on in his old 
 journal : " So we turn away at the wheel of life, burden 
 some, heavy as it is, almost weighing us down ; yet some 
 sweet music may grind out of its very discord harmonious 
 trills of happiness, little chimes of joy-bells, some friendly 
 polka or some sympathetic waltz. They awake, thrill, and
 
 256 NEPENTHE. 
 
 depart, without our bidding and without our willing. We 
 turn this heavy wheel of life, hoping to see something open 
 and bring out little forms of happiness dancing as if to meet 
 us but there opens ever only darker dancing shadows and 
 deeper revolving mysteries, till through all the stops and 
 pipes and organ swells of the cathedral soul ascends its 
 despairing miserere." 
 
 A heavy cloud was gathering overhead, and wrapping, as 
 with a pall, the sky so bright only an hour before. Mr. 
 Selwyn looked out, and he could see no blue sky ; he sighed 
 bitterly : " So is my life," thought he. " The blue sky of 
 its early morning is all cloud-covered. I have one little 
 vain hope left. Will it ever dawn ? Will I ever see it 
 realized ?" 
 
 He involuntarily took up a book of poetry from the table 
 before him, and read, as his eyes rested upon a page : 
 
 " The light of smile shall fill again 
 
 The lids that overflow with tears, 
 And weary hours of woe and pain 
 Are promises of happier years. 
 
 " There is a day of sunny rest, 
 
 For every dark and troubled night, 
 And grief may bide an evening guest, 
 But joy shall come with early light." 
 
 Carleyn came in to see Selwyn early the next morning. 
 The bed was undisturbed, the embroidered pillow frills 
 were as smooth as when they came from the laundry the 
 day before, the tulips were spread out as stiff and bright as 
 when Margaret first folded over them the linen sheet accord 
 ing to Mrs. Edwards' very particular directions. 
 
 " I'm afraid you've been watching ghosts again," said 
 Carleyn, kindly, as he glanced at the bed and then at his 
 friend's sleepless, weary eyes ; " you'll think youself mad, 
 Selwyn." 
 
 " I never had such a night before, Carleyn," said he. 
 " There are moments when the power of clear thinking and 
 strong imagining comes over me ; the weary body may long 
 for rest, but the worn soul lies not down like a tired child 
 to dreamless slumber, but walks forth along the coast of 
 thought, where the ' lidal driftings of the heart come and 
 go, and with clear eye looks off the battlements of reason, 
 looks off and listens to catch the sounds that boom across the 
 shore eternal, gazing back, defines each faintest outline of
 
 NEPENTHE. 257 
 
 the shadowy past, judges mercilessly some almost forgotten 
 sin or wrong, screams like a night bird over each hill-top of 
 memory, or wails like a ghost around the ruins of the heart. 
 We vainly lock up oar sins and our sorrows in the eternal 
 safe, for there comes, at times, a fear they cannot be for 
 given ; even though a divine substitute has been made, even 
 under the very shadow of the Redeemer's cross, they will be 
 our sins still. Through them we have suffered, we do suf 
 fer, and we fear we will suffer. Some nightly touch of the 
 clairvoyant soul, whose spirit-rapping must be heard on the 
 walls of the heart, will open the gate of tears, and the grief- 
 tide rushes in and overflows the last green leaf of comfort, 
 while whispered tones recall the dear lost face, the sweet, 
 silent voice. When the clairvoyant soul thus patrols, rap 
 ping here and pausing there, the strongest hearted and 
 proudest man may tremble and weep. You have never had 
 to dig up and explore the tombs of the past, and pore over 
 the old half worn inscriptions of lost hopes, lost friends, lost 
 loves. May you never be a kneeler at the gate of sorrow, a 
 bent and bowed worshipper at the tomb of regret, a lone pil 
 grim in the desert of despair." 
 
 " I wonder what made that man walk so last night," said 
 Mrs. Edwards, as she sat in her front basement cutting out 
 a new kind of tulip. " If he only had such a toothache as I 
 had, he might walk ; but he seems well. If a man has money 
 enough, and health and clothes, I can't see what should keep 
 him out of his bed. I never knew a man before that would 
 grieve and keep awake and think all night as a woman will." 
 
 There was a bundle sent to Mr. Selwyn the next night. 
 Mrs. Edwards said that he was up later than she had known 
 him to be for weeks, and he was evidently reading some 
 writing. She had just looked once more through that con 
 venient crack. As she sat, after breakfast, embroidering a 
 palm leaf in her muslin band, she said to Miss Kate How 
 ard, " that Mr. Selwyn never looked so bright and so hand 
 some. She did wonder what had got into the man. She 
 began to think that he was going to be married," but that 
 evening he astonished her with the intelligence that he was 
 going, next week not to be married but going to Eng 
 land.
 
 258 NEPENTHE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXII. 
 
 DARKNESS WITHOUT J LIGHT WITHIN. 
 
 " Send kindly light amid th' encircling gloom, 
 
 And lead me on : 
 The night is dark, and I am far from home ; 
 
 Lead Thou me on ; 
 
 Keep Thou my feet, I do not ask to see 
 The distant scene ; one step's enough fo me." 
 
 MR. SELWYN is in England, and he hears, as he sits qui 
 etly in his room one pleasant morning, a manly voice sing 
 ing 
 
 " I travel all the irksome night, 
 
 By ways to me unknown ; 
 I travel like a bird in flight. 
 Onward and all alone." 
 
 He listens ; he hears nothing more, but soon the adjoining 
 door opens, and a gentleman walks out. He is not alone one 
 other pair of feet keep pace with his as he goes through the 
 hall and descends the stairs. Mr. Selwyn hears some one 
 say, " This way, doctor ; there are trunks piled up close by 
 the stairs at your right hand." Mr. Selwyn looks out as the 
 street door closes and sees two gentlemen walking slowly on 
 the opposite side of the street. One has a green shade over 
 his eyes, and carries a cane in his right hand, and he has the 
 arm of the other gentleman. 
 
 It is a beautiful morning, the windows are open, and the 
 air is still. Mr. Selwyn hears one of the gentlemen say, as 
 they come to the crossing, " Here's a curb-stone, doctor ; 
 we'll walk slowly along here, for the men have been fixing 
 the roa'd, and the stones are a little out of place." 
 
 " The rough path in life seems the safest for me," an 
 swered the other ; " 'tis on the smooth roads we are apt to 
 slip." 
 
 " He is a doctor, and is blind," thought Mr. Selwyn, as 
 they passed out of sight. " How hard to be blind such a 
 beautiful morning."
 
 NEPENTHE. 259 
 
 Just then there is a knock at his door. Tis a woman with 
 a basket of clean linen. 
 
 " Is Dr. AVendon in ?" she says, setting down her basket. 
 
 " This is not his room," said Mr. Selwyn. 
 
 " Oh !" said the woman, " I have made a mistake ; but he 
 had this room last month when I came. It may be that he 
 has taken the next room. They told me I should find him 
 on this side of the hall." 
 
 " I saw the gentleman in the next room go out a few mo 
 ments since," said Mr. Selwyn. 
 
 " I ought to have come earlier. Mr. Leaden comes to 
 take him out mornings about this time," said the woman, as 
 she took up her basket and went down stairs. 
 
 " I don't believe that man was always blind," thought Mr. 
 Selwyn. " He does not walk as if accustomed to walking in 
 the dark. I am thankful, tbat in all my affliction, I can 
 have, in loneliest hours, the companionship of books and na 
 ture." 
 
 In about an hour the gentlemen came back. 
 
 Dr. Wendon opens his door, while the other pair of feet 
 descend the stairs again. Mr. Selwyn can hear him moving 
 slowly around the room, as he puts his cane in the corner, 
 opens and shuts his wardrobe door, and at last moves his 
 chair slowly up to the window and draws a heavy sigh. By- 
 and-by somebody opens his door without knocking and says, 
 " I have come to read to you this morning, doctor. What 
 will you have ? the morning paper or the last of Jane 
 Eyre ?" 
 
 " I dreamed last night," said the doctor, " that I was at 
 home with my mother, in the old farm-house. I thought I 
 was a child sitting at her feet. She was reading to me out 
 of the Bible. She put her hands on my head just as she 
 used to do, and looking into my eyes ; said, earnestly, 
 ' There's only one book, Walter there's only one book,' 
 and then she said, ' Thy word shall be a lamp unto my feet 
 and a light unto my path,' and she made me repeat it till I 
 could say it correctly, and she said, ' Don't be so troubled, 
 Walter,' as she opened the Bible again and read, ' Thou wilt 
 keep him in perfect peace whose soul is stayed en Thee,' 
 and she taught me that, too. Then she read something more 
 about the Lord's being an everlasting light. I wish I could 

 
 260 NEPENTHE. 
 
 remember it. I regret I did not read more of the Bible 
 when I could. 
 
 " I had an elegant copy of the Scriptures lying on an em 
 broidered crimson, velvet mat, on a little table in the corner 
 of my parlor ; but after I had written in it the date of our 
 marriage, and the advent of our little Violet, I seldom con 
 sulted its sacred oracles." 
 
 Mr. Leaden repeated slowly, " The sun shall be no more 
 thy light by day, neither shall the moon give light unto 
 thee ; but the Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting light, 
 and thy God thy glory." " Thy sun shall no more go down, 
 nor thy moon withdraw itself, for the Lord shall be thy 
 everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be 
 ended." 
 
 " The Bible, to me," said Dr. Wendon, " is like the well 
 of Sychar, deep, and nothing to draw with. These promises 
 are not mine." 
 
 " You have a claim to them all," said Mr. Leaden, kindly. 
 No eclipse need hide your soul from this spiritual sunshine. 
 ' These things have I spoken unto you, that in me ye might 
 have peace.' ' Thy word is very sure, therefore thy servant 
 loveth it.' ' These things have I spoken unto you, that my 
 joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.' 
 He has put you on the darkening waves, that you may fol 
 low the guiding light hung out astern. Only believe, and 
 you shall hear a voice as you take a hand stretched out to 
 you from out the dark, ' Peace I leave with you ; my peace 
 I give unto yon : not as the world giveth, give I unto 
 you.' " 
 
 " I once read in a book," said Dr. Wendon, " that thero 
 was no real trouble, so long as we can have God for our 
 friend. I know no earthly philosophy can comfort or make 
 me happy, afflicted as I am. If there is such a thing as 
 peace, I would like to have it. As I stumble along my 
 dark way, I wish I could walk and talk with God, and I 
 would not be so perfectly desolate. I read in the Bible, 
 when a child, about Paul and Silas singing praises in prison, 
 and it seemed to me very strange. My soul is in a dark 
 prison, and I cannot sing praises. I cannot see how God 
 communes with man. It all seems dark and mysterious to 
 me. Right before me I can feel
 
 NEPENTHE. 261 
 
 ' The great world's altar stairs, 
 That slope through darkness up to God.' 
 
 I cannot go forward without some hand to lead me." 
 
 Mr. Leaden was called away, and the doctor sat alone by 
 the window till almost sundown ; and at last his pent up 
 heart burst forth in the words of that beautiful hymn : 
 
 " ' Though like a wanderer, 
 
 The sun gone down, 
 Darkness be over me, 
 
 My rest a stone ; 
 Yet in my dreams I'd be 
 Nearer, my God, to The x e, 
 
 Nearer to Thee.' 
 
 He struggled long with doubts of his own fitness and of 
 God's willingness, as he walked back and forth during the 
 long evening, and at last he knelt down and prayed like a 
 tired child at a kind Father's feet, and this was his prayer : 
 
 " ' Just as I am though tossed about 
 With many a conflict, many a doubt, 
 Fighting within, and fears without, 
 Lamb of God, I come, I come ! 
 
 Just as I am poor, wretched, blind, 
 Light, riches, healing of the mind, 
 Yea, all I need in Thee to find, 
 Lamb of God, I come, I come ! 
 
 Just as I am Thou wilt receive, 
 Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve, 
 Because Thy promise I believe, 
 Lamb of God, I come, I come ! 
 
 Just as I am Thy love unknown 
 Has broken every barrier down ; 
 Now to be Thine, yea, Thine alone, 
 Lamb of God,- 1 come, I come !' 
 
 Morning came at last, and as the sunshine fell on those 
 sightless eyes, these words floated into the illumined case 
 ment of his soul, like a chime of heavenly music : 
 
 " Immortal light, and joys unknown. 
 Are for the saints in darkness sown . '' 
 
 As he rises, and goes about his room, alone, as before, he 
 sings with radiant face : 
 
 " Thy will be done ! I will not fear 
 The fate provided by Thy love ; 
 Though clouds and darkness shroud me here, 
 I know that all is bright above."
 
 262 NEPENTHE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 PRUDENCE POTTER'S NEW DISCOVERIES. 
 
 " DEAR ! I am clear beat out. I wonder if there are 
 any more stairs ?" exclaimed a sharp, impatient voice, as a 
 straw bonnet with green ribbons, a brown shawl, a gray bag, 
 and spectacles, were seen slowly ascending the fifth flight of 
 Mrs. Edwards' stairs. " Well, well ! what can't be cured 
 must be endured ; but I guess my rheumatism won't be any 
 better after this. I never thought I'd get xip so high, but 
 I'd climb twenty pairs of stairs before I'd pay six dollars a 
 week for my board but that mortgage money will all be 
 lost if I don't stay and see about it. 
 
 " Here," said she, suddenly turning round and addressing 
 the Bridget behind her, who had been showing her the way 
 up stairs, " Here," said she, " just read what's on that card. 
 I must have put my best spectacles in my other pocket. I 
 was so flustered when I came off." 
 
 Bridget takes the card, and reads 
 " TRAP, FOGG & CRAFT, 
 
 Attorneys and Counsellors at Law." 
 
 " Trap, Fogg and Craft, is it ? Well Mr. Fogg gave me 
 the card, and he says it is a stiddy, respectable firm. Well, 
 I must stay here until this business is done. If Priscilla's 
 husband hadn't died until Spring, I might have stayed 
 there, and saved paying all this board. It is a good plan to 
 visit when you can, and save pa} ing your hotel bill." 
 
 " Here is your room, ma'am," said Bridget, throwing wide 
 open a door at one end of the hall ; and turning round, she 
 went down stairs quickly, as if glad to got back to her bed- 
 making on the second floor, where she could smell of the 
 nice young gentleman's Lubin and soap, and try a little of 
 his fragrant pomade, and see how his new pearl-backed stiff 
 brush would feel on her auburn curls ; and examine the 
 pictures in his last magazine, and chat a little at the window
 
 NEPENTHE. 263 
 
 with yellow-haired blue-eyed Mike, who is trimming the 
 grape vines in the garden opposit^ and who has promised 
 to marry her, if Margaret won't have him. 
 
 Miss Prudence stands up erect, and looks around, and 
 then, as she folds up her shawl in the old folds, she says to 
 herself, with the old smile on her face, " Never less alone 
 than when alone." 
 
 When the bonnet and green ribbons are stowed away in 
 the bandbox, and covered carefully with the clean pocket 
 handkerchief, to keep out the city dust, and the shawl 
 wrapped in a newspaper, and laid on a shelf in the closet, 
 and she has put on her high-crowned cap, with a frill all 
 around it, and her other spectacles, she stands in her door 
 and looks cautiously round. " 1 wonder if there is any men 
 folks up here ?'' thought she, as she began walking around 
 on tiptoe, and looking into the half-open doors of the rooms 
 on that floor. They were all servants' rooms, except the 
 room opposite hers, whose door, as she said, was " open on 
 a crack." 
 
 With one of her comprehensive glances, she saw at once 
 the slopirg windows, the old Brussels carpet, the old-fash 
 ioned high square mahogany washstand, with a piece of its 
 marble top broken oif, the single bed, the cracked glass over 
 the bureau, the trunk in the corner, with the initials, ' N. S.' 
 in brass tacks, the rows of nails at the foot of the bed, with 
 their well-m ended, carefully preserved dresses. All the 
 furniture had been costly when purchased, and once graced 
 the more elegant rooms below. There was a large oil paint 
 ing standing upon the floor, leaning against the wall, and on 
 the easel near it, an unfinished copy of the same painting, 
 with an ivory pallet beside it, with newly mixed colors. 
 
 Miss Prudence walks up and looks in the glass. She al 
 ways puts on her cap with remarkable precision, but her cap 
 is one-sided, her curls longer on one side, her sleeve drawn 
 up. She stretches down the curls, draws down the sleeve, 
 pulls the collar around* and draws down her mouth on one 
 side, as she says, " Why, how did I get everything so cata- 
 cornered ?" But the more she adjusted her collar, curls 
 and dress, the more crooked she was getting. The glass 
 was crooked. It had been purchased long ago, for its ele 
 gant frame, as many boarding-house mirrors are, without 
 regard to their true reflections. In most of the glasses in
 
 264 NEPENTHE. 
 
 that house, your dimensions were either elaborated or elon 
 gated, twisted, exaggerated, or distorted. People like to 
 look as well as they can, and have at least & correct esti 
 mate of their outer selves. 
 
 On the bureau is a well-worn Bible, with the name " Ne 
 penthe Stuart," written in a delicate hand on the blank leaf, 
 and by its side is a vase filled with fresh violets ; on the 
 table is a basket just large enough for a neat little lady to 
 carry about with her. That trunk is the identical trunk 
 once placed by Carleyn in the bottom of his carriage. Pru 
 dence walked about quietly, and started suddenly as she 
 looked at the bed, for there lay asleep the young occupant 
 of the servants' room, with an unfinished drawing of a violet 
 in her hand. The drawing was correct and artistic. In the 
 folio beside her are many sketches, and among them, an ex 
 act copy of a certain lay figure always to be seen in a cer 
 tain room at the School of Design, with which the young 
 ladies have so much amusement. 
 
 Miss Prudence walks softly out as she sees the sleeping 
 young lady, saying to herself, " Wfell, well ! Here's some 
 body fiddling away her time ;" and then she steals back into 
 her room and shuts the door, taking out her unfinished pair 
 of mixed stockings and knitting away. You could buy stock 
 ings all made at the stores for half the cost of that yarn, and 
 yet she laments over the idleness and folly of the picture- 
 making young lady in that room ; while Nepenthe, who is 
 really not very fond of copying, is to be paid twenty-five 
 dollars each for two copies of the picture on the easel. But 
 Prudence wishes she could manage for her, as she sighs and 
 says, " What can't be cured must be endured." 
 
 " Well, well," says my aunt Lydia, to whom I have been 
 reading my story thus far, " don't go on saying anything 
 more, Minnie, about attic rooms we all know how cheerless 
 are those rooms in the top of city boarding-houses, with only 
 apologies for windows ; and you needn't tell about her pale 
 face and large eyes. All the heroines in novels have pale 
 faces and large eyes, growing up and thinking themselves 
 so plain-looking, yet they turn out exceedingly handsome 
 after all. And don't put in any more moralizing or fine 
 sentences. People can always read enough of them in 
 books that are written on purpose. I always skip them in a
 
 NEPENTHE. 265 
 
 story. It is the plot we want, not beautiful writing, or long 
 conversations, or elaborate disquisitions. But tell me how 
 Nepenthe Stuart, as poor as you make her out to be, ever 
 got away from the Elliott's, and into the School of Design ; 
 for you can't get any kind of a room in the city, unless you 
 pay twelve shillings a week for it." 
 
 " Well, aunt Lydia, be patient, and I will tell you how 
 the morning after Nepenthe sang and played for Carleyn, a 
 letter came from the lawyer Douglass to her, informing her 
 of a bequest of two hundred dollars from Miss Susan Simp 
 son, deceased. 
 
 " With this money she resolved to seek the cheapest re 
 spectable quarters for lodging, and furnishing her own food, 
 attend the School of Design, and learn some of the many 
 arts taught in that noble institution; that when her little 
 pile of dollars was gone, she could sustain herself, either at 
 the School of Design, or by giving instruction in some pri 
 vate family. 
 
 " There is a benevolent lady who has given so much time 
 and money to the institution, that her name will always be 
 associated with it ; and she has a specimen book, in which 
 each pupil, after being a certain time at the institution, puts 
 a specimen of that which she can do best. After Nepenthe 
 had been there a few months, her specimen was really con 
 sidered the most beautiful and perfect by all the apprecia 
 tive eyes which looked over the pages of the specimen book." 
 
 Nepenthe's hired room was in the top of Mrs. Edwards' 
 house. She went there the morning after Mr. Selwyn sailed 
 for England. She lived on smoked beef, boiled rice, brown 
 bread, crackers, boiled eggs, and all those nameless relish- 
 less articles upon which ladies with slender purses, without 
 cooks and kitchens, usually subsist. 
 
 Neither the Elliott's nor Carleyn knew where she had 
 vanished. Florence felt much relieved. She was once 
 more the sole attraction and queen supreme of her elegant 
 home. Had she heard of the sudden or tragical death of 
 this innocent and friendless Nepenthe, not one real pang of 
 regret would have disturbed her selfish heart. 
 
 It was not until Nepenthe Stuart's vacation in the sum 
 mer that. Frank Carleyn happened to see the specimen book, 
 and then found out how and where she had spent her time 
 the last few months. Under the beautiful painting of a 
 
 12
 
 26f> NEPENTHE. 
 
 group of violets he read, in clear, distinct letters, Nepenthe 
 Stuart. And one of the young ladies, having begged a copy 
 of some verses of Nepenrhe's about her first gift of flowers 
 in the hospital, had shown it to several of her intimate 
 friends. The verses were so beautiful that one of the numer 
 ous friends who boarded with Carleyn showed it to him, and 
 he managed to copy them for himself; he' was delighted to 
 find the name of that little pale girl at the hospital. The 
 original copy of the verse was in the same handwriting of 
 those beautiful lines he had found folded in the Hyperion 
 belonging to Florence Elliott, to whose fair hand he had 
 attributed the writing of the poetry. He understood it now 
 Nepenthe had written both. They were the same metre, 
 the same style ; but yet, there might be some mistake : 
 Nepenthe and Florence might write a similar hand, or Ne 
 penthe have copied them for Florence. Florence was too 
 noble to stoop to such an imposition ; he had condemned 
 her rashly and wrongly. There are minds in themselves so 
 noble and honorable it is hard to get them to believe that an 
 apparently high-minded woman would stoop to an ignoble 
 or mean action. He asked the young lady who first showed 
 his friend those verses of Nepenthe Stuart's if she had any 
 more of Miss Stuart's poetry. 
 
 " I have but one other piece," and she showed him an 
 exact duplicate of the copy of verses he had found in the 
 volume of Longfellow's Hyperion which lie borrowed from 
 Florence Elliott. 
 
 He sighed as he said to himself, " Mr. Nicholson will 
 have a very sweet wife ; she sings and plays with great ex 
 pression, and she writes very beautiful poetry ; and now I 
 wonder who that tall, elegantly dressed, hollow eyed woman 
 was .1 met at that reception. She seemed to know all about 
 Nepenthe Stuart, for she spoke so positively of her being 
 soon the wife of Mr. Nicholson. That woman must have 
 been handsome once ; her eyes are radiantly bright, yet 
 fearfully hollow. Yet it is a queer place for Mr. Nichol 
 son's expectant bride, in the School of Design. One would 
 think his wife need to perfect herself no more in any branch 
 of science or art. She knows a great deal too much for him 
 already." 
 
 After this, Carleyn and Florence were often seen together. 
 He was becoming one of the first artists in the city. He
 
 NEPENTHE. 267 
 
 was young, good, gifted, handsome, graceful and accom 
 plished. Everybody thought he was engaged to Florence 
 Elliott, and many said what a beautiful wife for an artist. 
 He could model his ideals from her. 
 
 Mrs. Elliott, though a very fine looking woman, began to 
 look worn and worried ; something troubled her. She had 
 frequent and long consultations with Mr. Trap, from which 
 she came out with a heavier cloud on her brow than ever. 
 She would sit by herself, silently thinking, for days, as if in 
 a deep, troubled reverie. Ever since Nepenthe's mysteri 
 ous disappearance, she had been anxious and uneasy ; while 
 Florence, who neither knew nor shared her mother's troubles, 
 was delighted that the girl was out of her sight. Mrs. 
 Elliott would have given much to have found out where 
 Nepenthe had gone. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI V. 
 
 THE NEW PRIVATE IN COMPANY G. 
 
 " For when we may not dp, then will we speken, 
 And in our ashen colde is fire yreken." CHAUCER. 
 
 WHEN I see a head of beautiful curls, I am apt to think 
 they adorn some plain face, for I have seen so many ordin 
 ary looking girls whose hair curls splendidly, as the school 
 girls say, but there never was any curl in Charit}' Gouge's 
 hair ; nobody ever suspected such a thing, nor do I suppose 
 that was the reason of her plainness. But she never tried 
 to cuil it ; she said " Let well enough alone," when Mr. 
 Vole mischievously asked her one day " Why she never 
 curled her hair." He always liked to see brown hair curled 
 wavy and brown ought always to go together. 
 
 But " something must be going to happen/' Mr. Vole 
 said, " for Miss Charity was really trying to educate some 
 curls." True enough ; she had her hair done up in papers 
 for three days, and that was the reason her meals were sent 
 up to her room. Mr. Vole f>und it out some way. 
 
 " I wonder when we are to see those curls," said he to 
 himself one evening. " Miss Charity must be going to 
 'have a companion.'" That was the phrase she always 
 used when she spoke of any of her friends marrying.
 
 268 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Wednesday morning the curls were all right thirty-two 
 of them, long, smooth and glossy. She had brushed and 
 combed, pomaded and fussed, twirled over her fingers, then 
 rolled them over a stick ; they were real bona fide curls, and 
 so she came down to the breakfast table. I thought Mr. 
 Vole would nearly crush one of Kate Howard's little fairy 
 feet he kept stepping on her toes and looking so express 
 ively. " Good morning, Miss Gouge ; and how do you this 
 morning ?" said he. " Have you been ill ? You look VERY 
 well this morning." 
 
 Kate Howard was almost convulsed with laughter. She 
 stuffed her kandkerchief in her mouth, and kept wiping her 
 face with her napkin, and fidgetted in her chair, and tried 
 to become absorbed in a dignified conversation with old 
 Mrs. Vole, who sat the other side of her. Mr. V\>le stepped 
 on her toes again just as she was getting respectably straight, 
 and whispered in a low tone, " I guess Miss Charity is go 
 ing to have her vignette taken." 
 
 Miss Charity went out quite soon after breakfast. Mr. 
 Vole stood by the window with Kate Howard, who was 
 scolding him for making her laugh so. She should have to 
 change her seat at table. As Charity went out Mr. Vole 
 said, " Miss Gouge always walks as if she was afraid she 
 would be too late for the cars or as if she had some im 
 portant business to transact immediately. Did you see that 
 new green velvet waist ? and all that display of jewelry ? 
 Won't she make a picture ? Did you ever see such a nose ? 
 Thin at the top, as if there wasn't flesh enough to cover the 
 bones, and the end is large and rather fleshy ; the olfactory 
 commencement is dearth, and the end superfluity." 
 
 " She has such cold, clear, staring grey eyes," said Kate, 
 " I feel, when she looks at me, as if I were being dissected, 
 body and soul, as if I ought to be wicked, if I ain't." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Vole, " she has scalpel eyes, as if she 
 could take you all apart and put you together again a great 
 deal better than you were before. The mouth is cold, criti 
 cal, gossippy ; it always looks as if it wanted to say ' what's 
 the news ?' and the chin is sharp enough to cut window 
 glass with." 
 
 Mr. Vole was more than half right. Charity had gone to 
 sit for her picture. She had made an appointment with the 
 artist Carleyn. She wanted to be taken in a cloud, and yet
 
 NEPENTHE. 269 
 
 she wanted the green waist to show. Perhaps Carleyn 
 could compromise the matter, and show a little of the clouds 
 and some of the green, too. Mr. Vole thought it too bad to 
 Gouge out a cloud so. 
 
 Quite tired and out of breath, Miss Charity climbed the 
 stairs and reached Carleyn's door. She paused a moment 
 to adjust her curls, smooth down the folds of her green 
 dress, and arrange the corners of her mouth and droop her 
 eyelids a little ; then she knocked gently, but the response 
 was only an ominous silence. Carleyn had actually gone ; 
 the studio was closed. 
 
 If anybody said, did, or looked anything that Miss Char 
 ity didn't like, or with which she didn't agree, she called it 
 insulting her. It was a queer construction of the word. 
 " How did Mr. Carleyn dare to insult me so ?" said she, an 
 grily, " as to go off without fulfilling his appointment." 
 
 If you would think Miss Charity's eyes sharp and critical 
 when in a serene state, what would you think to see her an 
 gry ? They had a stab you, shoot you, knock you down 
 look, and her voice was a combination of sharp steel and 
 loud thunder. It was enough to make a quiet gentleman 
 tremble and a timid woman shiver ; but she often said, " I 
 don't want to be amiable. I don't like amiable people. 
 Carleyn is treacherous and perfidious. With all his cat-like 
 softness of manner, he is really a hypocrite," said she, in 
 dignantly. 
 
 How she wished there was somebody there she could 
 scold ! She had flattered herself that her portrait would be 
 hung in a conspicuous place at the next exhibition of the 
 Academy of Design perhaps in the very spot where this 
 year had hung that wonderful Nepenthe, which had so be 
 witched everybody, and about which the critics never would 
 get tired of talking. Then those curls that three days' 
 tribulation were all for nothing ! 
 
 Carleyn had gone, and so suddenly, that few knew where 
 Some great emergency must have called him peremptorily 
 from his beloved easel. 
 
 The next week, as Prudence Potter stood in the post- 
 office, waiting for a stamp to put on her letter, a gentleman 
 by her side dropped a letter he was just about to hand to 
 the clerk to mail that morning. Prudence picked it up, and
 
 270 NEPENTHE. 
 
 somehow managed to read the superscription she had on 
 her new spectacles it read thus : 
 
 FRANK CARLEYN, 
 
 Company Gr, Regiment, 
 
 New York S. M. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 AMONG THE MISSING. 
 
 " Theirs not to make reply, 
 Theirs not to reason why. 
 Theirs but to do and die, 
 Into the valley of Death 
 Rode the Six Hundred." 
 
 IT was just six months on the 15th, since Charity Gouge 
 found Carleyn's studio closed. 
 
 On that evening, had you passed hy Mrs. Edwards' 
 boarding house about eight o'clock, you might have seen her 
 standing at the door. 
 
 " I am so tired," said she, as she rang the bell, " I 
 couldn't walk another step, but this has been one of the 
 happiest days of my life. I havn't thought one moment 
 since morning of Mr. Edwards or boarders either," as she 
 eat down completely exhausted on her doorstep waiting for 
 Bridget, who was unusually tardy in coming to the door. 
 
 " Bridget and Margaret are both out," said Miss Kate 
 Howard, as she opened the door. " Why, Mrs. Edwards, 
 how tired you look ! Come in and lie down on the sofa, and 
 let me take your bonnet and shawl up stairs." 
 
 " I am tired/' said Mrs. Edwards. " I never ate a mouth 
 ful of breakfast, I went off in such a hurry. I lay awake all 
 last night thinking of those poor sick soldiers. There they 
 were, more than two days on the bare floor without any beds 
 or covering, and I don't know how many hours they went 
 without food. But what could I do, with my hands full, and 
 my boarders, and so many things to pay all the time, butter 
 thirty cents a pound, and sugar so high, and nobody to take 
 care of me if I get sick and helpless ? Prudence Potter
 
 NEPENTHE. 271 
 
 says I had better let the soldiers alone, and let the rich 
 people take care of them. But I don't believe the world's 
 going to be all taken care of by rich people, but I didn't 
 know as I ought to go ; but just as plain as I can hear my 
 clock strike, did those words come to me in the night over 
 and over that text of that self-denial sermon I heard once, 
 ' Withhold not good from any one to whom it is due, when 
 it is in the power of thine hand to do it,' and this morning I 
 knew that I ought to go. 
 
 " As I said, I didn't eat a mouthful of breakfast, You 
 know I meant to take a great pail of boiled custard to those 
 poor fellows. T wouldn't make it of grocery milk, and I 
 thought our milkman never would come, I never knew him 
 so late. I was in a great hurry to cool the custard, so I put 
 the warm pail right on the ice. I never was such a goose 
 before, and of course the pail soon slipped off, and I lost al 
 most all my custard in the bottom of the refrigerator. I de 
 clare I could have had a good cry about it ; so I took the 
 little milk I had left and made more custard, and only had 
 three pint? when I might have had at least three quarts. I 
 took some sandwiches made of those raised biscuits and that 
 nice roast beef. 
 
 " I was glad I took that bag of lint, they needed it so 
 much. 
 
 " All the time I get I mean to scrape lint, or knit stock 
 ings, but not of that horrid coarse yarn. I should think it 
 would take the skin off their feet, if they are like the feet 
 of other men. I am not going to make any more tulip quilts 
 or embroider any more bands. While these poor fellows 
 suffer so, it isn't right to spend any time or money either on 
 tilings we can do without. 
 
 " I went through all the wards and talked with nearly 
 every man. There were old and young some educated 
 and some ignorant ; some as fine looking and gentlemanly- 
 looking men as you'd meet anywhere. 
 
 " I feel so sorry for some of them I don't think I can 
 sleep to-night. If I could only have given one of my bis 
 cuits to every man there. As I had had no breakfast, I 
 saved out one biscuit to eat myself about noon but one 
 poor half-starved looking ma i, with wistful eyes and emaci 
 ated hands, asked me if I couldn't give him a biscuit so I 
 gave it, and I havn't eaten anything.
 
 272 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " I took along some butter, and was glad of it, there were 
 BO many poor fellows at dinner time sitting up in their beds 
 eating a piece of dry toast, without anything on it or with 
 it. They havn't had any butter, and hardly any tea or fresh 
 meat. 
 
 " Mother Government may be a very good and kind mo 
 ther, and provide every thing, but somehow her boys don't 
 get it. 
 
 " If one of those gentlemen were sick at home, they'd 
 have to have every thing just so the sheets just so white, 
 smooth and clean, the room perfectly still, and every possi 
 ble delicacy, care and attention given them. A man is 
 three times the oare of a woman when he is sick and more 
 depends upon good care, good nursing and good food, than 
 upon medicine." 
 
 " It is too bad," said Kate, " when a man is sick, he 
 can't be home and be taken care of." 
 
 " They won't let them go home," said Mrs. Edwards, 
 " until they think they are going to die, and then they keep 
 them drooping and dying about three weeks, waiting for 
 some permission or some kind of paper to go to Washington 
 and come back. By the time the paper is exactly right, the 
 poor fellows are too far gone to be sent home. If they are 
 sent, they die on the way, and it isn't the war that's killed 
 them it is the hospital." 
 
 " I believe after a while one of the privates won't be al 
 lowed to sneeze without sending toWashington for permis 
 sion. I'd rather trust a brother of mine on the battle field, 
 than have him languishing in a crowded, cheerless hospital. 
 I met Charity Gouge to-day. She was in deep mourning, 
 poor thing. Her only brother was killed in the battle ot" 
 Fredericksburg. I did feel sorry for her, she almost wor 
 shipped her brother. He was a noble fellow, and there 
 wasn't a bit of Gouge about him. The Gouges are a queer, 
 miserly set. and nobody likes them. 
 
 " I don't think Charity can help being disagreeable. Poor 
 thing, it will be some time before she wears those elegant 
 green dresses." 
 
 " I wanted some milk porridge," continued Mrs. Ed 
 wards, " for those diarrhea patients. They needed some 
 thing beside dry toast and strong coffee so I went out 
 about noon to beg, borrow or buy a little milk. I walked
 
 NEPENTHE. 273 
 
 all around the place, and after two hours' trying, got about 
 two quarts. Nobody offered to let me make it at their 
 houses, and all looked at me as if I was begging cold vic 
 tuals or old clothes for myself. 
 
 " One wealthy lady, with three servants and an elegant 
 house, told me I could probably make some at Mrs. 
 McB ride's. 
 
 " Mrs. McBride was an Irish woman who lived a little 
 way off, and I could tell her Mrs. Exclusin told me to go 
 there. 
 
 " I did go to Mrs. McBride's, and though she was an 
 Irish woman, and poor, with no servant, and five small chil 
 dren, her heart was larger than Mrs. Exclusin's grand 
 house. She gave me flour and salt, and cleaned her only 
 little iron kettle for me to make it in. 
 
 " I never shall forget Mrs. McBride, and if one of her 
 bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked boys ever lives to be in a hospi 
 tal, I know he'll be taken care of. I am sure kindness to 
 the sick is rewarded in this life, and," continued Mrs. Ed 
 wards, " the men couldn't have looked more delighted or 
 grateful for a cup of nectar or ambrosia wreathed with dia 
 monds and pearls, than they seemed with that one saucer of 
 milk porridge. They ate like hungry children, though 
 hardly strong enough to raise the spoon to their lips. If I 
 could have had fifty quarts instead of two ! 
 
 " If these men had staid at home they might earn enough 
 to keep them in luxury. It is cruel to starve and stint them 
 so. Some had six months' pay owing to them, and couldn't 
 buy a pint of milk if they wanted it, for they hadn't a cent 
 in their pockets. When they were near Carlisle, they paid 
 a dollar or a dollar and a half for every loaf of bread they 
 had, so it didn't take long at that rate to exhaust what little 
 money they took with them into the army. 
 
 " As I was distributing peaches to the men who were al 
 lowed to eat them, one poor fellow who stood up near me, 
 with a big shawl around his shoulder, held out his hand for 
 a peach. As he took it, I saw gleaming out from under the 
 shawl, a heavy iron chain binding his hands together. It 
 frightened me a little. I didn't know but the man had been 
 doing something criminal, till one of the men told me he had 
 brain fever and was insane. Poor fellow ! he was the finest 
 looking man there. Not letting him see that I noticed tho
 
 274 NEPENTHE. 
 
 chains, which he evidently tried to conceal under the shawl, 
 I gave him another peach and stood still and let him talk. 
 He of course was allowed to say what he chose, not being 
 held responsible for his words, yet there was a good deal of 
 method in his madness. 
 
 " I gave the men little packages of loaf sugar to keep 
 by them and use in their tea when they had tea. I gave 
 him a package and turned to leave. I looked around and 
 saw him with the paper open in his hand, eating up the 
 sugar. 
 
 " Why," said I, " do you like sugar ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, and I havn't seen any in a year before. 
 They think we privates have no souls. The doctor says 
 I ought to have fresh meat every day, and I havn't had any 
 for a week. And this coffee I can't drink coffee it goes 
 to my head so " Just then he coughed. " Last night I 
 caught cold, as there was a window pane out close by the 
 head of my bed, and when I was asleep it rained in, and the 
 sheets and bed got very wet. I'd rather die than be here 
 in this place and look at all these sick people ; why," he 
 added in a whisper, " they are most all of them crazy. 
 But do you know there's going to be a battle to-day ?" and 
 ho shivered, " the rebels are here, and I must go and shoot 
 them, but don't put me in the Chickahominy swamps again, 
 it makes me shake so." 
 
 " That man is going to rave, lead him out," said the or 
 derly to two of the nurses. They were inexperienced young 
 men, members of the same regiment. 
 
 " Who is this insane man ?" I asked. 
 
 " His name is Curleyn, and he has been unused to exer 
 tion or fatigue. I don't believe when he enlisted he was 
 strong enough to march with his knapsack as far as the fer 
 ry. Once, after having only one hard tack to eat, he march 
 ed thirty-five miles in one day, and he fell exhausted three 
 times in that day's march." 
 
 " ' I wish I had a lemon, my tongue is so dry,' said a 
 corpse-like looking man, on the cot bed just in front of where 
 I stood.' 
 
 " ' Can't you give that man a lemon ?" said I to the order 
 ly, ' it won't hurt him it may do him good.' 
 
 " ' Nothing will do him good the man is going to die, any 
 how,' said the orderly.
 
 NEPENTHE. 275 
 
 " ' Do give him one, sir,' said I, ' it may be of some com 
 fort to him.' 
 
 " ' I will, to gratify you, madam,' he replied, in a civil, 
 but very cool tone, as he went off and came back with a lemon. 
 
 " The poor man looked so glad to get that one lemon. It 
 was the last attention his poor worn out body required. 
 
 " I looked back once more, to see the young boy, only 
 seventeen, on the cot just by the door. He was ill with 
 lung fever. My heart ached for him. I promised him some 
 chicken tea next time I came, as T put the three peaches I 
 had left in his hat by the side of the bed. He is my Ben 
 jamin. Somebody ought to pet him, thought I, as I looked 
 at his clear, mild blue eye, and saw the patient smile on his 
 lips. 
 
 " Six months more, and some of those men were back to 
 their regiments, some had died. The poor man who was so 
 anxi Us to have the lemon, died the next morning after I 
 saw him. 
 
 " But this hospital," added Mrs. Edwards, " isn't a type 
 of them all. It is one of those improvised hospitals, so de 
 ficient in comfort, system, and convenience." 
 
 Kate Howard reads in an evening paper a report from the 
 last battle field. Among the missing are the names 
 
 RICHARD DOUGLASS, 
 FREDERICK HOWARD, 
 FRANK CARLEYN. 
 
 Among the six hundred who were sent on in advance to 
 make that perilous and almost hopeless attack, poor Freder 
 ick Howard was not missing, as the evening paper said. 
 In the Morning Herald he was reported killed. He was 
 Kate's only brother. Among the remnant of that noble com 
 pany, he never came back. 
 
 " Cannon to right of them, 
 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 
 Cannon behind them 
 Volleyed and thundered ; 
 
 Stormed at with shot and shell, 
 
 While horse and hero fell ; 
 
 They that had fought so well 
 
 Came through the jaws of hell, 
 
 All that was loft of them, 
 Left of six hundred.
 
 276 NEPENTHE. 
 
 When can their glory fade? 
 O the wild charge they made 
 
 All the world wondered ! 
 Honor the charge they made, 
 
 Noble six hundred." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 BACONIAN PHILOSOPHY ILLUSTRATED IN A LITERAL WAY. 
 
 " The heart the heart that's truly blest, 
 
 Is never all its own; 
 No ray of glory lights the breast 
 That beats for self alone. 
 
 And though it throb at gentlest touch, 
 
 Or sorrow's faintest call, 
 'Twere better it should ache too much, 
 
 Than never ache at all." 
 
 " Through passionate duty love flames higher, 
 
 As grass grows taller round a stone." PATMORE. 
 
 WINTER and Spring passed slowly with Nepenthe, but 
 midsummer came at last. There was a vacation in the School 
 of Design, and she went in the country to spend a few weeks. 
 She travelled over the same journey along which she once 
 rode under Carleyn's protection. The mountains, the bridge, 
 the river, Mrs. Titus' house, looked so familiar, and there 
 was Levi Longman, as large as life, standing in front of Mrs. 
 Titus' door. Hard, cold, cast-iron features like his, seldom 
 change. There was no wear and tear of feeling or sympa 
 thies in his case. His broadcloth was of one long-established 
 fit, bidding defiance to elegance or taste. Still he taught 
 the young ideas in Titusville how to shoot, and to shoot up 
 straight, without branching out in any centrifugal or fanciful 
 direction. His circles of thought and instruction were all 
 square he couldn't make anything, either of solid reason 
 I or solid wood, without having a line and angle in it some 
 where. He was a character. If you could see him walk 
 only across the street, you would never forget that striding, 
 straight-forward, angular walk. His motions were all angles. 
 If there was a line of beauty, he always moved in right 
 angles to it. 
 
 And there was Mrs. Titus, sitting in her little front win 
 dow, looking out as usual for the coming stage.
 
 NEPENTHE. 277 
 
 Nepenthe soon became domesticated with a pleasant fam 
 ily, and was really attached to the children belonging to it. 
 There was one, the youngest, pet and darling of the house 
 hold, always bringing her bunches of clover, dandelions, 
 ribbon grass, cowslips and buttercups. 
 
 One day, as she sat sewing in her room, she heard the 
 voices of some young girls talking merrily in the adjoining 
 room. One of them had evidently been visiting the city, 
 and her companions were asking her questions about the 
 news and the fashions. It was a lively chat among light- 
 hearted girls. 
 
 " Did you hear anything, Nellie," said one of the oldest, 
 " about that young artist, Carleyn, who took Ernest Titus' 
 portrait ?" 
 
 " Hear anything ! I guess I did. Every body was talk 
 ing about him. But, girls, you needn't set your caps for 
 him any longer. You had better let your minds get consoli 
 dated down, as Miss Prudence Potter used to say when we 
 curled our hair for some party, or begged her to let us go 
 off sleigh-riding with the boys. You must hang up your 
 harps and walk on the bridge of sighs, for they say he is 
 going to be married soon to Miss Elliott, a great belle in the 
 city Miss Florence Elliott. 
 
 " I saw her at the opera one night, in one of the private 
 boxes. She had on an ermine opera cloak, a white hat and 
 feathers. She was elegantly dressed, but somehow I 
 shouldn't think of marrying her if I were a man. She 
 looked so haughty and proud, as if the air ought to be sifted 
 for her special breathing. But it is a generally understood 
 thing. She is certainly very much in love with him. I 
 went out a great deal while 1 was in the city. I was only 
 there ten days, and Jane says she thinks I saw more and 
 went around more in that time than she does in a whole 
 year. People who live in the city think they can go around 
 to see the stars and lions any time ; so some of them go very 
 seldom. But we country folks do up everything in a week, 
 and it is pretty hard work, being out so late every night. 
 
 " I went to one wedding reception. Florence Elliott was 
 there, dressed in white satin trimmed with point lace, with 
 white natural flowers in her hair. There was a great crowd 
 there. There were a thousand invitations. There were 
 three ushers every thing in style. I never saw such a
 
 278 NEPENTHE. 
 
 profusion of flowers. There were flowers in every possible 
 place, recesses, niches, or tables. I lost my aunt once in 
 the crowd. As I was a stranger, I felt awkward, and stepped 
 back in a recess behind some curtains to look at some flow 
 ers. Hearing low voices near, I looked around, and I could 
 see Florence Elliott, and hear her talking very earnestly in 
 the conservatory. She had some violets in her hand.. I 
 heard a gentleman I suppose it was Mr. Carleyn say to 
 her in a low tone, with earnest manner, 'I have come to 
 urge you to fulfil the promise you half made me yesterday.' 
 My aunt came for me just then, and introduced me to a 
 Miss Kate Howard, a very lively young lady. But I am 
 sure of one thing- -Florence Elliott is completely fascinated 
 with Carleyn. I passed her with the same gentleman once 
 after that in the crowd, when he seemed to be inquiring 
 about some absent j erson. I heard her say, ' I don't know 
 where she is staying now. I believe she has left town. I 
 suppose you know she is engaged to Mr. William Nicholson. 
 I am sorry for her sake that she has such a very unhappy 
 temper. We took some interest in her, because she was 
 poor. She will do very well to marry him. Nepenthe is a 
 girl of quite good natural capabilities, considering her ori 
 gin ;' and then, as she said this, she flirted her fan with such 
 a queenly air, and coquettishly twirled her bouquet. 
 
 " I saw her once before, a year ago, at the Academy of 
 Design. She was beautiful then she is more beautiful 
 now. Her complexion is clearer and brighter, her form 
 more full, and her voice sweeter. It seems as if a beauti 
 ful soul must dwell in so fair a temple. But she'll never 
 make Carleyn happy. 
 
 " When I was at school four years ago in the city, she was 
 there too. I was one of the small fry, and of course of no 
 account but then I had my favorites among the big girls, 
 as we used to call them. At school she was selfish, impe 
 rious, domineering, extremely overbearing to all those she 
 thought not rich enough to move in her set. She had to be 
 the leading one in all the charades, tableaux and private 
 theatricals, or she would take no part. She was in a perfect 
 rage once, because in one of the dramatic readings the part 
 of Portia was not assigned to her. No man can ever chauge 
 her. But where do we see a couple with both equally- 
 agreeable ? Refined men of real genius and real worth are
 
 NEPENTHE. 279 
 
 apt to get haughty and unamiable wives. But it must be 
 her beauty suits his artistic taste. I should think he of all 
 men would admire a beautiful face." 
 
 Just then Mr. Titus came in with some large bundles in 
 his arms. 
 
 " I saw an old New York paper to-day, Eliza," said he, 
 to Mrs. Titus, " and I happened to read the marriages, and 
 the very first one I read was Frank Carleyn's." 
 
 Mrs. Titus actually dropped the bread she was toasting, 
 dropped it into the fire, as she exclaimed, " Are you sure, 
 Timothy ? And who has he married ?'' 
 
 " I think it was a Miss Ellet, or something like that." 
 
 " Ellet no," said Mrs. Titus. " Wasn't it Elliott ? The 
 girls were talking to-day about his paying some attention to 
 a Miss Elliott. It must be she." 
 
 " Perhaps it was," said Timothy, " but I think it was 
 Ellet. Any how it was Carleyn Frank Carleyn. I'm sure 
 his name was plain enough ; the lady I'm not so sure of I 
 never heard her name before." 
 
 " No matter what her other name was, she has a better 
 one now, and I hope she deserves it," said Mrs. Titus ; "she 
 is a very happy woman to get him. I never shall forget 
 how feeling he was when Ernest died. If he should go to 
 housekeeping, wouldn't I like to send him some of my nice 
 cream, and some of the big blackberries you get on the 
 mountain, Timothy." 
 
 ' And some of our nice Lawtons too," added Timothy. 
 
 " You must be mistaken, Nellie, about seeing Mr. Frank 
 Carleyn at that reception in the city," said Kate Lamont. 
 " I am sure Mr. Carleyn joined the army more than a year 
 ago. He may have married Miss Elliott before he went, 
 but he couldn't have been in the city when you were there, 
 for it was just about that time I read his name in the Times 
 among the ' missing,' and this morning there's a Frank Car 
 leyn, company G, reported ' killed.' It may have been 
 some other Carleyn you saw at the reception. I think there 
 is a Mr. Charles Carleyn in the city. He may be a cousin 
 of Frank's." 
 
 Nepenthe felt as if her soul had been stunned and para 
 lyzed by some great earthquake. Her heart stood still. She 
 couldn't move to close her door without being observed, so 
 she sat still.
 
 280 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " O," said Mrs. Titus, " don't say Mr. Carleyn is killed. 
 I won't believe it until I have to. If he had been a good 
 for nothing drunkard, whom nobody wanted, and nobody 
 needed, he'd gone through a dozen battles and come back 
 alive, without having one hair of his useless head injured ; 
 but men whose lives are worth hundreds of others, a bless 
 ing to everybody, must always be among the missing or 
 killed ;" and Mrs. Titus could say no more, for she burst 
 into a fit of sobbing. 
 
 Just then one of the little girls came in with a bunch of 
 fresh flowers, and laid them on Nepenthe's lap columbines, 
 anemones, and evening primroses. " Desertion, forsaken, 
 inconstancy," thought Nepenthe, as she took the flowers, 
 whose language was only an echo of the language of her 
 heart, which was beating violently. 
 
 " Do come and play with us, Miss Nepenthe," said the 
 child, pulling her dress, " only just a little while," she 
 eagerly added, as she saw Nepenthe about to shake her head 
 and say, " Some other time." 
 
 " Do come, just this once !" said the child, and Nepenthe 
 went out into the little shaded yard at the side of the house, 
 where a group of children were playing under the apple 
 trees : 
 
 " I'm waiting for a partner, 
 I'm waiting for a partner ; 
 So open the ring, and let her in, 
 And kiss her when you get her in." 
 
 As Nepenthe joined the ring, the children went round 
 and round in merry glee. Nepenthe's eyes were fixed on 
 the ground. Her thoughts were at hard sober work, while 
 she was playing with the light-hearted children. She did 
 not notice that some one had slipped up from behind, and 
 joined the ring, until she heard some one from the middle 
 of the circle, in a familiar, manly voice, singing, 
 
 " I'm waiting for a partner, 
 I'm waiting for a partner ;" 
 
 and in one moment Frank Carleyn seized and impris' 
 oued both of her hands, and drew her within the circle, and 
 kissed her, to the great delight of the children at seeing big 
 people joining so heartily in their play. He looked pale, 
 more shadowy and spirituelle than ever but it was Carleyn 
 still.
 
 NEPENTHE. 281 
 
 Just then a big wagon drove up to the door, and this was 
 the signal for the little folks to pile in, as they were going 
 off whortle-berrying. They all went but two little ones, 
 who sat down on the door step to read over aloud the stories 
 of the Man in the Bramble-bush, Blue Beard, and Jack the 
 Giant Killer. 
 
 " Blue Beard," said Carleyn to Nepenthe, taking the 
 book from the child and looking over the pictures, " was one 
 of the first stories I read. After that, I can remember how 
 we children huddled together around the hearth, listening 
 at nightfall to tales of robbers, ghosts and murders, till we 
 were afraid to stir, lest in some dark closet, or lonely cham 
 ber, we might meet a robber's eye, or see a murderer's 
 hand. How the shadow of something on the wall of the 
 dimly lighted chamber assumed dark and terrible shapes, 
 and we drew the sheet close over our eyes and fell asleep, 
 to dream of pale ghosts and midnight robbers. The self 
 same chill creeps over me still, at the thought of those 
 bloody deeds we then in faney witnessed. Blue Beard 
 seems even now a half reality, and the hero of the bramble- 
 bush, who performed in so brief a space the wondrous feat 
 of losing and winning his eyes, is something in my fancy, 
 even now, half real, half fabulous. 
 
 " It is strange how the thing we really believed true in 
 our childhood, and we really saw in fancy, keeps still in our 
 minds as a kind of fact. These first pictures of t.he youthful 
 imagination were actually carved and stained on the walls of 
 the heart, to which all after pictures seem fancy sketches, 
 or like handbills posted up new every day, to be torn down 
 to-morrow at leisure by sober reason. The early toy-books 
 are the old masters, whose pictures longest hang in the gal 
 lery of the soul, and every holiday we brush off the dust of 
 years, and find them bright still." 
 
 " Santa Glaus will always seem to me like something 
 real," said Nepenthe. 
 
 " Yes," said Carleyn, " he was an immortal, ever welcome 
 hero in the land of my childhood. We exile him in after 
 years from the land of facts, yet still is his portrait hung in 
 fast colors by the heart's fire-side. Like the wandering Jew, 
 We still see his imaginary form each Christmas morning, as 
 we hear the rattle of miniature drums, and the clang of lilli- 
 putian trumpets. Siubad the Sailor has started floating
 
 252 NEPENTHE. 
 
 masts and swelling sails across the sea of many a young 
 imagination." 
 
 " Yes," said Nepenthe, " and the Children of the Abbey 
 has waked a good deal of romance in many a young girl's 
 head ; and that illustrious Man of the Moon, so talked about 
 in childhood, whose jagged eyebrows I actually saw when a 
 child, is still a real picture in my mind. I often see him 
 glaring ominously over my left shoulder, some lonely even 
 ings." 
 
 " And poor unlucky Friday," said Carleyn, " is still to 
 many, not good, but bad Friday and I myself, I will own 
 it, would a little rather commence a journey on some other 
 day, although the journey I once took on a Friday in a thun 
 der-storm, ended very pleasantly after all. I often think," 
 said he, " I'd like to be a child again, and live once more in 
 that realm lit up with Aladdin's lamp, so wondrous wise witL 
 mysteries and haunted by fairies, who kept our thoughts 
 like little Micawbers, always waiting for something to turn 
 up. But," said he, looking up at the western sky, " we are 
 going to have a beautiful sunset. Let us take a ramble over 
 the fields and then down the lane, where there is a fine echo, 
 and in an hour or two we can see the sun set over the water. 
 There are a great many bright things in the world for grown 
 up people to enjoy. We have our ideals still." 
 
 " But we never find our ideals, say many practical expe 
 rienced people,'' said Nepenthe. 
 
 " That is not true," said Carleyn. " I'll show you mine, 
 some time." 
 
 They rambled half an hour, and at last they came to an 
 old well, deep and moss-grown, under a beautiful chestnut 
 tree. 
 
 " The philosopher says we can find truth at the bottom of 
 a deep well," said Carleyn. " Look down, Miss Nepenthe, 
 and see how deep this well is." 
 
 As she bent over and looked down the well, " See," said 
 Carlyn, as he looked over her shoulder, " there there is 
 my ideal, reflected in the bottom of the well ; and my ideal 
 is truth itself. I hope it will never vanish away and leave 
 me, as children's ideals do." 
 
 He drew her away from the well, and they sat down un 
 der the tree. As he went on twining a wreath of oak leaves, 
 he said, " There is another well of affection in the bottom
 
 NEPENTHE. 283 
 
 of my heart, where I see reflected the imago of my ideal. 
 Whenever I look down into my heart, I see the shadow of 
 that beautiful image. I wish I could draw it" 
 
 " Here they are ! hero they are! we've found them at 
 last," screamed a group of noisy children, hurrying to the 
 old well all out of breath, with baskets and pails full of ber 
 ries. 
 
 " See, see, Miss Nepenthe, how many I've got," said the 
 foremost one ; " and these are for you," she added, handing 
 a cup made of two leaves filled with berries to Nepenthe ; 
 " and these are for you, Mr. Carleyn," said Mrs. Titus' or 
 phan niece, handing him a basketful. 
 
 I wonder if the simple-hearted children really though! 
 Nepenthe's brimming eyes and blushing cheeks and brigh' 
 smiles were caused by her excessive joy at the sudden sight 
 of so many unexpected berries. Certainly her eyes never 
 had such light before ; the dawn of happiness was coming 
 to her soul ; she walked on home with Frank Carleyn and 
 the children, who were tired enough for once to walk as 
 slowly as older people. 
 
 The wreath of oak-leaves was twined around Nepenthe's 
 oloomer. That night, by moonlight, Carleyn showed Nepen 
 the the depths of his warm heart he finished the sentence 
 so unceremoniously interrupted he asked her at last the 
 one question in love's short catechism, and we leave her to 
 say what you, fair reader, would say under such exciting 
 circumstances, and the best wish we can make fur you, fair 
 and gentle as you may be, is that some time some noble- 
 gifted and good man may ask you the same question Carleyn 
 did Nepenthe, that you may give the same short answer, and 
 have as sweet, bright dreams on your pillow that night, and 
 he find in your image ever after this ideal of U'uth, when he 
 looks into the clear depths of his manly heart. 
 
 Not until Nepenthe became his wife, did she reveal to 
 Frank how his image had so long been imprinted within her 
 heart, and that she was the little pale girl at the hospital, 
 on whose pillow, years ago, he had lain those beautiful flow 
 ers. And now to her, life seemed pillowed with flowers, 
 the air never before so fragrant. Little buds were opening 
 down in her heart, so fresh and green, after that sad shower 
 of hopeless tears, such a rainbow spanned her soul. And 
 that promise of Frank's, to love, cherish and protect, was a
 
 284 NEPENTHE. 
 
 sure pledge that while he lived the fountain of sorrow should 
 never more quite orerflow the springs of happiness. While 
 she nestled quietly in the ark of his strong manly heart, she 
 eould outride with him life's roughest tempest and highest 
 billo\v. 
 
 I forgot to tell you, reader, that Frank Carleyn had a cou 
 sin killed in battle, of the same name as himself, and a 
 great many people thought for weeks it was our artist friend ; 
 but he was in the hospital for several weeks, very ill with 
 that frightful brain fever, of which as yet he has said no 
 thing to Nepenthe ; and then, too, he was taken prisoner, 
 after lying on the field wounded, two whole days, without 
 food. It was there Kate Howard read his name in the even 
 ing paper : 
 
 " Private Frank Carleyn, missing." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 CARLEYN'S IDEAL. 
 
 How wise in all she ought to know, 
 How ignorant of all beside ! 
 
 THE ANGEL OP THE HODSE. 
 
 If thou HA.ST something, bring thy goods, a fair return be thine, 
 If thou AKT something, bring thy soul and interchange with mine. 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 Is she rich, young, handsome, and highly connected ? 
 
 " Important questions truly," said Carleyn. 
 
 " Were you appointed a committee of investigation, you 
 might return with a decided negative to them all and they 
 are questions I cannot answer with monosyllables. I know, 
 Mr. Selwyn, you are not actuated by mere idle curiosity, so 
 I will answer you candidly. She is not rich ; but when I 
 think of her as poor, there comes to my mind that verse in 
 the Bible which I used to hear repeated so often by an old 
 minister ' rich in faith, heirs of the kingdom.' I almost 
 reverence her simple rare beauty and affluent loveliness. 
 
 " She is young, but were she still younger or much older, 
 my admiration and affection could not diminish. Her mind 
 is stored with thoughts, her soul with feelings, rich, deep,
 
 NEPENTHE. 2S5 
 
 exhaustless. No, she is not poor, so highly gifted by Na 
 ture with dower richer than Eastern princess ; without her 
 I am poor, but in her presence earth and air are clothed 
 with radiant beauty. I have found my ideal wife at last, 
 and in the loveliest of frames. 
 
 " I know not how she is connected, and care not to trace 
 her history. I believe, in spite of dark whispers often re 
 peated in my ears, that naught but pure and good ever 
 claimed alliance with such as she. Without caring to inves 
 tigate her earliest history, I am willing to stand by her side 
 and share her destiny, without knowing the fate or history 
 of any who may claim relationship to her. 
 
 " She is lovely, and gifted enough to move with honor 
 and grace in any earthly circle. No position can elevate 
 her. She will elevate every du+y she performs, every posi 
 tion she fills ; and she is fitted to shine hereafter among the 
 spirits of the just made perfect in heaven. 
 
 " It shall be the aim of my life to make her happy. The 
 trials through which she so early passed have given a sub 
 limity and a sacredness to her character which makes me 
 well nigh worship her. She is at an infinite remove from 
 those gay butterfly creatures which haunt watering places 
 and parties. 
 
 " I could not enshrine upon the altar of my heart an im 
 age so decked. 
 
 " The life we live is too brief to spend it with one who 
 has no lofty principle, no truer aim or object in living, than 
 to show and shine, dazzle and attract. 
 
 " Like a flower in a shaded, lone vailey she was lovely 
 and beautiful when alone, neglected and unsought the only 
 woman I have known in society whose aim was not some 
 times, or all the time, effect." 
 
 " If," said Selwyn, " she is the picture hung up in jour 
 heart's studio so long ago, I long to see the lovely counter 
 part." 
 
 " I have not," said Carleyn, " wedded my heart to a hand, 
 a foot, or an eye, but she seems all soul. I know not by 
 what avenue she found the subterranean passage to my heart 
 before I knew it, 1 was surrounded by an influence I 
 could not, would not resist. I have boasted of my insensi 
 bility, but the touch of that little hand thrills my soul, and 
 makes a child, a happy child of me."
 
 286 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " Yes," said he, talking the floor, " I thought once, in 
 deed Miss Elliott herself gave me the impression that Ne 
 penthe was engaged to the wealthy Mr. Nicholson, and then 
 I found out how much I really loved her, and how essential 
 she was to my happiness ; then I found out I could not live 
 without her. Yes," said he, walking back and forth, " she 
 will make me wiser, happier, better." 
 
 " How did you find out that Miss Stuart was not engaged 
 to Mr. Nicholson ?" said Mr. Selwyn, with some curiosity in 
 his manner. 
 
 ' Miss Elliott told me positively that she was," said Car- 
 leyn. " Of course I believed it ; and to strengthen rny be 
 lief in her engagement, some one, (I have no idea who) ac 
 tually caused an opened love-letter, pretended to be written 
 from Mr. Nicholson to Nepenthe to come accidentally in my 
 way. 
 
 " I thought it strange, but supposed the letter a veritable 
 document and authentic, as the writing was certainly like 
 Miss Nepenthe's. But one day I heard Mr. Nicholson 
 muttering angrily to himself something like this that he 
 should never be such a fool as to break his heart for one 
 little woman if she didn't want him he was sure there were 
 as many good fish, &c. Then Mr. Vole told me afterwards, 
 that Nicholson had been refused by somebody, he couldn't 
 find out who, and he was really a little sore about it. He 
 was still surprised that any sensible woman could refuse his 
 great fortune and his well-dressed self. To him it was un 
 accountable. He at first thought the refusal only an evi 
 dence of diffidence, and renewed his offers ; but he had to 
 believe at last that even a portionless girl did not want him 
 for her husband.'' 
 
 " Then you mean to marry her, and give up all the fine 
 chances. There's Florence Elliott, a beauty and an heiress 
 if rumor speak correctly you have already a favorable 
 place in her heart." 
 
 " Florence Elliott is beautiful, radiantly beautiful, but I 
 never feel like clasping her to my heart, or confiding in her. 
 I think of her as a wonderful fine painting, with its great 
 ' sweep of hand and dash,' but not as a being I long to pro 
 tect not as a woman with a gentle, loving heart. I cannot 
 agree with Pope
 
 NEPENTHE. 287 
 
 " If to her share some penal errors fall, 
 
 Look to her face, and you'll forget them all." 
 
 Grace is in her step, but not ' heaven in her eye.' " 
 
 " It would be a good thing for you to marry a rich wife," 
 said Selwyn. 
 
 " In my ideas of marriage," said Mr. Carleyn, "policy 
 has never entered. I am glad I can support a wife. It is 
 a pleasant thought that I can have one being dependent up 
 on me alone for care, protection, and support. 
 
 " In entering the holy estate of matrimony no such sordid 
 considerations should be thought of. There are many mar 
 riages in the world without love. I am romantic enough to 
 marry for love, and I am vain enough to think she will marry 
 me for myself what I really am." 
 
 " How is it, Carleyn," said Selwyn, " that you never act 
 at all conceited never elated with the distinction you have 
 gained as an artist, a distinction very flattering to a young 
 man ?" 
 
 " My mother taught me," said Carleyn, " a long time 
 ago, a maxim she had learned from an old book ' Do all 
 the good you can in the world, and make as little noise about 
 it as possible ;' and then I have in my own mind an ideal 
 so much higher than any standard to which I have attained, 
 that I have no feeling of vanity no inclination to boast : 
 and my heart is so far from reaching its standard of right, 
 its standard of moral worth. I know and feel every day 
 that it is a very good thing to be great, but it is a far great 
 er thing to be good." 
 
 Carleyn writes in his journal that night this sentence 
 " Dim the blaze of science, hush the voice of song, veil the 
 face of sculptured beauty, hide the loveliest embodiment of 
 the artist's ideal, remove all the rarest, choicest, and costli 
 est productions of genius, and the bereaved world would 
 not be half so desolate as if deprived of goodness, lives pure 
 and conscientious, principles of moral worth, deeds of every 
 day piety those silent invisible influences perfect and pe 
 rennial, preserving pure and clear the turbulent fountains 
 of life."
 
 288 NEPENTHE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE HEART AT MIDSUMMER FROM THE LIFE. 
 
 Our great High Priest above, alone, 
 In temple of the heart hath throne ; 
 At inmost holy shrine He bends, 
 In twain the mystic curtain rends. 
 
 WHAT a wonderful thing expression is ! It makes some 
 plain faces beautiful, some beautiful features ugly. Some 
 times a worn and weary pallid face, lit by its strange glory, 
 will wear a saintly, a martyr-like, an angelic glow. 
 
 " I don't like his expression," we say, as we meet some 
 repellent face, with perhaps an Apollo cut of features, and 
 gather up our spiritual garments, and hurry by, as if to es 
 cape some moral contagion, or flee some deadly malaria. 
 
 Have you ever had company, reader, when you couldn't 
 make anybody talk, or sing, or dance, or play ; till you start 
 up at last, suddenly and desperately determined to get up 
 something to entertain them, for there they all sit, with their 
 clean collars and silk dresses, and don't stir or say a word. 
 You try Copenhagen, and Proverbs, and Stage Coach, and at 
 last, to get them thoroughly wide awake, you set them per 
 forming the very graceful original and astonishing evolutions 
 of " Queen Dido is dead." After deciding conclusively by 
 manual, cerebral and pedal logic how she did die, the col 
 lars and silk dresses begin to assume their stiff silence 
 again, and some one, not you, for you are afraid to break the 
 rich repose of your new mahogany and marble some one 
 starts blind man's buff. Chairs fly, bijouterie rattles, tables 
 tremble, and you think you hear a faint sound of creaking 
 rosewood. You at length cunningly maneuvre them into 
 the more sensible and suggestive game of " What is my 
 Thought like ?" which brings out in mirthful flashes the 
 profound erudition and metaphysical acumen of the gay cir 
 cle around you, who can boast, many of them, of sixteen 
 years of girlhood's thoughts.
 
 NEPENTHE. 289 
 
 When the girls are all gone, as you put the chairs up in 
 their old places, all but one poor unfortunate, whose broken 
 back you hide away in the extension, to await its morning's 
 dose of Spalding's marvellous rheumatic glue, you extin 
 guish the lights, and sit and think and wonder. What is 
 thought like ? Thought, Feeling, Expression ! They make 
 up life's world they give us calm sleep, peaceful dreams, 
 or frightful nightmare, and an aching pillow. They can 
 make sweet bitter, and turn twilight's serene rest into mid 
 night's turbulent tempest. 
 
 If I could only have caught and copied the expression on 
 Carleyn's face, as he sat reading in his mother's Bible, this 
 first verse that met his eye as he opened the book. It was 
 marked by her pale hand with a pencil, only a few days be 
 fore she died : " Withhold not good from any to whom it is 
 due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it." It 
 was the text of that self-denial sermon he heard when a boy. 
 It brought back a tide of golden memories. Go where he 
 would, the words still whispered to him their clear, yet im 
 perative echoes. As he read them slowly aloud, there came 
 a look into his face, such as man's face seldom .wears. It 
 was a blending of will and purpose, regret, resignation, no 
 bility, faith and enthusiasm in one single soul-ray for ex 
 pression is only a soul-ray. The face is like a window shut 
 ter in the dark, through which thought's prismatic colors 
 gleam. Sometimes you almost see a faint violet purpling 
 the east of the soul though these mysterious soul-rays have 
 their genuine heat and noble expansion, but no vision or color, 
 yet visions colored with wondrous beauty those beatific 
 soul-beams wake in us, as they gleam out from loving hu 
 man faces. 
 
 I thought as I watched the stars last night, coming out one 
 after another at evening's reception, our souls are like con 
 stellations instarred with thoughts, moving around the great 
 Father-Soul, wearing their incadescent noonday glow as they 
 turn towards, or eclipsed in midnight's shadow as they turn 
 away from the full-orbed Central or wandering out of their 
 predestined path far from the sphere of true attraction 
 falling like once radiant aeriolites, heavy and cold and dark 
 to the earth. 
 
 It is a beautiful proof of the immortality of the soul, that 
 no imagery like that of stars and suns and skies and clouds 
 
 13
 
 290 NEPENTHE. 
 
 fitly type its glory, or dimly shadow its beauty. Like the 
 music of celestial spheres, these vibratory soul waves move 
 with spheral harmony in one beautiful diatonic scale, with 
 its deep, grave unisons, its multiplied octaves, its greater 
 and lesser tones of melody, and so mysteriously alternating 
 sweet sound and mute silence, break the profoundest hush of 
 every soul. 
 
 You might search the records of the Church of the As 
 cension, where Carleyn had a pew for five years, and you 
 wouldn't find his name ; but among that invisible congrega 
 tion, the Church of the Ascension of Great Souls, his thoughts 
 worshipped and communed. His was a heart for clinging 
 and comfort, consolation and care taking ; one to whom you 
 could frankly and fearlessly turn, when pushed aside by 
 some rough soul, and thrust back into your shell like some 
 despised snail, till you despairingly wished you were all 
 Crustacea, soul and all. 
 
 Some natures you meet, mine them never so deeply, are 
 all strikes, fauHa, and fire-damps ; up-turn the whole soul- 
 strata, and you'll find not a fragment that has a genial, gen 
 uine anthracite glow ; but Carleyn's soul, stir it, probe it, 
 mine it as you would, there was the ring of the true metal, 
 the gleam of the pure gold. 
 
 Have you never looked out of your window, reader, some 
 balmy, still afternoon in April, when a shower had given the 
 earth a deeper emerald, the sky a clearer sapphire, and the 
 rose a more ruby glow ? So these words of wisdom from the 
 lips of the preacher had fallen like April benedictions 
 upon Carleyn's boyish soul. Duty's clouded sky had worn 
 a clearer sapphire, faith's parched hillside path a deeper 
 emerald, little, withering ruby hope-buds had grown rubier, 
 the skylark of happiness was soaring and singing in the still 
 air of peace, life's once turbid river was winding along the 
 banks of care, clear, overflowing and beautiful. 
 
 Carleyn sat and thought. If artist only could sketch and 
 shade and finish a good man's noble and beautiful .soul, how 
 wonderful, rare and radiant the picture, taken after a mid 
 summer shower of kindness ! The heart at midsummer, 
 from the life ! Everybody with a heart would hurry to see 
 it. Eyes classic and scholastic, aesthetic and rustic, would 
 linger long and gaze upon it often. Goupil and Schaus, and 
 Art's famed academies and most illustrious galleries, might
 
 NEPENTHE. 291 
 
 strive for the first opportunity to exhibit it. All sovereigns 
 gladly claim this new Columbus, long voyaging with the airy 
 fleets of fancy, discovering and revealing at last this terra 
 incognita, this long talked of first view of the heart. No 
 diadem so impearled as to worthily cro^n the happy artist 
 who could successfully execute this great picture. With 
 wreaths of living emerald, the University of Time would 
 confer upon him the immortal honors of the world's poet 
 laureate. 
 
 Reader ! lay aside your knitting, crocheting or embroi 
 dery don't keep looking at that clock on the mantel, put 
 off for to-day that calling, promenading, shopping, lay aside 
 until to-morrow that new dress, whose elaborate braiding 
 and endless fluting puzzle and weary you, and make 
 your head and eyes ache so. You can wear that black silk 
 one more Sunday, and besides it may rain, and if you are a 
 modern genteel young lady, you never go to church when it 
 rains. So far as I can judge from the looks of the pews, it 
 isn't fashionable few besides good old deacons go. As for 
 our gable porters and weather-proof Bridgets, they go, but 
 of course they are no patterns for us. But it is pleasant to 
 day, and don't sit with tha frown on your brow, waiting for 
 that trouble which you are sure is coming in to-day's express 
 train of evils don't stop to bundle up so warmly and nurse 
 so persistently that little homely, hungry, noisy regret. It 
 may die of itself if you let it alone. Lock the door, close 
 the shutters, and say for once, you are not at home to Care ; 
 don't open the door, no matter how she thumps and pounds 
 and rings and knocks. 
 
 Trouble will sometimes go away discouraged, if you keep 
 perfectly quiet, and say not at home to her. Let Care" go 
 off for once without coming in. She'll go somewhere else. 
 She has a long list of visits to make before night. Care is 
 always calling around till dark, and sometimes she's out all 
 night, disturbing people with her doleful serenades. I 
 know, for she has kept me awake many a night. Leave this 
 bread-and-butter world awhile, and come look with me at an 
 old picture, which has hung in my soul for years. 
 
 Reader, you are the only person to whom I have ever tried 
 to show it, and I suppose you'll never speak of it, or betray 
 the confidence between us. It is among a collection of 
 paintings strictly private. Sometimes it looks like a photo-
 
 292 NEPENTHE. 
 
 graph, and then at other times I really think it is an original 
 of the greatest of Masters. I found it, early one morning, 
 as I was clearing away some of the rubbish in my soul's 
 garret ; and as I can never move it from where it hangs, 
 just wait a moment, while I brush away the dust, let in the 
 light, and unfold the canvas, and try to show it to you as 
 it looks to me. If some famous artist could bring it out, 
 it might make a sensation in the art world but as for 
 me, I have never handled a pallet or touched a brush in my 
 life, and I'm too old to begin now. Yet I can sketch a little 
 from nature rudely and crudely with the stump of an old 
 pencil ; but I can see if I can't create, and I have seen this 
 picture in all kinds of lights. I have gazed at it by dawn- 
 light and twilight, moonlight and starlight, dreamlight and 
 daylight, real light and ideal light. I've been charmed with 
 its shadowy profiles, its wreathed ignettes, its magnificent 
 full lengths, with their clear, striking and graceful high, 
 low, and mezzo reliefs. I can see them as plainly on a clear 
 day, when there's no fog about me, as you can the green 
 blinds and stone steps of that house across the way. 
 
 Don't say you can't waste time looking at it ; you always 
 read a story right through, and* skip the poetizing and mor 
 alizing. That is not the way you take life, in one big su 
 gar pill, and all at once. Life has its epics, novel, exciting 
 and brilliant ; all the better for its calm quiet periods and 
 semicolons of rest between. A book is a journey, with not 
 all picturesque mountains, refreshing shade trees and glow 
 ing sunsets. 
 
 There's many a dusty road where you trudge along un 
 der reason's hot sun, in Thought's old gray overcoat, till 
 you come at last through the cool trees to the green fields 
 and flowers again ; and see how life's story is coming out, 
 and God's great book of nature has many a rough stony by 
 path between its cool green epics and fragrant episodes. 
 You enjoy a good breakfast and an excellent dinner, but 
 would you like to hear the dinner bell ringing all the day 
 long, though a perpetual and never so delicious a repast 
 were awaiting you below ? 
 
 Don't be in such a worry and fidget to get the first seat in 
 the crowded car of life, that you may be the first to hurry 
 over the ferry of thought, and ride up the great Broadway
 
 NEPENTHE. 293 
 
 of excitement. Better be last at a milliner's opening, than 
 never attend a levee of soul. 
 
 Don't say it is too ideal or too transcendental you have 
 worked so long through busy Saturdays and toilsome Mon 
 days, what if you should spend one whole day grouping and 
 bouquetting soul-flowers, chasing butterfly fancies, or gath 
 ering sweetbriar thoughts. You'll work better after a holi 
 day in the pleasant groves of dream-land. You won't meet 
 with any flirtations or adventures, but you may sit and talk 
 with cool refreshing thoughts, and wreath with fresh wild 
 flowers some dear little orphan memory you'd almost for 
 gotten. 
 
 I never look at anything beautiful but I long for some one 
 to see it with me, whether it be sunset gold, or meadow 
 green, or morning purple. 
 
 There is the heart's great Italy, frescoed with Transfig 
 urations more glorious than Raphael's " holier Christs and 
 veiled Madonnas," and beyond Reason's snowy Alps, where 
 cold truths hang like icicles. In the distance towers the 
 t great Mont Blanc of the soul, the savage and inaccessible 
 Future, with its crags of ice and granite, along whose over 
 hanging cliffs you can place one hand on perpetual immeas 
 urable masses of great glacier griefs, and with the other 
 pluck joy's sweet violets and resignation's beautiful rhodo 
 dendron, the rose of the heart's Alps. You can look down on 
 yesterday's ice-slides, and off at to-morrow's avalanchian 
 scars and abysses, or turn and gaze far away into the tropi 
 cal clime of soul, its beautiful conservatories, with sunny 
 beds and fragrant borders of tube-roses and heliotropes, ja- 
 ponicas and orange blossoms, while Poesie sits weaving them 
 like pearls in her coronet of song, round the oriole windows 
 fadeless morning-glories twine, and at midnight's darkest 
 hour faith's night-blooming Cereus unfolds her snowy petals, 
 filling the air with her peerless perfume. 
 
 In tropic clime of soul, that hidden land 
 
 Through sorrow's evening late, night-blowing flowers expand, 
 In trouble's deepest dark, faith's radiant Cereus glows 
 With Fortune's orient morn, the starry petals close. 
 
 And the passion flower, " grand with imperial purple and rich 
 with ethereal blue/' blooms with its crown of thorns and 
 hard by are the green fields of contemplation, where hungry
 
 294 NEPENTHE. 
 
 thoughts feed and refresh themselves, and patches near of 
 cultured soil, where little growing cares and duties furnish 
 daily food for the roving, restless soul ; and far away across 
 the meadow of will, runs laughing along among the sober 
 trees the little brook of impulse where wild water lilies 
 grow ; and yonder is a square, closely-trimmed lawn where 
 no stray child of fancy ever plays, and Regret's grim sentries 
 patrol night and day, and keep Hope's frolicsome children 
 off the tempting grass. 
 
 There is the Hall of Conscience, his register office where 
 Truth makes his impartial affidavits, and Justice records all 
 the deeds of soul. Just in front of the Hall of Conscience is 
 the fountain of tears, almost always playing with its wreaths 
 of drooping spray ; and near, half hidden by dark cypress 
 and bending willow, is the soul's solitary chapel, and in its 
 holiest of holies sometimes glows the radiant Shekinah, sure 
 symbol and sacred shadowing of presence divine, and the 
 oratorio where 
 
 Thoughts like kneeling nuns behind the grate of time, 
 In soul's high altar sing, the office pure, sublime. 
 
 There Faith chants her midnight mass for the repose of the 
 unquiet soul, and crowds of worshipping feelings bow in 
 meek, mute devotion, or rising sing their united Te Deum, 
 their happy Gloria in Excelsis, and in the distance, tower 
 ing above mountain and cloud, rises the stately dome of the 
 soul's Valhalla palace of immortality, with pillars, entabla 
 tures and arches gleaming with gold and glistening with 
 pearls. In its lofty royal observatory hang chandeliers of 
 festooned stars, and there are perfect and complete quad 
 rants and octants, achromatic and reflective, night and day 
 telescopes, where without agitation and disturbance the soul 
 take? her glorious observations, her unobstructed views of 
 heaven ; while in Valhalla's halls calmly repose heroic 
 thoughts, which once nobly fought and conquered in battles 
 with cruel errors, in the long contests of ages ; and far off 
 along the shore of destiny rolls Emotion's turbulent Atlan 
 tic, and yonder roars Passion's great Niagara, while at in 
 tervals bursts impetuously, from Doubt's immense volcanic 
 chimneys, dense smoke, lurid flames, and overwhelming 
 lava. 
 
 Once more, as the canvas unfolds, you'll sec some starry
 
 NEPENTHE. 295 
 
 promontory of soul, and look off into the deeps of eternity 
 behind, into the deeps of eternity beyond. Pause not to 
 gaze at speculative meteoric dream, or fathom some meta 
 physical mist, lest a great, full-orbed truth pass the disc of 
 the soul, unnoticed, unmarked, forever. See thoughts twin 
 kle out from the misty via lactea of ages, and uncounted ne 
 bulae of dim fancies flit in the dim ideal beyond. 
 
 As we gaze through the stained windows of our cur 
 tained souls into the depths of these trooping thoughts, who 
 shall find their true parallax ? Who measure the soul's 
 proud perihelion to uncreated light ? Who conjecture 
 its farthest aphelion, its immense sweep through distant 
 ages 1 
 
 Look for a clock in the soul's cathedral tower that marks 
 with hieroglyphic hand where truth begins, how far pro 
 gresses, and where ends. Alas ! the hands of the clock will 
 point to the hour of midnight ; it has not yet struck one 
 truth sure, clear and loud, and the soul mournfully weeps in 
 sympathy with the " throbbing stars," that it is so long, that 
 like light from distant stars, truth's radiant rays are years 
 coming to our visible horizon. Climb on tiptoe as we will, 
 and peer through eternity's keyhole, we shall only approach, 
 but never touch, the full-orbed truth. 
 
 Could artist find mountain-peak tall enough for studio 
 close to the star-lit skylight above and there alone, ' 
 
 He patient kneels to art, and bathes in beauty's fount, 
 Till face to face he talks on inspiration's mount, 
 
 there achieve this chef d'oauvre, the study of the heart from 
 life, he might victoriously die, his name written in starlight 
 above Michael Angelo, Correggio, Raphael or Murillo, his 
 eagle fame nestling forever among the golden clouds of art's 
 highest eyrie.
 
 296 NEPENTHE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 ASTROGNOSIA. 
 
 " Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
 Morning rises into noon ; 
 May glides onward into June." 
 
 NEPENTHE STUAIIT is quite busy a few weeks before the 
 wedding not in trying on elegant silks, heavy satins and 
 embroidered muslins, laces and flounces, but her manuscript 
 is really being published at last. Every evening she looks 
 over several pages of her proof. There is a strange excite 
 ment in seeing anything of hers in print. She never knew 
 how it would sound until she reads it aloud. She hides it 
 hurriedly away when Frank comes, for she is keeping it a 
 precious secret from him. She adds, changes, crosses out, 
 corrects at night, and in the morning early she reviews and 
 reads again, for by seven it goes to the stereotyper's. 
 
 This first child of her fancy is very dear to her ; it is the 
 creation of her own heart, weeping her own tears, smiling 
 her own smiles, and breathing her own soul-life. As she 
 thinks of it with real affection, and dreads the cutting steel 
 of sharp criticism, she vainly wishes she had never launched 
 such a little, inexperienced bark out on the stormy, capri 
 cious Atlantic of public opinion, in whose turbulent depths 
 hide fearful sharks and devouring whales, watching for prey. 
 She thinks dolefully of many a poor little book once care 
 fully launched, and sailing off on the same perilous voyage, 
 silent forever, through some sharp critic's sharpest thrust or 
 heaviest broadside. 
 
 It may share the fate of many a light novel-craft, gaily 
 trimmed and fully manned, floating down, and lost in the 
 great Gulf Stream of Oblivion. But these reflections are 
 too late now. Such clouds of fearful maybes always darken 
 the sky, when our little hope-crafts sail silently away from 
 our watching sight. 
 
 " It is too late," thought Nepenthe, " to put pussy back
 
 NEPENTHE. 297 
 
 in the bag. There's no tying her up tight now, to smother or 
 drown her." 
 
 Once plumed her airy wing, if she find no green leaf of 
 sympathy, the dove of fancy can return no more to the shel 
 tering ark of her native heart. The world, with its opera 
 glass always in its hand, is a poor home for a new book ; and 
 a freshman author must be fagged and drilled, and held 
 under the pump of criticism, to have cold water poured on 
 his breathing thoughts and burning words, by those wise 
 sophomores who have had their eye-teeth cut long ago by 
 some similar cooling and refreshing process ; and thus they 
 pay back the grudges of their novitiate. 
 
 But if Frank should read the book and like it, she will 
 preserve her spiritual equanimity whatsoever blast the uncer 
 tain trumpet of fame may blow in her startled ears. 
 
 But at last, as she rolls up the sheets of her proof, and 
 sends them away, she forgets for the time her little book 
 for the years of her lonely life have rolled away, and new, 
 bright pages are unfolding in her history. It is the eve of 
 her bridal. She reads over and over again in her happy 
 heart, the beautiful dedication of her own life to her artist 
 lover, as it is firmly bound and brightly clasped with his en 
 during affection. 
 
 Under the cover of his strong protection, she reads in fan 
 cy, in new letters, her new name, in the press of Time, 
 waiting to be stamped with the signet ring and sealing kiss, 
 ' Nepenthe Carleyn.' 
 
 The two volumes of their single lives will to-morrow be 
 bound together. Not to be Volume first and Volume sec 
 ond, but ONE pleasant biography, illustrated with such beau 
 tiful engravings as love only carves. 
 
 " God grant," said Nepenthe fervently, " that each daily 
 life-chapter may be begun with some sweet strain of melody 
 and closed with some dewy benediction, that when on the 
 last page of this precious Biography shall be written 
 
 ' FINIS,' 
 
 we may sit down together on the banks of the river of the 
 water of life, and review with pure pleasure the truthful, 
 happy, and elevated pages of our short history stereotyped 
 in its eternal plates." 
 
 She stood by the window at nightfall, and looked out on 
 God's great starlit roof, the only roof which had sheltered
 
 298 NEPENTHE. 
 
 her when there was no spot in the wide world where she 
 could repose securely at nightfall, sure of a home and shel 
 ter for the morrow. 
 
 Watched ceaselessly by no earthly eyes through all the 
 changes of her tearful childhood and lonely maidenhood, she 
 had ever been like a waif sometimes at rest, then drifting 
 out alone on life's stormy tide. She looked out with brim 
 ming eyes upon the ever watchful, constant stars, which 
 shone long ago in the old windows at home those dear, 
 faithful watchers were watching still. The only influences 
 which had followed her through life were the " sweet influ 
 ences of the Pleiades." The only bands which had linked 
 her fragmentary life together, were " the golden bands of 
 Orion," the never failing light on her hidden path, the gen 
 tle light of stars. 
 
 Her faith had looked up more than those who have earth 
 ly loves and guides clinging ever around them. 
 
 On this eve of her bridal, the whole sky seemed giving a 
 grand joyful illumination, chanting one radiant bridal march 
 on its reachless range. 
 
 " Where every jewelled planet sings 
 Its clear eternal song 
 Over the path our friends have gone." 
 
 She knew nothing of dactyl or spondee, metre or measure. 
 Without measuring or scanning from the De Profundis of 
 her full heart welled out these lines. 
 
 There was a mingling of sadness in the strain, for no 
 woman with a soul can launch out on an unknown sea, even 
 with a chosen guide, without a deep strange sadness, almost 
 a fear, to link her life and trust freely and forever with an 
 other's. 
 
 ASTROGNOSIA. 
 
 Strange, quiet, patient stars, ye've looked down on life's ill. 
 Through all the wrongs beneath, and kept your counsel still ; 
 Clear-eyed and bright, through nightly deeps patrol 
 Hiding your thoughts profound from human soul. 
 
 On in your calling bright, your mark is ever high, 
 Nothing shall cross your tramp, ye sentry of the sky ; 
 Tempest nor storm nor cloud shall check your stately beat, 
 Faithful each lonely hour your tireless bivouac keep,
 
 NEPENTHE. 299 
 
 Found ye in arsenal divine, in ages long agone. 
 
 Your evening chant, your nightly beat, your burnished armor worn ? 
 
 From living crystal river, hard by the Eternal throne, 
 
 Kindled your deathless naming to light the ages on ; 
 
 For joy at earth's creation waved you those torches high, 
 
 And formed that glad procession to cheer the gloomy sky ? 
 
 Your lanterns o'er the restless waves of stormy life, 
 Show many a far-out ledge, on sorrow's surging sea, 
 Your quenchless lights burn steadfast through the dark, 
 To guide, from traitor rocks, some spirit's way-worn bark. 
 
 When trouble's icebergs, cold and grand, 
 Before dismantled spirits stand 
 Ye Pharoi of the fatherland, 
 Light safe along grim peril's strand. 
 
 Most blinded by the mist of fears, exiled on isle of time, 
 Through gathering showers of falling tears, we see but faintly siine, 
 These chandeliers in hall of Heaven, with starry festoons hung, 
 That guide o'er sapphire threshold, the spirit homesick long. 
 
 Within its curtained chamber my soul lies folded round ; 
 
 No coming comfort's footstep doth cross its threshold bound ; 
 
 Down to the tented spirit like angel from afar, 
 
 Steals through the misty twilight some watching, radiant star ; 
 
 And shines through falling tear-drops till sorrow's stone hath rolled 
 
 And through the open peace-door flit wings of sunset gold i 
 
 The spirit sheds its grave clothes and walks again in life, 
 
 Serene as star ascended, looks down on mortal strife. 
 
 Come forth, each shrouded spirit ! all wrapped in mournful gloom, 
 
 In rocky cares and sorrows ye have a prison hewn ; 
 
 In caverned wealth it hideth, and buried darkly lies ; 
 
 It is not dead, but sleepeth ; it surely will arise. 
 
 Look up ! the stars are shining in yonder quiet skies, 
 
 From convent of St. Ego your monkish spirit hiea. 
 
 Along the roof of nature, above old science's floor, 
 Our loftiest hopes like giants walk, as through enchanted door, 
 Ascend the tower eternal ; where starry bells shall chime, 
 When on a world expiring shall fall the dirge of time.
 
 300 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Has failed, forever failed, all mortal rhyme, 
 To count the changes of a starry chime ; 
 Nor speech, nor language e'er was found 
 To translate pure such liquid sound 
 
 This bright vignette on nature's page, 
 Revered in verse through every age, 
 Eloctrotyped by Triune hand, 
 With hidden plates in silent land. 
 
 These lovely thoughts in nature's broast, 
 Have ne'er a mortal volume blessed ; 
 Too bright for poetry, too beautiful for song, 
 All the ideals fail, to paint the starry throng. 
 
 Art veils her face and kneels in reverent tears, 
 While puzzled science, knitting up the sleeve of years, 
 Drops all her stitches as ehe counts again ; 
 Sets up her decades, tries in vain, 
 With tangled speculations, baffled tries, 
 To ravel the long mystery of skies. 
 
 Like sentinels at intervals ye stand 
 Along the borders of that frontier land, 
 Where finite ends, and infinite is spanned, 
 And ever engineering on your golden track, 
 Fresh light on mortal path ye're sending back. 
 
 Dear face of friendly star ! you only smile good-night ; 
 
 Mid breaking hearthstone links and waning household light; 
 
 When loved ones tell us long and last adieu, 
 
 Your au revoir you whisper kind and true ; 
 
 Low through our lattice in some foreign clime, 
 
 Sing soft voices, auld lang syne. 
 
 Bright beads on strings of ages, the rosary of time, 
 Guarded by ancient Sages, as amulet sublime,
 
 NEPENTHE. 301 
 
 As on each virgin star they gazed, each pure and radiant face, 
 Rehearsing Pater Noster lines, perfection, beauty, grace ; 
 "Who counts the starry chaplet, where'er on earth he be, 
 Must offer from his kneeling heart his Gloria Patri. 
 
 And we, another prayer send up, unto the Spirit, Son, 
 That we, like stars in duty's path, may shine unfailing on ; 
 And toiling up earth's cloudy heights may to our zenith rise, 
 And find our true celestial point, above in paradise ; 
 Trace back our longitude from earth, on Joy's meridian high, 
 Counting degress of happiness along the radiant sky. 
 
 Oh! could the starry ladder our yearning spirits climb, 
 And reach the topmost skylight where lamps eternal shine ; 
 In yonder great Valhalla put on our starry crown, 
 And join the bright procession that moves the ages on. 
 
 There come at times such longings to be what we are not, 
 We wish with sad despondings we had some brighter lot ; 
 Like thee, oh star unchanging, our loftiest endeavor, 
 Seems ever onward moving, yet standing still forever. 
 
 'Twill not be slumbering long ; in wider range 
 There'll be a waking soon ; we all shall change ; 
 These mantling folds of care shall backward roll, 
 Till beckoning stars call up to longing's goal. 
 
 We'll greet again bright stars when earth's dark nights are o'er, 
 And dawns the spirit's higher life on the immortal shore ; 
 Then morning stars shall sing once more, and shout for joy again, 
 As whiteclad souls through pearly gates pass up the golden plain.
 
 302 NEPENTHE. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 MR. JOHN PRIDEFIT GOES TO THE WEDDI NG. 
 
 " We sit together, with the skies, 
 
 The steadfast skies above us ; 
 
 We look into each other's eyes, 
 
 And how long^will you love us ? 
 The eyes grow dim with prophecy, 
 
 The voices low and breathless, 
 Till death us part ! words, to be 
 Our best for Love the deathless." 
 
 " How many bridesmaids ? What did the bride have on ? 
 How did she appear ? How long was her trail ? What did 
 the bridesmaids wear ? Was she married with a ring ? 
 How many were at the reception ? How many ushers were 
 there ?" All these questions asked Mrs. John Pridefit of 
 her husband when he came home one evening, and told her 
 he had stepped into Trinity Church and seen the artist 
 Frank Carleyn, who took her uncle's portrait, married. 
 
 " Why didn't you come home for me, John ?" said his 
 disappointed wife. " I wanted to see the dresses so much. 
 I like to know what people wear, and at such a time people 
 look as well as they can." 
 
 " Because," said her husband gravely, " I only heard of 
 it ten minutes beforehand, and I knew you couldn't dress in 
 ten minutes." 
 
 " Did you go in that rig ?" said she, looking at him with a 
 dismayed expression. 
 
 " Certainly. I went with the dust of the desk on my coat 
 sleeves. I have been in court nearly all day. Nobody 
 looked at me, they all looked at the bride." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Pridefit, in a more good-humored tone, 
 " What did the bride have on ? you haven't told me }et." 
 
 " She had on something white, I believe something 
 white." 
 
 " What is the reason, John," said his wife provoked, 
 " you can never tell what a lady has on ?"
 
 NEPENTHE. 303 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Pridefit, apologetically, " every 
 thing is ashes of roses now. If her dress was ashes of roses, 
 it must have been the ashes of white roses ; for I am sure 
 it was something white. Almost any lady looks well in full 
 bridal costume. Her charms are heightened, or defects 
 softened, by attractive and airy dress ; but the poor bride 
 grooms stand upon their own merits they look about as Grod 
 made them no veil to adorn, no illusion before and behind 
 and around. But this groom needed no help to make him 
 look handsome he is a fine-looking fellow, and the bride's 
 face was like the face of an angel." 
 
 " Well, how many bridesmaids were there ?" 
 
 " I can't say. I know there was one., and something white 
 too she had on ; but I must tell you something. We had 
 cards two weeks ago to this reception. I was at home when 
 they came, and to tell the truth, I lost six hundred dollars 
 that day, so I forgot all about the reception cards." 
 
 Mr. Pridefit saw his wife looked more disappointed about 
 the reception than the money, so he added in a husky voice, 
 "To-day is the fourth anniversary of the death of our only 
 child. Eliza, Eliza ! Life has been tame to me since 
 that ;" and so it had. Under his pillow, night after night, 
 had that little daguerreotype been hidden the little lips 
 kissed again and again ; for never had John Pridefit loved 
 any living thing as he loved that little, laughing, open- 
 hearted, affectionate child, and she only three years ago was 
 drowned in a cistern, not far from her father's country 
 residence. 
 
 But Mrs. Pridefit was Mrs. Pridefit still. Her heart still 
 clung to " pomps and vanities ;" she regretted even now she 
 could not wear her light blue moire antique at the artist's 
 reception. 
 
 Little did she know that the artist's bride had once re 
 ceived so cold a reception from her hands and heart, when 
 taken up half dead from that cistern, only ten years ago. 
 
 " Who gave away the bride 1" said Mrs. Pridefit. 
 
 " When the clergyman said in his clear voice, ' Who giv- 
 eth this woman to be married to this man,' a fine-looking 
 gentleman came out from the crowd, and gave her away. 
 They say his name is Selwyn he is a great friend of Car- 
 leyn's. The bride, I think, has no living relative, so this 
 gentleman gave her away."
 
 304 NEPENTHE. 
 
 11 That was strange," said Mrs. Pridefit. " Were there 
 no relatives standing up with them ? And where does this 
 Selwyn live ? Is he a stranger here ? If it hadn't been for 
 my neuralgia I would have found out myself." 
 
 " He has boarded some time at Mrs. Edwards', and is a 
 particular friend of Carleyn's. That's all I know about it," 
 said Mr. Pridefit. 
 
 " You never can get any news out of a man," said Mrs. 
 Pridefit. But the next day she called on Charity Gouge, 
 and she learned that some unknown friend had furnished 
 the bride's trousseau, and sent her an elegant white satin 
 wedding dress, with two flounces of point lace. At the head 
 of the flounces was a wreath of tuberoses and geranium 
 leaves. With the dress was a bridal veil of point lace also. 
 The bride was said to be portionless ; but she was dressed 
 as richly as any wealthy bride, and her husband furnished 
 nothing. 
 
 Miss Gouge thought there was some mystery about it. She 
 had even gone so far as to question the dressmaker, but she 
 either could or would reveal nothing, only that Mr. Selwyn 
 ordered the carriage, and he was the last to say good-bye 
 when they left for their wedding tour. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Pridefit, " when the bride repeated 
 the words, ' With all my worldly goods I thee endow,' Mr. 
 Carleyn must have felt liberally endowed. I was married in 
 white silk ; I have always been very sorry that I wasn't 
 married in white satin." 
 
 While the carriage bore Carleyn and his wife off on their 
 pleasant journey, in a little white-curtained and striped car 
 peted room in Titusville, sat one evening a rare couple 
 Levi Longman, and Prudence Potter. Levi had concluded 
 to buy a part of the lot belonging to Prudence, so he came 
 one night to make the terms. He flavors his conversation 
 with common sense, sober reason and cool judgment, as he 
 sits in his high-backed chair, tipped against the wall. 
 
 When business matters are disposed of, in her laconic 
 way, Prudence draws up her chair a little closer, and asks 
 " How that blind doctor in the city recovered his sight?" 
 
 In his wisest manner, and most deliberate tone, Levi an 
 swered, " All the efforts of surgery and medicine, blisters, 
 moxas, nux vomica, belladonna failed in his case and then 
 electricity was judiciously applied. I can't describe the
 
 NEPENTHE. 305 
 
 exact process, but it was in some way by employing elec 
 tro-puncture, directing the electric aura against the eyes, 
 drawing it from them during the insulation of the patient, 
 taking small sparks from the eye-lids, or integument round 
 the orbits. I heard the doctors talk about passing down fine 
 needles through any of the branches of the frontal and supe 
 rior maxillary nerves, and a slightly pricking sensation, in 
 dicating the nerve is pierced, a galvanic current is then 
 passed along the needles through the branch of the fifth 
 nerve." 
 
 Prudence looked puzzled, as if she didn't know any better 
 now than before she asked, but she only said, looking over 
 her spectacles at Levi, as she stopped her knitting, " Don't 
 that beat all /" 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE RETURN THE SURPRISE. 
 
 " Oh never again, while thy weal is my care, 
 The dark sinfu' regions o' spaedom I'll dare. 
 'Twere vain to expect thou wilt cost us nae tears, 
 In our toil-wearied way through the dim hoped.for years ; 
 But aye we'll see in thee, as sweet and as dear 
 The Agnes awa' in the Agnes that's here." 
 
 DAVID WIWGATE. 
 
 "I have ordered the carriage to stop with me at a friend's 
 house on the way," said Selwyn to Carleyn, as he met him 
 and his bride at the depot on their return. They stopped 
 before the door of the most elegant house in that vicinity. 
 Carleyn was surprised, yet he chose to gratify Selwyn, who 
 looked unusually bright, and who seemed to feel perfectly 
 at home as he went with them into the large parlor, and 
 asked them to walk into the little. library out of the parlor, 
 for there they would find the owner of the establishment. 
 
 There was a beautiful portrait of a lady in a recess on 
 one side of the mantel, a lady apparently about thirty-five 
 on the other was Carleyn's ideal Nepenthe, and as Nepen 
 the stood before it, her face radiant with the dawn of hap 
 piness, the resemblance was so striking, she herself could.
 
 see it. Now that her face wore its native sunshine, the 
 picture might be taken for her portrait. 
 
 There was also a striking resemblance in the two por 
 traits. 
 
 " That picture on the left side," said Selwyn, " was taken 
 by Carleyn at my urgent request, a few months before your 
 marriage. It was taken from a miniature painted on ivory 
 some years ago. I intended it as a present for you. That 
 vase on the little table is of exquisite workmanship, and was 
 imported by me some years since. The violets in it came 
 from the conservatory belonging to the owner of this house. 
 On the outside of the vase I have had engraved the word 
 Nepenthe in letters of gold." 
 
 That vase that vase ! Nepenthe held her hand over her 
 eyes and thought. She had seen it in early childhood often 
 filled with violets, and filled by her mother's hand. It was 
 the most beautiful thing her childish eyes had ever seen. 
 The past began to dawn upon her bewildered mind. That 
 portrait ! it seemed almost to speak as she gazed upon it. 
 
 " It is my mother's picture," said she at last. " Oh that 
 those lips had language ! Life has passed but roughly with 
 me since I saw thee last." 
 
 Taking her arm gently within her own, Mr. Selwyn drew 
 her before the mirror, and bade her look up, and see reflect 
 ed there the owner of that elegant house, the lady who had 
 recently come into possession of that valuable property. 
 
 " And here is the deed of the property, which I hand 
 over to the rightful owner," said he, putting a paper duly 
 signed, sealed and delivered into her hand. 
 
 As Nepenthe saw him bending affectionately over her, the 
 truth dawned at last upon her mind. She clasped her arms 
 around his neck, and exclaimed, " My father ! my father!" 
 
 Poor tempest-tossed, bereaved, long desolate man, he held 
 in his arms at last his Nepenthe. Henceforth he could 
 forget much sorrow and misfortune. 
 
 " My child ! my child ! my Nepenthe !" he exclaimed. 
 ' The bitter cup long drained is removed. My prayer is 
 heard. My Lina's gentle hand hath held out to me through 
 all this darkness, this cup of joy to be my solace, while she 
 quaffs her purer Nepenthe from the river of life."
 
 NEPENTHE. 307 
 
 CHAPTER XLH. 
 
 MYSTE&Y CLEARED UP. 
 
 " If in our daily course our mind 
 Be set to hallow all we find, 
 New treasures still of countless price 
 God will provide for sacrifice 
 
 " Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be, 
 As more of heaven in each we see ; 
 Some softening gleam of love and prayer 
 Will dawn on every cross and care." 
 
 "TELL us about all your wanderings, dear father," said 
 Nepenthe the next morning as she refilled the vase with 
 fresh violets from her own conservatory. 
 
 " There was a claim of twenty thousand dollars due me 
 in a distant city," said Mr. Stuart, (for he likes to be called 
 by his last name now.) " I heard one day that the parties 
 owing me were intending to make an assignment of all their 
 property to certain preferred creditors. I sent a brief note 
 to my wife, took that morni ig's express train, which left in 
 half an hour, hoping by seeing the parties before their in 
 tended assignment, to induce them to prefer me, and liquid 
 ate my claim by paying in whole or in part. The note nev 
 er reached my wife, nor did any succeeding letters. I was 
 informed by letter, three weeks after my departure, of the 
 death and burial of my wife and child. I was not at all well 
 that day, and I had fallen down through a hatchway the day 
 before. The severe blow caused by the accident, and the 
 fearful news conveyed in the letter, caused an illness which 
 terminated in brain fever. I was ill a long time, and una 
 ble to travel. For a time I "lost all recollection of any events 
 happening during the last four years. 
 
 " Of course my physician did not advise me to visit the 
 scene of my loss with my feeble health and unsettled brain. 
 After some months of medical treatment I was allowed to 
 travel, and visit new scenes, if possible to regain my men-
 
 308 NEPENTHE. 
 
 tal vigor and tone. But when I found out two years since, 
 that she who I believed had died so soon after my depar 
 ture, had lived and struggled on for years, thinking me 
 faithless, and at last had drooped and died of a hroken heart, 
 my strength gave way. I was sorely tempted. My reason 
 seemed shaken. I preached no more. 
 
 " I could not even bear the name of Professor Henry, 
 the name the students gave me, as there was another Stuart 
 in the University whom they called Professor John. 
 
 " I walked my room many a night, and wished I had nev 
 er taken that fatal journey. I have been the victim of an 
 almost fiendish revenge. 
 
 " A woman to whom I was engaged when a very young 
 man, and whose fearfully violent temper, accidentally dis 
 covered, caused me to violate my contract, has persecuted 
 me and mine with relentless fury. She intercepted all my 
 letters. She wrote me, under an assumed name, that letter 
 informing me of the death of my wife and child, when both 
 were living and mourning my absence. She was a watcher 
 at my wife's death-bed, a nurse at the hospital, a cook at 
 Dr. Wendon's ; her hand cut with a knife the rope to which 
 the pail was attached when you, Nepenthe, were almost 
 drowned. Attired as a man, she attempted your life one 
 evening and to c.arry out her subsequent plans and mysti 
 fy her movements, she assumed the name of Madam Fu 
 ture. Having a large telescope in the top of her house, by 
 turning it in certain directions she could easily see the move 
 ments in many of the houses near. 
 
 " When Carleyn's windows were unshaded or unshuttered 
 she could plainly see his face and features, and tell what he 
 was about. 
 
 " The telescope itself was so concealed that Florence El 
 liott really thought it some magic glass. She whispered in 
 Carleyn's ear many false statements concerning you, and 
 your unknown father and dead mother but she herself is 
 dead now, and we will try and forget the irretrievable 
 wrong she has done. 
 
 " One night I shall never forget. I had done some great 
 service to a stranger. I came home in a calmer frame than 
 usual, resolved to do my duty, and try and banish useless 
 recollections. I found on my table a sealed note with these 
 words ' Your wife did not die soon after you left, but lin-
 
 NEPENTHE. 309 
 
 gered lonely years after, watching and waiting for your re- 
 tarn, and died at last of a broken heart, believing you faith 
 less. Your child is not dead, but is a homeless wanderer in 
 the wide world, while you are enjoying wealth which can do 
 you no good.' 
 
 " I read this cruel letter, and as I thought how her sensi 
 tive nature lingered out years of agony, I walked back and 
 forth, almost maddened with grief. It seemed that my heart 
 must break. I moaned, I sobbed, I wept, I shrieked. Sud 
 denly I felt something give way within, as if my heart itself 
 had burst. I put my hand on my heart I could feel no 
 motion for years I felt none. I asked a physician's opin 
 ion. He said there was a sudden obstruction, and that any 
 great excitement might cause insanity or death. He ad 
 vised me to keep calm and quiet so I preached no more. 
 It would have been hard for me, with my wan face and worn 
 heart, to bind up the broken-hearted, and preach deliverance 
 to the captive ; to inspire faith and hope in desponding souls. 
 So not caring whither I went, I travelled on. I spent two 
 months in the northern part of Texas, travelling sometimes 
 on horseback, sometimes on foot, often sleeping at night 
 upon the prairies and in the groves. When the sky was 
 clear and cloudless, I wandered about in search for water, 
 cutting and breaking the limbs of trees, making a big fire by 
 a fallen tree for a back log, baking and eating some corn 
 bread, and boiling water for tea. After supper, we for 
 there were three companions with me lay down on some 
 blankets spread on the grouud, with our travelling bags for 
 our pillows, and with gentle zephyrs, wreaths of curling 
 smoke, and flickering shadows dancing about us, we were 
 lulled into quiet slumbers in spite of the owl's dismal music, 
 barking of foxes, and howling of wolves, and all but myself 
 awoke in the morning, Refreshed and invigorated. But no 
 sky seemed to me bright, no air balmy. 
 
 " In the sky of the soul, each cluster of blessings has its 
 lost Pleiad, and you may count over your circle of loved 
 ones, yet that one who is not, you cannot forget. Many a 
 life-picture has its dark back-ground of clouds, of doubts, 
 and of mysteries." 
 
 Mr. Stuart paused and taking from his pocket a little 
 package, opened an old yellow-looking partly torn letter. 
 
 " This," said he, with much emotion, " is the last page of
 
 310 NEPENTHE. 
 
 a letter written by my wife only one week before she died. 
 I can see the traces of tears in nearly every line, but the 
 style is hers, the handwriting hers, though evidently writ 
 ten with faltering pen and trembling hand." Mr. Stuart 
 reads : 
 
 " It is always November in the heart where such a mys 
 tery broods. The dead leaves are always falling, and the 
 shrieking winds are never weary. O, could we close gen 
 tly the eyes of loved ones, and lay them tenderly away, 
 safely cloistered with the Great Father above but not to 
 know when or how or where they are gone, to watch at morn 
 and evening for their coming, and yet they come not, tosses 
 the moaning soul on the billows of unrest, haunts the worn 
 spirit like a sleepless ghost, watching and wailing at every 
 turn to beckon and torture and scare the desolate soul. 
 These fearful minute guns on the wide sea of thought, 
 through the long lonely night boom and echo off the cold 
 shore of regret." 
 
 Mr. Stuart folded the letter, and said, in a low, sad tone : 
 " Poor Lina ! she hardly suffered more than I. Many a 
 night for years I have called out in agony, as in a night 
 mare sleep, My child ! my child ! where is my child ? 
 
 " None have known my sorrow. I tried to outgrow sor 
 row, but some sorrow shadows lengthen as life's sun goes 
 down they grow taller and darker, till no stretching the 
 drapery of oblivion, no lengthening the mantle of forgetful- 
 ness, can hide their skeleton limbs or heavy feet. Some 
 lost joys, like lost friends, may be first earth-covered, then 
 grass-grown ; but there are- troubles that walk the desolate 
 shades of the heart like unappeased ghosts, ever and anon 
 muttering and staring through memory's halt-open shutters, 
 while the words of remorse howl dismally around. 
 
 " You, Nepenthe, my child, are as fresh and beautiful a 
 gift, as if some Peri had lain you at my feet. You are the 
 one bright pearl cast up on the shore of my wrecked life. 
 Could sea-bird have wept out bright pearls in the hollow 
 wreathed chamber of the deep, surely this pearl of my heart 
 was wept into beauty in the hollow-wreathed chamber of 
 sorrow. 
 
 " The outer surface of society is clear, serene and sun 
 ny, With swelling sails and airy pennons, how gracefully 
 it floats along the conventional tide ; but away down in its
 
 NEPENTHE. 311 
 
 heart are under-currents, strong, rapid and powerful 
 there's no plateau laid along the depths of the heart where 
 any joy cable, let down ever so deep, may lie long unbro 
 ken. 
 
 " So we braid the cable of our hopes, and have our great 
 festal days over some new line of joy in the stream of life. 
 
 " Gay processions of sanguine thoughts, with bright ban 
 ners and showy badges, and noisy huzzas, go inarching up 
 and down our applauding hearts. We pay out our joys off 
 the bark of hope, and wait day after day for signals and re 
 sponses. But there are no returns ; there's a break some 
 where, there come only a few faint signals, and the bell of 
 the heart tolls out the day of failure. 
 
 " No mortal diver can fathom the depths of the heart ; no 
 plateau exists in the tide of human passion where any joy 
 cable can be laid in a chain unbroken. Some voice whis 
 pers, it may succeed after all, and away up in the tower of 
 humanity rings out another glad chime. Hope says we've 
 found the error, and will correct it. But no ; not till the 
 whole life is taken up and laid over. So in the bottom of 
 all our hearts lie buried many useless joy cables. 
 
 " You, Nepenthe, were entitled to property in England 
 property coming to your mother. We were married in En 
 gland, but I had no marriage certificate. The clergyman 
 who mairied us was a careless, dissipated man, and there 
 was no such thing as our marriage certificate in existence ; 
 and I found it impossible to get the property, as the Duke 
 of Wellington would not present my petition to the Queen. 
 I walked up and down in despair, and gave up the hope of 
 securing your rightful inheritance. 
 
 " But one day, as I came out of the Horse Guards into 
 Charing Cross, I met the Colonial Secretary, who had just 
 returned from Bermuda, and told him my trouble. ' I 
 granted the marriage license, and will set matters right,' 
 said he. Was it not strange that he, the only man in the 
 world who could have helped me in the matter, should ar 
 rive that day in England, and meet me, just as I was mak 
 ing up my mind to return to America without securing the 
 property ? 
 
 " I have secured to you a fortune in your own right. This 
 was the object of my recent visit to England. I meant that
 
 312 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Carleyn should marry you without fortune for yourself 
 and so I have kept until now the deed in my own hands." 
 
 Mr. Selwyn went out as he said this, and did not return 
 until late in the afternoon, and when he came back he look 
 ed very sad as he said, 
 
 " I was just called to see a beautiful young creature die, 
 in great agony, of over-doses of arsenic, the most distressing 
 and fatal of all mineral poison. With its rapid inflammation, 
 intense thirst, it executed its deadly purpose with alarming 
 rapidity, though the most counteracting remedies were 
 promptly resorted to. She was ill, and at first did not at 
 tribute the illness to the right cause till too late. 
 
 " The mineral had inserted itself by corrosion beneath 
 the mucous coat of the stomach before any remedy could 
 be employed. Whites of eggs mixed with hydrated perox 
 ide of vinegar were administered, followed by powerful and 
 long continued emetics. Every thing was tried, but all 
 failed. 
 
 " She had heightened her beauty, but she had rashly 
 increased the fatal dose, and rumor says that she loved to 
 passionate idolatry your husband, the distinguished artist 
 and to captivate him she so heightened her natural charms 
 by this dangerous practice. 
 
 " She was dressed for some party when she was taken 
 so violently ill, and she is to be buried in the same dress. 
 She must have been brilliantly beautiful. I don't wonder as 
 she entered the church on Sabbath mornings, people turned 
 back to gaze at her." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Klliott, heart-broken and desolate, woe-begone 
 and horror-stricken, sat alone by her unburied dead those 
 two long, lonely days and nights, her soul clad in penitential 
 sackcloth, and sitting among the ashes of dead hopes. She 
 had given up principle, conscience, every thing, for this 
 lost idol. 
 
 The main wish of her heart had been the crowning of this 
 beautiful child queen of the heart and home of some distin 
 guished, gifted man. Until the last, she had hoped to write 
 her name in that golden-clasped Bible, Florence Carleyn. 
 
 Never had she looked so radiantly beautiful as on that 
 fearful night when came that sudden, terrible agony. 
 
 " Oh," said the heart-broken mother, " the cup of bitter-
 
 NEPENTHE. 313 
 
 ness I have pressed so long to other lips, I must drain to 
 the dregs. 
 
 " If I had spent those precious hours I wasted in makinw 
 her beautiful and accomplished, in the culture and ennobling 
 of her immortal soul, I would not now mourn the death of 
 my erring child. I shall go to her, but she will never re 
 turn to me. Florence ! my child ! my child ! would God 
 I had died for thee !" 
 
 For days the stricken mother wailed and shrieked and 
 sobbed and mourned, yet shed no tears ; and months after, 
 if you passed through the Asylum at Utica, you might some 
 times see a still beautiful woman looking out of the window, 
 watching and waiting for Florence ; sometimes quietly 
 wreathing flowers for her hair, saying she would come 
 soon, and then crushing them, and raving so wildly that all 
 shrank from her in terror. It was one of those hopeless 
 cases of insanity that sometimes linger for years, with no 
 improvement, no relief, no change but death. 
 
 She never seemed sane, but sometimes would sit gazing 
 abstractedly in the distance, and repeating over the words, 
 " Withhold not any good from him to whom it is due, when 
 it is in the power of thine hand to do it." It was the only 
 connected, coherent, rational sentence she ever uttered 
 That one memory seemed the one unbroken chord in the 
 quivering lyre of her jarred and discordant soul. 
 
 That fortune she had lavished upon Florence belonged of 
 right to Nepenthe Stuart. How and when it came into her 
 hands was a secret known only to Madam Future and John 
 Trap. 
 
 The former was dead, and the latter was too deeply im 
 plicated ever to reveal anything of the transaction. Yet 
 from time to time, with no clue of their source, came sums 
 of money to Nepenthe Carleyn, until all Mrs. Elliott had 
 ever used of hers was paid. This arrangement may have 
 been made by Mrs. Elliott the first day sue sat down by her 
 dead child, while remorse was keenest, and trembling rea 
 son still lingered on her throne. 
 
 I have often thought I never could feel sorry for John 
 Trap, but I couldn't help it when I saw him the other morn 
 ing. He could not stir his poor useless right hand and foot. 
 He had a stroke of paralysis about a year ago, affecting the 
 whole right side. 
 
 14
 
 314 NEPENTHE. 
 
 He was seized with it when he was foreclosing a mort 
 gage, and he hasn't used the hand since. 
 
 I thought of a maimed lion as I looked at him one day as 
 he sat trying to do up a package of letters in his left hand, 
 muttering over to himself gloomily, " Withhold not any 
 good from him to whom it is due." Somethiug in one cor 
 ner of the old newspaper with which he was wrapping up 
 the letters attracted his attention. 
 
 He couldn't get up unaided and reach any of the books on 
 the crowded shelves near him, so he read this article head 
 ed eleemosynary. 
 
 The article closed thus " If thou comest to the evening 
 of life and art old or infirm, all thy consolation will be, not 
 how much money hast thou made, but how much good hast 
 thou done, how many wrongs righted ? This is all the cap 
 ital from which thou canst gain interest in the great bank 
 of the everlasting Future." 
 
 John Trap groaned and muttered to himself again, "With 
 hold not good from him to whom it is due when it is in the 
 power of thy hand to do it." 
 
 He looked at his helpless arm. " Poor hand," said he, 
 " has lost its power ; the right hand has lost its cunning, it 
 can do no more harm." 
 
 He looked up at his wife's portrait on the wall. " My 
 poor Mary she is rich now, and I am a poor beggar at the 
 gate of Eternity. A better woman never, never lived. She 
 tried hard enough to make an angel of me, but she could 
 not, and it broke her heart," and tears long stifled, frozen 
 tears, welled up in John Trap's eyes " too late, too late," 
 said he, moodily, gloomily, mournfully. 
 
 Reader ! I was at G-reenwood yesterday, and saw a monu 
 ment with this inscription, " Sacred to the memory of Mary, 
 wife of John Trap,. who died January 1st, 1861, aged 2S 
 years. Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord." Tf I 
 could write another edition of Les Miserables, surpassing 
 Victor Hugo's, even more tender, truthful and touching, 
 and sell a million of copies, in the quiet Greenwood of its 
 most pleasant thoughts I would erect the noblest monument 
 to Mary, wife of John Trap, once numbered among those 
 the world calls Lcs Miserables, but now the angels write her 
 name among Les Heureux the blessed. 
 
 If among the domes and spires of the celestial city, there
 
 NEPENTHE. 315 
 
 rises the dome of Valhalla, palace of immortality, where 
 repose the souls of warriors slain in battle, surely Mary 
 Trap's heroic soul rests there with a martyr's victor crown, 
 and robed in radiant white. Alas ! of how few of us can 
 the angels ever write Blessed, until we enter into rest. 
 
 Blessed is the baptismal word with which the angels 
 crown the soul as it comes up out of the river of death, and 
 joins the white-robed church. " Blessed are the first drops 
 of the life river that kiss the brow, as the transfigured soul 
 puts en her radiant immortal. 
 
 " All their tears are wiped away, 
 All darkness turned to perfect day ; 
 How blessed be the dead, 
 How beautiful be they." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 WHAT THE CRITICS SAY. 
 
 " A perfect judge will read each work of wit, 
 With the same spirit that its author writ." POPE. 
 
 " Who shall dispute what the reviewers say ? 
 Their word's sufficient ; and to ask a reason 
 In such a case as theirs, is downright treason." 
 
 CHURCHILL. 
 
 " Beasts of all kinds their fellows spare ; 
 Bear lives at amity with bear." 
 
 THERE are many expensive bridal gifts on the table in 
 Nepenthe's room, but there's one the last, but not the 
 least on which her eyes will often rest. It is a little blue- 
 covered book, with the word Dawn printed on its back. And 
 Frank reads it aloud one evening. As he closes the book, 
 he looks up to Nepenthe and s&ys, archly, " If I had not 
 fallen in love with you, Nepenthe, I should be in great dan 
 ger of being captivated with the writer of this story. My 
 boyish ideals were all authoresses." 
 
 " And mine were all artists," said Nepenthe, laughing ; 
 " but you can't make me jealous, Frank," she added and 
 her whole face glowed with pleasure. 
 
 Mr. Stuart comes in the next Monday morning with a pa-
 
 316 fcEPENlHE. 
 
 per in his hand and a very knowing look on his face. " Ah, 
 Frank," said he, " you wrote this review , I know you did." 
 
 " Yes, I did," said Frank, looking at Nepenthe mischiev 
 ously ; " and I wish I knew who the authoress was. I might 
 be in danger of falling in love, for my boyish loves were all 
 authoresses.'' 
 
 Mr. Stuart takes Frank's arm and walks into the other 
 room. lie says, as they stand before the portrait Dawn, 
 " There, Frank ; there is a pretty good picture of the un 
 known authoress ; and now I have introduced you," he 
 added, laughing, " I will leave you to cultivate her ac 
 quaintance." 
 
 A surprise never looks picturesque on paper, so we'll not 
 repeat Frank's comments and questions and Nepenthe's ex 
 planations and answers. We will leave them a week, till 
 we see Frank coining in one day with a budget of fresh 
 newspapers. The morning, evening, daily and weekly pa 
 pers, and we'll hear what the critics say. 
 
 " The Sunday Telegraph says," said Frank, " that you 
 have written a very good book, but it is of entirely a too re 
 ligious a cast a very serious fault," he added. " The 
 Mori/ing Glory ends by saying that it is a charming story, 
 and its chief charm is its high moral tone, its elevated re 
 ligious sentiment. You know how disturbed yoa were, Ne 
 penthe, on account of that remark of Miss Charity Gouge's 
 about the book s being so full of ' chopped sentences.' Here 
 is a review, in the Metropolitan Day Book, which is a very 
 good offset to that. The critic says the style is simple and 
 elegant, and its language poetic and eloquent." 
 
 " Mrs. John Pridefit remarked," said Nepenthe, " that 
 the book was full of egregious grammatical blunders. She 
 evidently gave me credit for all the inaccuracies I put in the 
 mouths of my characters, and in ordinary conversation very 
 few persons speak with perfect grammatical accuracy." 
 
 " Don't break your heart, Nepenthe ; but the reviewer in 
 the Daily Wonder says your book is ' loosely put together,' 
 but here is the Evening Guest, and the critic remarks 
 that ' the style is simple, concise, and natural.' The sharp 
 est review you have had is from the Weekly Raven. The 
 editor says ' not knowing what else to do with your hero 
 ine, you set her school-teaching for her living, and this is a 
 stale resource for feeble authors.' I won't read all the
 
 
 NEPENTHE. 317 
 
 sharp things he says, but he evidently thinks it a great 
 fault ; but they say the editor is an Englishman, and down 
 on all American books. But here is the American Violet, 
 one of the ablest magazines in the country, and its reviewer 
 says that this very school-keeping heroine is the chief charm 
 of the book so there's a heart's ease for you, Nepenthe. 
 There's also a very able review of a similar character in the 
 Independent Truth Teller, and another very just criticism 
 in the American Evangelist." 
 
 " What is there in real life," said Nepenthe, " for an edu 
 cated poor young person to do for a living but teach ? It is 
 common in stories, but not more common than in life ; but I 
 wonder why I have had no reviews from the Morning Dew 
 Drop and Evening Primrose. The editors are my personal 
 friends." 
 
 " Oh ! they have a grudge against your publishers," said 
 Carleyn ; '' and they'll never notice any of their books. The 
 editor of thtf Laughing Budget remarks that ' it is a bad taste 
 to close with a death-scene,' but the Boston Puritan Evangel 
 says ' the last chapter is a specimen of sublime and beauti 
 ful pathos throughout.' You see, Nepenthe," said Frank, 
 " you've enough of all kinds of reviews to keep your spirit 
 ual equilibrium." 
 
 " No one," said Nepenthe, " can accuse me of writing a 
 novel. I haven't written half the romance in my head. Of 
 course it's a love story, for wouldn't anybody's life be tame 
 and dull enough without a love story in it ? 
 
 " But Miss Prudence Potter said she shouldn't have 
 thought that Mrs. Carleyn, a professor, would have written 
 so much of a novel," said Frank, " and the critic of the 
 Courier, of whose keen eyes you were so afraid, says ' it is a 
 charming domestic novel,' but Miss Charity Gouge says she 
 never'll read it through, for she doesn't like women's writ 
 ings." 
 
 " I am glad, Frank," said Nepenthe, " that my happiness 
 does not depend upon the success or failure of my book." 
 
 Frank reads aloud one more review from the Christian 
 Intelligencer. It is beautifully written, and in deep sym 
 pathy with the author. The writer evidently judges dis 
 criminatingly, and praises real beauties, enters into the 
 spirit of the book, and Nepenthe feels, as she listens till the 
 happy tears will come, that she would like to grasp the
 
 318 NEPENTHE. 
 
 writer's hand, and thank her for her kind, sweet, sympathetic 
 words. 
 
 " Here is my olive leaf at last," said Nepenthe. " It has 
 fully rewarded me for opening my soul's window and send 
 ing forth the bird of fancy from the ark of my heart." 
 
 After sitting quietly a few moments thinking, Nepenthe 
 said, " Frank, I could write a better review of my book than 
 anyone else can. I could say the style and thought were 
 good. The chief charm of the book is not in its plot, which 
 is neither intricate nor intense. There are too many char 
 acters for a thrilling book. It might have more unity. The 
 best plot is like a noble river, every image, flower, star, or 
 fancy should be tributary to it, like the flowers along its 
 borders, all adorning its bank or mirrored in its crystal 
 waters ; but I am so delighted, Frank, to think I have a re 
 view from you, and you had no idea whose book it was. 
 Isn't it funny a man reviewing his wife's book ? and yet, 
 for once, a husband's opinion was impartially given. What 
 would I have done if you had said anything sharp ? It 
 would have been almost like the first cross word. I'm 
 afraid I never could have recovered from such a shock. I 
 feared you would think the plot meandered and zigzagged 
 too much, and I do care what you think more than I do for 
 the opinion of all the world beside." 
 
 " There's too much harmony between our souls," said 
 Frank, " for me to find any great fault with any thought or 
 fancy or feeling of yours. I felt a strange, peculiar interest 
 in the author when I first read Dawn. She seemed to ex 
 press my own thoughts better than I could myself, and that 
 is as high praise as I can give any writer." 
 
 " Frank," said Nepenthe, " since I have seen this book in 
 print, I've had a great deal better book come in my head. 
 It is all plot, passion and pathos. I can see the plot right 
 through, just as you can see all the way down this avenue in 
 the evening, with its long rows of lamps on each side. So 
 all along the new path of fancy, it seems as if I can see lit 
 tle lights hung on both sides from beginning to end, and my 
 thoughts delight in roaming all through this illuminated plot. 
 I seem to meet living people, and hear living voices talking 
 to me, till I fall in love with my own hero and wake up very 
 early in the morning to hear what he has to say to me."
 
 NEPENTHE. 319 
 
 " Is it a religious novel ?" said Frank. 
 
 " I hate that phrase religious novels," said Nepenthe. 
 " They generally are a bottle of fiction's deodorized ben 
 zine, superior to any other article in market for removing 
 moral spots and spiritual stains of every kind from Fancy's 
 gay, grave or gossamer robe without altering the fine color 
 or texture, and sometimes they take the whole color out of 
 fiction, so you can't tell what color it is or was. A religious 
 novel is often only another name for the tamest kind of 
 trash but I hope nobody will call Dawn a quiet book," she 
 added, as Bridget came in just then with a paper, having in 
 it another quite lengthy review, " for when ' all is quiet ' on 
 thought's Potomac, no victories are ever gained on fiction's 
 broad, contested field, no laurels ever won, and my poor lit 
 tle book might have to go at last to wait at some dusty 
 corner of Nassau street, and with faded, threadbare cover 
 lie outside in the cold in Fame's cheerless Potter's Field, 
 among those long rows of unwept, unhonored and unsung 
 volumes over whose neglected heads you read in dingy let 
 ters, as you pass along, this dismal obituary notice : 
 
 " ' ANY OF THESE BOOKS CAN BE HAD FOR 25 CENTS.' 
 
 " Frank, if my Dawn were one of those stately thought 
 castles, from whoso ivied windows you could look out on 
 fiction's broad field and see a solitary horseman ride by, or 
 some persecuted woman in white hunted and haunted by 
 villains in black ; if I had made some dim, shadowy woods, 
 where veiled ladies hide and ghosts hover in shrouds, it 
 might be very popular Mr. Caushus might, perhaps, sell 
 three hundred thousand copies." 
 
 " Yes," said Frank ; " and you might have had some high 
 bred, haughty, heavenly hero emerge from those shadowy 
 woods, hiding under his calm marble face boundless oceans 
 of intensest passion, but bursting forth into wildest cata 
 racts of emotion as some mysterious stranger crosses his 
 path, holding in his coat pocket the dreadful secret and 
 priceless safeguard of your hero's whole past life. You 
 should have gifted this mighty, matchless, murderous man 
 with tongue of ice and heart of fire, as his bloody deeds half 
 frighten one's conscience to death, wnile his celestial, im 
 maculate motives win the ceaseless admiration of the most 
 spotless maiden's pious, profoundest soul."
 
 320 NEPENTHE. 
 
 " I have no trap-door in my garret, no dungeon in my 
 cellar," said Nepenthe, " nor hare I frescoed on the walls 
 within any faithful copies or skilful reproductions of the 
 great masters of fiction but I have led my readers along the 
 winding river of mortal life, and I hope they may find some 
 little thought flower growing on its banks to lay away and 
 keep in their hearts forever. 
 
 " I finished Hannah Thurston when you was out to-day, 
 Frank. The book so bewitched me I couldn't leave it off 
 until I had finished it. I don't believe one man in ten 
 thousand could have so put off the shoes of conventionality 
 and stolen so noiselessly into the inmost holy of a woman's 
 heart, and given us those inimitable stereoscoptic views as 
 Bayard Taylor has done. For a new traveller in the realm 
 of fiction, he has made marvellous progress. You'd think 
 he had lived and breathed there always. 
 
 " The hero Woodbury is just such an ideal real man as 
 lives in many a woman's soul, but which few authors ever 
 sketch. I almost wonder a man could so faithfully, grace 
 fully and symmetrically portray such a real live hero. I 
 wouldn't blame all the girls for falling in love and marrying 
 such a man as Woodbury, if they could find him. Then the 
 bo?k is so fragrant all through with a woody perfume, you 
 feel as if you were walking the 
 
 " ' Secret shades 
 Of woody Ida's inmost grove.' 
 
 " The author has the good sense to find his heroine in the 
 country, and keep her there. You almost breathe the odor of 
 the new mown hay as you read, and you can see the wild 
 flowers on Hannah's table. The author has studied nature 
 reverently and honestly, and she has given him her most il 
 lustrious diploma in the university of fame."
 
 NEPENTHE. 321 
 
 CHAPTER XLIY. 
 
 COMPATIBILITY. 
 
 " So 'tis with us when fond hopes cherished long, 
 Upheld through storms of contradiction strong ; 
 To ripe fulfilment suddenly are grown, 
 And gates of Paradise are open thrown." GOETHE. 
 
 " ONE thing is certain," said Kate Howard ; "Frank Car- 
 leyn and his wife will never separate for want of compati 
 bility. Miss Prudence says the first question a girl should 
 ask now-a-days of the man who makes her an offer is, ' Have 
 you got compatibility ?' A great many matches are not 
 made in Heaven. Mr. Vole says many of them are lucifer 
 matches, made by the prince of the fallen angels." 
 
 " As Miss Potter says, we do hear a great deal about this 
 compatibility. It really seems to be an acknowledged 
 ground for separation. If our grandmothers who had unrea 
 sonable husbands, and our grandfathers who had vixenish 
 wives, had only thought of this before, how much trouble 
 they would have saved themselves. I don't believe I shall 
 ever marry so few of the gentlemen I know have this pre 
 cious compatibility, and I would as soon try to domesticate 
 myself in a snow-bank for life as with a man without it." 
 
 Kate has been reading " Prue and I " over again. 
 She's so delighted with it ; she says it is full of compati 
 bility. She says she has a husband in Spain, and so long as 
 he and she live so happily together, she is most afraid to 
 think of any other husband. Her husband in Spain has 
 such kind, urbane manners. He likes everything she likes, 
 and he has none of those queer little fidgetty ways they say 
 husbands do have yet if she could find such a man as 
 Prue's husband was, she'd marry him to-morrow, even if he 
 were an old book-keeper in a white cravat, and she'd be 
 willing to have him for the autocrat of her breakfast-table as 
 long as she lived. 
 
 " Did you see the bride in church on Sunday ?" asked 
 
 14*
 
 322 NEPENTHE. 
 
 Miss Charity Goftge, coming in suddenly and interrupting 
 Kate's solitary soliloquy, as she seated" herself by the regis 
 ter to warm her feet. Charity is always warming her feet. 
 If she can get into a kitchen, she will open the oven door 
 of the cooking stove, and taking off both shoes, put her 
 feet in the oven and toast them, as she says. She is 
 warming her feet the year round, except in the middle of 
 August, and I sometimes think they are a little chilly then. 
 All winter she wears two pair of stocking.*, and in very 
 severe weather, two pair of shoes. She says half the dis 
 eases are caused by too thinly covering the feet. Wherever 
 she goes, visits, or calls, her first object seems to be to 
 warm her feet. 
 
 " I saw the bride," said Kate, " but I was so taken up 
 with watching Dr. Wendon, I forgot to see what she had on. 
 I never saw such a look on a man's face before. 
 
 " Rev. Henry Selwyn Stuart, the bride's father, preached 
 a beautiful and impressive sermon from the text, ' All things 
 work together for good.' 
 
 " You know it was Easter Sunday, and the day of the 
 Hebrew Passover. It was just one year ago on Easter Sun 
 day morning that Dr. Wendon thought he saw the dawn 
 once more so it was truly his Passover, for blindness 
 passed away from the door of his spirit ; it was his Easter 
 morning too, for his long-entombed soul had its resurrection 
 to light. 
 
 " As he looked over the hymn book with Mrs. Carleyn, 
 I never heard a sweeter voice as he sung this verse of that 
 beautiful hymn. I could see tears in his eyes I am sure 
 there were tears in mine. 
 
 " Walk in the light, and thou shalt own 
 
 Thy darkness passed away, 
 Because that light hath on thee shone 
 In which is perfect day." 
 
 " At the close of the services they sang again, and as Dr. 
 Wendon stood up the cloud suddenly broke away, the sun 
 light streamed in through the window, and shone on his ra 
 diant face. I could hear his rich manly voice in tremulous 
 tones 
 
 " Now that the sun is gleaming bright, 
 
 Implore we, bending low, 
 
 That He, the uncreated light, 
 
 May guide us as we go."
 
 NEPENTHE. 323 
 
 " What will he do now ?" asked Charity, iu her practical 
 way. " Will he make his home with his former protege, 
 Mrs. CarleyD ?" 
 
 " He is going next week on a mission to India," said 
 Kate. " He heard a sermon a year ago from the text 
 ' Come over and help us,' and he says that like a succession 
 of alarum bells, breaking ever and auon on his ears, have 
 sounded these words, 'Behold, I come quickly,' he goes 
 to wait with the weary night-watch for the breaking of the 
 eastern sky " 
 
 Reader ! you and I have some dear little hungry hope 
 climbing the toilsoma hills of our longing life ; may it find 
 at last some bright Easter morning its radiant dawn . 
 
 If you have patiently followed my story to its end, how 
 I would like to look into your face as you lay the book 
 away up in your soul's attic, where you lay away all stories 
 read long ago. Yet much as I peer out into life's darkness 
 to get a glimpse of you, I see you not, only in that weird 
 dreamland where unseen friends nightly gather, and I fancy 
 sing me to sleep. 
 
 Take this my prayer, that if soul-thirsty and weary, you 
 may quaff life's purest Nepenthe, sweet with blessing and 
 fragrant with balm. If we ever meet in the palace called 
 Beautiful, above. I may luok over your shoulder, and read 
 your name among the names of earth's tired wayfarers.
 
 * 1*
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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